Victor Popescu stood frozen, his eyes fixated on the carnage that surrounded him. The room, once filled with his loyal soldiers, was now eerily silent, save for the faint hum of flickering lights above. Bodies lay crumpled across the floor, lifeless and stained with blood.
His soldiers—his men, handpicked to follow his command—had been wiped out. Rage simmered beneath his otherwise calm exterior, threatening to boil over as his eyes darted upward to the empty balcony where Rachel had stood moments before.
Rachel... that wretched, overzealous fool.
His teeth clenched as his thoughts spiraled, but just as the rage threatened to consume him, another thought flickered, unbidden.
And yet… perhaps it's impressive in its own way.
He shoved the thought aside, his face twisting into a sneer. Rachel's actions weren't a testament to her strength—they were a crime against order, against him. Her recklessness would end here. His hand brushed against the edge of his coat, straightening it as he steadied himself.
Victor: Rachel! It seems I've been far too lenient. But I'll fix that mistake.
His voice echoed through the chamber, filled with righteous indignation as he took a step forward. But above him, Rachel's defiant laugh rang out, sharp and mocking. She appeared again, stepping forward onto the edge of the balcony, her knife still glinting faintly with the blood of his men.
Rachel: Spare me the theatrics and speeches. This fight isn't about Astral abilities, or power, or even authority. The one who has the most will is the one who'll come out on top. That's what I've decided.
Victor froze, his mind reeling at the audacity of her words.
Will?
What nonsense. His confusion quickly gave way to anger, his lips curling into a disdainful sneer.
Victor: Will? You speak of will as if it's some force you're acquainted with. However, you're wrong in that assertion. If it is a battle of will, there is no question who will come out on top. Will is ambition, and ambition is power. That is the very nature of my Astral ability. Who could possibly possess more ambition than the man who desires everything.
He extended his arms, his fingers curling as a faint, shimmering purple light began to gather in his eyes. He closed them briefly, his voice dropping to a near whisper as he announced:
Victor: Astral of Territory…
He opened his eyes again, the glow intensifying as he focused his energy. The room around him shifted ever so slightly. Every detail of the training room—the scattered equipment, the balcony, the faint echoes of their voices—fell under his influence. As long as he remained the leading captain of this facility, every room, every inch of space he occupied, would belong to him. It was his domain, and he would bend it to his will.
This is my will.
But as the energy of his ability extended outward, a strange sensation rippled through him. Something was wrong. The connection wasn't forming as it should. The room felt… off. He frowned, his sharp gaze snapping upward to Rachel, who stood on the balcony with a gleaming, self-assured smile.
Tricks?
Blinking rapidly, he reactivated his Astral ability, the purple glow intensifying as he attempted to anchor himself to the space. This time, the pieces began to fall into place. The room wasn't a training chamber.
The equipment, the balcony, even Rachel's presence—it was all a fabrication. As the illusions shattered, he found himself standing in a long, expansive hallway, the walls stretching endlessly in either direction.
Victor's scowl deepened as the full weight of the deception hit him. Rachel had tricked him, manipulated him into wasting his Astral energy on a phantom space, all while she systematically eliminated all soldiers he had brought in. Rage coursed through him as he took a step forward, his hands trembling with barely-contained fury.
Victor: Rachel! You damn wench! You think this will—
His voice faltered as a sharp, searing pain exploded in his lower abdomen. He stumbled, his hand instinctively clutching at the source of the pain, and when he looked down, his breath hitched. There it was—her knife, lodged deep into his flesh, blood staining the pristine fabric of his coat.
He staggered back, his vision blurring as his mind raced to comprehend what had happened. Rachel's illusions had drawn his attention, left him vulnerable, and now she'd stabbed him before changing her position. The realization burned, not just from the pain, but from the humiliation of being outmaneuvered.
Victor: Rachel…
His voice was a strained growl as he gritted his teeth, his fingers trembling around the hilt of the knife.
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Mason burst through yet another wall, his body smashing through layers of stone and metal before hitting the cold floor with a sickening thud. His vision swam, his head pounding as bright stars danced before his eyes like mocking little reminders of his pain.
Seriously, I can't keep doing this.
He swatted the imaginary stars away, gritting his teeth as he forced himself to sit up. The ground beneath him felt as though it was spinning, but he didn't have time to sit around and let the vertigo pass. Not with that thing barreling after him.
The bull-headed creature lumbered through the hole Mason had just made, its colossal frame seeming to fill the entire hallway with its presence. Unlike the other beasts Mason had encountered, this one didn't seem particularly concerned with keeping him intact.
There was no hesitation, no calculated movements—just raw, destructive intent. And the way its furious black eyes burned holes through him made it clear: this thing wasn't here to capture him. It was here to end him.
