[A/N: I tried to experimenting with POV's in this chapter, might feel awkward to read, but idk how it turned out, anyway, just wanted to say that.]

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Just as the violet-haired attendant shifted his stance, ready to counter Reynold's charge, an odd emptiness brushed his senses.

Vearos was gone.

His pupils shrank to pinpoints.

"A domain…?" he whispered. "From that elf?"

There was no time to dwell on it.

Reynold was already in front of him.

Wary, he thrust out his palm, fingers curling as if crushing an unseen sphere. A dense wave of force blasted outward, heavy enough to flatten steel.

Reynold mirrored him. His own hand tightened into a claw-like arc.

BOOOOM!

The space between them warped violently. Two invisible forces collided, silent, yet loud enough to shake the hall with a pressure that felt like thunder held hostage.

His expression shifted for the first time.

Something pressed down on him, a weight so immense it felt like a mountain settling on his shoulders, trying to grind his bones into the marble floor.

"This pressure…"

His defensive shell reacted instantly.

Layers upon layers of invisible barriers bloomed around him like overlapping petals of air, spreading the burden just enough to keep him upright.

CRACK!

The staircase rang with the sound of shattering glass, as Reynold cut through the pressure.

"Did you mimic my technique?" He asked.

Reynold gave no answer. His fingers only tightened around the sword.

The black flames creeping up the blade flickered like hungry spirits tasting the air.

"So you're finally serious." He said.

Reynold didn't speak. His eyes remained calm and the dark aura wrapped around the sword swelled, thickening like storm clouds gathering before lightning falls.

Then, Reynold moved first.

With a sharp exhale, Reynold hurled the flame-shrouded sword straight at him.

The weapon tore through the air like a comet, its dark fire bending the space around it and leaving a scorching trail.

He froze for half a heartbeat, eyes widening.

He threw it?

Heat slammed into his senses like a furnace door swinging open. He responded instantly, flooding his energy outward.

A powerful wall of force unfurled before him, trying to shove the flaming blade off course before it reached him.

But just as the sword neared its target, the dark fire around it vanished, snuffed out instantly, as if someone had pinched the flame of a candle.

The blade's speed collapsed. Its deadly momentum evaporated.

It fluttered toward him like a harmless, weightless scrap of metal.

It's a distraction?! His pupils shrank. Where?

A whisper of wind brushed his ear.

Reynold was already there.

He appeared at the man's flank like a shadow stepping out of the air itself, sword in hand.

The blade swept in a perfect arc toward the neck, silent and clean, the kind of strike meant to take a life in a single motion.

Seeing the blade coming for his neck, he didn't think.

His instincts took over. He unleashed everything.

All of his spirit force surged outward, layering thick rings of translucent energy around his throat, his strongest barrier condensed to protect the single most vital point.

The impact came a heartbeat later.

CRAAACK!!

The staircase trembled.

The defensive rings fractured instantly, lines spreading like webbed frost before exploding outward in shattered shards of spiritual light.

Reynold's blade touched his skin.

A shockwave followed, ripping across the hall and hurling him backward. His body skidding several paces before he dug his heels into the marble to halt the momentum.

Then he felt a warm trickle crawling down the side of his neck.

His fingers brushed the spot. Blood smeared across them.

His eyes widened.

He had almost been beheaded.

Across from him, Reynold straightened from the follow-through, expression cold and steady, as if he had expected nothing else.

Dark flames curled around the sword once more.

"You nearly took my head." He said, rubbing the thin line across his neck.

Reynold lifted his blade.

The flames flickered, gathering at the tip like a drawn breath.

"Don't worry." Reynold said. "Next time, I won't miss."

Hearing this, his expression sank into a deep scowl. "That was your last chance."

Reynold moved before the echo faded.

He shot forward, dark fire trailing behind him in a streak that tore the air apart. The sword in his hand ignited again, black flames swirling violently along its length.

Then, without hesitation, he hurled it again

A low, mocking snort slipped from the attendant's lips as he spread both arms wide. "Did you truly think the same little trick would work twice?"

He ignored the flying sword without even glancing at it. His focus locked onto Reynold instead. Both palms pressed forward, fingers curling as if grasping an invisible sphere.

The world tightened.

Pressure crashed inward from every direction, compressing the space around Reynold until the very air compressed.

Cracks spidered across the stone under his feet as his charge halted mid-motion, his muscles locking under the immense weight that threatened to grind his bones to dust.

The force built higher and higher, until it felt ready to crush him into the floor.

Then a sharp, crisp sound tore through the suffocating tension.

CRACK.

The attendant's eyes twitched. Something had broken.

He turned his head slightly, and froze.

The sword he had dismissed earlier continued drifting through the air… except now it was no longer harmless.

It had pierced one of his outer barriers with ease, the fractured remnants of the shield scattering like broken glass.

His pupils constricted in disbelief.

What?

The weapon suddenly surged forward with unnatural speed, as if reality itself bent in its favor.

One after another, his defensive layers shattered smoothly, each rupture ringing like a bell tolling his doom.

The blade did not slow; it tore through his protections like a heated knife sliding through softened wax.

Before he could reinforce the next layer, a flash of cold light swept across his vision.

A burst of pain exploded from his shoulder.

For a heartbeat the world blurred. Hot blood sprayed across the steps, splattering the golden stairs.

His right arm spun through the air, severed cleanly at the joint.

