The air seemed to still itself, as if the world had taken a breath and held it. A heavy silence hung over the battlefield—a silence so dense it muffled even the wind. The tension between the two mages was palpable. On one end stood Amber Nois, the great Archmage, a woman whose very presence made the sky seem calmer. On the other, the infamous Scarlet Raven, a terrifying force of destruction barely bound by human form.
They stood there, neither moving, yet their auras clashed like roaring oceans meeting at a storm's heart.
Spectators watched with bated breath, knowing they were about to witness something the world would whisper about for centuries to come.
Josh Aratat, though once bruised and exhausted, and now fully healed and recovered, had not retreated. He remained on his feet, and looked like he was ready for more, breathing steadily, his staff clutched loosely in one hand as his eyes flicked between the two legends. He noticed something peculiar—Amber wasn't even in a stance. She looked relaxed. Too relaxed. Almost… disinterested.
Meanwhile, the Scarlet Raven was visibly tense. His eyes burned like twin suns, his muscles coiled with magic ready to burst. Sweat trickled down his temples—not from fear, but from the raw magnitude of energy he was summoning.
Then, the Scarlet Raven took a step back.
A moment later, he began to move—slowly at first—his fingers weaving through the air in strange, elegant patterns. The motion was like painting in mid-air with threads of glowing light, each stroke forming runes and symbols that seemed to shimmer and dissolve into vapor. He was invoking Air Magic—a rare, powerful branch of elemental sorcery that allowed the conjuring of weapons or substances from ambient molecules.
What made it especially dangerous was its adaptability. If one's mastery was high enough, any substance—acid, flame, toxins, or even microscopic razors—could be birthed from nothingness.
But Amber Nois remained still. Her gaze was half-lidded, her posture casual, like a teacher letting a student demonstrate a trick for the hundredth time. Her presence exuded confidence—not arrogance, but a terrifying certainty. 'Go on, child,' her demeanor said. 'Let's see how hard you can throw your toys.'
The Scarlet Raven finished the spell.
From his runes, a storm of glowing crimson insects emerged—tiny, fiery creatures shaped like wasps and dragonflies. They hissed through the air with unnatural speed, trailing streaks of red flame behind them. From afar, they seemed delicate, almost ornamental.
Then one of them veered off, striking a spectator who had refused to flee.
In an instant, the man was reduced to nothing. Not even bones remained. A shimmer of heat, a breath of ash, and he was gone—erased as if he never existed.
The crowd screamed. Panic surged through the people as they pushed backward, trampling one another to escape. They had now seen the truth—those "insects" were miniature death-bringers, composed of pure, weaponized plasma.
Amber didn't flinch. She spared the briefest glance at the victim. Her face didn't reflect guilt—only cold resolve. She had signaled for the civilians to fall back long before. If they chose to ignore the warnings, their fate was their own.
Now the fiery swarm was upon her.
In a motion as fluid as water, Amber raised one hand—her fingers dancing with finesse that made Scarlet Raven's weaving seem primitive in comparison. She made no chant. No dramatic stance. Her gestures were like whispers to the air.
And suddenly… the swarm froze.
Time itself seemed to pause for a second as the deadly insects trembled in place. Then, slowly, they turned—redirected. No longer under the Scarlet Raven's control.
They obeyed her now.
A flick of her wrist—and the entire swarm reversed course like a cyclone turned inside out.
"No…" the Scarlet Raven whispered. His eyes widened with dawning horror. "Wait—you could do that? You can override—?"
Before the sentence could finish, the swarm collided with him.
The force of the impact launched him skyward like a comet. Dozens of fiery insects tore into his flesh, igniting him mid-air. His scream echoed across the field as he tumbled to the earth, crashing down in a heap of smoke and blistered flesh. He writhed in pain, his limbs twitching violently.
The very magic he had conjured had been turned against him. It had been Level 8 Air Magic—a spell that only highly ranked mages could even attempt to survive.