Mason scrambled to his feet, stumbling slightly as his legs screamed in protest. He thought about trying to control the beast, the way he'd managed to redirect the wolf's mind earlier. But his thoughts were too scattered, his memory of that moment too hazy.
He'd acted on instinct back then—no careful planning, no step-by-step process. And right now, he didn't have the luxury of time to figure it out. Not with a giant, murderous bull breathing down his neck.
Alright, alright, Plan B it is. Hit it. Hard.
Black flames ignited around his fist as he raised it, the dark energy crackling and flickering like a living thing. He stood his ground, watching as the creature pawed the ground, lowering its massive head, preparing to charge.
Mason's heartbeat quickened, the sound echoing in his ears as the beast thundered toward him, each step shaking the ground beneath his feet. He waited, his muscles tensing, his focus narrowing to a single point.
Just a little closer… just a little… now!
He launched himself forward with everything he had, his flaming fist colliding with the beast's head in an explosion of force and heat. For a moment, it seemed to work—the sheer impact of the blow rattling through his arm, the black flames roaring like an inferno.
But as the smoke cleared, Mason's heart sank. The beast was still standing, barely phased. Its thick hide seemed to absorb the brunt of the attack, and before Mason could react, it reached out with one massive hand, grabbing him like a toy.
He didn't even have time to brace himself before the creature hurled him through the air like a ragdoll. He hit the ground hard, skidding across the floor and slamming into another wall. Pain radiated through his entire body.
Mason coughed, struggling to breathe as he pushed himself up on trembling arms. This wasn't working. His output was still too weak, his attacks barely scratching the surface of the beast's seemingly impenetrable defenses. And the more time he wasted, the worse this situation became.
What do I do? What do I do?
Despair began to claw at the edges of his mind, urging him to give up. But Mason shook his head violently, swatting the despair away like it was nothing more than a swarm of annoying flies.
He forced himself to his feet, his legs wobbling but holding firm. He wouldn't give up. He couldn't give up. Not here, not now. Not when Rachel was still counting on him, not when he had so many questions left to fight for. He'd find his way forward.
That was the kind of guy he wanted to be. He'd save who he wanted to save, escape this nightmare, and do it on his own terms. He'd take everything and leave nothing behind.
The beast pawed the ground again, readying itself for another charge. Mason stood tall, his eyes blazing with determination as he faced it head-on.
As the beast charged, Mason poured black flames into his legs, feeling the energy surge through him like fire in his veins. Just as the creature closed in, Mason jumped, propelling himself high into the air, soaring far above the beast's head. For a brief moment, he felt weightless, the world below him slowing as he reached the peak of his jump.
He closed his eyes, concentrating. This was a gamble, but it wasn't like he had any better options. He poured flames into his hands, but this time, he didn't let them stop at his skin. He forced the energy outward, shaping it, stretching it, contorting it into long, rope-like tendrils of fire. The strain was immediate, his body screaming in protest as the flames licked at his flesh, but he ignored it.
As he began to fall, he lashed out with the flaming ropes, wrapping them tightly around the beast's thick neck. The creature roared, thrashing wildly as Mason landed squarely on its back, gripping the flames tightly like reins. The pain was excruciating—the flames burned against his hands, the strain of holding on threatening to rip his muscles apart—but he held firm, refusing to let go.
The beast crashed into walls, desperate to throw him off, the impacts sending shockwaves through Mason's body. But he grit his teeth, pouring every ounce of willpower he had into staying on.
Come on, come on… time for an improvisation.
The beast roared again, its thrashing growing more violent, but Mason didn't waver. Not when he'd made it this far.
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Victor Popescu's boots sank slightly into the soft, unyielding sand of the endless desert. He moved with no urgency, his gait almost lazy as his eyes narrowed in irritation. The oppressive sun beat down on him, relentless and uncaring, and he sneered at the thought of his pristine outfit being sullied by the harsh environment.
This is unacceptable. Sand, sweat, dirt—it's a wonder anyone can walk through this wasteland and still maintain their dignity. And yet here I am, subjected to this insult of an environment. Just look at my coat—what a disgrace.
His thoughts drifted as he absentmindedly brushed off an invisible speck of dust from his sleeve, his expression contorting with a simmering anger. But his annoyance was short-lived as a sharp voice cut through his musings.
???: Stop fooling around and hurry up. We don't have time for your nonsense.
The voice snapped him back to reality, and Victor turned his head lazily to face its owner.
The man who had spoken stood tall in gleaming, polished armor that reflected the blazing sunlight. His sharp sword hung neatly at his side, unused but ready. He didn't have a scratch on him, his appearance immaculate, almost annoyingly so. Victor narrowed his eyes slightly, his irritation doubling.
