Veins of molten energy pulsed across Azrikal’s body as he shifted his stance, his glowing scars flickering like cracks in a volcanic abyss.

  Losing control when he first confronted the shard—that had been unexpected. But this? This was different.

  The boy in front of him was nothing more than prey. Weak. Fragile. And Azrikal intended to enjoy every second of this hunt.

  For a moment, he stood still. Calculating.

  Then, he moved.

  A flicker—no, a blur of motion.

  David saw it, his mind processed it, but his body failed to keep up. He had witnessed this exact movement before, the one that had left the Riftwalker captain in ruins.

  Azrikal appeared before him, his molten veins igniting with a surge of blistering heat. With a single strike, the force of his blow sent David hurtling backward, slamming into the frozen ground with a sickening crunch.

  A sharp gasp escaped David’s lips as he coughed up blood. His ribs ached, his body shuddering from the impact.

  STATUS

  HP : ????? 12?

  DEFENSE : ????? 13?

  MANA : ????? 1??

  Even with the system's defense, the damage was real, painfully real. He had survived worse, but not by much.

  Across the battlefield, Zephiron watched in silence, his piercing gaze locked onto David. Something about this didn’t add up.

  He had been certain—David knew something about the shard. Yet his strength was… disappointing. How could someone aware of its existence be so weak?

  Was he acting? Pretending?

  Zephiron narrowed his eyes, searching for an answer.

  But Azrikal wasn’t about to give David time to recover.

  Molten energy rippled through his limbs as he surged forward again, closing the distance in an instant.

  David gritted his teeth.

  Not this time.

  A soft glow pulsed from his wounds, threads of warm, golden light weaving through his torn flesh. The pain dulled, his body stitching itself back together in mere seconds. He clenched his fists, the light shifting—no longer just for healing.

  STATUS

  HP : ????? 133

  DEFENSE : ????? 13?

  MANA : ????? 1??

  Darkness also stirred within him.

  Azrikal’s molten eyes gleamed as he closed in. “Good… Let’s see if you can make this fun.”

  David moved.

  A shadow flickered beneath him as he twisted his body mid-air, avoiding the molten fist that would have shattered his skull. Dark tendrils curled around his arms, blending seamlessly with the golden glow. His power—light and darkness—merged.

  Azrikal grinned. “Ah, there you are.”

  David didn’t waste time. He lashed out, his hand coated in searing dark energy, striking toward Azrikal’s side. The molten warrior blocked with his forearm, the impact sending shockwaves through the frozen battlefield.

  For a split second, David thought he would get through, that his strike had weight.

  But it wasn’t enough. Azrikal's arm was much stronger than he thought.

  With monstrous strength, he drove his knee into David’s stomach, sending him skidding across the icy ground.

  David coughed, struggling to stay on his feet. His wounds stitched themselves again, but the toll was beginning to show. He needed a new approach.

  STATUS

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  HP : ????? ??

  DEFENSE : ????? ??

  MANA : ????? 1?3

  Azrikal rolled his shoulders. “Interesting. That power of yours—it’s trying to be something it’s not. Light and dark? You’re stuck between them, boy. That hesitation is why you’ll lose.”

  David wiped the blood from his lip. His body still ached, but the pain no longer dictated his movements. His energy surged again, light flickering alongside shadow.

  He met Azrikal’s gaze.

  And for the first time—he smiled.

  “You talk too much.”

  Azrikal let out a short laugh. “Then shut me up.”

  David’s aura exploded, light and darkness intertwining as he prepared himself.

  The contrast was breathtaking, a paradox of creation and destruction.

  The healing light wrapped around his wounds, knitting flesh together, but every flicker of his darkness threatened to unravel it.

  This balance—this unrefined clash of elements—was new to him, and it was devouring his mana at an alarming rate. Yet, if it worked, the cost would be worth it.

  Azrikal stood tall, his molten veins pulsing, radiating searing heat. He observed David’s struggle with amused detachment, like a beast toying with its prey.

  Zephiron, meanwhile, remained unmoved. His piercing gaze dissected every moment, every flicker of light and shadow. He had seen many warriors fall. But this fight—this strange collision of forces—had his attention.

  “Your captain put up more of a fight,” Zephiron remarked coolly from a distance, his gaze drifting to the shattered ice where the man's broken figure lay. “Now, he’s nothing but a discarded relic. I had expected more from you, at the very least.”

