The world trembled with the fury of two monsters locked in a celestial clash.
Aithur and Mloif blurred across the battlefield, steel meeting force, force meeting flame. Each swing from Mloif cracked the ground and scorched the sky with demonic energy. His once black hair flowed behind him in a stream of crimson, eyes glowing with rage. He moved like a possessed beast—devouring all logic in his desire for destruction.
Aithur, calm and deadly, parried with precision. His blade whispered through the air, blue eyes glowing under his hood. Though each strike seemed effortless, the land around them bore the marks of a clash fit for legends.
Mloif gritted his teeth, his arm sweeping back. "You think you're untouchable, cloaked rat?" He threw his hand forward, and from it burst a torrent of corrupted spirit fire. Aithur slid back, dragging his blade along the ground. With one swing, he cleaved the fire in two.
"Not untouchable," Aithur replied, voice dry and bored. "Just... better."
"Arrogant brat!" Mloif snarled and leapt, fists glowing with crimson power. The very air seemed to catch fire as he rocketed toward Aithur.
Their fists and blade met, unleashing a shockwave that cracked the mountain walls. Trees uprooted, rivers reversed, and the sky darkened again as storm clouds returned with vengeance.
The Lotus Elders, now upright, watched with intensity.
"He's pushing Mloif," one murmured.
"Too much fury. That boy is barely holding back."
As the chaos raged on, Elder Bo narrowed his eyes, gaze fixed not on Mloif, but on the blade Aithur wielded.
A flicker of recognition passed over his face. The elegant curve of the hilt. The faint, runic glow etched along the blade's edge. The sound it made—whispering through the wind like an old song remembered and most especially the design of dragon and the crown.
Elder Bo's brows furrowed.
"No... it couldn't be."
He shifted, eyes briefly widening.
"That sword... it was lost. Sealed. No one should be wielding it—unless..."
But then, just as quickly, his expression smoothed over. His hands folded behind his back as if nothing had stirred.
"I'll confirm it myself. After this madness, I'll check the lake..." he thought, silent and still as stone.
"If the shrine is disturbed—if the sword truly is..."
He didn't finish the thought.
His eyes returned to the battle, lips thin. "Interesting," he whispered, so low none around him could hear.
Aithur still cloaked covered parried another swing and sent Mloif flying with a kick to the gut. Mloif skidded, cracked the ground beneath him, and rose laughing.
"You're strong," Mloif growled, blood trickling down his chin. "But strength won't matter if I burn this place to the ground!"
He rose, arms spread wide. A red orb began forming in his palm, pulsating with ominous force, feeding off his anger and wounded pride.
"You'd risk destroying yourself just to win?" Aithur asked, sword lifted.
"This isn't about winning!" Mloif howled, eyes glowing as dark lightning danced across his form. "This is about legacy! About proving that a man like me can take it all!"
Aithur lowered his blade slightly, eyes narrowing. The blast grew. The ground cracked beneath Mloif's feet, a crater forming. Birds screamed in retreat. Even the air became heavy.
Aithur raised his sword, energy building.
Mloif grinned madly. "DIE WITH ME!"
Just as the blast surged—
SMACK!
A blur of gray appeared between them. A loud slapping sound echoed like thunder.
Mloif spun midair, flipping three times before landing on his head with a comedic thud, legs twitching in the air.
"Wha—?" Aithur blinked, blade still ready.
The blur settled.
Elder Mo, with his hands dusting themselves off, stood where the two had almost clashed.
"Enough of this silly game," he said, sighing like a father scolding squabbling children.
Mloif groaned, his hair flopping back down to one side as he stood. "You—what was that!?"
"A slap. You needed one," Elder Mo said calmly.
Mloif's eyes flared. "This isn't over. I won't stop. I'll crush this sect, burn it, until nothing remains!"
Elder Mo raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "Do you truly think this chaos, this tantrum of power, will earn you the right to lead the Lotus Sect?"
He stepped forward, his voice low but resonant. "Do you think that by destroying everything, by bathing in the blood of innocents, the Sect Leader's trial would choose you? A man with a soulless heart and bloodstained hands?"
Mloif hesitated, for just a breath.
Elder Mo sighed again. "Look around, Mloif. Truly look."
He snapped his fingers.
Instantly, a ripple of light surged across the battlefield. The red skies shifted, becoming blue. The thunder vanished like mist. The scorched earth was whole again. The shattered gates reformed. The screams ceased.
And Mloif—
He stared, blinking, confused.
The bodies of fallen Lotus disciples shimmered, then shifted.
They were his crew.
His own men.
Lotus disciples he had struck down began rising, brushing dust off their robes, looking as if they'd just finished lunch.
"No," Mloif whispered.
A familiar chuckle broke the silence.
Elder Yuan, whom Mloif thought he had skewered, reached into his robes and pulled out a small bag of red dye. He tossed it over his shoulder.
"Bit dramatic, wasn't it?" Yuan chuckled.
Elder Ming scratched his head. "I was honestly getting bored. How long did we have to keep up the act?"
Elder Bo rubbed their shoulder. "That fall nearly dislocated my arm."
Mloif's knees wobbled.
"No... this can't be."
From the crater, Mloif stared in disbelief. "No… this—this can't be…"
Elder Mo stepped forward, calm as ever, hands clasped behind his back. The wind tugged gently at his robes as he looked down at the broken, bloodied figure before him.
He tilted his head, smiled faintly, and said,
"So Mloif..."
"Did you enjoy our acting?"