Kyro froze mid-step.
Behind him, the katana lifted on its own, drawn upward by a call older than breath. It shot across the chamber and slammed into Zay's open palm.
Though unconscious, Zay's fingers instantly clenched the hilt with deliberate purpose, as though the blade had never belonged anywhere else. His head tilted forward, his hair shadowing his face.
Then, he rose.
Zay stood like a ghost returning to battle.
The violet aura that had once danced around him was obliterated in an instant, swallowed whole by the vast, midnight-blue storm that coiled around him like a living beast. From deep within it, streaks of shadowed black aura lashed outward in jagged spirals, pulsing with some twisted resonance.
Kyro turned, spear already raised. But when he saw Zay's eyes—he froze.
Gone were the amethyst gems.
In their place were deep dark-blue eyes, each holding a glowing crescent moon in the iris, ringed by a shifting halo of black that seemed to ripple and pull at reality. They were alien. Tranquil. Terrifying.
Zay exhaled.
And his body healed.
Completely.
Cracks in his ribs vanished. Bruises faded. The blood that had once stained his lip disappeared without a trace. Muscles realigned, breath steadied—until it was like he had never taken damage at all.
[Unholy Regeneration] has activated, somehow it activated on it's own.
Kyro narrowed his eyes.
"That's impossible…" he muttered. "He's… unconscious. I know he is. But—he's moving like…"
His thoughts caught in his throat as Zay stepped forward—no, surged forward. His katana slashed horizontally with speed unnatural, steel screaming through the air. Kyro barely managed to bring his spear up in time to intercept, and when the two weapons collided—
Sparks exploded into the chamber like a burst of fireflies.
The shock from the clash sent both of them skidding backward.
Kyro's hands trembled slightly as he gripped his spear again.
'He's unconscious. I can feel it… there's no aura of intent—no emotional pressure—And yet, he fights like a warrior possessed. No, not possessed… guided. Like the blade itself is moving him.'
He watched as Zay slowly stepped forward again, movements fluid yet eerie—like instinct made manifest.
"I've fought prodigies," Kyro whispered under his breath, his heart quickening. "But this… this isn't pure talent. What... is it?"
Zay's hair flickered—first in subtle waves, then violently—as it shifted into an abyssal black, darker than ink, darker than the void itself. It whipped behind him, caught in the current of the midnight-blue storm still pulsing from his aura. His head tilted upward slowly, eyes fixed on Kyro.
His eyes didn't glare with rage.
There was no fury.
No desperation.
Not even resolve.
Just... nothing.
Then Zay extended a single hand forward, palm facing the ground.
His lips parted, voice low, calm, and certain, uttering a single word. "Nubilum."
The shadows in the chamber shivered.
They peeled away from the floor like smoke given form, twisting upward in jagged lines and heavy waves—until something stepped out.
A figure cloaked in writhing mist, its body tall and spectral, composed of endlessly folding black mist that shaped itself into a vaguely human form. In its grip was a longsword, sleek, obsidian, and humming with power.
It came to a stop beside Zay, its face hidden behind a misted veil, its presence chilling—wrong—like the breath of something that belonged on the other side of death.
And then it turned… and looked directly at the all of the elders.
Kyro's body tensed instinctively, his spear twitching in his hand.
'What the hell is that…?'
He swallowed.
He felt something cold grip the edges of his thoughts.
'That name—Nubilum. I've only ever seen it once. On a lost page buried in the Forbidden Tome of Veila. A forgotten entity...'
Zay, still unconscious yet utterly in control, stepped forward.
His katana extended, the midnight-blue aura twisting subtly around the blade like smoke caught in water. Each footfall echoed softly against the stone floor, the chamber pulsing with pressure that made the other elders hesitate to even breathe.
Then—without warning—he surged.
The katana lashed out, a clean strike meant to cut through everything. Kyro reacted on instinct alone, his spear lifting just in time—
CLANG!
The sound of steel meeting steel shattered through the chamber like thunder. Sparks burst from the impact and scattered in arcs of light across the floor.
Neither gave ground.
Zay pressed again. Another strike. Then another. A barrage of precise, fluid movements. His body moved like it wasn't bound by hesitation, fear, or pain—only patterns, lines, and purpose.
Kyro's defenses held. His muscles tensed under each blow, his footing shifting with each block as he tried to read an opponent who wasn't thinking—just reacting. Just moving.
They leapt back simultaneously, aura clashing mid-air as their feet skidded across the stone.