  David’s gaze flicked toward the captain’s unmoving form. A part of him knew the man wouldn't last long without help. But that same part whispered an undeniable truth—he wouldn't last long either.

  He turned his focus back to Azrikal, wondering how he could possibly wound that beast.

  He retaliated once more, his hand crackling with shifting energy—a fusion of golden light and writhing shadow. The power lashed out, striking Azrikal’s side. The impact sent vibrations through David’s arm, yet something was wrong.

  The hit had connected, and once again, it had done nothing.

  Azrikal barely reacted.

  Instead, he laughed.

  A deep, guttural sound that sent unease crawling up David’s spine.

  “Now I see,” Azrikal murmured. “You think power is about balance? A little light, a little dark, and somehow you’ll be something greater?”

  His eyes gleamed.

  “Pathetic. True power isn’t balanced—it’s absolute.”

  But David wasn't about to give up. He observed Azrikal some more, searching for an opening—a weakness, anything that could level the odds.

  His breathing steadied. Every attack, every movement—Azrikal’s battle-worn scars, the way he carried himself—it all clicked into place like a puzzle.

  Then an idea struck him. Just as it did, a system window materialized before him, cutting through the chaos.

  ? ? ? SKILL ACTIVATED: STRATEGIC MIND ? ? ?

  ? ? ? EFFECTS ARE IN USE ? ? ?

  David lunged.

  Azrikal’s response was immediate. David ducked low, barely avoiding a blazing swipe that turned the air into a furnace.

  Dodge. Pivot. Redirect.

  The heat licked at his skin, but he didn’t falter.

  He reached out to Azrikal—no power in use, no attack in sight. For Azrikal, that was strange, until David screamed in his mind for the system to open the inventory.

  He brought out a blade, its icy edge hummed with sharpness. Without hesitation, he wreathed it in darkness and slashed.

  The blade met resistance—a spark of molten fury against frozen death. Ice and fire clashed in violent harmony, steam hissing as elements fought for dominance.

  Azrikal barely had time to react. The first strike skidded off his armor, but the second bit into flesh. Then another. And another. Not all landed cleanly, but the ones that did left their mark.

  David withdrew, breathing heavily.

  ? ? ? TACTICAL INSIGHT CONFIRMED ? ? ?

  ? ? ? STRATEGIC MIND UPGRADED ? LVL 2 ? ? ?

  Azrikal tilted his head, glancing at the wounds. Ice crystals clung to the edges of his cuts, and deeper still—David’s darkness ate away at the exposed tissue like a parasite.

  A low chuckle. “Now that… was unexpected.”

  David said nothing, still catching his breath.

  Azrikal flexed his fingers, his molten aura intensifying. A surge of volcanic heat washed over his body. The ice cracked. Melted. And the creeping darkness? Burned away like it was never there.

  Azrikal’s gaze lifted, amusement dancing in his molten eyes. "I won’t lie—clever. Using my own scars as a weakness? You almost made it work. And that sword… where did you get it?"

  David exhaled, wiping the blood from his lips. "Simple observation. Your battle-hardened body tells a story—you’ve fought things that left their mark. The rest… I figured out myself."

  Azrikal rolled his shoulders, the last remnants of frost melting away. "Don’t get cocky." The heat around him surged, the air itself distorting. "I wasn’t even being serious. And since you refuse to speak of the shard, I see no reason to prolong this."

  A sudden shift in his stance. A pulse of something overwhelming.

  Azrikal raised a hand, and the world ignited.

  A molten inferno erupted forth, consuming everything in its path. The ice beneath them vaporized, the air howled as fire and destruction swallowed the battlefield whole.

  The molten veins across Azrikal’s body flared like a dying star, and then— he struck.

  David roared, pushing every ounce of power he had into countering it. Light surged. Darkness writhed.

  But it was useless.

  The attack engulfed him.

  Agony. Fire. His body was ripped from the battlefield, sent crashing through layers of frozen terrain until he was nothing but a broken figure embedded in the ice.

  Blood painted the battlefield in cruel strokes. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

  Was he dead?

  This was the difference in their power—David had never stood a chance to begin with.

  Above, Azrikal exhaled, lowering his hand. “Hmph. That should do it.”

  Zephiron observed the frozen crater below, expression unreadable. “A shame. I expected more.”

  The battlefield fell silent.

  David was done.