They woke in pieces.

  Danny came to first—face-down in wet dirt, rain pounding his back. The dojo? No. Forest—thick pines, black mud, thunder rolling distant. No purple sky. No void throne.

  He pushed up, ribs screaming. "Shawny?"

  "Here." Her voice weak, but close. She crawled from under a fallen branch, blade still clutched, blue light dim. Blood streaked her face.

  Big B groaned nearby, half-buried in mud. His mech-arm sparked fitfully. "Fuckin' hell… we alive?"

  Fang fluttered down, wings bedraggled. "Barely. Rezok ejected us—spit us out like bad meat. Domain collapsed behind us, but he didn't finish the job."

  Sir Dracks staggered to his feet last, armor cracked, sword dragging. Golden embers barely flickered. "The god… toyed with us. Let us taste victory, then crushed it."

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  Danny looked around. Dark woods stretched endless—no dojo glow, no anchors. The Circle's correction had flung them somewhere remote, time-stabilized but hostile. Rain hid any tracks.

  "We lost," Shawny said quietly. "Pushed him, cracked him… but he reformed. Stronger."

  Big B spat mud. "Not over. Kid punched a god in the face. That's something."

  Fang perched on a branch. "Scouts ahead—nothing but trees and worse. Void residue everywhere. He's hunting slow now. Likes the chase."

  Sir Dracks sheathed his sword with effort. "We cannot stand here. The anomaly draws him still. We move—find shelter, regroup. The dojo may call us back if we survive long enough."

  They limped onward.

  Hours blurred—rain never stopped. Wounds ached; anomaly flares caused time-stutters: steps repeating, conversations echoing. Rezok's whispers followed on wind: Run, glitch. I enjoy the hunt.

  They avoided shadows that moved wrong. Fought minor void-spawn—weak echoes, but draining.

  Danny walked beside Shawny, hand brushing hers. "We almost had him."

  "Almost isn't enough," she said. "But we hurt him. That's new."

  Big B grumbled. "Next time, I rip his smile off first."

  Fang scouted ahead, returning soaked. "Cabin—old, abandoned. Half-mile. Roof intact. Might buy time."

  Sir Dracks nodded. "Shelter. Then plan. We do not yield."

  They pressed on, battered but unbroken.

  Behind them, the woods darkened further. Something tall watched from the trees—grinning.