I rushed toward the man I believed to be the true king. The storm raged around us, winds howling through the air like the cries of a dying beast, rain lashing at my face with the fury of a thousand daggers. Yet, in the center of this chaos, he stood still—calm, unmoved, as though the elements bent to his will. The weight of his presence alone made the air thick, suffocating. The Riptide essence clung to him, an untouched force, as if he hadn't even begun to call upon its full power.
Thornveil pulsed within me. 80% of my essence still remained, but I could feel its pull, the energy draining with every breath. I was running out of time. He wasn't. The king barely moved, his eyes glinting with cold amusement, as if the battle unfolding before him was a trivial matter, a passing distraction.
The false King hadn't even summoned water from his rune—just manipulated the rain and storm around us like a puppet master. But now, I could feel it. The man before me was ready to unleash more.
The rain intensified. It wasn't just droplets anymore; it was a torrent. Each drop became a spear, driving into the ground with unnatural force, the water swirling and moving with purpose, directed by the king's will. The storm was his weapon, his offensive. And I was in its path.
I stole one last glance behind me—the boy was gone. Relief surged through me. He'd escaped to the next level, safe from this madness. Good. My focus snapped back to the king. He was waiting for me to make my move, confident, that same mocking smile tugging at the corners of his lips. The distance between us was less than ten meters now. My heart hammered against my ribs, blood roaring in my ears, but I couldn't let it distract me.
I thrust my hand forward, summoning the power of Thornveil. A thick, jagged gauntlet of wood grew around my arm, its bark reinforced, hard as iron and sharper than any blade. This was no ordinary wood—infused with essence, it was stronger than steel, designed to pierce through even the toughest armor. I aimed for his chest, intending to end this with a single blow.
But just as I moved, the king lifted his hand with the ease of someone waving away a bothersome fly. The rain obeyed, surging forward and forming a thick wall of water reinforced with the Riptide's essence in front of me. It wasn't just liquid—it was dense, heavy, like a wall of liquid iron. My hand struck it, and though I pierced through the surface, it was like trying to punch through a solid block of cement. The force of my strike dispersed into the water, slowed to a crawl.
I pulled my hand back, abandoning the wood reinforcement. My eyes darted to the king, but he was already on the move, dashing to the side, his body a blur as he flowed through the storm. I summoned vines from the ground, thick tendrils lashing toward him, but he moved like water—slipping through, breaking the vines with effortless strength.
I spun, trying to catch him off guard with a kick aimed at his head. But his hand shot out, grabbing my leg with a grip like steel. I was trapped. I summoned leaves to blind him, but he flicked them aside with a mere twist of his wrist. Then, without even a hint of strain, he hurled me across the forest.
My back slammed into a jagged rock with bone-crushing force. Pain exploded through my body, my ribs screaming in protest as I hit the ground. The wind was knocked out of me, my vision blurred with the force of impact. I could feel something broken, something torn. But I had no time for pain. I had to fight. I couldn't afford to let up.
Thornveil surged within me, mending the wounds as best it could. I still had 70% of my essence left. I could keep going. The king approached slowly, his movements deliberate, as if savoring my struggle.
I forced myself to stand, summoning thick roots from the earth. They shot toward him, thorny and reinforced, coiling around his legs. But with a single motion, a torrent of rain blasted outward, shredding the roots as if they were made of paper. The storm raged harder now, the rain whipping into a frenzy. The king wasn't holding back anymore—he was using the storm as his weapon, each drop of rain an extension of his will.
I watched as the king stood atop the withered remnants of dead branches and roots. His rune remained intact, unblemished, without a hint of disintegration. If my understanding was correct, he wielded the World Element. The strongest elemental user of a realm can bend their element as though it were an extension of their will, and as the supreme water wielder of this world, the king commanded the rain and rivers effortlessly. He wasn't draining his essence at all; he was drawing upon the natural water around us, conserving his power while I expended mine.
