Her breath was ragged. Her arms ached, every muscle trembling. She knew she could only sustain this for a few more minutes. The earring burned cool against her skin, the anchor that kept Endor’s Flow from tearing her apart.
She steadied. Her aura flared outward in a single bright pulse. The Aurellian charged, the ground trembling beneath his approach; she met him head on.
They yelled — a desperate, fearless sound — and then collided at Mach 23.
BOOM.
The impact detonated through the skyline. Stone shattered, windows exploded outward like petals, and a shockwave rolled across the ruined city. The world narrowed to the ringing in her ears and the grit in her teeth as she fought for the life of her brother and for the promise she'd made inside herself.
Blades clashed again and again, each strike detonating like thunder. Sparks exploded in the night as steel met steel, carving gashes through the earth with every swing. Their duel tore trenches eleven kilometres long into the ruined streets of Heful, buildings splitting apart under the shockwaves of their battle.
Isabela’s body screamed with pain, but her spirit burned hotter. Her sword crashed against the Aurellian’s again, their auras colliding, tearing the air apart.
“You fight well, princess,” the Aurellian snarled, gritting his teeth as her blade slid dangerously close to his throat. He shoved her back, and their swords screeched against one another, carving another wound into the street.
But then she surged forward. Her sword drove through his side, steel piercing flesh and bone. Blood poured from the wound.
The Aurellian gasped, staggering, then laughed — harsh, mocking.
“Were you holding back all along? Even with this strength… you will not defeat me.”
He lunged, fury sharpening his movements. His blade swept in relentless arcs. Steel tore into Isabela’s arms, cut across her hip, bit into her thigh. Each blow carved fresh pain into her body, and she staggered, her vision flashing with white.
She was being overwhelmed.
Her breath came ragged, her sword heavy in her hand. This won’t do, she thought desperately, parrying another blow that sent her sliding back through rubble. At this rate, I’ll die. I need… I need to push Endor’s Flow further.
Her chest heaved as blood trickled down her arm.
Then—
A memory surfaced, sharp and vivid.
Isabela, sitting across from Eryndor, her voice trembling with hope.
“With Endor’s Flow… will I ever be as strong as you?”
Eryndor shook his head with calm finality.
“Most assuredly not.”
Her heart had sunk — until he smiled faintly and continued, “It is not as mine. I refined it… to suit your body.”
She frowned. “Then… what is the true Endor’s Flow like?”
Eryndor raised a finger to his face, his emerald eyes gleaming. He did not answer with words. Instead, his aura erupted.
The ground split beneath him, the air around him shrieked, his presence surged like a storm too vast to be contained. Isabela had felt her lungs lock, her very bones quiver under the pressure.
“My God,” she whispered in awe. “How can you contain something so violent?”
Eryndor smirked. “Simply put... I am Eryndor.”
---
The memory shattered, replaced by the clash of blades.
Isabela clenched her teeth, blood dripping down her chin. No… I can’t perform the true Endor’s Flow. But… I can increase the output of the one he gave me.
She forced the mana harder, faster. Her body convulsed. Blood spurted from her nose, her muscles screamed as if tearing themselves apart — but her aura flared like wildfire.
The Aurellian’s eyes widened as their swords met again. He staggered back, his arm trembling. What—? Impossible. Is she… getting stronger?!
Isabela roared, her voice breaking from her throat as she pressed him back, her sword blurring faster than the eye could follow. Her strikes tore gouges through the ground, cleaving trenches deeper, longer — twelve kilometres now, each swing sending shockwaves across the battlefield.
The Aurellian stumbled, struggling to keep pace. His blade met hers again and again, but each clash drove him further back, blood spraying from his wounds.
Her whole body burned, every strike costing her flesh and breath, but her spirit refused to falter.
Eryndor, she thought as her blade drove toward the man’s chest again, I will chase you, even if it kills me.
The Aurellian screamed, his body reeling under the ferocity of her onslaught. Fear glimmered in his eyes.
And still, Isabela pressed on.
---
Isabela’s blade cleaved deep, ripping a huge chunk from the Aurellian’s side. His scream split the air, raw and ragged, blood spraying across the rubble.
Before he could stagger back, she swung again — her strike was merciless. SHRRAK! His hand, the one still clutching his sword, was severed at the wrist. The blade spun from his grip as the stump spurted crimson.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
With a final cry, Isabela thrust forward, driving her sword clean into his chest. The steel buried deep, pinning him as blood spilled from his lips. He coughed, then smiled through the pain.
