Ch 5.8

Ben jumped onto the second-floor balcony again— only for a fresh storm of porcelain shards and knives to whistle after him.

He twisted mid-air, body folding and unfurling like a dancer, letting the projectiles graze past. His hand shot upward, seizing one of the vines he’d planted earlier, and he swung forward through the hall—an acrobat weaving through a rain of blades—closing the distance toward the catwoman still clutching Chloe.

The earth mage snarled from below, dust curling around her boots. “Get down here!”

She drove her fist into the floor. The tiles holding Ben’s vine ruptured, the ceiling groaning as stone and roots tore free.

“Damn it—!”

The vine snapped loose. Ben plummeted with it, shards of plaster and tile pelting his shoulders. A knife grazed his arm, porcelain splinters ripped across his chest; blood spiralled through the air as he fell.

And waiting—two transmutant beastwomen.Claws out. Talons gleaming. Predators poised to strike.

“You’re mine.”

Ben’s eyes narrowed. Still spinning mid‑air, he grabbed the vine, flooded it with mana, and cracked it like a whip. The tendril lashed upward, hooking the chandelier above.

He yanked—hard. The chain snapped, and the huge glass fixture broke free, plunging toward the floor with him.

The beastwomen shouted, bracing to shield the porcelain and knife mages behind them, while the earth mage slammed her palm down. A pillar of stone surged upward and smashed into the chandelier, stopping it mid‑fall in a burst of glass and sparks.

Amid the chaos and raining debris, Ben vaulted sideways, catching the railing and hauling himself back to the second‑floor balcony.

“Now… where was it?” he muttered, eyes tracking along the rail.

Knives and porcelain shards shrieked through the air again. Ben ducked and sprinted, zigzagging low beneath the storm of spinning silver. But this time, he wasn’t heading for the catwoman.

When he’d first climbed to the upper level, he’d planted a few seeds along the railing—his contingencies. Now, one had bloomed: a spiny little bush crowned with two pulsing, mana‑swollen fruits. Normally, such plants took years to bear fruit. His mana had done it in minutes.

Ben tore the two fruits free. The fruit was round, bristling with thorns, faintly humming with energy.

I didn’t want to use this, he thought grimly, gripping it tight. But you’ve left me no choice.

Ben dropped from the railing, landing in a crouch with the crimson, thorn‑covered sphere raised high.
“Alright—enough running!” he shouted. “Come and get me!”

He leapt from the balcony, the transmutant sisters below spreading their claws to meet him. Behind them, the knife‑and‑porcelain mages readied to strike, circling to flank while the earth‑mage lifted her hands, drawing power.

Ben tightened his grip on the fruit.
“Let’s see how you like this.”

Across the hall, the catwoman’s ears twitched. Her pupils snapped narrow.
“Sisters—get away from him!” she barked.

The porcelain mage caught sight of what Ben was holding and felt a chill of wrongness crawl up her spine.

Ben’s arm swung forward to throw—but it was already too late.

A sudden volley of shards rained down. Porcelain slashed across his forearm, cutting with uncanny precision, as though the attack were aiming not for him, but for the fruit. One shard struck it squarely in his grasp.

“Shit!” Ben spat—and hurled it anyway.

The fruit burst midair in a blinding bloom, erupting with a shriek of energy as hundreds of needle-fine thorns exploded outward in every direction.

The catwoman’s warning and the porcelain mage’s quick thinking spared the beastwomen from total annihilation—but they were far from safe.

The transmutant talon-fighter threw herself forward, wings flaring and claws spread wide, shielding her two mage sisters behind her.

“Big sis! Meriath!” the girls screamed as the storm of spines tore across their sister’s back, blood flashing scarlet against golden fur.

The earth-mage slammed her fists together, conjuring a cylindrical wall around Ben just in time—but dozens of tiny needles had already embedded themselves in her comrades’ shoulders and arms.

“Sisters!” the catwoman cried.

The talon-fighter dropped to one knee, her back a forest of crimson barbs. The two younger beastwomen rushed toward her.

“Stay back,” she gasped. “They… might be poisoned.”

The chamber filled with sharp gasps. Trembling and bleeding, the defenders stood amid thorns glittering like shattered glass. Tears welled in the eyes of the two younger sisters as they took in the damage done to their kin.

The clawed fighter hissed through clenched teeth and forced herself upright despite the pain.

