CHAPTER 147: ZODIAC

The inner sanctum of the fortress was a cathedral of blasphemy. The walls were lined with glass tubes, each holding half-formed monsters suspended in green fluid. Arcs of unstable magic crackled between runes etched deep into the mountain’s heart. At the far end, an altar stood, carved with serpentine sigils — the mark of Ourouboros.

Azariah entered. His boots echoed softly against the bloodstained floor. Behind him, nothing but silence. Before him, the air warped.

A pressure unlike the previous commanders descended. The temperature shifted. The very air itself bent into whirling spirals, each breath slicing like a blade. The storm of Law of Wind filled the sanctum.

A tall figure stepped from the shadows.

His armor gleamed violet, etched with flowing runes. A massive greataxe rested across his shoulders, its edge howling with razor currents of wind. His long silver hair swayed unnaturally, caught in an invisible gale. His eyes were sharp, cruel — the eyes of a predator who had lived through centuries of war.

"You’ve made quite the mess," the man said, his voice calm but carrying across the ruined chamber like thunder over a plain.

"So much death... for one man."

Azariah stopped. Lightning danced quietly across his shoulders. His expression did not shift. "An Elder."

The man smiled faintly. "You know what I am. Then you should also know your life ends here."

The wind surged. Debris lifted into the air, shredded to dust before hitting the floor. Glass tubes shattered, spilling malformed abominations that were immediately ripped apart by the gale.

"Azariah Raizen," the Elder continued, resting the axe down with a thundering impact that cracked the floor.

"Second strongest knight of the Empire. A Zodiac. I’ve always wondered how far that title extends. Today, I will see it with my own eyes."

Azariah’s gaze flickered — not with fear, but with the faintest irritation. Slowly, he reached for his side... then stopped. His hand brushed the hilt of his sheathed blade, but did not draw it.

"I don’t need my sword for you," he said, voice devoid of arrogance — merely fact.

Instead, he extended his hand outward. Black lightning surged, condensing in a violent storm. Sparks erupted, the air burning, and in seconds, the storm coalesced into shape.

A blade.

Long, elegant, forged not of steel but pure crackling darkness. The lightning sword hummed with destructive power, arcs writhing along its length.

The Elder’s eyes narrowed. "A conjured weapon? Against me?"

Azariah raised the blade casually, resting it against his shoulder. "It is enough."

The Elder moved first.

In a blink, his massive frame vanished, replaced by the roar of a cyclone. The axe descended from above like the fall of a mountain, its edge wrapped in a cutting gale that split the sanctum from ceiling to floor.

Azariah raised his lightning sword.

The impact shook the fortress. Stone shattered, shockwaves tore outward, tubes exploded, and the entire sanctum quaked.

But Azariah had not moved an inch. His conjured blade held the axe in place. Black lightning and screaming wind clashed, arcs ripping across the chamber.

The Elder snarled, twisting, unleashing a sweeping arc of compressed wind. The air screamed like a thousand blades.

Azariah stepped forward. His black lightning erupted outward, splitting the cyclone in half. One slash of his conjured blade, and the storm collapsed into harmless air.

The Elder leapt back, eyes glinting with rare excitement. "Good... Very good. It seems the rumors didn’t lie."

The air twisted. He spun his axe, and dozens of wind crescents materialized, each large enough to cleave boulders in two. They converged from every angle, a storm of razors meant to shred even the strongest knight.

Azariah exhaled slowly. Then he moved.

His blade swept once — a black arc of lightning expanded outward, erasing the crescents like ink in fire.

The Elder’s pupils contracted. He hadn’t just cut the wind; he had erased it.

"Impossible..."

But Azariah didn’t give him time to think. His body flickered. One instant, he stood still; the next, he was upon the Elder, blade raised.

The Elder roared, instincts honed by centuries forcing him to bring his axe up in time. The clash detonated again, black lightning surging against screaming wind. Sparks blinded the chamber. Walls cracked and collapsed. The floor caved in, dropping them both into the deeper levels of the lair.

They landed in a cavern where molten rivers of lava glowed beneath fractured stone. Energy from the clash tore through the environment, turning the battlefield into chaos.

The Elder grinned savagely, axe resting on his shoulder.

"You’ve forced me to fight seriously. Rejoice, Azariah Raizen — few have ever reached this point."

Wind howled, condensing tighter and tighter, until it formed a visible armor around the Elder. His body became a living storm, each movement laced with slicing gales.

Azariah simply raised his conjured blade. Black lightning screamed in response, forming arcs that danced across the cavern.

They collided.

The axe spun, cleaving lava rivers apart, the wind freezing molten rock into dust. Azariah’s sword met it, black lightning devouring all in its path. Every clash destroyed chunks of the cavern, ceiling collapsing, rivers boiling.

The Elder swung his axe downward, unleashing a tornado that ripped the entire cavern apart.

Azariah slashed upward. A pillar of black lightning surged into the storm. The tornado collapsed in an instant, detonating outward like a dying star.

Both figures stood amidst the chaos, neither falling, neither yielding.

The Elder roared, veins bulging, his armor of wind tightening. "You will fall, Zodiac! Even if you’re Raizen blood, even if you wield black lightning itself — I’ll cut you down!"

He raised his axe high, wind coalescing into a single, monumental strike. The gale screamed, forming a crescent large enough to split the mountain in half.

Azariah’s eyes narrowed.

Black lightning surged through his conjured blade. His cloak snapped violently, sparks scattering.

Then he moved.

One slash.

The cavern fell silent.

The Elder’s colossal strike shattered, the gale consumed by darkness. His armor cracked, sparks erupting across his body. His axe quivered in his grip.

The lightning sword pressed against his throat.

For a moment, only silence. The Elder’s breath shook. His body trembled.

Azariah’s voice was quiet, absolute. "You were never worth my blade."

The Elder’s eyes widened — not with fear, but with rage, humiliation, disbelief. And then the sword dissolved. The lightning dispersed, vanishing into sparks.

Azariah turned, cloak swaying.

The Elder fell to his knees, his axe clattering to the stone. He was alive — barely. His Law had been broken, his pride shattered.

Azariah walked toward the deeper darkness of the lair, his footsteps echoing like thunder fading into distance.

The storm did not end.

It only waited.