Hiofekus blurred backward, dodging the initial strike with a phantom's grace. Arin lunged, closing the gap instantly, his knuckles white around his hilt. From the flank, Askiro drove her blade forward in a desperate thrust, but Hiofekus simply flowed beneath the steel, ducking low as Leiofa's heavy swing whistled overhead. With a contemptuous flick of his heel, the Ruler kicked Leiofa back, sending him skidding across the dirt just as Arin reached him.
Their blades collided in a screech of sparks. Hiofekus parried with effortless precision.
"Now!" Dephore roared, unleashing a torrent of inferno. The flames swallowed the Abyss Ruler, masking the battlefield in a shroud of choking orange soot.
In the heart of the fire, Arin's voice rose—steady, cold, and calming.
"Coil the heavens," he whispered. "Stretch the sky... Stormveil."
Purple lightning detonated from the hilt, cloaking the blade in a jagged, living whip of energy. As the party leaped clear, Arin lashed out. The lightning extended like a serpent, snapping across the distance. Hiofekus leaped to dodge, but Arin flicked his wrist, redirecting the arc mid-air.
The bolt bit into Hiofekus's leg. A shallow red line opened—the first drop of divine blood hit the grass.
A collective gasp of hope rippled through the group. They had drawn blood. They could win. Arin looked toward Leiofa, a momentary relief softening his gaze.
It was his first mistake.
The air behind Arin didn't just move; it shattered. Hiofekus appeared as if he had always been standing there. His sword swung with the weight of a falling mountain. Arin spun, bringing his blade up in a frantic, bone-jarring block. His palms split open, blood spraying as his consciousness flickered like a dying candle.
Suddenly, the battlefield went silent.
Arin felt like a ghost, a detached soul hovering in a sun-drenched past. He saw himself—younger, peaceful—sleeping beneath the old tree. Beside his sleeping form stood Eldrin. His Sensei looked down at him with a gaze that carried a thousand years of sorrow. Eldrin placed a hand near the boy's head, whispering a chant that hummed with the resonance of the stars, weaving a golden thread of power into Arin's very being.
A memory flashed, a gift given in secret, now reclaimed by the present.
Arin's eyes snapped open. He vaulted backward, his feet carving deep trenches in the earth.
Hiofekus paused, intrigued by the sudden shift in his eyes. Arin raised a blood-slicked hand toward the churning firmament, his voice a low rumble that carried like distant thunder.
Appear… flash of lightning.
He dropped to one knee, driving his hand toward the dirt as if offering his soul to the world. Above, the sky screamed. Dark thunderclouds spiraled into a violent vortex, crackling with a restless, hungry energy.
Arin spoke the word that cost him a piece of his life.
"Suruich."
Lightning—radiant, unstable pink and yellow—tore through the sky and slammed into his palm. The world was bleached of color for a single heartbeat.
When the light faded, a new blade had formed in his grip. It was a radiant shard of solidified lightning, its hilt stained a deep, bruised crimson—the color of dried blood.
Arin rose slowly. The air tasted of ozone and copper. Arcs of current crawled along the edge of the weapon as he swung it in a smooth, practiced arc. As the blade moved, a bolt fell from the heavens, striking Hiofekus with the weight of a god's judgment.
For the first time, the party didn't just see a fight. They saw a glimmer of hope falling from the sky.