CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE - JUSTIN

The firelight cast flickering shadows across the battlefield, but Justin’s eyes stayed locked on the figure emerging from the debris. Burnscar’s smile was maddening—a mixture of cruelty and trembling rage. Her red dress was singed, her pale skin streaked with soot and blood, but her eyes still burned with defiance, fire licking hungrily around her like a living creature. Crusader gritted his teeth.

“You just don’t know when to quit, do you?” he muttered under his breath, summoning another ghostly duplicate.

The translucent figure shimmered into existence beside him, identical in form and stance but bearing none of his flesh-and-blood weaknesses. It hefted its own spectral spear, the weapon glinting as though made of polished steel, and hovered a few inches above the ground, ready to strike. Crusader took a steadying breath, sending two more projections into the fray.

Burnscar’s glowing orange eyes shifted toward him, catching the movement of his knights as they encircled her. She raised a hand, and flames coiled into her palm like a serpent preparing to strike.

“I’ve seen your trick before,” she sneered, her voice dripping with mockery. “You send the ghosts, and you stand back, safe and sound. Is it fear, Crusader? Or are you just lazy?”

Crusader felt his jaw tighten. “Call it strategy,” he shot back, though her words needled at him. Safe? He wasn’t safe. None of them were. But this wasn’t the time to let her get in his head.

The nearest ghost lunged at her, spear thrusting forward with unerring precision. Burnscar moved like liquid fire, sidestepping the attack and countering with a burst of flame that washed harmlessly through the projection. The villain reared back, undeterred, and thrust again, driving her toward the center of the ring his duplicates had formed.

The plan was simple: keep her distracted and boxed in. Let Assault or Alabaster take the direct shots while Crusader’s ghosts applied constant pressure. But the problem with Burnscar wasn’t just her flames—it was her unpredictability.

She twisted sharply, hurling a fireball at one of the knights. The projectile passed through its incorporeal form and struck the warehouse wall behind it, the explosion sending shards of metal and wood flying in all directions. Crusader ducked instinctively, his real body shielded behind a support column.

“She’s just playing with us!” he called to Assault, who was repositioning near the rubble pile Burnscar had just climbed out of. “We need to press her harder!”

Assault didn’t answer, too focused on closing the distance. Alabaster, meanwhile, was circling like a predator, his knife gleaming as he waited for another opening.

Crusader gritted his teeth and sent his ghosts in again. This time, all three struck at once, their spears plunging toward her in a synchronized attack. Burnscar snarled, her confident veneer cracking as the spears pinned her down—not physically, but in placement. She lashed out with a column of fire that roared upward, engulfing two of the knights. They didn’t falter, their weapons slicing through the blaze with relentless determination.

“Stay down, damn you!” Crusader barked.

But Burnscar didn’t stay down. She screamed, the sound raw and animalistic, and the flames around her surged outward in a wave of blistering heat. Crusader staggered back, his real body drenched in sweat despite the distance. One of his projections flickered and faded, the connection severed by the sheer force of her power.

“She’s losing it,” he muttered, summoning another ghost to replace the one he’d lost.

From the corner of his eye, he caught movement—Assault, charging in with reckless speed. The hero vaulted over a burning beam, his baton sparking as he closed in on Burnscar’s flank. She saw him coming and turned to meet him with a blast of fire, but he absorbed the hit, redirecting the energy into a brutal swing aimed at her midsection.

The blow connected, and Burnscar stumbled, her fire faltering for just a moment. Crusader seized the opportunity, sending his remaining ghosts forward. One of the spectral knights plunged its spear into her side, the weapon phasing through her body but forcing her to recoil as if struck by a physical blow.

“Got her!” Crusader called, his voice triumphant.

But Burnscar wasn’t done. Her eyes burned brighter, her expression twisting into something feral. She thrust both hands outward, and the air itself seemed to ignite, a dome of fire erupting from her body and forcing everyone back. Crusader’s ghosts disintegrated in the blast, and he felt a sickening lurch in his gut as the feedback hit him—not pain, exactly, but a hollow, wrenching sensation that left him momentarily dazed.

When his vision cleared, Burnscar was standing in the center of the inferno, untouched by the flames that raged around her. Her gaze locked on Crusader, and for the first time that night, he felt a flicker of real fear.

“You think your ghosts can protect you?” she hissed, low and venomous. “Let’s see how brave you are without them.”

Before he could react, she launched herself toward him, moving faster than he thought possible. Crusader barely had time to summon another projection, the ghost forming just in time to intercept her fiery assault. Her fist passed through the specter’s chest, flames trailing in its wake as she closed the distance between them.