Ahead of him stood the other captains, their expressions varying between meager disinterest and thinly veiled boredom. It was rare, almost unheard of, for all the captains of Obsidian to gather in one place, but he supposed it was inevitable given the strength of their opponents today. Still, Victor allowed himself a small, triumphant smirk.
Unscathed. Not even a mark.
His gaze flicked across the group, taking in their appearances with a critical eye. The man who had spoken—Roger, was it?—stood straight and proper, his armor pristine and his posture stiff.
Next to him, another captain stood dressed in what could only be described as regal, old-fashioned garments, as though he had stepped directly out of a historical painting. His outfit bore traces of sand, but otherwise, he too was unscathed.
Further back, Victor's eyes lingered on a solitary figure clad entirely in sleek armor. The design was meticulous, segmented for mobility while maintaining its imposing structure. Victor frowned slightly.
A mystery. How does someone like that even become a captain? He barely moves. What's the point of him?
Victor's gaze drifted naturally to the next figure. A blonde woman—no, not a woman. A teenager, perhaps a young adult with two gleaming swords strapped to her back. For the life of him, he couldn't recall her name, but something about her presence suggested she was significant.
She had to be. Despite only holding the rank of Vice Captain, she had been included alongside the captains on this mission. Likely due to the fact that the seventh captain's seat was vacant.
If that's the case, why didn't she fill the empty spot?
Ignoring the thought, his gaze shifted left of the blonde warrior, to the fifth captain, and his expression darkened. This one was terrifying. A woman who radiated raw, untamed energy, her heaving breaths making the air feel heavy.
Her hands were coated in blood—the enemies', no doubt. Victor had no doubt that, if not for the sixth and final captain's intervention, she would have torn her opponents apart completely.
The sixth captain was what truly caught Victor's attention, his presence undeniable despite his lack of armor. Unlike the others, his attire was casual— a red buttoned shirt, simple, unassuming.
But his body bore the marks of battle, bruises and scratches visible against the fabric. He carried a small sword at his hip and a larger one strapped to his back, but it was his demeanor that truly set him apart. He stood with one hand extended toward the woman captain.
Sixth Captain: Calm down, Arnette. We need them alive. You've done good.
Victor watched as the woman, Arnette, flicked her blood-red eyes toward the man. For a moment, Victor was certain she would lash out, tearing him apart in a fit of rage. But instead, something shifted. Her expression softened, almost as if she had been possessed, and she obeyed his command without question. Victor's teeth clenched involuntarily.
The ability to command and control so effortlessly. What was required for a feat like that…
The thought was a bitter one, and Victor's irritation flared once more as the polished knight's voice called out to him again.
Roger: Victor! Are you even listening? I told you to focus, damn it!
Victor's gaze snapped to Roger, his expression darkening. His voice was sharp, cutting through the air.
Victor: What kind of man do you think you are, to command me around as if you have the authority?
Roger flinched, shrinking back slightly under Victor's fury. But before the tension could rise further, Victor laughed, the sound sharp and mocking, a sudden smile spreading across his face.
Victor: Relax! They don't have jokes where you're from Roger?
The knight exhaled, his posture relaxing slightly, but Victor wasn't done. His voice turned light, almost playful.
Victor: That fight was tough, huh? I almost could have died, you know. Those girls were no joke huh.
Roger's brows furrowed, his expression incredulous.
Roger: Don't give me that nonsense. You didn't even come close to dying. If anything, it was the rest of us who took the brunt of the force!
Victor chuckled again, waving a dismissive hand.
Victor: Nothing slips past you, does it? But really, you shouldn't complain so much. After all, you spent most of the fight cowering and hiding, didn't you?
Roger's face flushed with embarrassment, and he opened his mouth to protest, but Victor was already stepping past him, his smirk fading into a look of quiet disgust.
Pathetic. A man who exists only to be commanded. No ambition, no drive of his own. It's disgusting.
Victor's thoughts simmered as he walked away, the desert heat pressing down on him once again. He had no patience for weakness.
Victor's steps were deliberate. His gaze was fixed on the casually dressed captain, the man who had so effortlessly commanded Arnette. That calm, commanding presence—it grated on Victor in ways he couldn't fully articulate.
He wanted to press him, to demand respect, to seize the authority that this man wielded so naturally. Victor's fists clenched at his sides as he considered the possibility of losing to this man, not in combat, but in a battle of ambition. No, he wouldn't allow it.
As he drew closer, Victor's sharp eyes caught something—a flicker. Barely perceptible, so faint that any normal human would have missed it entirely. But Victor, whose Astral extended his senses to every grain of sand in this desert, noticed. His steps halted, his posture straightening as his gaze drifted downward.
Hiding. How quaint.
