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The air around Fenra seemed solid, yet pliable. Every particle of energy answered to her will, bending to the whims of her technique. She had done something she had never attempted before: she applied the Box, not to an enemy, but to herself and a delimited area around her, with near-surgical precision—exactly four meters. An area sufficient to contain the maximum range of Vernasha's teleportation, and enough for Fenra to have absolute control over the flow of the battle.
Vernasha advanced, relying on speed and teleportation. But Fenra knew exactly where she would appear. Every movement, every flow of energy, every intention became visible the instant it formed. Fenra didn't need to predict—she reacted instantaneously, her body moving as if anticipating time itself.
A blow aimed for Vernasha's head. Instantaneous, precise, inevitable. The impact drew blood from the corner of the space-manipulator's mouth, and yet, with a grunt, Vernasha rose like a wild animal. Every strike hit her, and each time, she returned fiercer, smiling with blood streaming down her face.
Fenra attacked again. Faster. More precise. With every moment, every movement of her enemy was met with an immediate counter-attack. But then, Vernasha changed. She didn't teleport, she merely dodged at the perfect instant and, with impeccable reflexes, grabbed Fenra's arm and struck her face with brutal force.
Fenra's blood sprayed, her vision wavered, but there was no hesitation. In a near-phantasmal movement, she vanished and replicated the attack. Now, Vernasha was also hitting Fenra in the same way—instantaneous, certain, a reflection of the very technique the manipulator had used for years.
Vernasha laughed between blows, realizing something important: Fenra's new technique had a condition. To be completely effective, it needed to strike the face. All she had to do was dodge, and the immediate danger dissipated. With the cunning that characterized her, she exploited this weakness, dodging, attacking by surprise, using the Box's temporary flaws to counter-attack.
But Fenra was not intimidated. She watched, absorbed, learned. The moment Vernasha dodged, she didn't just react: she advanced with a fulminating kick, aiming for the enemy's knee and destabilizing her base. Vernasha instinctively retreated, temporarily breaking the Box's range by stepping outside it.
The battlefield, once a near-uniform dance of attack and defense, transformed into a game of adaptation and control. Every movement was measured, every blow calculated. Fenra and Vernasha were not just fighting with their bodies—they were fighting with perception, with energy, with the ability to evolve within the battle itself.
Fenra breathed deeply; the blood on her face was not a sign of weakness, but of maximum concentration. She knew the fight was entering a new level—a test of adaptation, endurance, and pure willpower.
And, as Vernasha retreated, preparing to react, Fenra felt something profound: she was finally in control of her own technique, and the battle had become a dance between absolute power and perfect strategy.
The air vibrated in almost visible waves. Fenra's Box pulsed around her, an extension of her own body, a prison of energy that demarcated the maximum field Vernasha could move within. But there, in the warrior's own mind, there was no tranquility—only absolute focus and the sensation that every second counted as an eternity.
Vernasha appeared suddenly, dozens of clones spreading across the field. Each seemed as solid as the manipulator herself. They advanced, surrounding Fenra in a symphony of punches and kicks, trying to break the perfect perception the Box offered. But Fenra was unshaken. Every blow, every attempt at distraction, was absorbed by her consciousness. She had transcended the technique, transcending her body as well: not just fast, but predictable in the unpredictable, fluid in every movement.
— Ah, finally... — Vernasha's voice echoed, piercing through the Box's distortion. — I see you've learned to dance with your own death.
Fenra ignored the taunt and advanced. A sure punch went through one clone and aimed for another, delivering brutal blows with concentrated force. The speed was absurd; every arm, every knee, every elbow moved as if independent, as if the very perception of time had bent to her will. Every impact made the air burst in pressure waves, every blow drew blood, every dodge left the ground marked by the contact of skin with ethereal matter.
But Vernasha was not intimidated. She danced among her clones, disappearing and reappearing, creating openings and forcing Fenra to react. And then, in an instant, exploiting a minimal gap in the Box, the real Vernasha advanced. Every clone retreated and vanished, leaving only the manipulator before Fenra.