"Am I the strongest wood rune holder?" I questioned, the thought gnawing at my mind.
"Yes," came the messenger's voice inside my head.
Yet even with that truth, the reality was stark: I was the strongest wood rune bearer, I wield a World Element too, but the forest around us offered me little offensive advantage. My element flourished in growth and defense, but here, amidst the king's domain, it felt… insufficient. Should I retreat? Escape into the next level while I still could?
A warmth suddenly pulsed in my chest. I glanced down at my rune, glowing softly, but the lower quarter of it had already disintegrated from my reckless use of essence. The thought of running vanished. There was no escape now. I had to see this through.
The king remained across the battlefield, unmoving. He hadn't taken a single step toward me, his expression slowly growing bored, as if the game wasn't worth his time anymore. I stood up, brushing the dirt from my clothes. With a sharp leaf summoned from my essence, I trimmed my ragged beard and hair, preparing myself for whatever came next. The king smiled, amused by the gesture, his eyes glinting as if entertained by my futile preparation. He knew, just as I did, that until I could disrupt his command over the rain, he would conserve his essence, saving it for healing and regeneration.
I had no choice. I needed to force his hand.
"Let's get this over with," I muttered under my breath, loud enough for him to hear. His eyes flicked to mine, but he remained still, waiting. I raised my hand, forming the gesture of a gun, and aimed directly at his face. Thornveil responded instantly, summoning a massive thorn from thin air, its sharp edge gleaming in the storm's dim light. I braced my other hand to manage the recoil. The plan was simple: the rain couldn't stop a projectile of this size. He'd either dodge, or he'd be forced to summon his rune to create a water wall, like before.
I fired.
The thorn tore through the air, its speed slicing through the rain as if the storm itself parted to let it through. The king attempted to manipulate the rain, shooting streams of water toward the thorn to stop its momentum, but it was too large, too powerful. He sidestepped, dodging just as I expected.
"You fell for it."
As he shifted, I summoned thick vines from beneath the earth, forming a dense barrier around him. His path of escape was blocked—his only options now were to summon his water to shield himself or retreat. Either way, I had him cornered.
Without hesitation, I created a second massive thorn, this time aimed to break through any defense he could muster. But my real intent lay elsewhere. While he focused on defending, I rushed forward, summoning a spear of reinforced wood in my hand. Each step brought me closer, my essence surging as Thornveil enveloped me, shielding me from the slashing rain. The storm's force was relentless, but the trees and leaves blocked the worst of it. Any small wounds I suffered healed almost instantly, thanks to Thornveil's regenerative power.
I could feel my essence depleting rapidly, but I had no choice. If I could land this strike, it would be worth the cost.
The king's eyes widened as realization dawned on him. But it was too late. I was already in front of him.
"Yo!" I smirked, driving the spear straight toward his chest.
He reacted swiftly, catching the spear with his left hand. The tip pierced his flesh, but his grip was iron, holding the weapon in place. I saw blood, but before I could capitalize, he swung his right hand at me, his fist aiming for my face. I released the spear, catching his arm with both of mine, locking him in place. His power was immense; I could feel the raw strength in his muscles, but in that moment, I had leverage.
With his hands occupied, I struck him in the gut with my knee, aiming to drive the wind from his lungs. But instead of flesh, I felt resistance. A wall of water. He had finally used his essence.
He was no longer relying on the natural rain—he had called upon his essence, and now the real battle would begin.
But I had achieved my goal. I had forced him to use his essence.
The instant I felt the watery resistance against my knee, I knew. He was finally tapping into his essence. The king's advantage—his ability to manipulate the rain without draining his rune—was slipping away, and with it, his smug composure.
His left hand was still locked onto the spear, blood dripping down its length, but the water wall pulsed in defense, preventing me from landing another blow. I pushed back, using the momentary pause to regain my stance, watching the king's eyes darken. His arrogance was shifting to something more dangerous—focus.