He closed his eyes momentarily, commanding his Astral to reveal what was hidden. Slowly, his vision shifted, sharpening as he focused on the source of the disturbance. There. Laying on the sand, crouched low with a predator's intensity, was a girl.
She was young, barely in her teenage years, her frame small but taut with tension. She was completely camouflaged, her presence invisible to the naked eye. Yet she hadn't escaped his gaze. Not here, not in his territory.
Victor smirked, his voice slicing through the stillness.
Victor: You. Are you with the others? The ones we captured?
The girl didn't respond. Her eyes, half-hidden by the shadows of the sand, burned with a light so intense that Victor felt it pierce straight through him. It wasn't fear he saw in her gaze. No, it was something far more profound, far more dangerous.
Rage? No… it's something else.
Her right hand was strategically placed behind her back. She wasn't just hiding; she was waiting, calculating. His grin widened as he knelt slightly, his tone turning mockingly curious.
Victor: What's the matter? You shy? Or perhaps… perhaps you're ashamed. After all, you could have helped those girls. You could have used that clever little hiding trick of yours to keep them from being captured. But you didn't, did you?
The girl's expression didn't falter. Her stare remained unwavering, the fire in her eyes growing even brighter. Victor's words had no effect on her resolve, no hint of guilt or shame crossed her face. If anything, her silence only confirmed his suspicions. He chuckled softly, a sound that barely masked his growing excitement.
It's just as I thought.
He straightened, brushing an invisible speck of dust from his coat as he continued.
Victor: Why did you let us take your friends? Surely, with your skill, you could have stopped them. Instead, you stayed here, hidden, doing nothing. How cold-hearted.
His voice dripped with feigned pity, but inside, his thoughts burned with recognition. That look in her eyes—
The realization sent a shiver of delight through him, his grin widening into something almost feral. He took a step closer, his voice lowering but losing none of its sharpness.
Victor: What's your plan now, girl? That knife behind your back—are you planning to use it on me? Or have you realized yet that your position is hopeless? You've been found. Your hiding game is over, and now there's nowhere left for you to go. You'll be captured, just like the others. And that will be the end.
He paused dramatically, his voice taking on an air of casual indifference, as if the outcome mattered little to him.
Victor: Unless… unless you're smart enough to take another option. You could accept our offer, you know. Live your life however you please, taking whatever you want, whenever you want. It's simple, really. You could have that sort of life, or you could rot here in this desert, or worse, end up in some fortress, forgotten and miserable. I can't be bothered to care which one you choose, so hurry up and decide.
The girl remained silent, her fiery gaze locked onto him. Victor tilted his head slightly, studying her with growing amusement. Despite the overwhelming odds stacked against her, she didn't falter. That defiance, that burning ambition—it was intoxicating.
Victor smiled maliciously, his voice dropping to a near-whisper.
Victor: Go on, then. Say it.
But he didn't need to wait for a response.
He already knew what she would choose.
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Victor didn't spend much time wondering why he had chosen now to rekindle the old memory. He limped through the cold, dimly lit hallways of the Obsidian facility, his steps uneven as blood trailed behind him, stark against the pristine black floor.
He pressed a hand to his head, the throbbing ache of his wound reminding him of Rachel's insolence. The poison coursing through his veins made his vision blur, his balance falter. It clawed at his senses, dulling them, twisting them, making every step harder than the last.
Damn her. Damn Rachel. How much must she think she's owed to take so much from me? As if killing my loyal soldiers wasn't enough. As if defying my authority wasn't enough. No, she must go further. She must strip me of my senses, my pride. How filthy.
His teeth clenched, his free hand balling into a fist as rage surged through him. He had already decided Rachel would pay for her betrayal, but now that decision hardened into something sharper, crueler. Any hesitation he might have felt about tearing her apart was gone. The thought of dismantling her piece by piece no longer felt like punishment—it felt like justice.
His lips curled into a grimace as he stopped to catch his breath, leaning briefly against the wall. The poison was potent, dulling his ability to rely on his senses. But Victor wasn't worried. He didn't need them. Closing his eyes, he let his breath even out, and a faint shimmer of purple light flickered behind his closed eyelids.
Victor: Astral of Territory…
The light intensified as the Astral activated, enveloping him in a field of control. With it, Victor could let go of his weakened senses and rely instead on something far greater. His Astral's ability wasn't just to dominate a space—it was to make it his.
Every inch of territory that fell under his control became an extension of his will. He didn't need to see the hallway to know it intimately; it belonged to him. Every object, every speck of dust was his to sense, to command.
Tricks, poisons, illusions—they're the tools of the weak, the desperate. But this?
He took another step forward, this time with more confidence. The Astral of Territory filled in the gaps where his senses faltered, guiding him effortlessly through the maze-like corridors. He could feel everything within his domain, the layout of the facility spreading out before him in perfect clarity.