— Impressive... but predictable — said Vernasha, her eyes gleaming. — Did you think you could trap me? Did you think this box would save you?
The first punch hit Fenra's chest. The second, her shoulder. The third, her chin. Each blow came too fast to be dodged normally, but the Box allowed Fenra to minimally predict the enemy's position. Her body responded as if it had its own consciousness, dodging and counter-attacking, every blow accompanied by blood, every impact reverberating in the air.
Vernasha laughed; every blow she received seemed only to fuel her fury. She knew Fenra had transcended her techniques, but Vernasha's space manipulation and perception still gave her an advantage. With every advance from the warrior, the manipulator found an opening, using the Box's own momentum to teleport, change angles, land a punch that seemed to come from nowhere.
Fenra tried to use the Box more aggressively again, expanding its area and trying to anticipate the enemy's every move. But Vernasha seemed to throw the logic of combat out the window, entering and leaving the delimited area, spinning on her axis, attacking at a speed that almost defied the very concept of movement. Using clones to disrupt Fenra's notion of a target.
— You're doing well but... — Vernasha taunted, each word cutting through the air like invisible blades. — See, I can evolve just as much as you.
And in that instant, an aura began to ripple around Vernasha, slow and growing, mirroring in a way Fenra's own energy manipulation. Fenra noticed, tried to react, but the reality around them seemed to tremble under Vernasha's presence, making every blow harder to land.
A blow struck Fenra's face, another her chest. Blood sprayed, the ground shook. Every punch, every knee, every elbow applied seemed to test the warrior's physical limits, and even with all the Box's power, Vernasha seemed to prevail.
Fenra breathed heavily, her body vibrating with maximum effort. Every fiber of her strength was concentrated on attacking and reacting, every instinct put to the test. But the space manipulator did not yield. Every dodge, every teleport, every surprise attack demonstrated that even with Fenra's technique transcended, Vernasha still found ways to control the battle.
— Now I see... — Fenra whispered, dodging a sure punch that cut through the very perception of space. — It's not just strength. It's not just speed... it's adaptation.
— Exactly, my dear — Vernasha replied, smiling with blood and determination. — And me? I evolve while you learn.
And then, with an almost invisible impulse, Vernasha advanced again, vanishing and reappearing at impossible angles. Fenra kept up, but every blow she tried to land seemed anticipated and countered. A fist hit her abdomen, another her shoulder, another her face, each impact blurring her peripheral vision, making the warrior bleed but still fight with absolute fury.
At the peak of the combat, the field seemed to pulse with the blood and energy of the two. Punches and counter-punches, ragged breathing, tense muscles, air sliced by brutal impacts. Fenra now partially understood the essence of the Box and her own technique, but Vernasha, even bleeding and being hit, showed that her understanding of battle and space was superior.
It was brutal. It was physical. It was mortal.
It was the clash of two forces that transcended logic, perception, and the very concept of human limits.
And yet, at the center of that chaos, Vernasha still smiled, watching Fenra test her own limits, but always maintaining the advantage, always the predator watching the prey learn to hunt.
The ethereal space seemed to pulse, every floating platform undulating under Fenra's aura. Her body was covered in blood, marks from previous blows drawing red trajectories across her skin, but every wound was fuel. She knew she could no longer hold back. Vernasha was adaptable, deadly, capable of responding to any predictable attack.
Fenra took a deep breath. Every muscle was tense, every nerve fiber alight. She needed to transcend completely. Before the space manipulator had time to react, before her adaptations became definitive. She concentrated everything—all her energy, all her willpower, all the speed technique she had mastered—and let her aura explode.
The floor of the ethereal space began to deform under the pressure of the energy pulsing around Fenra. Irregular waves spread like boiling water, and the aura around her vibrated, shaping into blurs of light and shadow.
Vernasha whistled, impressed.
— So... you've finally decided to break free — the voice said, laden with surprise and tension. — Interesting.
Fenra moved an arm. The movement left a blurred trail, her entire body seemed smeared, as if time and space could not hold her form.
In less than a second, Fenra disappeared.
