The air around him warped.

It wasn't just a trick of the eyes—Luca felt it in his bones, the way space itself seemed to stretch and twist, the horizon bending like molten glass. His gut clenched, sweat prickling down his back despite the cold. Every hair on his arms stood on end.

Spatial… expansion?

His pulse hammered, each beat loud in his ears. What the hell is going on? How did someone at the Spatial Expansion stage end up here? That kind of power shouldn't even be anywhere near this battlefield.

From beyond the distortion, laughter slithered through the smoke.

"HAHAHAHAHAHA… Jiejiejiejieie…" The sound was wet, jagged, and wrong, like bones scraping together. "You think you can defeat me with such meager strength?"

The cultist's head tilted at an unnatural angle, eyes locking on Celestia. His lips curled back, tongue wetting them slowly as if savoring the sight.

"Jijisjijsi… such a beautiful woman…"

Celestia's spine straightened, shoulders squaring, her grip on a nearby rod tightening until her knuckles whitened.

"You devil bastard—don't even think of coming towards me."

He threw his head back and cackled, neck muscles straining, the sound scraping across the battlefield like claws on glass.

"Jjiijijiejieji…"

And he kept walking—slow, deliberate steps, boots grinding into the dirt, his twisted expression deepening with every pace.

A piercing screech split the air.

The Vermillion Phoenix—scorched feathers ragged and charred—forced itself upright, shaking ash from its wings. Its molten eyes burned with fury, and with a single, powerful beat of its wings, it lunged. The ground beneath its talons exploded in a shower of dirt and embers.

The cultist met it head-on. His hands moved in blurs, each strike leaving shimmering distortions in the air. One warped slash ripped a chunk of flame clean from the phoenix's wing, scattering sparks like bleeding light. The phoenix retaliated, sweeping its wings in an arc of molten fire that forced him to twist space itself, bending the attack around his body like water flowing past a rock.

Luca stirred, coughing violently, blood streaking down his chin. He dragged in a ragged breath, bracing a hand against the ground as he forced himself up. Every step toward Celestia sent knives of pain through his ribs, but he closed the distance anyway.

"Can we run?" he rasped, voice raw.

Her gaze didn't waver from the fight. "We can… but what about the people behind us?"

Luca's jaw flexed, muscles working as if to chew through the frustration burning in his chest. "Is there any way to defeat it?"

Her eyes flicked to him, grim. "Not unless you somehow break through two stages… or I regain my strength."

He clenched his fists so tightly his nails dug into his palms, warm blood beading there. "Take the phoenix and go. Get out of here."

"I'm not leaving."

His voice rose, the edge of desperation bleeding through the anger. "Do you want to die with me then?"

"I am not leaving. No matter what."

His brows furrowed, breath sharp. "Then what about the baby dragon?"

"Don't worry," she said, her tone iron despite the chaos, "if it comes to that, I'll think of something else. But I am not leaving."

For a heartbeat, Luca's glare faltered—just enough for the strain in his eyes to show—before his expression steeled again. "Suit yourself then."

Ahead, the phoenix shrieked in defiance—but its cry was cut short as the cultist's warped strike smashed into its flank, flinging it across the ground in a violent tumble of fire and dirt.

Luca stepped forward, sabers in hand, his battered body screaming in protest. Each breath came sharp and shallow, but he pushed through, planting his feet against the invisible pressure of the warped air. His knuckles whitened around his hilts.

And then he moved toward the fight.

The cultist's grin widened the moment Luca closed in, as if he could smell the weakness in his opponent's stance.

A hand lashed out—not fast, but wrong, the space between them stretching like taffy—yet to Luca it was still too quick. He triggered his time-slowing ability, the world jerking into syrupy motion. His breath felt like it dragged through molasses, every heartbeat a heavy thud.

He twisted sideways, the warped strike skimming past his ribs by inches. Even slowed, the force of the air alone felt like it could tear him apart.

The cultist's distorted laughter bent unnaturally through the thickened time. Jijijijijiiieee… run, little rat.

Luca's boots dug trenches into the dirt as he threw himself clear, sabers flashing up to intercept the next attack. The impact rattled his bones, sparks bursting where warped space kissed steel. His arms screamed with the effort, the vibration humming deep into his chest.

Shit… he thought, ducking under a tearing strike that left a ripple in the air itself. How am I supposed to defeat this?

A kick—warped into a half-second of impossible reach—caught him in the side. Pain exploded through his ribs. He felt the ground vanish beneath him, the sky tipping and spinning as he slammed into the side of a collapsed tent. His lungs seized, refusing to draw air for a heartbeat that felt like forever.