He shoved me backward with a powerful swing, and I stumbled, barely managing to stay on my feet as he summoned the rain with a flick of his wrist. It responded instantly, swirling around him in tendrils, like a serpent coiling to strike. His aura darkened with the weight of the water rune's power, and I knew I had only moments before he unleashed its full fury.
I clenched my fists, summoning the last reserves of my essence to harden the wood around my arms. Thornveil encased them like barked armor, sturdy, but not invincible. I was running out of time, and more importantly, out of essence.
"Come, then," I spat, wiping the rain from my brow. "Let's see if the king of water can drown me."
The king smiled, and it was cold—calculated. With a sweep of his hand, he directed the rain toward me, the droplets sharp as blades. I deflected them with the reinforced wood, but the sheer force of the water battered my defenses. A stream caught my side, slicing through my arm, and I hissed as the pain surged through me.
But I couldn't slow down. I had to push him, drain him, force him to make a mistake.
I surged forward, closing the gap between us. Every step felt heavier than the last as the rain thickened, turning the battlefield into a deluge. The water wasn't just attacking—it was suffocating, choking the air from my lungs. The king's mastery of the element was terrifying in its precision, every movement calculated to overwhelm me.
I spun low, avoiding another torrent, and thrust my hand out, summoning roots from beneath the soaked ground. They shot upward, tangling around his legs, but the king shattered them with a burst of water, turning them to splinters. He stepped toward me with that same mocking smile.
"You can't win," he finally said, his voice almost drowned out by the rain. "The world bends to my will. You're just a traveler here, a fleeting presence."
I gritted my teeth and summoned the last of my energy, crafting another massive thorn. It took shape in the air, larger than before, its sharp edges gleaming through the downpour. I aimed directly at his chest and fired, the thorn tearing through the storm like a spear.
This time, the king didn't dodge.
Instead, he extended his hand, summoning a wall of water infused with his essence. The thorn crashed against it, splintering into nothingness. I cursed under my breath. He was forcing me to exhaust myself, waiting for the moment I would falter.
And then, as if reading my thoughts, he acted.
With a single motion, the king commanded the rain to part, and for a brief moment, the storm became still around us. He moved faster than I could react, closing the distance between us in a heartbeat. His hand shot out, and before I could raise a defense, his fingers curled around my throat, lifting me off the ground as if I weighed nothing.
I struggled, kicking, summoning vines to strike him, but they were weak, flimsy. My essence was nearly gone. The air left my lungs in ragged gasps as his grip tightened, his face inches from mine. Cold eyes, devoid of pity, bore into me.
"I've had enough of this," he whispered, and with his free hand, he formed a blade of water, its edge shimmering with deadly intent.
I could feel my strength draining, the last reserves of Thornveil slipping away. The king raised the blade, aiming it directly at my heart.
"This is where it ends," he murmured, his voice filled with quiet finality.
He thrust the blade forward, its sharp edge cutting through the rain as it hurtled toward my chest. I braced for the impact, my body frozen in his grasp.
But then, something strange happened.
The rain… stilled.
The blade, poised to pierce my heart, hovered in mid-air, suspended between us. The droplets around us stopped their descent, hanging in the air like fragile glass. The king's expression shifted, confusion flashing across his face. He glanced at the rain, his hand still outstretched, but it refused to respond.
I saw it then—the subtle tremor in his fingers, the uncertainty in his eyes. The king, for all his power, had lost control. The rain, which had obeyed his every command, now resisted him.
"What…?" he muttered, his grip on my throat loosening.
The stillness of the storm was absolute.
From the mist and the shadows of the trees, a figure emerged—slow, deliberate. At first glance, he appeared no more than a boy, about the same age as Eldric. His clothes were tattered, smeared with streaks of blood and grime, blending him into the forest's somber hues. His face was dirty, a mixture of dried blood and earth clinging to his features, but beneath it, his expression was one of complete disinterest, as if he had simply wandered into something insignificant.