My will. Nobody else in this facility, on this planet, or anywhere else could match it. Not even her.
The thought of her reliance on petty tricks made his blood boil, but he let the anger simmer, focusing instead on the task ahead. She was close. He could feel her now, her presence flaring like a spark in his territory. She had moved into another enclosed chamber, no doubt setting up yet another of her little traps. Victor's lips curled into a sneer.
His bloodied hand slid against the wall as he turned the corner, and the faint metallic scent of blood mingled with the sterile air of the facility.
The chamber loomed ahead, its heavy doors slightly ajar. Victor's eyes remained closed, but the image of the room was clear in his mind, painted by the Astral of Territory. He felt her there, waiting. Perhaps she thought she still had a chance. Perhaps she believed her tricks could outmaneuver him one last time.
Foolish girl.
As he pushed open the doors and stepped into the chamber, he allowed himself a small, cruel smile. His voice, calm yet dripping with malice, echoed through the room.
Victor: I hope you've made peace with your mistakes, as this will be the last room you ever enter.
His eyes remained closed, his head held high as he walked further inside. He didn't need to see her.
Victor finally opened his eyes, squinting against the light as his vision struggled to adjust. There she was. Rachel. Sitting triumphantly in a chair at the center of the room, her posture relaxed, her legs crossed, one arm draped lazily over the armrest.
She looked as though she were seated on a throne, her smug expression only adding to the image. Victor scowled, his Astral flaring briefly as he confirmed the reality of what he was seeing. This wasn't another illusion. She was here.
He stepped forward, his body faltering slightly as the poison coursing through him made his legs weak. He stumbled, catching himself on the doorframe. Before he could recover, Rachel let out a tiny laugh, her voice light and mocking.
Rachel: Do you need a hand, sir? You're looking a little… unsteady.
The sound of her voice ignited a fury so intense that Victor stopped dead in his tracks. His chest rose and fell heavily, and then it all came pouring out.
Victor: What kind of woman do you think you are? Hm? Defying me like this, after everything I've done for you? Insolence doesn't even begin to cover it. Unacceptable. Absolutely unacceptable! Do you think this is how the world works, Rachel? Do you think you can bite the hand that fed you and expect no consequences? It's laughable. Disgusting, even.
His voice rose, echoing off the walls as he took a shaky step closer, his hand trembling as he gestured toward her.
Victor: I saved you. Do you understand that? You were nothing when I found you. A nobody. Destined for obscurity. And I, in my generosity, lifted you out of that pit. I gave you purpose. I gave you power. I gave you the perfect life. Vice captain, Rachel. Vice captain! Do you know how many people would kill for that position? How many would grovel, beg, sell their very souls for the chance to stand where you stood? And yet you—you—throw it all away. For what? Some insatiable desire for more?
Victor's breath hitched, his rant spiraling further as his rage and poison-clouded mind pushed him deeper.
Victor: You're filthy, Rachel. Filthy. That's what you are. You take and take and take, never satisfied, never grateful. How much is enough for you? Tell me! Do you want the moon? The stars? My very existence? Is there no end to your selfishness?
His voice cracked slightly, his hand clutching his chest as the pain flared again, but he continued, his words spilling out uncontrollably.
Victor: I should have known. I should have known from the moment I saw you. Women like you bring nothing but strife and trouble to everyone around them. You're like a pig. A filthy, ungrateful pig that eats from its owner's plate and still dares to demand more. That type of person deserves—
Rachel's loud yawn cut through his tirade, halting his words mid-sentence. Victor froze, his eyes widening in disbelief as she slowly rose from her chair, stretching her arms above her head as though she had just woken from a nap.
She yawns. She yawns?!
His teeth ground together, his body trembling with rage as he stared at her, unable to comprehend the audacity. How dare she dismiss him so casually? How dare she interrupt his condemnation?
Rachel, however, simply smiled, her eyes blazing with that unrelenting fire.
Rachel: Honestly, I couldn't care less about your ramblings. I never have.
Her voice was light, mocking, as she began to pace slowly, circling Victor like a predator sizing up its prey.
Rachel: In fact, I've never cared about you at all. Though…
She paused, tilting her head slightly, her grin widening.
Rachel: I suppose I should thank you. Without you, I never would have made it this far. And now you're the only thing standing in the way of me becoming a captain.
Victor's scowl deepened, his vision beginning to blur again as Rachel's words started to slur in his ears. She continued to pace, her tone becoming sharper, more pointed.
Rachel: Did you really think I'd be satisfied with the position of vice captain? You know it as well as I do. You must have known this would happen the moment you brought me on board.
Victor swayed slightly, his hand pressing harder against his chest as the poison pulsed through him. He tried to focus, tried to make sense of her words, but they twisted and blurred in his mind. The fire in her eyes seemed to grow brighter, more consuming, and for the first time, a sliver of unease crept into Victor's chest.