When Vernasha realized, it was too late. Fenra had reappeared at another point, nearly impossible to see. A blur of absolute speed. Vernasha felt a chill down her spine. The warrior was transcending limits she herself had deemed impossible. Not teleportation, not quick perception; this was beyond what any eye could follow.
— I was wrong… — Fenra murmured, echoing through that space, her voice fragmented in echoes that reverberated almost metaphysically. — I have to go slower next time…
Instinctively, Vernasha moved. But even her agile teleportation couldn't follow Fenra with precision. She only felt the movement, merely perceiving the blur approaching in impossible flashes.
The combat became a dance of flashes, two points of extreme force moving at absurd speeds, punches, kicks, displacements, blurs of movement cutting through space. Every impact had multiplied mass, every blow carried the sensation of a concentrated earthquake. Vernasha trembled, sweated, every breath calculated to escape. She knew if Fenra landed a true hit, it would be the end.
In an instant, Fenra advanced. Vernasha, desperate, teleported and left a clone in her place. But the reflex wasn't enough. Fenra's fist went through the clone, exploding it into a rain of blood and essence. The force of the impact, still emanating from the clone's posture, grazed Vernasha, opening a deep cut on her cheek.
— Impressive... — Vernasha murmured, blood flowing. Her eyes shone, more attentive than ever. — But it's not over yet.
She advanced, distributing clones across the field. Each one appeared to distract Fenra, to force her to react, to calculate and recalculate impossible movements. Fenra, still in a transcendental state, swept the area, tracking every movement, anticipating every appearance. Every punch cut through the void before it could even materialize, and every impact made the ground tremble.
The battle had become a war of adaptation and perception, an extreme duel of reflexes, strength, and pure strategy. Vernasha tried to control the pace, create openings, force Fenra to expose herself. Fenra, however, transcended more than before, breaking barriers of time and space within herself, moving so fast that reality seemed to obey only her thoughts.
And yet, Vernasha did not retreat. She ran, disappeared, reappeared, distributed clones, bled, breathed with effort, but held her ground, showing that even against Fenra's absolute speed, there was someone capable of keeping up.
The ethereal field trembled, vibration, blood, energy. Every movement of the two was accompanied by a dull, almost metaphysical echo, a reminder that the fight was not just physical—it was mental, it was control, it was extreme adaptation.
The ethereal space pulsed, undulated, and trembled under Fenra's presence. Every floating platform, every fragment of reality seemed to obey her movements, vibrating with the concentrated energy emanating from her body. She advanced, disappeared, reappeared, tearing through the air, but Vernasha remained one step ahead.
Fenra searched, searched, searched.
Here, there, every movement laden with intent, every step bearing the weight of all her concentrated strength, every leap calculated to intercept the space manipulator. But it was useless. Every time she seemed to guess Vernasha's position, the woman simply disappeared, teleporting instantly to another point—as fast as Fenra, as unpredictable as the very distortion of reality permeating the plane.
Fenra's body moved at the limit of perception, every muscle fiber exploding with speed, and yet, the result was only… parity. She gritted her teeth, fists clenched, breathing fast and heavy. Vernasha appeared in clones, vanished, reappeared, always one step ahead, testing the limits of the hunter who was now becoming prey to her own pursuit.
Fenra felt the frustration grow, a mix of rage, tension, and admiration. Every blow that missed, every second lost, only made clear how deadly, adaptable, and… infinite this woman was.
But then she began to perceive the ground beneath her feet, the way the platforms connected, the undulation of the space around her. A flash of understanding cut through her mind: there are barriers in this place. The space was not infinite. Every point Vernasha could reach had limits, every teleport had a maximum range. It was possible to predict. It was possible to dominate.
Fenra understood the solution. She didn't need to reach Vernasha at every instant. She just needed to be everywhere at the same time, to create the single point where one blow could cut through Vernasha's multiplicity. One blow sufficient to end it all.
— Then let's go, visualize all the points, visualize your body, your molecule, your vibration, every cell going beyond the limits of space and speed.
