Ziraiah’s senses flared the moment she felt Eryndor’s presence. Through the haze of smoke and destruction, his aura flickered—weak, faint, but alive.

  Without hesitation, she shot through the air, leaving a sonic ripple in her wake.

  She landed beside him amidst the rubble, knees hitting the stone.

  “Eryndor—oh my god…” she breathed. He was sitting against a broken wall, blood streaking down his jaw, his neck and severed arm, eyes dim yet steady.

  “Ziraiah,” he murmured, looking up at her with relief. “Thank God you are unharmed. My magic… it has vanished. I have been stripped of my power.”

  “Don’t talk,” Ziraiah said firmly, voice trembling as she knelt and wrapped an arm under him. “You’ve done enough.” She touched his bleeding arm and froze it.

  She lifted him effortlessly into her arms and took to the air. The wind whipped through her hair as she climbed higher.

  Whsssh–BOOM!

  A purple canister streaked through the air and detonated beside them.

  The explosion ripped through the clouds, flooding the sky with thick violet smoke.

  Ziraiah gasped. The fumes burned her lungs. Her wings faltered.

  She coughed violently, clutching Eryndor tighter as both of them plummeted.

  They crashed into a deserted street.

  Eryndor groaned, half-conscious. Ziraiah forced herself to stand, swaying as the gas stung her eyes.

  She tried to take flight again—nothing.

  Her mana pathways were shutting down.

  Her pupils constricted in panic. “No…” she whispered. “Not again…”

  ---

  Across the city, Richard watched as Dreados’ burning body was flung through the heavens, vanishing into the clouds.

  He exhaled softly, almost disappointed.

  “You’ve failed, Dreados,” he said, voice cold and deliberate. “Then I’ll handle this myself.”

  He stepped forward—and vanished.

  ---

  High above Heful, Gozay hovered midair, scanning the horizon. A sudden sound—a faint rush of air—cut through the wind.

  A crimson hand burst through his ribs.

  Gozay’s breath hitched. His eyes widened as blood filled his mouth.

  He looked back in shock to see Richard standing behind him, arm buried through his chest, fingers closing around something pulsing.

  “You shouldn’t have come, Elf,” Richard whispered in his ear.

  He ripped his arm free, holding one of Gozay’s hearts in his hand.

  Gozay’s body convulsed. Blood streamed from his mouth as he fell from the sky, crashing through the fortified streets below.

  Richard dropped the heart. He turned his gaze toward the city—the chaos.

  He saw Katos locked in combat with Lorde, sparks flashing from his blade.

  “Incompetent fools,” he muttered.

  Then his eyes found Valerius—hands outstretched, struggling to encase civilians in protective bubbles. The boy’s movements were sluggish, exhaustion plain.

  Richard turned away, expression flat.

  He reached behind his back and unclipped the long black firearm strapped there. Sleek, cold, rune-etched.

  He aimed toward the ruins where Queen Zeliona and the others had gathered.

  A faint smile touched his lips.

  “Can't have you resisting.”

  Click.

  He fired.

  The canister streaked across the skyline and exploded in their midst.

  Purple gas erupted, swirling through the air.

  Juvian coughed, waving his arm. “What is this?”

  Mercy squinted through the haze. “It doesn’t seem harmful.”

  Juval’s voice cut sharp. “Don’t assume that. Don’t breathe it in—!”

  Before he could finish, his eyes glazed.

  The world around him twisted. The ground tilted; the sky turned upside down.

  ---

  Elsewhere—

  Ziraiah forced herself up, cradling Eryndor’s limp form.

  “We have to move,” she whispered, stumbling forward. “They’re after Zelion.”

  Eryndor stirred weakly, his voice faint. “Val… Valerius…”

  Ziraiah’s jaw clenched. “He’s fine. He’s protecting everyone.”

  She hoisted Eryndor onto her back, crouched low—and blurred away, vanishing into the smoke as the purple gas rolled through the ruined streets.

  ---

  In the sky above Heful, a red blur ripped through the clouds.

  Richard appeared behind Valerius in the span of a heartbeat. His foot, glowing with Bravo, slammed into Valerius’s back.

  CRACK!

  Valerius coughed blood as the impact sent him plummeting. He hit the fortified street face-first with such force that a twenty-meter crater formed beneath him, rippling through the ground like a shockwave.

  Dust rose in a violent plume.

  Beneath him, Valerius stirred—his long, green-tinged arm twitching once before it recoiled backward like a spring.

  Then—

  BOOM!

  The same arm shot upward, snapping through the air, curving sharply at ninety degrees before smashing into Richard’s jaw from behind.

  The impact hurled Richard through the air. He crashed through several houses in a line, debris exploding behind him for nearly five hundred meters before he skidded to a stop across the fortified street.

  Richard wiped a trickle of blood from his mouth—then froze as a shadow loomed from the side.

  Another fist.

  BOOM!

  It struck him square in the ribs, launching him through the ruins once more.

  He twisted midair, but the moment he stabilized—two more arms came snaking through the buildings, twisting and coiling like living serpents.

  “Persistent brat,” Richard hissed, his Sentinel Bravo flaring crimson.

  The air tingled; his instincts screamed. The punches were coming faster—Mach 8000.

  Richard blurred, vanishing and reappearing in flickers of red light, dodging each strike by the thinnest margin. The fists followed relentlessly, stretching farther and farther, tearing through the streets, walls, and towers of Heful.

  He landed, sliding backward as the serpent-like arms coiled back toward Valerius, retracting into his shoulders.

  Richard smirked faintly. “Interesting trick.”

  Valerius stood across from him amid the smoke, breathing hard, the veins in his arms glowing green from Fortis.