The antidote. I need the antidote. Before… before it's too late.
He took another unsteady step forward, his mind racing even as his body faltered. He had to end this quickly.
He slammed his hand into the floor, purple energy surging outward in an instant. The chamber responded to his call, his Astral of Territory activating with a raw, desperate power. From the walls, from the ground, from every corner of his domain, hands began to sprout, massive and relentless, twisting and reaching with unnatural speed.
You'll kneel. You'll break. You'll submit! And then I'll take everything. Every last bit.
The hands, strengthened by the natural energy of the facility, shot toward Rachel faster than any normal human could ever hope to avoid. The air cracked with the force of their movements, each one imbued with the strength to crush or capture her on impact. It should have been over in an instant, a decisive blow to end her futile defiance.
But Rachel wasn't there. She flipped backward with a grace and speed that defied belief, dodging each hand as though she'd danced this waltz a hundred times before. Her movements were fluid, but most infuriating of all—they were utterly unrestrained.
Victor's eyes widened as she weaved through the barrage, twisting and contorting her body to evade every grasping hand.
This speed… she wasn't like this before. Back with Mason, she was slower, weaker. Was she… was she pretending?
The thought clawed at him, setting his teeth on edge. His voice rose into a furious scream as he pushed more energy into his Astral, the hands moving faster, slamming into the walls and ground as they chased after her.
Rachel, however, didn't stop. She outmaneuvered every trap, every attempt he made to corner her. Even when Victor opened holes in the ground beneath her feet, she leaped away with impossible precision, landing gracefully on her toes. She was untouchable, slipping through his grasp like water through clenched fists.
How? How is she still moving like this? She's not even using illusions. Just how long has she been planning this? How long has she studied me?
He stumbled backward, the poison dulling his movements, forcing him to put distance between himself and Rachel as she pressed forward, closer and closer. Pillars erupted from the floor, blades shot from the walls, and yet Rachel dodged them all, her knife gleaming in her hand as she advanced. Victor's heart pounded in his chest, a mixture of fury and disbelief overwhelming him.
Unacceptable. Completely unacceptable.
Finally, she closed the distance. Rachel was mere inches away, her knife raised, ready to strike. Victor's breath hitched, but he wouldn't lose.
With a roar, he summoned the last reserves of his Astral energy, twisting the trajectory of the hands sprouting from the ground. One of them shot upward, its massive fingers clamping around Rachel's leg. She stumbled, the momentum of her charge broken.
Victory.
Victor's smirk returned as more hands emerged, grabbing her arms, her waist, her shoulders, until she was pinned to the floor in a kneeling position. She struggled, but her movements were futile now. From the neck down, she couldn't move.
He limped toward her, his vision swimming, but his smile widening with every step. Finally, he stood over her, raising his hand and placing his palm directly on her face.
Victor: The antidote. Hand it over now, and maybe I'll make it quick. For old time's sake.
Rachel, however, had other plans. Without hesitation, she sank her teeth into his palm. Victor recoiled with a shout, pulling his hand back and shaking it in disgust.
Victor: You filthy—how dare you!
Rachel: I've already decided, Victor. I'm going to win. I won't grovel or beg or give in to a filthy man like you. Not when my will to win is so much stronger than yours.
Her voice was calm, her smile sharp as she stared up at him. Victor's scowl deepened, his body trembling with barely-contained rage.
Victor: No matter. I'll take the antidote off your corpse if I have to.
He placed both palms together, purple energy radiating from his body as he prepared to end it once and for all. The air around him grew heavy, the chamber trembling under the force of his Astral. Forming his hand into the shape of a gun, he pointed his finger straight at Rachel.
Victor: Astral Awakening… Immediate—
But he wouldn't get to finish.
The chamber trembled violently, the air splitting with a deafening roar as the wall to Victor's right exploded into a shower of debris. Shards of stone and steel flew outward, scattering across the room, the sheer force of the impact sending a wave of dust cascading over everything. Victor staggered, his arms instinctively rising to shield his face as the sudden gust threatened to knock him off his feet.
For a brief moment, the entire room seemed frozen, the echo of the explosion ringing in Victor's ears. Then came the sound—the deep, guttural bellow of something massive, something primal.
Victor's head snapped toward the source, his eyes widening as he took in the figure emerging from the chaos.
Looming in the dust-filled gap was a colossal bull-headed creature, its massive frame dominating the space. Its thick, muscular body pulsed with raw energy, every movement radiating power as it stepped forward with earth-shaking stomps. Its glowing black eyes burned with unrelenting fury, and its breath came out in visible, steaming huffs, filling the chamber with an oppressive heat.