“Heh… holding back all this time…?” he rasped, his laughter broken, hollow. Then the light in his eyes dimmed. His body sagged against her blade before collapsing lifelessly to the ground.
Isabela stood over him, chest heaving, her body trembling from exertion. She pulled her blade free and then fell to her knees, gasping for breath. Sweat and blood mixed down her face as her vision swam.
Then—her eyes widened.
Her instincts screamed.
She turned sharply, glancing back—
And vanished.
Her body blurred, a burst of speed propelling her through the broken streets. Dust whipped in her wake as she ran with everything she had. In a heartbeat, she was at Mercy’s side. Without slowing, she scooped Mercy into her arms and cradled Zelion tightly to her chest, clutching both with desperate strength.
They ran. Stones shattered beneath her steps as she carried them away.
But to Omfry, watching from a distance, her speed was laughable.
In his perception, she slowed to a crawl. Each of her movements was dragged across eternity, like prey struggling against inevitability.
With a smirk, he rose from where he had been lounging on the ruins. His movements were casual, unhurried. He dusted off his hands, then bent his knees.
BOOM.
He leapt.
The force of his jump shattered the rubble beneath him, sending cracks spidering outward. His body arced through the smoky air before descending like a meteor.
He landed directly in front of them.
The impact split the earth, forcing Isabela to skid to a halt. Dust and broken stone billowed around him as he rose slowly from the crouch, his smile never fading.
Her heart dropped. Her eyes went wide in recognition.
No mana. No aura. Just like those countless beings on Plunder Island, she could only sense his life force.
Omfry tilted his head at her shocked expression. He slipped his long coat from his shoulders, letting it fall to the ground. Then he tore his shirt away with one sharp motion, leaving only a dark vest stretched tight over corded muscle.
“Ahhh… much better,” he sighed, rolling his shoulders.
Isabela swallowed hard, her hands trembling as she gently set Mercy and Zelion down behind her.
“RUN!” she screamed.
Mercy didn’t hesitate. Clutching Zelion close, she bolted, disappearing into the labyrinth of shattered stone.
Isabela’s body shook, but her eyes hardened. She raised her sword again, the bloodied steel trembling in her grip.
“One more…” she whispered to herself.
Her earring pulsed faintly, warning her body of its limit. But she ignored it.
Her aura erupted violently, flames of mana crackling around her form. The ground split beneath her feet as Endor’s Flow surged through her veins once more, burning her alive from the inside.
She lunged.
Her sword flashed down with all her might, the strike splitting the earth. A shockwave screamed outward, carving a 14-kilometre trench straight through the ruins. The explosion of force shook the heavens, smoke rising in a tidal wave of dust and shattered stone.
When the air cleared—
Her blade was buried in Omfry’s shoulder.
Her eyes widened.
He hadn’t moved.
Not an inch.
Not even a scratch.
His flesh was unmarked, untouched, as though her blow had been nothing more than a breeze.
Her breath hitched, panic lancing through her chest.
Unharmed.
Unbothered.
Unbiased.
Omfry looked down at the sword jutting from his shoulder, then back up at her. His grin disappeared.
His hand closed around her blade.
And SNAP!
He broke it in half as though it were brittle glass.
Isabela stumbled back, horror freezing her as she clutched the shattered hilt.
Omfry raised the broken half of her weapon, turning it in his fingers like a toy. He studied its jagged edge with a detached curiosity, as if weighing its worth.
Then—without a word—he flicked his wrist.
The shard blurred forward.
It shot from his hand like a bullet loosed from a cannon, slicing the air with impossible speed.
THHHHK!
The broken half pierced straight through Isabela’s chest, bursting clean out her back. It didn’t stop there—it kept going, tearing through stone, pillars, and walls in an unending line of destruction until the horizon itself swallowed its path.
For a moment, the world was silent.
Isabela froze, her breath caught mid-gasp. Her sword hilt slipped from her trembling fingers.
She lowered her eyes slowly.
A gaping hole stared back at her from her chest, blood pouring in heavy, dark rivers down her gown.
Her vision blurred. Her knees buckled.
And in that silence, the last thing she saw was Omfry’s face.
---
To Be Continued...
