Saa'ir's mind sharpened, his senses attuned to every shift and shadow in the narrow hallway.

The first assailant lunged at him, striking down with a blurred fist, but Saa'ir sidestepped swiftly, using the attacker's momentum to flip them over his shoulder, feeling a disconcerting, viscous resistance beneath his grip as he does.

The figure doesn't hit the ground but instead seems to splash back to its feet, its form reshaping as though made of thick, sentient liquid.

Two more figures advance in sync, hands steeped in black outstretched like claws. Saa'ir pivoted, his back pressed against the cold stone wall, narrowly dodging one swipe and deflecting the other with a sharp, open-palm strike that sends the cloaked figure reeling into its companion. The two collide, but their forms seem to melt and merge for a moment before disentangling themselves with eerie fluidity.

Realizing that physical attacks don't impact them as expected, Saa'ir shifts his focus to entirely defense. He moved fluidly from one stance to another, his hands constantly redirecting their strikes.

Another figure lunged forward, and Saa'ir grabs its arm, twisting it to throw the attacker off balance, but the limb slips through his grip like gelatinous liquid, trying to reshape around Saa'ir's arm, causing Saa'ir to pull back.

Gritting his teeth, Saa'ir stepped backward in a calculated rhythm, using the narrow space of the hallway to limit the angles from which they can attack now he had all six in front of him. He then assessed his surroundings, eyes locking onto one of the torches flickering on the wall.

As two figures charge at him side-by-side, Saa'ir side-dashed into the left wall, using a well-timed kick against it to propel himself over them, his fingers brushing against the torch as he passes. Landing behind them, he yanks the torch from its sconce and brandishes it defensively, the flames casting shadows that danced across the walls.

The figures hesitate, as if wary of the light. Saa'ir eyes sharpen and he doesn't waste the opening; he swings the torch in wide arcs, using the fire to force them back.

They falter but quickly regroup, moving with increased aggression, their attacks faster and more unrelenting. A fourth figure lunges from his side, and Saa'ir instinctively twists, bringing the torch down, only to watch in confusion and frustration as the flame flickers harmlessly through the attacker's dark, shifting form. "The fire needs to be stronger..."

Thinking quickly, Saa'ir used his footwork to position himself against the wall, forcing the figures to funnel towards him in a line. As the lead attacker swings a fist, Saa'ir ducks low, rolling beneath the blow and sweeping the figure's legs out from under it.

Knowing their tendency to bounce back, Saa'ir didn't stop his assault there. Using the momentum of his first sweeping kick, he spun around again to deliver yet another kick to the figure's abdomen. This strike sent the tumbling figure into the rest, setting up for Saa'ir's next attack.

Brandishing the torch once more, Saa'ir gripped it as he surged his soulura through it. As if his soulura was some type of fuel, the fire within the torch blazed anew. "It feels so weird. Even though I remember next to nothing about fighting, my body and soul seem to remember on their own, reacting as if it was natural." Saa'ir thought for a second as he stared into the burning embers of the torch, time seemingly slowing down. "I wonder how much I fought in the old days..."

Focusing back into reality, Saa'ir's face would harden as he brought the torch behind his head. "Fire Affinity: Torched Surge!" He shouted, swinging the torch in a wide, backhanded arc in front of him.

The motion sent a wave of fire spawned from the torches path of flight towards Saa'ir's assailants. The fire wave made contact and knocked back each one.

As each figure landed on the back, some colliding with the floor, while others collidied into the wall, Saa'ir lowered his guard, the fire that his soulura fueled subsiding back to its original flame. He then took a much deserved deep breath.

Unfortunately, Saa'ir's brief respite would not last long. He watched as, one by one, each figure stood back up. Each of them standing with their arms hung like zombies.

Saa'ir raised his guard and kept his stance steady, his breaths measured, waiting for any hint of movement. His mind analyzed the strange characteristics these figures had—how his strikes landed with no solid impact, as if they were sculpted from shadows and a thick liquid. He watched, calculating, yet he couldn't shake the creeping sense of dread that prickled down his spine as the figures loomed in stillness.

Then, the first twitch.

It was subtle at first—barely a flicker of motion in one of their shoulders. Saa'ir's gaze flickered from one to the next as each figure began to convulse in small, almost imperceptible jerks. He then noticed something—the arrival of two pinpricks of white light, emerging on the faces of the figures where eyes should be. Eventually, as the twitches continued, all six pairs of white light grew to plate, void-like eyes, which were trained unnervingly on Saa'ir.