Crusader stumbled back, raising his spear defensively. His breath came in ragged gasps, the oppressive heat draining his strength with every passing second. Burnscar was on him in an instant, her fiery hand closing around the shaft of his weapon. The metal began to glow, the heat traveling up the length of the spear and forcing him to let go with a curse.

Crusader’s mind raced, his options dwindling. His ghosts couldn’t hold her, and his real body was no match for her fire. He glanced toward Assault, who was already scrambling to his feet, and Alabaster, who was regenerating from a fresh burn across his chest.

Stall her. Just stall her, he thought, summoning another ghost. It appeared directly behind Burnscar, spear poised to strike.

“Hey, Burnscar,” he said, forcing his voice to remain steady. “You talk too much.”

She whirled around, flames erupting in a defensive arc, but the ghost had already struck, its spear passing through her shoulder. She screamed in rage, the fire around her dimming for the briefest moment.

And that was all the opening Crusader needed. Summoning every ounce of resolve, he charged forward, his real body this time, aiming to drive her back long enough for his allies to regroup. The fight wasn’t over, but he wasn’t going to let her win. Not ever.

She saw him coming and raised her hands, flames curling outward in a desperate bid to stop him. The inferno struck him full force, and for a moment, the world was nothing but blinding heat and light. His breath caught, his armor burning hot against his skin, but his ghosts shielded him, absorbing some of the impact as he pressed on. He couldn't falter.

With a roar, Crusader slammed into her, his full weight driving her backward. The force of the collision sent them both crashing into a burning support beam, which groaned and collapsed under their combined weight. Burnscar’s cry was cut short as they hit the ground, his armored body pinning her to the floor.

Her hands, still wreathed in fire, scrabbled weakly against his chest, but he grabbed her wrists and slammed them down, forcing her to stay still. She glared up at him, her face a mask of hatred and pain.

“You think this will change anything?” she hissed, her voice a raw whisper. “You’ll never stop us. You’ll never stop him.”

“I don’t care about him,” Crusader growled, his voice ragged. “You end here. No more fire. No more deaths.”

Her lips curled into a weak, bitter smile. “You don’t understand… You’ll burn too.”

With a sudden burst of strength, Burnscar summoned an inferno to engulf him. The flames roared, a swirling wall of death that consumed everything in its path.

But Crusader wasn't alone.

He rolled clear of the resulting blast of heat as Assault, battered but relentless, leaped from a nearby pile of debris, his baton crackling with kinetic energy. The momentum of his leap carried him directly onto Burnscar, and with a sharp crack, he drove the baton into her ribs. The impact sent a shockwave rippling through her, driving her further into the ground and breaking her concentration just enough for the flames to falter.

"Now!" Assault yelled.

Alabaster emerged from the smoke, his knife glinting in the firelight. He moved with silent efficiency, his blank expression betraying no emotion as he plunged the blade into her throat. The fire around her flared one last time, a desperate, flickering surge, before it sputtered out entirely.

As her body trembled, for a moment, she looked almost human—small, fragile, and broken. Her green eyes, now dull and lifeless, met Crusader's, and he thought he saw something there: regret, or maybe relief. Then she slumped to the side, her hand hitting the ground with a hollow thud.

The warehouse fell silent once more, save for the crackling of the remaining fires and the groaning of the damaged structure.

Crusader stood frozen, his chest heaving as he stared at her motionless form. The heat was still unbearable, but it no longer felt alive, no longer felt like it was hunting them. It was just fire now.

"She's done," Assault said, his tone unusually subdued. He approached cautiously, giving Burnscar's body a wide berth, and prodded her with the tip of his baton. When she didn't move, he sighed and crossed his arms. "Guess that's that."

Alabaster, as always, said nothing. He merely wiped the blood from his knife and glanced toward the exit, as if to say Let's go.

Crusader swallowed hard, his hands trembling as he retrieved his spear. The weapon was warped from the heat, its once-polished surface marred and blackened, but it had done its job. He looked down at Burnscar. She looked so... small.

"She was just a kid," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

Assault snorted, though there was no humor in it. "Yeah, a kid who almost roasted us alive. Don't get soft on me, Crusader. She made her choices."

Crusader didn't respond. He turned away from the body, his stomach churning. He told himself Assault was right—Burnscar was a monster, a killer. But the image of her broken form stayed with him, burned into his mind like an afterimage of the flames.

"Let's get out of here before this whole place comes down," Assault said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Come on, big guy. You did good."

Crusader nodded numbly, his legs feeling like lead as he followed Assault and Alabaster toward the exit. Behind them, the fire continued to burn, consuming what little was left of the warehouse—and the girl who had tried to burn the world down with it.