  Richard tilted his head. “I was told you could summon spirits. You shouldn’t be able to transform your body like that… How are you doing that?”

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Valerius didn’t answer. His expression was cold, unreadable.

  He shot his right hand forward, a green blur ripping through the air.

  Richard leaned aside—the blow grazed past his cheek, cutting the wind itself.

  “Do you really think you can defend yourself while fortifying this city?” Richard asked, his tone almost mocking. “Stop fooling yourself.”

  He gestured around them, to the shining domes of Valerius’s bubble shielding the civilians. “These fragile lives—so weak, so breakable. Even a single missed strike from us would erase them. Tell me…”

  He smiled.

  “Is it really worth it?”

  Valerius said nothing. His breath came steady now, the glow on his arms dimming as he adjusted his stance.

  “There are only two ways this ends,” Richard said, lowering his gaze. “You come with me alive—or dead.”

  Valerius rolled his neck once, stretching his shoulders. Then he raised his arms, pretending to loosen his muscles.

  “Stretching, are we?” Richard mocked.

  But then—

  Valerius’s arms shot skyward, slicing through the clouds before curving back downward in a perfect arc.

  They came down like green whips of destruction—aimed straight for Richard’s head.

  BOOOOOOM!

  The fists passed through his face like smoke. They tore into the ground, penetrating deep into stone and sending a shockwave that rippled through the entire block.

  Richard remained where he stood, perfectly unharmed.

  The battle for Heful had just entered its deadliest phase.

  ---

  Valerius’s eyes narrowed. His arms snapped back into their natural form, muscles tensing beneath the green sheen of Bravo.

  He cocked both fists behind him and lunged forward—

  BOOM!

  His punches tore through the air, but once again—passed clean through Richard’s body like smoke.

  Valerius grit his teeth. His arms bent mid-flight, whipping backward and striking again, and again, from different angles—dozens of rapid blows that should have crushed a mountain.

  Each time, they phased through him.

  Richard kept walking forward. Unhurried. Unbothered.

  “You’re not the only one with a Seed,” Richard said calmly, his voice echoing against the fortified walls. “You may command spirits… but I can pass through anything.”

  Valerius’s mind raced. Damn it. I could summon another spirit… but if I do, it’ll drain my stamina and cut Lorde’s time here in half.

  He exhaled slowly, then closed his eyes for a second.

  Lorde… stop playing with that guy and come help me.

  ---

  Elsewhere

  Thunder cracked through the air as Lorde pinned Katos to the ground, his boot pressing down on the lycan’s face. The street beneath them splintered under the pressure.

  Katos screamed, clawing at Lorde’s leg. “You— you damned spirit!”

  Lorde tilted his head, his eyes glowing with quiet fury. “Spirits are mere beasts? Say that again…” He crouched slightly, voice dropping to a growl. “I dare you.”

  Katos spat blood. “You’re— nothing— but— a—”

  Lorde’s hand shot down, clamping around his throat. He lifted him effortlessly into the air, feet dangling.

  “Do you know,” Lorde said, his tone disturbingly calm, “that we can separate the souls of mortals from their bodies?”

  He smiled faintly. “Good thing for you… I don’t know how to do that...yet.”

  Then Valerius’s voice echoed in his head.

  Lorde. I need you.

  Lorde sighed. “Tch. Fine.”

  He looked at Katos one last time and smirked. “Lucky you.”

  Then his fist shot into Katos’s gut, tearing clean through him. Blood sprayed across the ground. Katos’s eyes went wide—then Lorde tossed him aside like a rag doll and vanished.

  ---

  Back at Valerius’s position

  A golden blur streaked through the ruins. Richard turned—just in time to see Lorde’s fist appear before his face.

  BOOOOOOM!

  The punch connected squarely. Richard was blasted backward, his body crashing through a row of buildings, shattering walls and rooftops in a trail of dust that stretched for hundreds of meters.

  Before the debris could settle, Lorde was already there. He blurred forward, his next punch aimed at Richard’s chest.

  Richard raised his forearm just in time. Their collision sent a quake through the ground, splintering stone and cracking air. The shockwave blew apart everything within thirty meters.

  Richard was hurled backward, rolling through the rubble, his boots gouging trenches into the stone as he skidded to a halt. Blood dripped from his nose.

  Lorde appeared in front of him again—faster than thought—and swung another punch.

  Richard met it with his left arm, blocking it with sheer force, then slammed his own fist into Lorde’s chest.

  BOOM!

  The earth cratered thirty meters deep. Both men slid back several feet, their fists still trembling from the impact.

  Lorde grinned, brushing a smear of white essence from his lip. “Oooh… you’re about as strong as Valerius.”

  Richard snarled, crimson aura flaring like a storm of blood.

  “You damned lowly spirit!” he shouted, his voice rumbling through the ruins. “I’ll send you back to your realm in pieces!”

  Lorde exhaled sharply, his expression flattening into quiet irritation. “You mortals…” he said, shaking his head, “…always looking down on us... are really starting to piss me off.”

  He turned slightly and threw a lazy punch into the empty air beside him.

  BANG!

  The air split open — a circular rift swirling with dark golden energy. Lorde’s arm sank into it as though punching through water. A moment later, his hand emerged from the other side of the portal, gripping the hilt of a massive blade.

  The weapon screeched as it was drawn — a colossal, black-edged sword forged of spectral metal and glowing with runes that pulsed like living fire.

  Lorde swung it once, the pressure alone cracking the ground beneath his feet.

  “Now,” he said calmly, resting the blade across his shoulder, “I'm going to chop you up.”

  ---

  To Be Continued...