The spasms then quickly escalated, a fevered stuttering in their limbs and torsos, until their bodies twisted in unnatural, angular motions. The white eyes grew brighter, swelling until each one was a gaping, ghostly orb, glaring at him with hatred.

An unsettling murmur began drifting through the air, low and garbled, like distant cries submerged in water. Saa'ir strained to make out the words, but they fragmented and overlapped, words half-formed and strangled, each one splintering into strange echoes. The whispers curled around him, scraping at his ears.

"Not...enough...!"

"Useless...broken…"

"No one...will...save you."

The voices carried a dreadful weight, each garbled syllable steeped in bitterness and venom. The whispers layered upon each other, becoming louder, more relentless, like a chorus of fears spoken from deep within a young, vulnerable heart.

Saa'ir's eyes widened, feeling the weight of each word seep into his mind, an inkling of the darkness that had taken root here. He clenched his fists, pushing back against the unnatural pressure that seemed to reach out and claw at his mind.

The figures advanced, their jerking steps rhythmic yet unsettling, each footfall echoing in the endless stone hallway. Saa'ir took a careful step back, ready to evade, but the relentless whispers began to fray his concentration. They shifted closer, their twitching forming a disturbing pattern, moving in sync as if puppeted by the same malignant force.

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One figure lunged, and Saa'ir narrowly sidestepped, pivoting just in time to redirect another's blow with an open palm. The hooded form crumpled under his touch but then reformed, swirling back into its original shape like liquid drawn by unseen strings. Both were thrown back.

A third rushed forward, its white eyes flickering as if caught between rage and despair. Saa'ir deflected its blow, using the momentum to maneuver it into another figure, their bodies colliding but melding together like oil and smoke, like before. This time, however, Saa'ir made sure to finish his assault.

"Fire Affinity: Torched Surge!" He shouted once more, but instead of a backhanded wave, he steadied and pointed the torch straight at his two targets. With Saa'ir's eyes turning red for a brief second, a pillar of fire soon burst from the confines of the torch, piercing the two figures still melding together. The javelin made of fire also caused the other five figures to pull back.

Saa'ir watched as the two figures, still intertwined with each other, stood twitching and convulsing from the hole burned through their torso. Their wails of pain filling the hallway. But then, the words echoed again, louder this time, rippling through the air with more clarity.

"Left...abandoned…"

"Why…why couldn't they…save me?"

"Help...me..."

A chill washed over Saa'ir as realization dawned. These voices—they weren't the warnings of the figures.

No, these were the haunting echoes of fear, of loss and despair, of memories warped into creatures of pure, unrestrained darkness. The manifestation of a deep, unyielding darkness born from pain—the very pain of the girl lying helpless somewhere beyond this nightmare, her silent cries woven into these twisted forms.

Saa'ir's resolve strengthened, his focus sharpening as he watched the convulsing figure he burned a hole into entirely reform into two. He wouldn't fight them on their terms. No, he would face them with caution, waiting for a break, a weakness in the despair that bound them. These phantoms were more than mere obstacles; they were the embodiment of a soul in torment, and he couldn't afford to let them consume him too.

Then—crying. The sound of an almost primal cry, only born from the helplessness that festered within a vulnerable child that knew they were alone. A cry that held within it memories of past trauma—scared that the trauma will come back to make them powerless once again.

Startled by this, beads of sweat would start forming on Saa'ir as he focused back on the figures before him, who began twitching again. This time, the twitching was even more erratic, their whole bodies convulsing so bad, they created afterimages—especially for their heads. But, what unnerved Saa'ir the most was the white void smiles that swirled into existence on their faces.

They were now mirrors of the entity, say for the twitching that only sped up and worsened by the second. It got so bad to the point the figures seemed to just be eerily standing still, but vibrating harshly in place, creating afterimages that peeked from behind the original. The fact all six were doing this created a weird dissonance to Saa'ir, eventually losing track of which were the real ones—or even if they were fakes at all.

Saa'ir blinked, noticing he was losing focus due to the dissonance, steadying his breathing and stance.

In the one split second it took him to blink, however, Saa'ir opened his eyes to see that one broke formation with a swift lunge, its fist swinging at his face with frightening speed.

Saa'ir attempted to evade, twisting his head just enough to avoid a direct hit, but the punch still grazed his cheek. The impact felt like a rock slamming against his skin, sending a flash of pain through his face.

