Valerius’s eyes widened as he felt the gaping hole in Ziraiah’s torso. In an instant, he ran toward her, heart pounding like thunder.

  Richard stood in the dust, chest bloodied but alive. His crimson aura still burned faintly.

  He wiped blood from his nose then vanished as he Sped towards Valerius.

  In the next instant, his sword punched forward—impaling through Valerius’s guard.

  CRACK!

  Valerius caught the blade with both hands, stopping it mere inches from piercing through him.

  The ground beneath them cratered, stone bending under the pressure of their struggle.

  Valerius roared, his voice tearing through the air—

  “GET OUT OF MY WAY!”

  Richard roared, shoving harder.

  Valerius’s fortified hands bled as he held the blade still.

  They glared into each other’s eyes, teeth gritted, both shaking under the force.

  ---

  Omfry didn’t even flinch. He withdrew his hand from Ziraiah’s body. She fell, limp.

  Eryndor screamed in grief and rage. He swung again with his broken hand—

  but Omfry moved faster.

  One swift motion.

  A red flash.

  And Eryndor was cut in two.

  His upper body hit the ground first, blood pooling beneath him, his breath ragged, eyes glassy but alive.

  ---

  Valerius’s eyes widened—he felt it. The tearing of flesh, the snapping of bone. Eryndor’s body… being severed. But he couldn’t sense what had done it.

  “YOU'RE COMING WITH ME,” Richard snarled, pushing with both hands. “AT ANY COST!”

  Valerius was pushed back, his feet dragging trenches through the fortified street. The sword’s edge pressed closer—closer—until with a final brutal thrust, it pierced through Valerius’s stomach and out his back.

  Blood spilled down his torso.

  Valerius gasped, eyes wide—faces now inches apart.

  ---

  Omfry strode toward Ziraiah and looked down, a cruel smile curling on his lips.

  “I’m going to enjoy killing you,” he said softly.

  He pressed his foot onto her right arm—CRACK.

  Then the left—another sickening snap.

  Ziraiah’s scream tore through the air.

  ---

  Valerius heard it. His body froze, rage flooding his veins.

  Then, slowly, he drew his head back—his breath trembling with fury.

  Then—BANG!—his forehead flashed green with Fortis.

  He didn’t hesitate.

  BANG!

  Valerius head-butted Richard. The ground exploded downward, forming a twenty-meter crater.

  Richard’s own Bravo surged as his forehead banged red.

  BANG!

  He returned the blow—another twenty-meter crater.

  They both reeled forward, blood dripping from their brows.

  Then again—

  BANG!

  And again—

  BANG!

  Each impact thundered across the city, shockwaves rolling through the air, shattering glass and shaking towers.

  Blood streamed down their faces, their roars echoing through the ruins.

  The next impact was cataclysmic.

  The shockwave tore outward faster than thought, flattening everything in its path.

  Only one thought filled Valerius’s mind: protect his family. Nothing else mattered.

  With his determination to protect the civilians gone, all their protective bubbles burst, one by one.

  Without the shelter of Valerius’s barriers, millions upon millions vanished before they even heard the sound.

  Flesh, bone, and air became one in the white flash—vaporized by sheer pressure.

  Those miles away never stood a chance. Bodies were hurled through the air like dust, lungs imploding before a single scream could form.

  BOOM.

  Another headbutt.

  The next wave ripped through the fortified streets like an army of cannons unleashed without aim. Within two kilometers, nothing living remained—only smears of heat and drifting ash. Up to ten kilometers out, bones shattered like glass; men and animals were flung for miles.

  Then came the heat—searing, merciless—rolling through the air like molten wind.

  Only those more than two hundred kilometers away survived, clinging to the trembling earth, their ears bleeding, their hearts hammering with the echo of gods at war. This is what they shielded from and endured inside Valerius’s bubbles. But now—they felt it first hand.

  Richard twisted his blade and slashed sideways—

  Steel tore through flesh.

  Valerius grunted as the sword ripped across his side, blood spraying in a wide crimson arc. The weapon clattered to the ground as Richard moved faster than sight, stepping behind him in a blur of red light. His arms snaked around Valerius’s neck—locking tight.

  Then he pulled.

