Loveless/ a POWERLESS fanfiction story

Chapter 47: Brian

We'll give every life
For the crackpot notion

Enforcer hauls himself over the edge of the plateau where I stand alongside a cluster of other Sights. His face is tense, but he looks composed, almost indifferent. Draped over his back like a ragdoll is Andy, her arms limp, head tilted back as if all strength has abandoned her. His steps are firm, deliberate, as he strides onto the rocky expanse. A knot tightens in my chest.

Where is Blair?

My breath catches, and my eyes sweep the jagged edge of the cliff, scanning for her. Time seems to crawl until, at last, I see her head emerge. Tangled violet hair, trembling hands gripping the sharp rocks. Braxton grabs her arm and hauls her up in one swift motion. She collapses onto her knees, her breathing ragged, her body trembling from the strain. For a moment, I see relief flash in her eyes—a fleeting hope that this is over. That the Trial has ended.

How I wish that were true.

At the plateau's center stands a tall black pillar as though an enormous spear has been driven into the earth. At its peak, a tattered emerald flag flutters in the wind. Across the plain, voices rise from the other team, loud enough to trigger a fresh wave of unease.

Their group emerges onto the plateau and freezes, eyes darting to the ring of Sights encircling this makeshift arena. Confusion ripples through the air, thick and tangible.

One of the Sights steps forward, his voice cold and booming, cutting through the silence like a blade.

"We are glad you learned to work as one," he announces, his words slow and deliberate, "but oh, this Trial is not done. The rules of the game have changed a bit, so the first to capture the flag will win it."

He pauses, letting the gravity of his words sink in, before delivering the final blow.

"There can only be one winner among you. The only question is... who?"

The plateau plunges into silence. The flicker of torchlight casts erratic shadows, a faint echo of the chaos to come.

Then it begins. A scream pierces the air, shattering the stillness. A heartbeat later, chaos erupts.

Two groups collide in a violent, desperate struggle. Fists fly, curses are hurled, rocks scatter, and bodies hit the ground. Feet slide across the jagged stones as the battle churns like a storm. I step back into the shadows, my fingers curling around the cold metal of a throwing star. The Sights record every motion, capturing the spectacle for the kingdom of Ilya to witness.

But I only have eyes for one person.

Blair.

She hangs back, just barely removed from the fray, watching as the others tear into one another in their frantic bid to reach the pillar. They're so consumed by their own bloodlust that she has a chance—she could grab the flag and end this madness with a single move. But she doesn't.

Her gaze sweeps the plateau until it lands on her target. Paedyn Gray.

The slummer girl fights like a cornered animal. Her throat is pinned by a staff as the Illusionist presses down on her, relishing her struggle. His face twists with sadistic glee, his voice trembling with cruel satisfaction.

But Blair doesn't intervene. She waits, her stance cautious. She's chosen her strategy wisely—let the others exhaust the Silver Savior. Alongside Braxton, she feigns blows, exchanging light, practice-round strikes. A calculated performance.

I recognize the technique. Braxton is holding back, pulling his punches just enough to avoid harm while still appearing to fight. It's a ruse. I know this technique—Rem taught Blair physical combat half-heartedly, focusing instead on her Tele abilities. Any of these strikes would be suitable for a training ring. For a fight to first blood.