As Gorlan prepared to make his escape, a sudden gust of wind swept through the chamber, carrying with it an aura of stealth and agility. Austin, with a mastery of wind-based skills, seized this opportune moment to make his move. With a quick and nimble step, he drew upon the power of the wind to enhance his speed and dexterity.
As he approached the talisman and the core, Austin's form seemed to blur, his movements becoming almost ethereal as he harnessed the wind's energy to his advantage. With a swift flourish, he extended his hand towards the talisman, his touch barely grazing its surface. A faint shimmer of wind magic enveloped the artifact, and in an instant, it was liberated from its resting place.
Simultaneously, Austin's focus shifted to the core, a source of immense power. With a swift, fluid motion, he channeled the wind's energy through his fingertips, creating a whirlwind of motion around the core. The air itself seemed to respond to his command, forming a cyclonic barrier that embraced the core and lifted it from its pedestal.
In an impressive display of control over the wind's forces, Austin's skills allowed him to manipulate the core as if it were weightless. With a final flourish, he secured both the talisman and the core, their combined weight cradled within the embrace of his wind-born magic. As the gusts of wind gradually subsided, Austin stood triumphant, his actions unnoticed amidst the chaos that had unfolded.
The wind's melody of freedom and swiftness had been wielded to perfection, and in its wake, Austin's success bore testament to the synergy between his skills and the elemental forces at his command.
"Why the hurry?" Diaz sneered, a sardonic smirk dancing across his lips.
Gorlan's face contorted in a mix of shock and disbelief. How could Diaz possibly know about this place? The very secrecy of the chamber was supposed to be impenetrable. His thoughts raced, wondering if perhaps Aura had inadvertently revealed the sanctuary's location to him.
"The Order's cunning knows no bounds," Diaz retorted coolly, his gaze unwavering. He held the talisman in his hand, a potent symbol of control over the unfolding situation. "He desires the core, but be warned, should it vanish, your life will follow suit."
Amidst the tension, Gordon's voice pierced the air, a furious bellow accompanying his attack. With the precision of a seasoned thief, he lunged at Diaz with startling swiftness. His attack, imbued with his thieving skills, sought to exploit openings in Diaz's defenses with lightning-quick strikes, aimed to incapacitate his opponent.
Diaz's response was swift and precise. With a gesture, he summoned the power of the wind to form a defensive barrier, a tempestuous shield that deflected Gordon's blows with calculated ease. Diaz's mastery over the wind was evident, the air itself bending to his command as it repelled Gordon's assault.
As the gusts of wind subsided, Gorlan stood in shock. How could a mere level 2 opponent thwart his level 3 peak attack? His disbelief was palpable, his thoughts racing to comprehend this unexpected turn of events.
"Seems becoming overpowered has its perks," Diaz mused aloud, his voice tinged with wry amusement.
With unwavering resolve, Diaz held his ground, defending against Gordon's assault effortlessly. As the clash continued, Diaz seized the opportunity to weave a scheme within the chaos. He wanted to lay the blame squarely on Gorlan, to ensure that his involvement would be erased, leaving no trace of his existence.
In the midst of their confrontation, Diaz taunted Gorlan with provocative words. "Your women's resurrection is nothing but a distant dream," he goaded, his words carefully calculated to elicit a response.
"How did you know?" Gorlan's voice wavered, a secret inadvertently exposed by Diaz's probing.
As the exchange unfolded, Diaz's scheme progressed. With calculated precision, he aimed to manipulate the narrative, to frame Gorlan for the core's disappearance. His ultimate plan was to eliminate Gorlan, to erase his presence, and then to convince Aura that Gorlan had absconded with the core.
It was a dangerous game of deception and misdirection, a high-stakes battle of words and intentions woven within the midst of their physical clash. Diaz's every move was deliberate, his endgame focused on shaping the perception of the events to his advantage. And as the tension mounted, the fate of the core and the sanctuary hung in the balance, its secrets poised to be unveiled through the intricate dance of power and cunning.
"You don't deserve to know," Diaz's words dripped with condescension, his tone laced with arrogance. "All you can do is just die in my hands."
Gorlan's defiant roar, his lion heritage surging through him, shook the very air around them. A magnetic resonance emanated from him, a reverberating force attempting to ensnare Diaz within its grasp. But to his shock, Diaz stood unmoved. The wind surged around him, a counterforce to Gorlan's roar, negating its effect with an air of casual dominance.
As their clash intensified, Diaz's thoughts raced. Aura's arrival was imminent; he knew he had to conclude the confrontation swiftly. His resolve solidified, Amidst the whirlwind of battle, Diaz's hand tightened around the hilt of a legendary sword known as "Drakorin," a blade forged in the heart of a forgotten volcano and passed down through generations of his lineage. The sword bore the legacy of Dragon ancestors, each stroke etched with the fire of their valor and the weight of their destinies.