  Valerius gasped, his shoes scraping against the cracked stone as Richard dragged him backward. The chokehold tightened, muscles straining, veins bulging across Richard’s forearms like steel cords.

  Valerius thrashed—elbows slamming backward, fists hammering against ribs that refused to break.

  They crashed to the ground, rolling violently across the fortified street.

  Now Richard was on top.

  Now Valerius.

  They rolled again, colliding with enough force to crater the ground beneath them.

  BOOM.

  Dust exploded around them as they fought like wild beasts.

  Richard’s roar echoed through Heful’s trembling air.

  Valerius’s face darkened from strain, his breath ragged and shallow.

  He drove his elbow backward—once, twice—

  CRACK.

  Blood flew from Richard’s nose, but the man didn’t loosen his grip.

  “Damn you—!” Valerius snarled, forcing his body upward.

  He twisted, rolling them over until he was on top. Richard’s arms still locked around his throat, but now Valerius had leverage. He brought down his fists again and again.

  BOOM.

  BOOM.

  BOOM.

  Each strike thundered like cannon fire. The ground quaked for miles—craters blooming across Heful’s surface, shockwaves shaking buildings like leaves.

  ---

  Eryndor saw Omfry raise his foot over Ziraiah’s face.

  He screamed, “No! Stop—stop it!”

  Omfry glanced at him and smiled—slow, cruel.

  “DON’T YOU DARE!” Eryndor roared, voice cracking with desperation.

  Omfry lowered his foot, pressing it against Ziraiah’s face. She screamed through the weight of his boot, her voice muffled as her features began to cave under the pressure.

  “NOOOO!” Eryndor’s cry tore through the air as he crawled toward her.

  Then—BOMB.

  Omfry’s boot met the ground. Ziraiah’s head crushed.

  ---

  Valerius felt it—Ziraiah’s bones shattering beneath Omfry’s foot.

  He froze. Then the fury hit.

  He stopped fortifying the city and roared, a sound that split the air.

  A wave of Cry burst from his body, green lightning cracking outward in violent arcs.

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  Richard’s eyes widened. What...Cry? he thought, stunned.

  Valerius clenched his fist, focusing every drop of Bravo into his hand. They became harder. He seized Richard’s face with both hands and squeezed.

  Richard screamed as fingers dug into his eyes—blood pouring down his cheeks in twin rivers. Skull cracking.

  “LET—GO!” Valerius roared, his voice echoing like a storm through the city, no longer fortified.

  But Richard didn’t.

  He couldn’t.

  He was desperate—more than desperate. He could not fail.

  If he returned empty-handed, death would be the kindest fate waiting for him.

  So he screamed back—

  A hoarse, animal howl—

  and squeezed harder.

  The veins in Valerius’s neck bulged, skin reddening. His breath hitched.

  Richard’s muscles swelled, his arms trembling violently as his Bravo flared crimson.

  Then—

  CRACK.

  The sound echoed like the shattering of stone.

  Valerius’s body went still.

  His arms fell limply to his sides.

  His eyes—wide, glassy—stared at the sky.

  Richard held the choke a moment longer, panting, until his arms finally loosened.

  He rolled onto his back beside Valerius’s body, chest heaving, sweat and blood streaking down his face.

  For the first time in the entire battle, there was silence.

  Only the sound of his ragged breathing and the distant thunder of a dying city.

  Richard looked at the sky—then at the corpse beside him.

  And for a fleeting instant, victory felt hollow.

  ---

  Elsewhere among the shattered ruins of Heful—

  Eliana descended from the sky, boots scraping against the fractured stone as she landed beside a collapsed figure. Her heart froze.

  “Father?”

  She dropped to her knees, the dust swirling around her in a silent storm. Gozay lay on his back, motionless, a gaping wound through his ribs where his heart had been torn away.

  “No… no, no, no—” Eliana’s voice broke. She slid an arm beneath his head, lifting him gently. “Father, stay with me.”

  She summoned an elixir bottle into her hand, its golden liquid swirling with mana. Uncorking it with trembling fingers, she pressed it to his lips.

  The potion poured down his throat in glowing streams. For a moment, nothing happened—

  Then his chest convulsed.

  A pulse.

  Then another.

