Seeing his attack do next to no damage, Azhrael instinctively tried to pull his hand back. However, an iron grip held his fist firmly in place, unyielding no matter how much strength he put into it.
The figure smirked, their expression brimming with mockery. With their free hand, they slowly raised their palm, extending it toward Azhrael's chest with an almost casual motion before striking.
To an observer from afar, the blow seemed light, almost inconsequential, but to Azhrael, it was like being struck by a war hammer.
The impact reverberated through his chest, knocking the air from his lungs and shattering bones with ease.
The force was so overwhelming that, for a fleeting moment, his vision blurred, and the world spun around him.
He staggered back, his legs barely holding him upright as blood dripped from the corner of his mouth. His breathing was ragged, each inhale searing his lungs with pain.
The figure's grin widened, a glint of sadistic amusement in their eyes. "Oh, quite resilient, aren't we?" they taunted, their tone dripping with amusement.
Azhrael gritted his teeth, his trembling body struggling to keep itself steady. Even through the haze of pain, a spark of defiance remained in his eyes. "I'm not done yet…" he muttered, his voice strained but firm.
The figure chuckled sadisticly "Good. It would've been boring otherwise."
Azhrael moved again, this time faster than before, his movements driven by desperation and fury. His frost mana shimmered with an intensity that turned the very air frigid, frost crawling on his hand. His fist aimed straight for the figure, its power surging to its peak.
The figure, unfazed, raised a casual hand, as if to brush away the attack. But just as their hand moved to intercept, Azhrael roared, detonating the frost mana in a blinding burst.
Boom!
Yes, a self sacrificing attack, even if his emotions were not in the right place, even if he was trembling with rage, even if wanted nothing more than to kill the figure.
He wasn't stupid, just from the first strike, it was clear, that the figure standing in his front was strong, stronger than anything he had faced.
However, even then for his words, he atleast wanted to hit this man once, even if was just a slight scratch he wanted to do it. He didn't know if he was just renting out his rage and greif on the man but it didn't matter.
Thus, he gathered all of his mana in his fist and exploded it.
The explosion sent a shockwave through the area, waves of biting cold radiating outward as frost covered the ground in jagged shards of ice. A blue-white mist engulfed everything, obscuring the figure from sight.
The temperature plummeted, and for a brief moment, Azhrael allowed himself the faintest flicker of satisfaction. He had given everything for that attack.
But then, before the frost and smoke could even settle, a sharp hum filled the air. A brilliant slash of condensed mana erupted from the mist, slicing through the icy haze with blinding speed. Azhrael's eyes widened, his body too battered and slow to react.
Shkk!
The slash struck him, tearing through his chest. Pain erupted as blood poured from the deep wound, staining the frozen ground crimson.
Azhrael fell to his knees, his vision blurring as he clutched his chest, trying to stem the flow of blood. His breaths came in ragged gasps, his body trembling as he stared at the ground in immense agony.
As the remnants of the frost and smoke cleared, the figure emerged, untouched, standing tall amidst the devastation.
A faint glow surrounded them, a hexagonal barrier of mana shimmering around their body. Not a single scratch marred their form. Their expression now was slightly cold and distant, their eyes boring into Azhrael.
"Pathetic," the figure said, their voice sharp and unyielding. "Relying on cheap tricks like that in a battle? Truly pathetic."
Azhrael grit his teeth, his fingers digging into the ground as he tried to force himself up, but his body wouldn't respond. His chest burned with agony, yet the cold, indifferent words of the figure hurt even more.
But the figure, outwardly composed, hid quite a flurry of emotions behind his facade. Behind the cold and detached expression, an uncontrollable excitement surged through their veins, their heart pounding like a war drum.
I've finally found it!
The thought echoed in their mind, a triumphant roar drowning out everything else. Inwardly, they laughed—like a manic, happily, a sound that would terrify anyone who could hear it.
It was the laughter of someone who had hit the jackpot after risking it all, a gambler who had gone all in and emerged victorious when everything seemed lost.
However, as the figure basked in his inward triumph, faint, trembling words reached his ears.
His eyes narrowing as he turned to look at the boy—this broken, battered boy whom he had discovered after sensing the vast surge of mana.
The figure had been surprised the moment he first laid eyes on him. The boy's affinity with mana was beyond exceptional, unnatural even. It was as if the mana itself loved him, responding to his very existence, even more than it did for the revered elves.
Such a phenomenon was unheard of. However seeing the boy like that crying and wallowing he thought about leaving, dismissing the boy as a shattered potential.
But something had made him pause. It was his intuition. The same intuition which had helped him in countless battle where death was just knocking at the doorstep. Thus, he decided to give the boy a single chance.
And oh, how spectacularly the boy had risen to the occasion.
"Take those words back," came the faint voice again. The figure's brows rose slightly, intrigued, as he watched Azhrael force himself to his feet despite his battered state.
His body swayed, blood dripping freely, yet his resolve burned brighter than ever.
"Nice, even his endurance and willpower are remarkable" the figure thought inwardly and decided to answer his words.