The king's eyes narrowed, confusion flickering in his gaze. "Who are you?" he demanded, his voice strained from the rain-soaked battle.
The boy blinked, his eyebrows twitching in mild amusement. "I didn't expect to find two dudes fighting in the middle of a forest," he said, his tone almost playful.
The king's grip on me slackened, and in that instant, he turned his focus toward this newcomer, summoning the rain to attack. But then something unexpected—something impossible—happened.
The rain, which had once been the king's weapon, turned against him. In an instant, the droplets froze, then hurled themselves at him with terrifying speed. A spear of water shot through the king's back, piercing clean through his chest. His body convulsed as blood sprayed from his mouth, the liquid mixing with the rain in a sickening crimson wash.
I stood there, utterly flabbergasted. The ability to command the rain, to wield the water of the world itself—only the strongest water rune wielder could bend it to their will. But if this boy could do it… that meant…
The realization struck me hard.
"Whaaaat?" the King shrieked, his voice laced with surprise. The boy looked over at me, unbothered by the gruesome sight before him. "Hey, gramps, is this the bad guy?"
I was too stunned to answer at first, but the opportunity for survival tugged at me. If there was a way out of this, a way to end the king, I had to take it. My rune was already 85% disintegrated. There was no room for hesitation now.
"Yes," I rasped, the word barely escaping my lips.
The boy seemed to assess my response with an indifferent glance, as though weighing his options. "Fine," he said, nonchalant, "I don't really care who the good guy is. I could take both of you out if I wanted, but since you're already beaten and your rune's almost gone, I guess I'll spare you."
Spare me? I couldn't tell if he was arrogant or genuinely that powerful. But the king—he was the stronger of us, and if this boy could tear through him so easily…
The king, struggling to his feet, was already trying to heal himself, weaving the rain into his essence for regeneration. But the boy raised his hand again, and with a flick of his wrist, the rain answered his call.
A tidal force gathered above the king, and in one brutal motion, it slammed down onto him like a hammer. The king conjured water walls in desperate defense, the liquid spiraling around him, but the boy's control over the rain was absolute. There was no mercy in the way the torrents lashed at the king's body, thrashing him with relentless fury. His attempts to escape were futile, the flood of water trapping him like prey caught in a web.
For the first time, I could see it—the king's rune was beginning to disintegrate, piece by piece, unraveling under the strain of his rapidly depleting essence. He was healing, regenerating, trying to escape the rain's barrage, but it was clear he couldn't last much longer.
I raised my hand, feeling the weight of my own essence dwindling. I couldn't let him escape. Not now.
With the last of my strength, I summoned a massive thorn, far larger than any I had created before. It took all my remaining essence, draining the very core of my power, but it was necessary. The king didn't look back, his face obscured by the rain and blood. In the midst of the storm, I couldn't tell if he was crying or simply resigned to his fate.
I didn't care.
With one final surge, I launched the thorn. It hurtled through the air, cutting through the rain, and impaled the king's skull. The impact was sickening. Blood splattered in all directions, and the king's body convulsed once before crumpling to the ground, lifeless. The thorn had shattered his head, reducing it to little more than a bloody pulp. Flesh, bone, and rain mixed in a grotesque display as his body collapsed, the once-mighty ruler reduced to nothing but a corpse.
His rune, the once-glorious Riptide, flickered for a moment before it, too, dissolved into nothingness, disintegrating fully. The storm quieted, the water no longer obeying his will. The King of the Kingdom was dead.
I stood there, breathing heavily, my chest aching from the effort, my essence all but gone. And then I turned toward the boy—this stranger, this enigma who had wielded the rain like it was second nature. His hands were tucked casually into his pockets, his face unreadable.
"Who are you?" I asked, my voice hoarse from the battle.
The boy seemed to think for a moment, his expression distant, as if trying to remember something long forgotten. "Since no one from my old world is here, I suppose my name doesn't matter much," he said, his tone casual. He looked me in the eyes. "Call me Dan."