Jurgen snapped his head back, but it was already too late. A devastating punch landed directly on his temple, sending a violent surge of pain and shock through his skull before launching him across the space and past the protruding heads of the buried criminals. He skidded harshly along the ground in front of them before finally coming to a stop.
His vision blurred as he struggled to rise. He managed to push himself up for a moment, but his strength failed him, and he dropped back down, both hands bracing against the ground for support. A searing pain ran through his entire body, while his head throbbed as though it had been struck repeatedly with a heavy hammer.
The chants and praise rising from the buried criminals only made the sensation worse, pressing into his mind and deepening the pressure behind his eyes. Blood poured heavily from his nose, and his vision distorted to the point where even his eyes felt as if they were burning.
The punch itself felt unreal, as though it had not fully registered as a physical impact.
He placed a hand on his knee and forced himself up after what felt like an extended struggle. He whipped his head backward, then downward, before shifting his gaze toward the frozen Bubbles.
"Fatty!!!" he shouted.
The call snapped Bubbles back into focus. He immediately broke into a heavy sprint toward Nguyen.
Jurgen voice came out strained as he staggered. The sound around him felt distorted, as though it had been pulled out of alignment, and the pressure of it forced him to raise a hand to his ear. When he did, he felt blood leaking from his ear, a quiet confirmation of the damage he had taken.
Thorner lunged forward again, but this time his target shifted to Bubbles.
Jurgen reacted immediately, intercepting the motion as he slid in and took the impact. A blow meant for Bubbles slammed into his crossed arms. The force of the strike drove through him regardless, slamming him violently into the wooden fence behind.
The impact splintered the structure on contact. Fragments of wood and dust scattered outward in sharp, chaotic bursts.
Without wasting a breath, he forced himself off the ground despite the pain and the blood, then lunged forward again. His intent was clear: to give Thorner no time to react, even as he remained the one absorbing the damage.
He moved in with a calculated lead hook from his left, but it was avoided with ease. He followed immediately with a straight uppercut from his right, maintaining the pressure, yet Thorner intercepted it mid-motion.
In the same sequence, Thorner drove a sharp jab into his face, then followed with a brutal backhand across it, the impact leaving him visibly disoriented.
He jerked him forward forcefully by the arm he had caught and drove a knee into his jaw. He then created a slight gap between them, just enough to deliver a clean kick that sent Jurgen across the ground.
Jurgen cursed inwardly, the situation was undeniably clear. He had never been this outmatched in a fight before.
Across the field, at the far end, Arrow struggled on with visible cuts along his body, a clear indication that the woman had come prepared.
He drew in a deep breath as he fought to maintain a crouched position on one knee, his entire weight resting heavily against his sword for support.
The fog did not relent. It moved with a deliberate, almost sentient motion, coiling and striking against him before withdrawing, each pass leaving fresh cuts in its wake. She did not aim to kill him; instead, she took a measured satisfaction in prolonging his suffering. More importantly, that restraint would prove to be her mistake.
Arrow had not simply been enduring her attacks the entire time. Beneath the constant pressure, he had been listening, carefully tracing the pattern of her movements through the shifting fog. If anything, his hearing stood among his sharpest strengths, and he relied on it now with quiet precision.
At once, he drove his sword deeper into the ground. The contact sent a subtle ripple outward, an echo that spread through the terrain in all directions. A heartbeat reached him, then another, and then several more in succession. A faint smile began to form, controlled but certain.
"There you are."
He moved without hesitation, lunging forward as his sword caught the moonlight, its edge extending outward with intent.
His sprint remained low as he cut forward, closing the distance before the denser mass of fog could fully withdraw. He slashed through it in one decisive motion, and within that shifting haze, the tip of his blade met resistance. Steel traced across flesh, carving a clean line along Hazel's temple.
A sharp scream tore from her as she materialized, the force of the strike pulling her out of concealment. Shock settled clearly across her face as she dropped to her knees, one hand lifting unsteadily toward the wound while blood continued to spill from the cut.
"What's with that look?" Arrow intoned.
He advanced a few measured steps before stopping just short of her.
"Come on, you don't get to look at me like that. It wasn't hard to figure out that you don't remain in that foggy state forever. No one can survive without breathing, not even you."
His conclusion had not been made lightly. Throughout the exchange, he had observed the subtle breaks in her pattern and anticipated the necessity behind them. She never fully materialized, only enough to draw in air before dissolving again, maintaining the illusion of continuity. That momentary shift had been all he needed.
He had first noticed it when he and Jurgen lunged at them earlier, when she had taken a deeper breath just before fading into the fog. It was a small detail, but one that revealed the opening he had been waiting for.
He closed the distance as she struggled to dissolve back into the fog, her movements losing some of their earlier control. It became increasingly clear that, despite appearing nearly untouchable, her ability carried weaknesses that could be exploited.
Even her method of choking the air from a person was limited; it was something she could sustain on only one target at a time. He did not outwardly appear the type, yet he was both perceptive and experienced enough in battle to recognize and act upon such constraints.
A voice suddenly broke through from behind them. It was Nguyen, now shouting loudly at Hazel. The cut Arrow had delivered had disrupted her hold, freeing him from her control.
"Damn you, misty witch!" he shouted, pointing wildly as he held himself in exaggerated relief, finally free from the attack that had robbed him of his breath.
Arrow hissed at Nguyen's loudness. If only he could have remained quiet — not out of any ill will, but simply for a moment of stillness.
Nguyen's hands flared with light, energy crackling around his palms as he lunged toward them, his focus now fixed on Hazel, his intent clear in both movement and expression. He was going to fry the hell out of her.