Silence thickened the red-hued air like a curtain before a storm. Asuma and Kian stood locked in a breathless standoff, their weapons low but taut with lethal promise. The shattered, floating world around them pulsed faintly with the tension of an oncoming clash.
Then, as if cued by an unseen conductor, they lunged forward—steel and shadow colliding in a blur of motion.
Sparks burst as Asuma met Kian's blade, their strikes ringing through the dimension like thunderclaps. They exchanged blow after blow, the air howling around them from the force of each strike. Asuma's blade burned bright with fire magic, while Kian's weapon pulsed with a shadowy malevolence that seemed to siphon the light itself.
Kian weaved in shadow, his form slipping and reappearing like a living specter. Black tendrils lashed out from the ground, trying to catch Asuma off-guard. But Asuma's reflexes were razor-sharp, his body honed by battle, his spirit hardened by loss.
Amira, now freed from the grip of Kian's earlier restraint, watched in awe from the side. The Asuma she'd trained with in the academy had been skilled—but the Asuma before her now was something else entirely.
"He's gotten stronger," she whispered, the surprise in her voice tinged with pride. "So much stronger... in just a few months."
But Kian wasn't done.
Frustrated by Asuma's resilience, he slid backward with supernatural speed, his feet barely touching the ground as he raised his cursed hand to the sky.
"Shadow Magic: Death Grip."
The words echoed like a death sentence.
From Kian's shadow, a wave of darkness erupted—hundreds of grasping hands made of writhing shadow burst forth, twisting and clawing through the air like starving beasts. They surged across the battlefield, all aiming directly for Asuma and Amira.
The ground beneath them shook as the tendrils tore through the air, warping the very reality around them.
"This guy—!" Amira hissed, darting sideways just as one of the shadow hands lunged at her. She rolled, narrowly dodging its crushing grip.
Asuma slashed through several of the shadow limbs with his flaming sword, but to his frustration, they reformed almost instantly, passing through his blade as though it were slicing mist. His attacks did nothing to stop their advance.
"They're not real matter—just pure magic," he realized. "I can't cut through them..."
Dozens of hands closed in. Each one seemed to carry a whisper—voices of the damned, of souls long devoured by the darkness.
Amira leapt across a broken pillar, breathing hard as she spun and blasted a few of the hands with a burst of lightning—only to see them reform again in seconds.
"They're tracking us—they won't stop!" she shouted, narrowly avoiding another grasp that shattered a piece of floating stone beside her.
The only way to stop the torrent of grasping, death-bound hands was to cut the source—Kian himself.
Locked into a wordless decision, Asuma and Amira exchanged a single nod across the battlefield, understanding one another without speaking. They dashed toward Kian from opposite flanks, weaving through the labyrinth of shadowy hands that reached hungrily for their limbs.
The world around them twisted with every motion. Each shadow hand snapped just inches from their bodies, their claws tearing through illusions of air and light. It was like running through a storm of spectral predators.
"Asuma!" Amira called out, her voice slicing through the chaos.
He turned his head just in time to see her raise her hand, electricity crackling to life around her fingers.
"Lightning Magic: Thunder Veil!" she shouted.
A violent burst of electric energy surged around her body, forming a glowing barrier that detonated outward in a pulse of white-hot light. The sheer brilliance of it seared the air, temporarily blinding Kian and causing the shadows to flinch and dissipate into smoke.
It was the opening Asuma needed.
With a burst of speed, he closed the distance between himself and the disoriented Kian. His flaming sword ignited fully, trailing a blazing arc behind him as he leapt forward.
"Fire Magic: Crimson Fang!"
The blade carved a blazing crescent through Kian's chest, slicing cleanly across his ribs and into the core of his cursed form. A final gasp escaped Kian's lips as he collapsed to his knees. A whisper—barely audible—slipped past his bloodied mouth.
"...My brother..."
Kian's body fell forward, black smoke curling from his wounds. His corrupted aura faded into silence.
Amira stepped beside Asuma, her breaths heavy but steady. "We got him."
But the moment of victory was short-lived.
"Fool..." came a voice, low and laced with venom. "How could you die so easily?"
Balak stood over Kian's lifeless body, having appeared without a single sound. His massive frame radiated menace. Red hair like burning coals draped across his shoulders, and his eyes—glowing like molten steel—never blinked as he stared at the fallen twin.
Asuma's mind reeled. How the hell did he get here so fast? Even with all his senses sharpened by battle, he hadn't seen Balak move.
Amira didn't hesitate. She spun and launched her spear straight at Balak's chest, but he snatched it midair with one hand—effortlessly.
He didn't even flinch.
His gaze was still on Kian, his voice now bitter with disgust. "Interruptions. Constant interruptions. How should I rip you apart for this one, I wonder?"
Balak slowly lifted his gaze to Amira, his lips curling into something between a sneer and a smile. The air around him changed. It grew heavy. Hot. As if the dimension itself were preparing to explode.
"Back off," Asuma warned, stepping forward with his blade raised. "If you want a fight, come through me."
Balak finally turned his full attention on him.
"Oh, I will," he said softly, a cruel excitement flickering in his eyes. "And when I'm done, I'll make sure the sage is next."
Suddenly, like the crack of thunder in a still sky, the very fabric of the twisted dimension tore open. The rupture burst forth like a tidal wave, distorting reality with a roar that echoed through the blood-red sky. A golden light swirled into the broken world—pure, authoritative, and heavy with pressure. An aura so potent it felt like gravity had doubled.
That divine energy could only belong to one person.
"Princess Urillia?" Asuma breathed, stunned.
From the gaping rift stepped the third princess of the Azel Empire, Urillia Azel, her golden eyes glowing with unnatural light. Beside her was Denias, cloaked in polished silver, his hand calmly resting on the hilt of his blade. They stepped into the shattered realm like gods descending onto a battlefield.
Balak froze, his grin faltering. He turned to face the princess with a sneer. "Princess? Well, well... you saved me the trouble. Instead of hunting you down, you've delivered yourself to me."
Urillia ignored his taunt, surveying the realm with cold curiosity. "An alternate reality. Fascinating. This dimension reeks of corruption... conjured by ancient void magic. Sloppy work."
Balak's brow twitched. "Are you ignoring me!?" he growled, visibly agitated by her dismissiveness.
Her gaze finally locked onto him, and for a moment, the air itself recoiled.
"Denias," she commanded with icy precision, "take care of this man."
Her golden pupils narrowed like a dragon surveying prey, her tone devoid of emotion—more declaration than request.
Balak laughed, stepping forward, "Take care? Do you know who I am, princess? I'm—"
His words died in his throat.
In the blink of an eye, Balak's vision spun sideways.
He saw his own body fall to its knees—his headless body. And then, darkness.
Denias stood behind him, sword humming faintly with raw energy, as if it had cut through more than just flesh—time itself.
Not a single soul had seen the movement. No flash. No arc. Only the aftermath.
Silence.
Even the broken world around them seemed to hold its breath.
Asuma and Amira stood frozen, stunned not only by the sheer speed but the sheer finality of Denias's strike. Balak—the berserker, one of the empire's most wanted, a man who once leveled an entire village in a single night—had been cut down without effort.
Amira whispered, almost to herself, "That was... absurd."
Urillia stepped past Balak's fallen body, her eyes scanning the space for anything else that dared challenge her will.
"There are fates worse than death," she murmured, "but for garbage like him... death is a kindness."
She turned to Asuma and Amira. "It seems we have much to discuss. But not here."
With a wave of her hand, the dimension began to collapse. The red sky cracked like glass, and reality itself began to reassemble.
"Let's return to the real world."