To be everywhere at the same time... — Fenra murmured to herself, to relieve the pressure and visualize better, to clear her mind.
The clones began to surge like a horde, trying to block her vision, to distract, to delay, but Fenra did not hesitate. She concentrated everything. Every movement, every breath, every thought converged on a single purpose.
Her eye with the split iris shone with incomparable intensity, the white, transcendent light expanding across her face. A mark appeared, starting from her eye, tearing through her skin as if the energy within her were projecting outward. The air around her vibrated, the ground trembled, the platforms bent to her will.
Vernasha shuddered, a cold sweat trickling down her brow.
— She's not… — the voice murmured, almost lost in the chaos. — She's not really going to do that… impossible…
Before she finished the sentence, Fenra positioned herself like an Olympic runner. Every muscle prepared, every impulse calculated. One leap, one burst, and she vanished from sight.
The space fell silent for an instant. Then… chaos manifested.
Hundreds of Vernasha's clones were shattered and thrown into the air, flying to every side of that space in an instant. There were no blades, no visible punches, only the vacuum of Fenra's movement tearing through them like paper, eliminating the multiplicity before they could even react. Every step Fenra took was destruction, every movement was the compression of reality, every displacement an invisible, lethal blow.
She covered the entire area, every centimeter of that ethereal plane, impossible to follow with normal eyes. Vernasha disappeared and reappeared, but every attempt was intercepted, every opening exploited.
The manipulator began to perceive the gravity of what was happening. Sweat poured, her heart raced, and for an instant, a spark of fear gleamed in her eyes. Fenra wasn't just attacking; she was dominating the space, dominating the very flow of the combat.
And, for the first time, the hunter seemed invincible—even if only for a moment, the void left in her wake was absolute, and Vernasha's terror showed that the tide of this fight might finally be turning.
Fenra's aura began to vibrate with extreme intensity, sparking in every corner of the ethereal space. Every movement seemed to accelerate, every muscle pulsed with concentrated energy. Her voice echoed in a cry that was not just sound, but a command of her own existence:
— Faster! Faster! FASTER!
The ground undulated under her feet, the platforms shook, and the air seemed to compress and tear around her. She felt every molecule of her body accelerate, every impulse calculated with absolute precision, every muscle fiber moving with superhuman speed. Every step, every spin, every sprint was a silent destruction.
Vernasha's army of clones didn't stand a chance. They were destroyed before they could even fully form, reduced to fragments of energy and blood that dissipated in the very undulation of space. And yet, Vernasha felt—she knew.
She felt Fenra approaching. There was no teleport that could save her. The maximum four-meter range of her instantaneous leaps and displacements was not enough against Fenra's transcendent cadence. Every space she tried to occupy was already taken, every point of escape already covered by the hunter's void.
The ground undulated under Fenra's run, deforming with every impact, every movement, every breath. Vernasha tried to blend among the remaining clones, but it was too late. The judgment was about to happen. The only option: jump.
With all her strength and calculation, Vernasha launched herself upward, trying to escape the horizontal reach of the void. She flew, projecting clones under her feet to gain height and stability. Each clone formed and was immediately used as a platform, allowing her to remain airborne. Teleportation, manipulation, cunning—all to avoid the coming blow.
Fenra did not hesitate. She felt the pattern, understood the flow, calculated every angle. She used all her energy, concentrating the movement into a leap that transcended the natural, the human, the physical. The impulse was so fast the world seemed to split between before and after the leap. In less than a second, she was already above, ahead of Vernasha, almost floating, but with every muscle ready to crush.
Vernasha tried to teleport, to search for any angle without void, any free space. But Fenra had learned to use the box of her technique. Even the clones in the air were not enough to camouflage Vernasha's presence. Fenra had predicted every point, every leap, every possibility of displacement.
The air around them vibrated, heavy and electric. The void left by Fenra covered the entire area, and Vernasha knew, she knew that if she fell, there would be no place to flee. Every second she remained in the air was merely time to calculate the inevitable.
And then the blast came.
And the blood gushed.
To be continued…
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