CHAPTER 58: CHAPTER 58: THE ELEMENTAL STORM

The sky was scorched black.

Ash drifted like snow through the broken clouds, swirling between the two figures suspended in midair—one cloaked in decay, the other radiating quiet fury.

Cael hovered effortlessly above the shattered remains of the noble estate, the Staff of Whispering Nature in his left hand. The wind twisted around him, carrying sparks of elemental tension.

Across from him stood the necromancer.

Saphielle’s master.

Or what remained of him.

His body pulsed with necrotic magic—skin pale, robes torn, veins glowing with rotting green light. His eyes were hollow pits filled with hatred. Around him floated remnants of the dead: shattered skeletons with wings, distorted creatures stitched together by dark will, bone blades spinning in a circle of death.

The necromancer raised a hand.

A volley of bone shards fired toward Cael like a storm of daggers.

Cael’s eyes narrowed.

He didn’t move—he responded.

The air around him ignited.

With a flick of his staff, a torrent of fire spiraled outward in a perfect arc. The bone daggers melted mid-air, flames devouring every piece before they could even reach him. Then, before the ash had time to fall, Cael moved.

Lightning cracked.

He surged forward like a meteor, surrounded by streaks of white-hot lightning. The sheer force of his acceleration ripped the air apart as he closed the distance in a blink.

The necromancer raised a barrier—too late.

Cael struck.

The explosion lit the sky.

Flames roared behind him. The necromancer was blasted back, his form crashing through a levitating stone pillar before regaining control mid-air.

Cael floated still, eyes cold.

The necromancer didn’t scream—he hissed.

Dark energy pulsed from his core as he raised both hands, summoning new horrors from the ruined ground below. Dozens of corpses—guards, beasts, civilians—twitched violently, then rose, mouths open in silent agony. Some fused together mid-transformation, forming grotesque creatures dripping with rot and cursed mana.

The sky was no longer safe. Blasts of necrotic energy burst in erratic arcs, forcing Cael to descend.

He dropped swiftly, boots landing atop the cracked stone of what remained of a garden square.

Around him, the ground rumbled.

"Fine," he murmured. "Let’s root you out, then."

The staff pulsed—green and gold.

A heartbeat later, the earth split open beneath the undead horde. Thick, gnarled roots erupted upward, entangling limbs, snapping spines, dragging half-revived bodies into the soil. Vines wrapped around torsos and crushed skulls with slow, deliberate pressure.

The necromancer howled and sent a pulse of decay into the earth—but Cael had already moved.

He slammed the base of his staff against the ground—Aqua surged.

Torrents of water exploded from underground channels, flooding the paths and washing away crawling undead. Cael raised a hand, fingers twitching mid-air.

In an instant, the water froze.

Ice blossomed like glass across the battlefield—clean, sharp, and unyielding. Entire waves of undead were flash-frozen mid-step, their twisted forms locked in crystal prisons.

Cael walked forward slowly, staff trailing sparks behind him.

"Necromancy is predictable," he muttered.

The necromancer snarled as the last of his foot soldiers fell—frozen, torn apart, or swallowed by the earth itself. His body trembled, not with fear, but fury. He extended both arms, and the sky above Cael rippled.

A wave of black mist descended—silent, formless—and swallowed everything.

Cael raised his staff to counter, but the world had already shifted.

He was no longer in the garden square.

He stood in the middle of a wasteland, the sky bleeding red.

Before him: Noah, bleeding, broken, on his knees.

Behind him: the city in flames, women and children running, screaming.

And lying still at Cael’s feet...

Saphielle.

Her body lifeless. Her eyes open.

The necromancer’s voice echoed from everywhere and nowhere at once.

"This is what your resistance leads to. You’re not a savior. You’re just too slow to do anything."

Cael stood motionless for three seconds.

Then, he exhaled. Slowly.

"...Sloppy illusion," he muttered.

The image of Noah cracked.

So did the fires. The screams.

With a flick of his wrist, Cael triggered a mirrored pulse from his staff—pure Illusion magic, precise and silent.

The false reality shattered around him like broken glass, revealing the true battlefield once more.

The necromancer blinked—caught off guard.

Cael vanished.

Wind tore through the air as Cael reappeared above him, propelled by compressed air currents. His staff swung down in a precise arc, slicing through layers of necrotic shielding.

The enemy dropped.

Cael landed directly across from him, both feet solid on the fractured stone. With a single breath, he channeled his next element.

The pressure shifted.

The ground beneath the necromancer suddenly collapsed—his body dragged downward by invisible force.

Gravitational magic.

His limbs buckled, bones straining under increased weight. Even his floating minions dropped like stones, their bodies crushed upon impact.

Cael took a single step forward, voice steady.

"Your illusions are childish.’

Dust and debris swirled around them. The necromancer knelt under crushing gravitational force, his aura flickering, his body cracked and leaking black energy. Cael stood above him, the wind howling at his back, cloak torn but still standing tall.

But the necromancer wasn’t done.

He raised his hand and muttered something—low, guttural, in a language that clawed at the mind. Blood surged from his own mouth, forming glyphs in the air. His final spell was raw, primal, and burning with madness.

Dark tendrils shot toward Cael.

Cael didn’t step back.

Instead, he raised his staff skyward.

Light flared from the staff’s core—radiant and golden, blinding in the storm. A dome of shimmering energy enveloped him, burning away the tendrils as they approached.

Then—without hesitation—he extended his free hand.

Shadow burst from beneath his feet, forming into a dozen spears of pure darkness. They surged forward like snakes, wrapping around the light and piercing through the remnants of the necromancer’s protection.

Light and Shadow—together.

The necromancer screamed as both forces struck him at once, searing and swallowing, purging and corrupting. His body twisted, barely holding together.

But in a desperate act, he released a final blast—necrotic and wild—that struck Cael directly in the chest.

The explosion sent him crashing backward through broken pillars, debris raining down around him.

Smoke rose.

Cael didn’t move.

At the edge of the illusion, Saphielle watched the battle unfold, breath caught in her throat.

She stared at Cael’s motionless body... and then her eyes widened.

’He’s still alive...’

She could feel it. Somehow.

And then, her own voice slipped out—shaky, stunned.

’Is he insane...? How can he use more than four elements? How many has he used now...?’

A pause.

Her voice trembled.

’All of them!?’