But what drew Victor's attention most wasn't the beast itself—it was the figure riding atop it.
Clinging tightly to the beast's neck was a blonde boy, flaming black ropes crackling around the creature. The ropes danced along his body, licking at his arms and shoulders, casting jagged shadows against the walls. His hands gripped the black ropes on the creature's thick hide with unwavering strength, and his eyes—those piercing, determined black eyes—burned just as fiercely as the flames that surrounded him.
Victor stared, his mouth slightly agape as Mason tumbled from the back of the massive bull creature, his body rolling across the ground before coming to a stop near Rachel. Dust swirled in the air as the beast let out another earth-shaking roar, but Victor's eyes were locked on the blonde boy sprawled on the floor. Mason groaned, dragging himself upright with a shaky hand.
Rachel, still bound and kneeling on the floor, scowled at the boy as though his entrance had been some great inconvenience rather than salvation.
Rachel: Took your sweet-ass time, Heartson. If you took any longer I seriously would have died you know.
Mason whipped his head around to face her, his face twisted in indignation.
Mason: Oh, I'm sorry! Maybe if your instructions weren't so vague, I wouldn't have spent the last eternity trying to navigate this labyrinth while hauling around a ten-ton goliath!
Rachel sneered as Mason reached out, activating his Astral. Black flames sparked to life around his hands as the bindings trapping her to the ground twisted and tore apart like paper. She stood up quickly, brushing off dust with exaggerated disdain.
Rachel: What happened to the hyenas? You didn't have to bring that thing, you know.
Mason shot her a sarcastic glare.
Mason: Oh, sure. Next time, I'll just tell it nicely to stay put.
Victor's lips pressed into a thin line as he watched the two trade insults back and forth. His mind raced.
Planned? Was this planned? No… surely not.
But the longer he watched them, the less confident he felt. His grip tightened, his nails biting into his palms as rage bubbled to the surface. This was becoming a drag. It was time to end it. He turned, summoning his energy once more to activate his ability and finish this fight. His hand trembled slightly as he began the chant, but suddenly, his knees buckled.
Victor stumbled, his balance faltering, and he clutched his chest. The poison. Damn it.
That moment of hesitation was enough. Chaos erupted.
The bull-like creature roared again, charging forward with unstoppable momentum. Mason and Rachel dove in opposite directions as the beast slammed into Victor. He summoned a wall of steel from the ground just in time, the structure groaning under the force of the impact. But it wasn't enough. The bull plowed through, sending Victor sprawling across the floor.
Victor scrambled to his feet, summoning more defenses, but the beast continued to wreak havoc, crashing through every barrier and leaving destruction in its wake. Its sheer size and relentless energy turned the entire chamber into a battlefield. Even when it wasn't directly attacking him, its rampage kept him pinned, unable to focus on his true targets.
Mason darted toward Victor, black flames igniting in his hands as he closed the distance. Victor snarled, slamming his fist into the ground and summoning hands to lash out at the boy. The hands erupted from the floor with blinding speed, but Mason moved faster, dodging and weaving through the attacks with unrelenting determination.
But then, just as Mason closed the gap, the bull turned its attention back to him, swinging its massive horns. Mason barely avoided the blow, rolling to the side and counterattacking with a burst of flames. The beast roared, unphased, as it charged at him again. Victor saw his opening and prepared to strike, but a blur of motion caught his eye.
Rachel.
She came from his blind spot, her knife glinting as it sliced through the air. Victor twisted at the last second, avoiding a fatal blow but feeling the blade bite into his side. He stumbled back, his breathing ragged, his vision spinning.
What is this?
Rachel bounced off the walls of the chamber now, her movements erratic and disorienting. Victor screamed, slamming his fists into the ground again, summoning more energy. The walls and floor trembled violently as hands erupted in every direction, attacking indiscriminately.
Mason pushed forward through the onslaught, deflecting blows with his flames and protecting Rachel as she darted around the chamber. She used Mason's cover to deliver more slashes to Victor.
Victor dropped to one knee, his body trembling with exhaustion and pain. He couldn't focus. He couldn't think. The poison clouded his mind, and the relentless attacks chipped away at his defenses.
Enough. Enough of this.
His eyes locked onto Mason.
Once he's gone, Rachel and the beast will fall. I'll tear him apart first.
Clasping his hands together, Victor chanted.
Victor: Astral Awakening. Immediate Territory.
An ability that allowed him to target any object, or even living being, and manipulate it completely, making it his territory. While such a trump card would weaken his output, it would be necessary if it could end this fight quickly.
Purple energy surged around him, the walls trembling under its intensity. Forming his fingers into the shape of a gun, he pointed directly at Mason, a malicious smile spreading across his face.
He fired.