Staggering back, he clutched the gushing stump, struggling to comprehend what had just happened.

How…?

How did that blade slip through all of his barriers?

Then he saw it clearly at last.

The sword glowed faintly, ancient runes pulsing beneath the dark flames.

"An artifact sword…" he whispered, horror mixing with rage. "You were hiding this."

No wonder his barrier had collapsed. Only true artifacts could slice through his layered defenses as if they were fragile scraps of paper.

But if that was the case, then why had Reynold opened the fight with a normal blade? Why pretend he carried no artifacts at all?

The answer struck him like a hammer.

He had been misled from the beginning, tricked into lowering his guard so the artifact could strike freely.

He clenched his teeth, fury boiling through him. He had to kill this man before everything spiraled out of control.

He jerked his gaze forward, but the crushing field around Reynold was empty.

A chill crawled up the nape of his neck.

Something moved at the edge of his vision.

Reynold's figure appeared beside him, emerging from the distorted air like a phantom walking out of a different world. Another sword, its shape eerily similar to the artifact that severed his arm, descended toward him in a fluid arc.

Panic shot through him.

Another artifacts? That one has to be a fake. It must be!

His mind spun frantically. If it really turned out to be artifact, at this distance, he couldn't dodge or block.

He had only one route left, his final trump card, the ultimate technique.

[Do—main—?]

He never completed the last syllable.

A cold line swept across his throat.

For a heartbeat, time froze.

His vision turned weightless.

The world rotated slowly as his head separated from his body, drifting above the staircase. His eyes fixed on the sight below, his own torso still standing rigid.

Huh…?

Reynold's swing had not reached him. So how? His confused thought barely formed before his gaze snapped upward.

There, floating just an arm's length behind him, hovered the artifact sword. The same blade that had severed his arm earlier now hummed softly.

It was this sword, not Reynold's swing, that had carved through his neck while he'd been focused on the wrong threat.

His head hit the floor with a dull thud, yet his body did not collapse.

Dark essence surged violently through his flesh, twisting muscle and bone back into shape.

Tendrils of energy stretched from the torso like living roots, snaring the severed head and dragging it upward.

He reformed as quickly as he was cut.

But that brief moment, one heartbeat of vulnerability, was all Reynold needed.

He arrived beside the half-reformed body in a streak of black flame.

His arm was scorched and cracked like burnt earth, but the dark fire around his palm coiled hungrily.

Reynold seized the man's body.

The attendant's eyes widened in pure terror. He tried to move, to summon his power, but his limbs disobeyed. A petrifying numbness surged through him.

Crack

A thin obsidian layer began spreading from Reynold's fingers, crawling across the man's cheek, then his jaw, then racing down his neck. The layer hardened instantly, turning muscle and bone into black stone.

Within seconds, the violet-haired attendant froze completely, turned into a statue of pitch-black stone, a permanent monument to his final fear.

There was no breath. No aura. No flicker of will.

Reynold let out a long, steady exhale. The flames on his arm dimmed, revealing scorched skin that slowly healed itself together, glowing faintly as if embers of some inner vitality were stitching him back to life.

His relief lasted barely a blink.

A violent tremor ripped through the ruin.

BOOOOM!

The swirling sphere of miasma above the stairway burst open like a rotten fruit.

A wave of corrupted force blasted outward, bending space and kicking up shards of shattered stone.

A lone figure flung out of the rupture, spinning like a broken doll before crashing brutally onto the steps.

Reynold stiffened.

The elder tumbled across the stone, leaving streaks of blood. One arm was missing. His remaining sleeve was soaked in crimson. His aura wavered, flickering like a dying candle.

Just then, his instincts exploded in warning. A crushing sense of danger touched his spine, sharp enough to freeze his breath.

His fingers moved toward his sword automatically, pure reflex.

But before he could draw it, a whisper slid through the air.

[{Desolation}]

The single word echoed through the chamber like a divine decree.

Time itself appeared to halt. Everything came to still.

In that unnatural stillness, a woman stepped forward, her presence as quiet as moonlight falling upon a dead world.

Her form shimmered at the edge of vision, as though she had simply walked out from a different thread of time.

Silica.

Her long hair drifted in the air as if the world itself had forgotten gravity. Her face was unchanged, still the sister he knew, but her eyes… her eyes were wrong.

They were deep and empty, like two windows opening into a starless void.

A gaze that no longer belonged to anything human now stared at him from Silica's familiar features.

Seeing her, his chest tightened, and his hand shook as he struggled to reach for the sword at his hip.

He had to move. He had to fight.

He had to…

"Brother."

Her soft voice struck him harder than any blow.

One word, spoken in her old tone, warm and gentle, shattered every ounce of strength holding him together.

His fingers twitched, then slackened. The fierce determination in his heart wavered, washed away like sand beneath a wave.

He could not cut down his own sister's body.

Before he could force his will back into place, Silica was already beside him, closer than a heartbeat.

Her hand touched his chest with a feather-light grace, almost like a sister smoothing the wrinkles of his robe.

[{Fall}]

The whisper wasn't loud, it didn't have to be.

It sank into him, seeped through his bones, wrapped around his thoughts like a warm blanket dragging him into sleep.

Reynold's vision dimmed at the edges. His legs lost their strength. His arms fell to his sides.

The world tilted as his consciousness dissolved into darkness.

And he collapsed onto the cold stone steps with a dull, lifeless thud.