Before he could fully recover, another figure darted in from the side with the same speed, its fist a dark blur as it struck his abdomen. The force knocked the air from his lungs, and he doubled over briefly, instinctively bringing his arm down to guard his midsection.

But his reaction left his head exposed, and a third figure took advantage of his lowered defenses, slamming a knee into his right temple. The blow staggered Saa'ir, almost driving him to the ground.

Just as he tried to rebalance, he caught a glimpse of another figure launching a kick from his right. It connected squarely with his ribs, the force pushing him back and leaving a dull, aching throb in its wake. The moment he stumbled, two more shadowed figures closed in—one swinging a fist that collided with his jaw, the other slashing with an open hand across his back, like a whip.

Stunned by the succession of blows, Saa'ir's arms went up instinctively to guard his head, but it was too late to regain control. His vision blurred, and his senses scrambled as the figures moved in a relentless rhythm. A punch to his ribs. A kick to his thigh. A strike to his shoulder.

Every angle became a new point of impact, the shadows raining down on him until all he could see was a wall of black fabric and flashes of white, his body caving beneath the force of their fury.

In desperation, he kept his arms braced around his head, his body curled in self-defense as the torrent of strikes pinned him to the cold floor.

Saa'ir's vision swam as he struggled to fend off the unrelenting strikes. Each blow felt heavier, as though the figures were channeling all the pent-up rage, sorrow, and anguish from their darkened origins directly into their attacks.

His arms ached, trembling as he tried to shield his face. He could feel the cold, unyielding stone against his knees and arms as they drove him down toward the floor. The figures bore down on him, shadows piling upon shadows, weight pressing him flat as if they intended to bury him beneath the relentless weight of pain and hate.

The voices thundered in his mind now, no longer whispers but a roaring tempest. "Forgotten… Abandoned… Too much… Why... I...hate... I hate...! I HATE!!" Their anger was suffocating, raw emotions clawing into him like hooks. Saa'ir's heart clenched with a deep sadness, the sheer intensity of the girl's pain flooding into his senses. How could someone so young hold onto so much grief and rage?

Gritting his teeth, he whispered under his breath, "I'm sorry…that you had to carry this alone."

Just as he felt his strength faltering, something broke through the oppressive weight—a feral growl, cutting sharply through the symphony of strikes. Saa'ir froze, his senses jolted as he felt another presence entering the fray.

Before he could fully process it, a shrill, high-pitched roar split the air, echoing down the stone corridor. The shadowed figures around him faltered for a moment, some of the weight lifting off his body as they twisted toward the new sound.

In that brief pause, Saa'ir heard scuffling, an urgent, desperate struggle breaking out nearby. Something wild and defiant fought back against the darkness—the sound of claws and snarling fury hitting Saa'ir's ears, snapping and lunging at the figures. It moved with the raw, unfiltered instinct of an animal protecting its territory or a friend.

Then, there was a pain yelp, followed by the thud of a body hitting the wall with immense force. Saa'ir strained to see, his vision still hazy, but he could just make out a shape—a creature lying on the floor, having been struck down in its attempt to protect him. The presence of the animal, though momentarily subdued, gave him a surge of renewed strength.

He pushed himself up, his fingers brushing the rough stone beneath him, catching a glimpse of the dark figures distracted by the unexpected interference.

With a surge of inner resolve, Saa'ir summoned every ounce of strength left within him, pressing against the oppressive weight that pinned him to the cold floor. His muscles burned, his soul throbbed with defiance, and with a fierce shout, he forced himself upright, arms stretched wide, unleashing a shockwave of radiant soulura that burst from his core.

The blast swept through the dim hallway, striking the six hooded figures and sending them hurtling backward in a cascade of shadows and seething darkness. It was the blinding light from the explosion of soulura that did them in though.

As the echoes of the shockwave faded, Saa'ir panted, taking in the sight before him. The six cloaked figures, now reduced to puddles of viscous black goo, writhed and pooled on the floor. The dark liquid slithered in tendrils toward the nearest crevice in the stone walls, vanishing out of sight as if retreating from the light and back into the depths of the labyrinth.

Breathing heavily, Saa'ir steadied himself, gathering his senses. But a soft grunt from behind drew his attention, snapping him from his thoughts.

Turning, he saw his unexpected savior—a small fox-like creature covered in stitches, as if someone had sewn it together piece by piece—Nini.

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Next: (Chapter 61) Meeting Transcending Lifetimes

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