CHAPTER 1197: MAGIC AND MAYHEM.

The molten field stretched endlessly under a bruised red sky. The air quaked with every breath the two took, as if even the atmosphere feared collapsing under their combined killing intent. Cain’s boots sank an inch into the scorched ground as he straightened, smoke rolling off his armor in lazy coils. His eyes locked on Nebula, who was now missing more metal than flesh.

The bastard was still standing.

Cain’s jaw tightened. "You really don’t die easy."

Nebula exhaled, his breath coming out as black vapor. "You sound almost impressed." He raised a hand, fingers trembling but still steady enough to summon another cloud of blades. Thousands of them. Each one cracked, scorched, and uneven—but they still floated, drawn to his will like desperate ghosts refusing to fade.

Cain cracked his neck. "Then let’s finish it properly."

He tossed the {Golden Tyrant} aside—the weapon thudded into the dirt, drained of light—and reached for {Eidwyrm}. The blade hissed as it left its sheath, pulsing faintly with residual Ki. It wasn’t perfect, but it was still alive enough to kill.

Nebula tilted his head. "So you’re going back to basics."

Cain didn’t answer. He sprinted forward, body moving faster than his shadow. The impact of his steps tore shallow craters into the ground. Nebula’s blades shot toward him all at once—spiraling, whirling, darting like a metallic swarm—but Cain slipped between them, every motion sharp and minimal.

The first blade grazed his shoulder; the second nicked his cheek; the third was caught and shattered by {Eidwyrm}. The rest he let scrape off his armor as he closed the gap.

Nebula switched again—he blinked, vanished, reappeared behind Cain, swinging a condensed mass of energy. The edge caught Cain’s side, carving through the plating and drawing a spurt of blood. Cain spun with the momentum, backhanding {Eidwyrm} across Nebula’s ribs. Sparks flew; both staggered.

They clashed again, and again—steel on steel, flesh against energy, sparks burning into the night. Every hit sounded like thunder trapped in a cage.

A missed swing from Nebula cut a ridge into the ground fifty meters deep. A counterstrike from Cain sheared a nearby hill in half. Each exchange twisted the landscape further, until the world around them looked like a broken forge—the earth red-hot, the sky glowing dimly with the reflected blaze.

Nebula grinned even as he bled. "You’re better than I thought."

Cain smirked. "You’re slower than you look."

They lunged again, fists and blades blurring into a haze of violence.

Nebula ducked under a swing, his hand snapping forward, stabbing toward Cain’s throat. Cain caught the wrist, twisted, drove his knee up into Nebula’s stomach, and flung him backward. The impact shook the ground.

Nebula rose half a second later, blood dripping from his mouth. His blades converged around him like wings of metal—hundreds spinning into a vortex, reflecting the hellish glow of the battlefield. Cain’s stance shifted lower, his Ki flaring through the cracks in his armor.

Both moved at once.

The explosion that followed didn’t sound like thunder—it sounded like a dying god exhaling. The sky split open, clouds burning away in streaks of gold and crimson. The molten ground cracked and bled rivers of fire.

When the light dimmed, both warriors stood again—still breathing, still ready to destroy each other.

Cain wiped blood from his face. "Guess we’re not done yet."

Nebula smirked through split lips. "We never were."

The wind carried the scent of ash between them as they prepared for the next storm. Neither looked human anymore. Both had crossed that line long ago.

And the world itself began to bend beneath their battle once more.

Cain and Nebula’s clash ripped through the shattered field like twin storms colliding. Every exchange now carried more than violence—it was a dialogue of exhaustion, defiance, and unrelenting will. The air was thick with smoke and shrapnel; the ground cracked beneath the pressure of their footwork. Every impact left the world trembling like it couldn’t bear to witness what came next.

Nebula blurred out of sight again, appearing high above, his form slicing the air into glowing arcs. The blades swirling around him bent and spiraled, fusing into a circular torrent that resembled a rotating halo of steel. He swung his arm downward, and the entire halo fell like judgment.

Cain thrust {Eidwyrm} upward. The crimson blade shrieked against the descending mass, sparks and molten fragments bursting from the collision. The sheer pressure forced him to his knees, boots digging trenches through the charred mud. When the steel storm broke apart, Cain lunged out of it like a cannon shell, blood splattering from reopened wounds.

He reached Nebula before the man could blink, slamming his fist across his jaw. The impact created a shockwave that shattered the stone below. For the first time, Nebula’s grin faltered—then twisted into something sharper. He spun on his heel, one blade reforming mid-air into a whip-like edge that caught Cain across the chest. The slice carved deep, throwing him back.

Cain hit the ground, skidding through rubble, the metallic taste of his own blood mixing with rain. His breath came out in heavy, uneven pulls. His gun—the {Golden Tyrant}—was already half-melted from overuse, its runes flickering weakly. He tossed it aside and raised {Eidwyrm} again.

"Your body’s breaking," Nebula said, voice echoing with mock concern. "How much longer can you keep forcing it?"

Cain spat blood into the dirt. "Long enough to end you."

Nebula laughed. "You sound like every corpse I’ve ever made."

The words barely left his mouth before Cain moved. His wings snapped open, sending him hurtling forward at inhuman speed. The impact of their blades meeting again split the rain into sheets that evaporated in midair. Each strike now carried intent—less flair, more precision. Cain wasn’t trying to overpower him anymore. He was reading him.

Nebula realized too late. Every teleport, every flicker of his blade field—it was being traced. Cain wasn’t chasing his movements, he was predicting them. He anticipated the next shift in coordinates and struck through it, catching Nebula mid-switch.