Josh's eyes widened as he realized: the Scarlet Raven hadn't even used that spell against him earlier. He was holding back…
Amber's arrival had not only saved his life—it had exposed just how deeply outclassed he was against the Scarlet Raven and how monstrous the great Archmage, Amber Nois truly was.
And yet... this wasn't the old Amber Nois. This was Amber after a hundred and fifty years of magical hibernation—a practice known to exponentially amplify a mage's mana core, allowing them to bypass magical limits that once shackled them.
Now, her power was no longer legendary. It was mythic.
The Scarlet Raven spirit within Uriel Commes—a lesser demon infamous for toppling empires and leaving civilizations in ruin—was now completely overshadowed. What once loomed like an apocalyptic force had been reduced to a flickering ember, trembling before a roaring inferno.
What once felt like the end of the world...
Now felt like nothing more than a child's tantrum in the face of a storm.
This wasn't a duel.
This wasn't even a contest.
This was an execution.
Amber Nois, the great Archmage, stood unmoved.
Even when factoring in the presence of the Scarlet Raven spirit, this confrontation had been pure overkill. A lesser demon—however bloodthirsty or volatile—was still no match for a mage who had just emerged from a century and a half of magical hibernation. Such slumber was not rest; it was refinement, the silent boiling of mana until it surpassed all known thresholds.
Pitting the Scarlet Raven against Amber Nois now was like throwing a matchstick at a glacier, hoping it would melt.
She began to walk forward, slow and deliberate, her boots making soft crunches on the scorched earth. Her gaze fell upon the crumpled body of Uriel Commes—unconscious, smouldering, broken.
And for a moment... she sighed.
Not out of fatigue.
But out of old, quiet regret.
All those years ago, she had taken pity on him. She remembered the boy behind the Scarlet Raven demon—Uriel Commes, once a bright young mage with potential. She had watched as his world collapsed: betrayed by his master, abandoned by those he trusted, humiliated as the woman he loved was taken from him.
Desperate, broken, and seething with resentment, he had turned to the forbidden. He sought power at any cost—and that cost was steep.
He bound himself to the Scarlet Raven spirit. But instead of gaining control over it, he became its vessel—a man without restraint, consumed by madness, killing for pleasure, destroying for the thrill of it. His soul eroded. His mind fractured. He was no longer Uriel. He was the Scarlet Raven.
Amber had shown mercy once.
But not again.
This time, her judgment would be final.
With a grace that held centuries of experience, Amber raised her hands and began to weave a sequence of sigils. The air shimmered as multicoloured halos bloomed around her fingers—each movement a piece of divine calligraphy written in light.
Even the most hardened mages in the crowd were held breathless, entranced by the elegance of her spellwork. It was like watching the laws of reality being rewritten midair.
Then, with a final flourish, a sigil pulsed from her palm—a radiant seal of ancient magic—and slipped into Uriel's chest.
Instantly, the effect was catastrophic.
His magical meridians cracked and shattered like brittle glass.
His mana core, the very center of his power, ruptured and dissolved.
And within him, the Scarlet Raven spirit screamed, bound in invisible chains that coiled around it, locking its essence deep into his soul like a prison with no doors.
It was done.
Unless another Archmage of Amber's caliber arose—and none had in over two centuries—he would never be freed, or so they thought.
Amber watched him, her expression unreadable. Perhaps there was still a flicker of mourning. Perhaps not.
With a swift motion, she conjured a small floating cage, made of reinforced ethereal iron and threaded with sigil wards so complex even demonologists would weep at the sight. The cage closed around the unconscious Uriel, sealing him in a stasis field that suspended time within.
She had made her decision.
This time, Uriel Commes—the man who once called himself the Scarlet Raven—would remain by her side. Not as a companion. Not as a rival. But as a captive.
Where she could watch him.
Contain him.
And never allow him to fall into darkness again.