Chapter 107: Backfoot.
Amari sat stone-still, the cracked bark of the tree digging into his gloved palms. The girl—her ankles still bound, face streaked with smoke—watched him from the corner of her eye. She couldn’t see beneath the mask. Couldn’t read the tension in his jaw or the guilt sharpening behind his quiet. But she could feel it.
The way he didn’t speak.
The way he couldn’t.
Below, the forest whispered.
The checkpoint still burned in the distance.
And Amari hadn’t stopped watching her since he got there.
Shylo’s Fight — North Wing Collapse: "We Bury Our Mistakes"
Kael towered at the edge of the cratered hallway, his body now a mass of evolving armor, bone, and blade. His Unco—Malform—had bloomed into full monstrous glory. Plates shifted across his chest like tectonic armor, jaws opened on his ribs, and new limbs had grown—not just arms, but spine-ripping claws that bent forward, dragging behind him like scythes still learning how to walk.
"I’m done dancing," Kael snarled, voice layered with growl and crackle. "Time to bury you, shadow man."
Shylo didn’t answer.
He stood with one knee down, panting. Blood dripped from his side in slow rhythm, a shallow gash across his ribs flaring each time he moved. His Umbra Spire—the sleek black spear—was gripped in his hand, pulsing faint obsidian light. It trembled. Not from fear.
From restraint.