And then—they charged again.
Blades clashed, weapons screamed against one another, and the space between them became a blur of motion. Each exchange lit up the chamber in flashes of silver and blue, and the stone beneath them cracked beneath the force of their strikes.
They clashed—once, twice—then exploded apart, their bodies flung backward by the sheer force of the impact. Stone cracked beneath their feet as they landed and launched themselves forward again, no pause, no hesitation.
Zay moved like a shadow, his midnight-blue aura dragging behind him like a cloak of violence. His katana sang through the air, each swing tracing arcs of pressure and force, colliding with Kyro's spear in a storm of sparks and metal shrieks.
Clang!
Crash!
Crack!
They tore across the chamber, a blur of motion—leaping over broken pillars, running along cracked walls, even dashing along the side of the chamber for brief moments as their weapons collided mid-air. Each strike sent shockwaves through the stone, throwing dust and shattered debris into the air.
Kyro's spear twisted and turned with practiced precision, deflecting Zay's blade by centimeters, but Zay never paused. Every block fed into the next attack, his form relentless, his stance perfect.
They landed atop one of the stone thrones—then launched off of it, meeting mid-air in a furious clash of blade and spear.
Boom!
The pressure cracked the air like a whip, sending both hurtling to opposite ends of the room before their boots dug in, skidding across the floor in parallel.
Then Zay moved again.
He vanished in a streak of midnight-blue light, and Kyro barely raised his spear in time to meet the incoming strike. The impact sent both of them flying across the chamber again, but this time Zay landed on the wall, flipped off of it, and came crashing down like a blade from divinity.
Kyro rolled, swung, and blocked the katana an inch from his neck.
They grappled mid-motion, twisting around each other like warring warriors, the rhythm of their battle a mix of grace and destruction. Every exchange was faster, harder, heavier—until the floor began to crack under the weight of their duel.
The echo of steel still hung in the air as Zay and Kyro were flung backward from the final clash, skidding across the fractured stone like twin comets thrown from the stars. Zay's feet barely touched the ground before his body jerked. The twin crescents in his gaze fractured like glass.
A sharp crack splintered through the chamber—not from stone, but from his aura itself.
The swirling midnight-blue that had once consumed him ruptured with a shriek, thin veins of violet aura leaking through like dying stars piercing a collapsing void. Zay's hand trembled. He sheathed the katana with a smooth, instinctual motion—more reflex than will—and his legs gave out beneath him.
He hit the floor hard, dust blooming from the impact, his abyssal hair unraveling into a mess of long black hair with white and red streaks. The presence from before—the unknowable force that had stood in place of Zay—was gone. What remained was the boy again.
From the circle of nine elders, one of the younger ones stepped forward cautiously, his face tense, unreadable. In his hand, an aura-forged blade pulsed a low orange hue, flickering against the shadows like a dying ember. He didn't advance further than a few steps—only stood there, ready, unsure if it was truly over.
But someone else moved with purpose.
Nubilum.
Its black-clad form glided to Zay's side, kneeling with fluid grace. The entity checked his pulse—its touch careful, almost reverent—and after a moment, it gave a slow, single nod to no one in particular.
There were no more orders to kill, to create hell within this chamber.
And so, without fanfare, Nubilum turned away from the elders, its form unraveling into wisps of obsidian mist that coiled into the darkness before vanishing entirely—like a memory slipping from the mind.
Kyro's chest rose and fell in heavy breaths. His body felt heavy with fatigue, sweat clinging to his back and brow. He looked down at his hands, still trembling faintly from the clash. He clenched them into fists before speaking.
"Aura overusage..." he muttered, voice hoarse. "That's my best guess on what happened... before any of you start asking."
He turned toward the side of the chamber, where one figure stood still as stone.
"Jade," Kyro called, steadying his voice. "Take him to medical… again."
The room was silent for a heartbeat longer.
Then the elders erupted in hushed murmurs.
"That aura... I've never seen a color before—"
"His hair changed as well.."
"Did a creature take control of him?"
Kyro didn't answer. He didn't even look at them. His spear dissolved back into glimmering particles of light, reshaping into the towering iron seat behind him. He walked toward it slowly.
He dropped into the chair and leaned back with a long, exhausted sigh, eyes narrowing as a single thought gnawed at him.
'That sword… did he mean for this to happen? Was that what he meant… by leaving behind a piece of his soul for the next chosen?'