But in that instant, the world shifted. His vision blurred, the targets in his sights changing places. Where Mason had been standing, the bull now stood. Victor's breath hitched as realization dawned.
I missed.
The command landed on the wrong target, and the bull let out one final, agonized roar before its massive frame crumbled, dismantled in an instant. The beast collapsed into nothingness, its death echoing through the chamber.
And then Rachel's voice rang out, cutting through the silence.
Rachel: Thanks.
She appeared again, delivering a sharp blow to Victor's abdomen with her knife. He stumbled, blood spilling from the wound as Mason surged forward, flames roaring to life around him. Victor summoned more hands in desperation, but Mason burned through them, his flames powerful than ever.
The bull… its death increased his output? How—
Mason closed the distance, his black flames curling around his fist. Victor panicked, slamming his hand into the ground to encase his arm in metal for a counterattack. But it was futile. Mason's punch connected, and the metal shattered like glass.
Victor's arm exploded into a bloody mess, and he fell to his knees, gasping in pain. Rachel appeared again, her knife striking his back, forcing him further down. Victor knelt, clutching his ruined arm, his vision fading.
What… what is this?
He looked up at Mason, the boy standing over him, his eyes burning with resolve.
Victor: What… is this? How… how could greedy pigs like you do this to me? Do you have any idea, WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING!
Mason stared down at him, his flames flickering.
Mason: You said it yourself. Rachel and I are greedy. We want and want and want, and we'll do anything to get what we want. That's the kind of people we are.
Mason: And we came up with a greedy plan to take it all. Working together, relying on each other, doing all of this, just to take what we want. There's nothing more greedy than that.
Victor's body trembled.
Greed—
No.
Ambition.
His breath hitched, his vision swimming as the truth clawed its way into his mind. If Rachel and Mason had been willing to embrace their greed, to work together to achieve their goal, then their combined ambition had far exceeded his own hadn't it.
He could never, he would never sink so low as to rely on others to achieve what rightfully belonged to him alone. But maybe…
That ambition…
His lips quivered as he looked up at the duo standing above him, their eyes blazing with unrelenting resolve.
That ambition surpasses even that of a king…
Victor: How…
Mason raised his fist, black flames roaring to life.
He didn't care to let Victor finish.
Mason: Overdrive!
He drove his fist into Victor's chest, the impact devastating. Black flames erupted outward, consuming Victor's body and crumbling the entire side of the chamber. Mason's attack carried the full weight of his soul, his will, and his ambition.
As Victor's body disintegrated, his lips curled into a final, bitter smile.
How greedy…
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Mason slumped down, his knees nearly buckling as his body screamed in protest. He leaned against the nearest wall, his breath ragged and shallow. To say his body ached was an understatement—it felt as though every muscle, every fiber of his being was unraveling, on the verge of disintegration.
The overuse of the Astral of Death had pushed him to his absolute limit, and only the influx of death energy from the bull's demise had carried him this far. Without it, he would have collapsed long before the fight reached its end.
It's over. It's really… over.
His gaze drifted upward, landing on the figure near the entrance of the chamber. Rachel stood there, her posture relaxed, her chest rising and falling as though the battle hadn't taken anything from her at all. Her expression, however, was what caught him. That smile—wide, genuine, and brimming with triumph—lit up her face. She stared at the ceiling, lost in some thought Mason couldn't hope to decipher.
What's she thinking about now? Does it even matter?
He didn't care. That smile made everything worth it—the pain, the suffering, the gamble that could have killed them both. He had defeated Victor Popescu, the captain of this fortress. He had survived.
Summoning every ounce of strength he had left, Mason pushed himself to his feet. His legs wobbled beneath him, but he forced them to move, step by agonizing step, toward the girl who had fought alongside him, the one who had given him a reason to keep pushing forward.
He opened his mouth to speak, unsure of what words would even come out. Something sarcastic? Something sentimental? He didn't know. He just needed to say something—anything—to fill the silence.
But before a single word could escape, the air shifted.
There was a blur—a flash of movement so fast that Mason's overtaxed senses couldn't register it. His body tensed, his instincts screaming at him to react, but he was too slow, too drained, too late.
His eyes widened in horror.
Rachel's body jerked forward, her chest pierced by a blade so white it seemed to glow against the dim light of the chamber. The sound of metal slicing through flesh echoed in his ears, a sound he would never forget. Blood bubbled from her lips as her wide eyes met his for a fleeting, agonizing moment.
No… no, no, no!
The blade was withdrawn just as quickly as it had appeared, and Rachel crumbled to the floor, her body lifeless, her once-brilliant smile now frozen in place.
Mason's knees gave out, his body collapsing as he stared at the scene before him. His mind raced, his heart pounding so violently it drowned out all other sound.
Edward: Congratulations on your victory Heartson, what a feat it is to defeat a captain!