“Don’t drop your guard yet.”

“I wouldn’t be worried about him…” the earth-mage said faintly, eyes wide as the dust finally settled. “That bastard—he was standing right in the middle of it.”

The stone wall gave way with a grinding roar—and the chamber fell deathly still.

At the heart of the devastation stood Ben.

He hadn’t fallen. He hadn’t even staggered.

Needles jutted from his arms, his legs, his throat—his face—hundreds of them bristling from flesh and bone, transforming him into something obscene, something unfinished. Blood slid down his skin in thin, trembling rivulets, dripping soundlessly onto the shattered floor.

He didn’t move.

Air caught in the porcelain mage’s throat. Her lips parted, voice barely more than breath.
“Is… is he dead?”

“Mr Ben!” Chloe sobbed, thrashing uselessly as the animated lace cinched tighter around her limbs.

Still, he did not fall.

Then—mana stirred.

It surged upward through ruined flesh, bypassing torn muscle and punctured veins, flooding only his eyes. The spines embedded in his lids and sclera dissolved into light as emerald radiance bloomed beneath them. Vision returned in a shimmer of green.

Ben inhaled—slow, deliberate.

His jaw tightened. Blood slipped from the corner of his mouth as he spoke, voice scraped raw through clenched teeth.

“…I’m done playing around.”

The porcelain mage’s scream tore through the silence.
“H-he’s still alive?!”

Ben’s legs bent—Then he launched forward like a fired arrow.

Straight for the stairway. Straight for the cat-woman.

“NO YOU DON’T!” the clawed transmutant roared, intercepting him.

Her claws flashed.

Ben didn’t dodge. He slammed his fist—still studded with needles—into her attack. The claws tore through his flesh, shredding through his fingers, severing his thumb, but he didn’t stop. He pushed through the pain with monstrous force.

“What—?!” she gasped.

His mangled, bloody fist crashed into her face. Bone. Thorns. Blood. She flew backwards, skidding across the floor with a shriek.

Ben didn’t even look at her. He charged again, eyes bloodshot, healing light crawling across his arms as shredded muscle knitted itself back together.

I can’t fail this mission. I will not.

The porcelain and knife mages flung their projectiles. “STOP RIGHT THERE!”

Ben snarled and flicked a spiked fruit from his pocket. “Here's another!”

He hurled it.
The earth mage slapped her palms down and summoned a wall of stone just in time—

BOOM

The thorn-burst shook the room, ricocheting off the slabs.
But it gave Ben the opening he needed.

He lunged toward the catwoman—

—and the world lurched.

The ceiling tilted, sliding sideways like a crooked painting. The floor rippled beneath his feet. His vision smeared, colours bleeding together as his knees gave out.

What… what is this?

He staggered two steps, then pitched forward, hitting the tile face-first and skidding across the slick stone.

“Finally,” a voice purred from the shadows. “It kicked in.”

Ben groaned and forced his head up.

A woman stepped out from behind a broken column. Glass perfume bottles clinked softly at her hip as she moved. The beastwoman who had never joined the fight. The one who had watched. She smiled sweetly behind her mask as she approached.

“My perfume finally took hold,” she cooed, pride thick in her voice. “Tenacious little thing, aren’t you?”

Ben tried to push himself up. His arms twitched. His legs shuddered.

Nothing answered.

The catwoman clicked her tongue, irritation sharp. “Well. Your ability could use some refinement.”

The perfumer laughed lightly. “Hey, my scent drops grown men in seconds. It just takes a bit longer on beasts.”

The earth-mage snarled and lowered the hovering stone slabs.
“Haria! You coward! You hid behind us while our sisters bled! How could you?!”

Haria only shrugged, brushing a stray thorn from her sleeve.
“I captured him and protected the mistress. Isn’t that what matters?” Her smile widened. “Besides…” she added lightly, “…a dear customer is waiting.”

“Ben!” Chloe’s cries shook the chamber. “BEN!”

His fingers twitched once. Then again.

Then stopped.

His eyelids sagged, impossibly heavy. His body felt like molten iron—hot, dense, unmovable. He’d pushed himself too far. Seventy percent. Burned too much mana. Taken too many wounds. Too many reckless detonations.

It had finally caught up with him.

He couldn’t fight it anymore.

This damn town… he thought bitterly as the darkness closed in.
I fucking hate this place.

And then Benjamin Almond passed out.