He spat blood, forcing himself upright even as his vision swam. I don't want to die yet… I can't let Her Majesty… and the baby dragon… die here.

The cultist was already on him, each step making the space between them fold. Luca snapped his ability on again, the strain burning behind his eyes, slowing the incoming strike just enough to roll clear.

His sabers lashed out in a cross slash—fast, desperate, aiming for the neck—but the cultist's hand twisted, and space itself bent the blades away as if rejecting them.

"If only…" Luca's breath tore from his throat in ragged gasps as he backpedaled, deflecting another warped blow that numbed his arms to the elbows. If only I was Spatial Expansion…

Another strike clipped his shoulder, sending a hot wave of agony down his arm. His grip almost faltered.

If only I knew how to control Moonslayer…

He staggered, the pressure of the cultist's presence crushing down on him like a living weight. His time-slowing flared again, the edges of his vision darkening from the strain, but still—he moved, he dodged, he refused to fall.

Celestia's voice, sharp and urgent, cut through the chaos somewhere behind him, but Luca couldn't spare a glance. The next hit was already coming, and this one felt like it could end him.

Luca's body ached in every joint, each breath burning like fire in his chest. His time-slowing ability flickered, threatening to sputter out completely under the relentless pressure of the Spatial Expansion cultist. Every strike felt like it could tear him apart.

Damn it… I can't keep this up… I'll break before he does.

The cultist's warped form lunged, his blade carving the air in jagged arcs that bent reality itself. Luca's sabers caught one blow, then another, but his footing faltered, boots grinding furrows in the dirt.

Then—something clicked in his mind.

Wait… Spatial Expansion… that's right! His thoughts sharpened even as he staggered backward. Spatial Expansion expands the dantian to hold more aura, allowing higher output…

Another strike narrowly missed his head, slicing through a nearby tent pole like it was mist.

What if… I can expand my meridians instead? Or… expand something else—not matter, but space itself…

The idea pulsed in his mind even as pain racked his body.

How?

He dodged another warped slash, rolling to his feet.

Aura—that's right… aura carries the characteristics of its element. If I can use the space-element aura… and force it to flow through my meridians…

It's too dangerous, but I will die anyway if I don't do this.

His stance shifted. His sabers lowered slightly—not in surrender, but in focus. He stopped pressing attacks, only dodging and weaving. The cultist's grin stretched wide, laughter spilling out like poison.

"Jijijijijijijieeee… giving up, little rat?"

The taunting became cruelty, every attack now a playful feint or a backhanded smack meant to humiliate. It worked in Luca's favor.

Celestia, bleeding but still upright, watched with tense eyes. Confusion flickered across her face, but she didn't intervene—her jaw tightened as if she chose to believe in him.

Inside Luca's body, something shifted. He guided threads of space-element aura into his meridians. At first, it burned—a sharp, alien pain—but then it stretched, bent, expanded. A strange pressure swelled within him, not in matter, but in space itself.

The cultist's mocking step faltered when Luca's eyes snapped open. A smile—half grim, half wild—spread across his bloodied face. He pushed off, creating distance, planting his feet firmly.

The cultist sneered. "Trying to run, brat?"

Luca said nothing. He raised both sabers—black in his left hand, white in his right. Space-element aura swirled between them, threads of light bending unnaturally. His stance steadied, his breathing slowed, and the world seemed to hold its breath.

"Moon…" His voice was low, almost reverent.

"Aura slash?" the cultist mocked. "Pathetic—"

"—Slayer."

Luca's sabers moved in a single, perfect arc. The air screamed as the slash cut through the warped space, the power tearing forward like a crescent of night and day entwined.

The cultist froze mid-laugh. The smile faltered. Then, without ceremony, his body split cleanly in two—black smoke bleeding from the wound—before collapsing to the ground.

Luca dropped to one knee, chest heaving, his arms trembling from the strain. Celestia's eyes widened in disbelief.

"H-How… is this possible?"

Before the moment could sink in, a low, chilling laughter slithered through the air.

"Jijijijijjijiji… ahahahahhahaha… look at that. Isn't it something Rolph uses?"

Both Luca and Celestia looked up.

Five figures stood silhouetted against the chaos—cultists draped in crimson and black, each radiating an aura heavier, darker, and far stronger than the one Luca had just slain. The ground itself seemed to recoil beneath their presence.

Luca's grip on his sabers tightened, but a cold pit opened in his stomach.

Are we destined to die today…?