  A new heart began to form within the hollow, the torn flesh knitting together. But the gaping hole through his ribs remained—a wound that would not close.

  Gozay gasped sharply, his breath ragged and shallow. His eyes fluttered open.

  “Eli…” His voice came in broken whispers. “…thank… you.”

  Eliana held his hand tightly, tears streaking through the grime on her face. “Don’t talk, Father. Please.”

  He ignored her, forcing each word through labored breaths.

  “Eli… do not… pursue this enemy. Promise me.”

  She didn’t answer. Her jaw clenched. The air around her began to shimmer with rising heat.

  “Eli?” Gozay rasped. “Promise me now.”

  He could see it in her eyes—the fury burning, wild and uncontained.

  “Eliana,” he said again, his voice trembling. “Look at me. I have been robbed… of my magic. He is beyond your reach. Do not face him.”

  Still, she didn’t reply. Her silence was louder than any oath.

  Gozay sighed weakly, his fingers slipping from her arm.

  A current of Eliana’s own magic lifted him from the ground, carrying him gently through the air, away from the battlefield—out of her path.

  Eliana rose slowly. Her eyes, once bright, now glowed like molten gold.

  She turned toward the horizon.

  Far in the distance, with the power of a spirit, she could feel it—Richard’s bravo.

  She vanished in a burst of light—

  A streak of gold cutting through the smoke-filled sky,

  heading straight for Richard.

  ---

  Omfry lowered his foot and turned away without a glance.

  Eryndor crawled across the broken ground, tears streaming down his face.

  He reached Ziraiah’s body, gathered her into his trembling arms, and screamed—

  “AAAAAAAH!”

  Omfry turned toward Mercy.

  She was crawling backward, clutching her shattered arm, tears streaming down her face.

  He reached down, grabbed her by the throat, and lifted her effortlessly into the air. Then he walked toward Ziraiah and stopped in front of Eryndor.

  A cruel smile spread across his face.

  “We’ve watched you for a while,” he said, his voice calm and deep. “So I know you care for this frail little Aurellian. Tell me, do you know what separates gods from men?”

  He leaned in close, eyes burning red.

  “Mercy. Men beg for it… gods grant it. Go on—beg me.”

  Eryndor’s broken voice rasped from beside Ziraiah.

  “No… stop. Stop, please…”

  Omfry tilted his head. “I can’t hear you. Put some effort into it.”

  He squeezed tighter.

  Mercy gasped, her one good hand clawing weakly at his arm, eyes wide with panic.

  Eryndor dragged what was left of his body toward Omfry’s feet, leaving a trail of blood behind him.

  “Please… I beg you… Don’t do this.”

  Omfry’s voice rose, echoing through the ruins.

  “Beg louder! Maybe the gods will touch my heart and grant mercy!”

  Eryndor screamed, voice breaking. “I SAID STOP IT!”

  Then, in desperation, he bit down on Omfry’s leg. His teeth tore through the boot, drawing blood—

  but Omfry fortified his skin instantly.

  Eryndor’s teeth shattered, blood pouring from his mouth, yet he didn’t stop. He kept biting, shaking, choking on his own blood as he fought to save her.

  Mercy’s lips trembled. She looked down at Eryndor one last time.

  “Eryndor…” she mouthed soundlessly.

  Then—

  SNAP.

  The sound was sharp, final.

  Her body went limp.

  Eryndor stopped biting. His jaw trembled, teeth shattered and bleeding as he lifted his gaze.

  Slowly—almost fearfully—he looked at Mercy.

  Her body hung limp in Omfry’s hand, head tilted, eyes half-open yet empty.

  The fight drained from Eryndor’s body in an instant. His bloodied mouth fell open, disbelief flooding his face.

  Omfry released her, letting her fall. She landed softly against Ziraiah’s chest.

  His scream tore through the night.

  “NOOOOOOOOO!”

  He clutched her close, sobbing violently, blood and tears mixing on his face. His forehead pressed to hers as he whispered through trembling lips,

  “Mercy… please… Mercy…”

  There was no response.

  Only silence—

  and the fading echo of Omfry’s footsteps disappearing into the ruins of Heful.

  Eryndor held Ziraiah and Mercy, then wept bitterly.

  To Be Continued...