Zephyr's pursuit was suddenly hampered by the changing terrain. Beneath him, the forest floor transformed into a large and intricate magic circle.
In an instant, quicksand enveloped him, ensnaring him in its grip. As he struggled to escape, Zephyr's mana reserves dwindled with each attempt.
The tables had turned, and Zephyr found himself trapped by his own arrogance.
The audience in the hall gasped as the truth of Azrael's trap was revealed. The realization dawned on them that the battles preceding this moment had been a ruse — a brilliant act to undermine Zephyr's confidence.
"So it's all an act? To trap Zephyr into this," remarked the scouts, their shock palpable.
Zephyr was an agility-focused Magicia, relying on his speed and finesse for both offense and defense. To deal with such a magic user, one would need to neutralize his mobility.
Since a moving target was hard to put down, one need not only cut the run-away path of the target, they would have to disable his ability entirely, perhaps even inflicting a debilitating injury.
Zephyr's once-fluid movements were now sluggish, his foot gripped tightly by the quicksand.
The audience in the hall, expecting a captivating showdown, instead witnessed a scene of helplessness.
Beads of sweat mingled with sand on Zephyr's forehead. Zephyr's struggles intensified, his breathing labored as he grappled with the quicksand's relentless pull.
Desperation etched lines on his face as he struggled to muster the remnants of his mana. Panic flickered in his eyes, realization settling in—he was trapped, and his arrogance turned against him.
Azrael wasted no time. He lunged at Zephyr with unrelenting attacks that flowed seamlessly—swings, thrusts, feints, and strikes—each landing with calculated precision.
Zephyr found himself attacked from every angle, a storm of blows that tested his defenses to their limit.
Bound by the constraints of his limited movement, Zephyr could only muster a defense against Azrael's ferocious assault.
However, this defensive stance proved feeble in the face of Azrael's relentless barrage, and as the seconds wore on, wounds began to litter Zephyr's body, marking the toll of his helpless defense.
In an inspired moment, a memory of Azrael's earlier tactics ignited within Zephyr's mind.
Drawing from that reservoir of knowledge, he mirrored Azrael's technique, conjuring a formidable barrier of wind to shield himself from the onslaught.
The barrier deflected numerous blows that had initially found their mark, rendering Azrael's attack inefficient.
Azrael, despite his proficiency in wind magic, he found himself unable to dismantle Zephyr's barrier, their mismatched levels of expertise in the element creating a big gap.
Ultimately, Zephyr's mastery of wind magic overshadowed Azrael's skill, a testament to Zephyr's specialization in the Aero Swiftblade class — an aspect that didn't escape everyone's perception.
"Ah, Zephyr has adapted Azrael's technique for defense, demonstrating remarkable instincts. But, unfortunately, he's in the losing position," remarked one of the audience.
Curious at the trap, Yerin shifted her gaze toward her brother and asked, "Oppa, what's making this trap so incredibly strong?"
Hyunwoo's response was measured, his gaze analytical. "The strength comes from he's skillful combination of mana weave control, and the intricate magic circle to amplify the effect of the technique. This guy truly has a remarkable understanding of these methods."
Azrael's attack wasn't effective, but in the end, Zephyr too can't move from his position since he got trapped by the quicksand. He can't only defend.
Sensing a temporary advantage, Azrael withdrew, placing a discernible distance between them.
Zephyr's breaths came in labored gasps, a consequence of his dual efforts in fending off Azrael's attacks and expending a substantial amount of mana to maintain the barrier.
Within the protective embrace of the wind barrier, Zephyr's gaze descended to the ground, where an expansive magic circle lay inscribed—an enduring testament to the unleashed power.
The grandeur of the magic circle stirred a distant memory within him, and a realization unfurled like a revelation.
The magic circle's vast dimensions mirrored those that had adorned the sky, a spectacle he witnessed only hours ago.
At that moment, seeing the scale of that celestial magic circle, Zephyr had silently resolved to avoid clashing with an individual capable of summoning such overwhelming magic.
He swallowed hard, trying to steady his nerves, but his voice betrayed him, quivering as he spoke. "Are... are you the one who summoned that colossal magic circle in the sky?" His words wavered, his tone almost a whisper as he struggled to maintain his composure.
From a distance, Azrael's magic pistol aimed at Zephyr, elemental flames converging within the pistol's gemstone.
An air of detachment colored his response, a hint of indifference tingeing Azrael's words. "Maybe."
A chilling realization swept over Zephyr as he fully grasped the gravity of his situation. In his arrogance, he had underestimated his opponent, and now he had to pay the price.
Flames danced at the tip of Seraphium Pistol, a harbinger of destruction that would burn Zephyr together with his wind barrier.
Bam! Bam! Bam!
The bullets left the barrel, racing toward their target.
Zephyr's response was swift—his wind barrier vanishing in the blink of an eye, a desperate move to escape being consumed by the impending blaze.
His actions narrowly spared him from being consumed by the searing flames. Yet, despite his efforts, the bullets found their mark, leaving scorching imprints on his leg, right arm, and stomach.
His pain erupted in a raw cry that filled the air. "Arrggghhh!!"