Drakorin's blade shimmered with a fiery hue, as if coiled in anticipation of its wielder's command. It was said that the sword carried the essence of a dragon, a majestic creature that had once allied itself with Diaz's forebearers in a pact sealed amidst the flames of a legendary battle. The dragon, now long departed, had entrusted its power to the sword, making it a vessel of their combined might.
The legend spoke of a warrior named Aelion, a distant ancestor of Celestina, Diaz Mother, who had stood as the guardian of their realm. When faced with an encroaching darkness, Aelion had ventured into the heart of the fiery abyss, where he encountered the dragon. Their fates entwined, the warrior and the dragon formed an unbreakable bond, sharing their strength and purpose. Forged anew in the fires of their shared determination, the blade Drakorin was born.
In the heat of battle, Drakorin's fire seemed to blaze even brighter, its flames licking at the edges of Diaz's resolve. With each swing, the sword carved through the air, leaving a trail of incendiary brilliance in its wake. The blade was more than a mere weapon; it was a testament to Diaz's lineage, a reminder of his potential, and a symbol of the strength that coursed through his veins.
Yet, amidst the chaos of combat, Diaz's thoughts strayed to a different fire—a burning frustration that simmered within him. As he clashed with his adversaries, his mind echoed with the memory of his mother, who had bestowed upon him this mighty inheritance. His father, on the other hand, had seemingly forsaken him, leaving Diaz with a lingering bitterness.
"My mother really spoiling me," Diaz muttered under his breath, his voice edged with a mixture of gratitude and resentment. "Damn cheap father, you didn't give me a dime." (Dragon emperor: how can that be, it should be Mine T.T)
In the midst of the battle, as Drakorin cleaved through the forces that dared oppose Diaz, the sword became an extension of his emotions—a conduit through which he channeled his frustrations, his ambitions, and his legacy. With every swing, every clash, and every strike, the blade pulsed with the echoes of his ancestors' valor and his own determination.
And so, amidst the chaos and the clash of powers, Diaz fought not just with a sword, but with the embodiment of a heritage that refused to be forgotten. Drakorin blazed with the fire of dragons and the tenacity of warriors, a force to be reckoned with and a testament to the enduring strength of his bloodline.
In the midst of the intense clash, as Diaz and Gorlan's attacks collided, a sudden shift occurred. Diaz's legendary sword, Drakorin, seemed to pulse with an inner fire, resonating with the artifacts present in the room. As Gorlan's attack surged towards Diaz, the fiery energy emanating from Drakorin met the onslaught head-on.
A brilliant collision of power ensued, an eruption of forces locked in a fierce struggle. The very air seemed to crackle and vibrate as the clash reached its crescendo. And then, in a blaze of incandescent brilliance, Drakorin's flames surged forth, their intensity overwhelming Gorlan's attack. The artifact's influence wavered and faltered under the assault of the legendary blade.
Gorlan's eyes widened in shock, disbelief etched upon his face as he watched his attack crumble before the might of Drakorin. And in that fleeting moment of vulnerability, Diaz seized the opportunity. With a single, swift motion, he swung his sword—a strike fueled by the legacy of his ancestors, the fire of dragons, and the determination of his lineage.
The blade cleaved through the remnants of Gorlan's attack, closing the distance between them in an instant. As the sword made contact, a powerful shockwave erupted, a resounding echo of the clash that reverberated throughout the chamber. And then, silence descended.
"NOOO"
Gorlan's head tumbled from his shoulders, severed cleanly by the strike of Drakorin. The shock and realization of his defeat were etched upon his face even in death. The room was bathed in an eerie stillness, broken only by the sibilant hiss of Gorlan's lifeless body collapsing to the ground.
Diaz stood amidst the aftermath, his chest heaving with exertion, his grip on Drakorin unyielding. The sword's blade seemed to glow with a renewed intensity, as if acknowledging its wielder's victory. And as the echoes of battle slowly dissipated, Diaz's gaze remained locked on the fallen figure before him, a mixture of emotions swirling within his eyes.
It was a moment that defied expectation, a testament to the fusion of Diaz's lineage and the power he held within Drakorin. As the truth settled in, the room seemed to carry an air of reverence for the legendary blade that had stood against an artifact's might and emerged victorious.The silence that followed was deafening. The chamber, once filled with the clash of skills and defiance, now echoed with the weight of finality. Diaz stood amidst the aftermath, his gaze fixed upon the fallen figure of his former comrade. His breaths came heavy, his heart still racing from the intensity of the battle.