CHAPTER 457: LEON VS ADEN [PART-2]

Leon VS Aden [Part-2]

Leon’s fingers closed into a fist, tense but controlled, and the air around them appeared to vibrate and recoil, as if reality itself was tightening. Aden’s wind blade shot forward, cutting the space in front of him, only to hit an unseen wall and disintegrate, shards fluttering like agitated spirits into thin air. The sharp tang of failure sliced through him, but Leon remained standing, hair flickering with the residual force, unshaken and untouched. His eyes glimmered faintly with gold, calm yet impossible to look away from. "You don’t believe," he murmured, voice steady but threaded with quiet menace, "but don’t worry. I’ll make you."

Then, with the faintest step forward, he vanished.

Aden’s instincts were screaming warning before his mind could even register it. He tried to raise his sword in desperation, to defend against what he perceived as an oncoming blow—but the impact slammed harder than anything he had ever known. Leon’s fist struck his blade, not with the metal ring of normal fighting, but with the strength of two mountains crashing into each other. The earth below them shattered, cracks spidering out in all directions, dust and rubble flung into the air like the remnants of a storm. The impact’s roar boomed through Aden’s chest, echoing in his bones.

Aden was sent flying backward, boots ripping gashes in the ground as he desperately tried to halt his flight. Each muscle in his body protested, arms shaking, hands going numb from the shock that coursed through his body. Burning pain writhed through his bones, and for a moment, amazement and disbelief knotted with the raw, burning fury in his chest. What is this child fashioned of? Fury ripped at him, but stronger was the reluctant respect that hissed through his mind.

Leon didn’t hesitate, didn’t stumble. He stepped once more with the movement of an animal, each movement smooth, calculated, economical. A twist of his form, a kick that sent the very air around him rippling and screaming, followed by a flash as flames swirled up his arm like liquid fire. The light etched his face in a brutal glow, and those yellow eyes fixed on Aden’s with a serenity that was cruel.

"Flame Rend."

The words fell from his lips like a sentence, stern and final. A beat behind, the world itself flared to life. His blade cut through the air, shaping a burning crescent that burst into being—a raging tempest of fire and light shredding across the courtyard. Blazing fingers reached out, a boiling sea that consumed the ground below, eating at the edges of walls and stones. The brilliance of the fire warped the air, white-hot shimmering as it charged forward, unfettered and wild.

Aden responded without hesitation, slamming his gauntlet down onto the ground. "Earth Wall!" The earth shook convulsively, rocks quivering and bursting into a dense wall that would have resisted anything. But the instant Leon’s conflagration hit, it dissolved like wax in the implacable sun, melting and shattering under the heat’s ferocity.

"Damn it—" Aden swore, leaping back. Behind him, the explosion boomed in a tide of burning heat, sweeping across the courtyard and lapping at his armor. Gold and crimson blazed wildly, coloring the night with fire and darkness. Smoke and the bitter smell of charred stone clung to the air, searing lungs and eyes alike.

Madness was rampant everywhere else. Leon’s friends clashed with Aden’s troops in furious battles of metal and sorcery. Fireflies flared with each impact, the night shattering with each collision as though the heavens themselves were splitting at the pressure of their might. Natasha lingered on the fringes, a shadow of intent determination. Her shield throbbed like a living thing, shattering spells with unyielding accuracy. Dark hair lashed at her face, salted sweat and ash but unflinching, her eyes.

In the haze of flame and darkness, Nova flowed like a ghost, flitting from shadows to shadows. Twin knives glinted emerald in the moon’s light as she flashed past and disappeared, leaving behind only silent destruction. Her art was dance, killing and beautiful, but even as the fight raged around them, it all seemed peripheral. The only storm was between Leon and Aden.

Aden sprang, teeth exposed, rage blazing in his eyes. His blade sliced the air, unleashing a green energy lariat that howled towards Leon. Golden eyes followed each step with frigid precision. Leon took measured steps, each precision-crafted dodge. His cloak fluttered in the firelight, a waltz of flames, but there was no melodrama to his motion—just cold, efficient purpose, refined over uncountable fights.

Aden struck again, his voice ripping from his throat as his sword bit through the air with brute power.

Leon countered without faltering.

Fist and steel clashed.

Will met magic.

The blow shuddered the earth beneath their feet, sparks scattering like shards of a broken sun. Heat and energy billowed outward, shattering stones and sending waves of power across the courtyard. They locked, golden and green, hunter and hunter, sizing, calculating, neither willing to yield an inch. Time stretched out, each second throbbing with tension and the naked rush of battle, until the impact grew beyond brute force—it became endurance, a war of wills.

The effect radiated like a shockwave across the courtyard, sending soldiers tumbling off their feet as a cloud of dust burst around them. For one stunned heartbeat all was engulfed by grit and din: armor crashing, hooves slithering, and the metal cacophony of blade striking blade boomed in their ears like thunder in the distance. Men struggled to their feet, coughing, eyes watered, attempting to find their bearings in a suddenly overturned battlefield.

Once the dust grew thin, the scene that presented itself seemed chiseled from iron and destiny. Leon stood amongst broken wood and twisted spears, his coat tattered at the shoulder, a red streak of blood running down his arm like a silent vow. He was slick with sweat and panting, but he wore the serenity of a man who had elected the tempest and would not be taken aback by its rage.

Across from him, Aden rested on the broken chestplate, the runes that would have glowed with constant light flickering like an exhausted lamp. The metal on his breast had cracked, hairline fissures radiating from where he’d been struck as if the armor itself had been betrayed. His cheeks were flushed, jaw clenched, a map of effort on his face, but his eyes burned with a stubborn pride.

"You’re good," Aden managed, each word ragged from effort, the sweat on his brow catching the light. He sounded almost impressed, and that made the admission bitter. "But