The spectators collectively shuddered, their faces etched with a blend of awe and dread.
A voice broke the tense silence.
"What a scary guy. He cornered Zephyr without mercy, offering an impossible choice: be reduced to ashes within his own shield or face the bullets head-on." The scout's words resonated, echoing in agreement through the murmurs of the crowd.
With his defenses now laid bare, Zephyr stood defenseless, a trapped prey in the path of Azrael's advancing onslaught.
Azrael lunged forward, wielding a steel staff with deadly precision in his grip.
Azrael advanced with calculated precision, each strike chipped away at Zephyr's resolve, and transforming his stance into a dance of desperation—a stark contrast to the elegant offense he had once symbolized.
The spectators, who had earlier witnessed Zephyr's attacking mastery, now found themselves astonished by the reversal of fate—a once-dominating figure reduced to helplessness, enduring a relentless assault.
As Azrael's relentless assault pressed on, Zephyr's stamina neared its breaking point.
The lingering fire from the bullet's impact seared his body, leaving behind a trail of wounds.
With the passage of seconds feeling like an eternity, Zephyr's strength began to falter. The realization that his futile defense couldn't be sustained indefinitely gnawed at his mind.
He was at a crossroads, and with no other option, Zephyr summoned his final reservoirs of energy, depleting all his mana and unleashing a tempestuous whirlwind—a cyclone born of desperation and strength.
The tornado roared to life. It unleashed a raw power that reverberated through the air.
The tempest crashed against Azrael, thrusting him back with an explosive burst of wind. A buffer zone emerged, briefly separating the two combatants.
In its wake, the tornado ravaged the forest, uprooting numerous trees and ravaging the surrounding terrain in its unrestrained fury.
Sheltered within the heart of the tornado, Zephyr found momentary respite. He understood that if he couldn't overpower Azrael, the impending battle would inevitably come down to the test of sheer endurance.
Azrael, standing his ground amidst the tempest, closed his eyes, being a conductor orchestrating the surrounding elements.
He tapped into the atmosphere, drawing upon the moisture enshrouding the air, and harnessed its essence.
He seamlessly melded it with the raging tornado, birthing a swirling vortex of wind and water that amplified the turmoil.
Above, in the artificial realm's sky, an ominous cloud—sinister and foreboding—materialized, gathering its form with an air of malevolence. Painting the sky a dark hue.
Azrael, armed with his magic pistol, infused with the primal essence of lightning, aiming at the cloud. The pistol fired, a single shot propelled with purpose, a bolt of raw energy ascending to meet the cloud's embrace.
The collision of magical energies—arcane power, moisture, whirlwind tempest, and the elemental fury of lightning—triggered a cascading transformation.
Thunder erupted with an earth-shaking rumble, and lightning shattered the sky with blinding brilliance.
The symphony of elements played a dark melody that marked the tempest's might.
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Mana Point (MP): 80/400 (-220)
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In the monitoring room, Sable's head shook subtly as her gaze remained unwavering as the scene played out before her.
"Attempting to forge a thunderous storm—what a dangerous thought," she murmured to herself, acknowledging both the brilliance and audacity in Azrael's approach.
Raising his right hand, Azrael appeared to transcend mortal boundaries. With a downward swing, he commanded the heavens.
The malevolent cloud responded, releasing torrents of thunderbolts.
The bolts converged with the swirling maelstrom of air and water, forging a thunderous storm that unleashed its wrath upon everything below.
The result was a tempest of unimaginable might, an embodiment of nature's fury that tore through the very fabric of the battlefield.
The land trembled beneath its fury, every element of the storm joining in a symphony of chaos—cliffs shuddered, trees bowed, and the earth itself seemed to quake under the torrential onslaught.
Zephyr remained at the epicenter of the tornado, an unwilling spectator to the unfolding cataclysm before him. "Fuck," he muttered, his voice heavy with the acceptance of his impending failure.
The thunder's sheer ferocity left the audience in a state of disbelief.
Those who watched the scene through their screens were rendered speechless, unable to articulate the awe and skepticism that surged within them.
A clear silence enveloped the hall, an echo of the staggering event that had just unfolded before their eyes.
***********
Meanwhile, in a distant corner of the artificial field, Thant Zin eliminated his opponent effortlessly, their defeated figure dissolving into blue particles.
Thant Zin's gaze was drawn upward to the expanse of sky, where a colossal dark cloud loomed ominously over the artificial sky. His attention was fixated on this celestial spectacle, absorbing the awe-inspiring turmoil of the thunderstorm's unleashed might.
A subtle smile curved upon Thant Zin's lips, a smile that hinted at his anticipation. He navigated his way toward the spectacle.
'Time to join the fun,' he mused, his eyes tracing the path of a ferocious lightning bolt that illuminated the sky with a blinding brilliance.
–
–
–
Drawing closer to the epicenter of the tempest, Thant Zin's gaze landed on Azrael, who now stood amidst the remnants, his attire tattered by the unrestrained fury of the thunder tempest.
The battle had concluded, and the storm's rage finally quelled.
Upon the ground lay Zephyr's body, dispersed into a swirling cascade of blue particles—marking the elimination of Zephyr Galeheart.