Chapter 36:
"The Strongest Mage in the World"
Arc 4: Chapter 2
POV: "???"
Raphadun launched himself forward.
A bluish vortex of energy surrounded his fists, shimmering like small stars about to explode.
His power had always been about removing others from danger—never about facing it head-on. But now he advanced.
Empty didn't even turn fully.
A partial spin. An arm rising in a light arc.
An invisible wave of force struck Raphadun in the chest.
A compression of the air around him. The impact coursed through his body in an instant—ribs cracking, lungs emptying, blood rising from his throat.
Raphadun was thrown backward.
His body flew, arcing through the dust-laden air. Blood sprayed from his nose and mouth before he even hit the ground—a red mist scattering in the wind.
When he struck the earth and bounced in the dust, the sound was dry.
"Stop, Empty!"
The scream tore through the air.
She was on the ground, her body still trying to recover. The words came out broken, mixed with tears and blood.
"Please… don't hurt him!" She tried to move. "I beg you!"
Raphadun, vision blurry, managed to turn his head.
He saw his sister trying to drag herself toward him. Arms trembling. Legs are barely responding. But she was trying.
A crooked, bloody smile formed on his lips.
I'm not as strong as you. Never was.
He coughed. More blood.
But without you, there is no future.
With a roar that came from a crushed lung—a wet, wrong sound—Raphadun forced himself to stand.
His legs wavered. His body screamed. But he rose.
He staggered, but kept moving toward Empty. One last charge. Useless. But his.
Empty finally stopped.
He turned fully.
In his fluorescent green eyes—no rage. No hatred. Only an ancient weariness.
He raised his hand.
Open palm. Fingers slightly curved. An almost gentle gesture.
A single finger extended.
A tiny green spark leaped from its tip.
Raphadun froze mid-step.
His muscles stopped. All at once.
He fell to his knees.
Then face down.
He lay motionless on the dusty ground, only his ragged, hoarse breathing betraying that he was still alive. Each gasp was a struggle, each exhale a muffled groan.
Empty looked at them both.
First Raphadun—fallen, but breathing. Then Luna—dragging herself, her green eyes full of tears.
His expression remained impassive.
When he spoke, his voice carried an ancient weariness:
"Just stop. All of you."
Silence.
The dust danced in the wind. The two siblings lay there, defeated.
The white figure turned and began walking toward the Tower.
"I'M RIGHT HERE!!!!"
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
The scream came from above, shrill.
Empty looked up.
Atop a partially destroyed house, balancing on an exposed beam, stood Flávio. Uniform is dirty and torn. Face stained with soot and dust. But his eyes—those lazy eyes—now blazed with a new determination.
Flashback – Minutes Earlier
Amanda maneuvered her wheelchair to Flávio's side.
He stood motionless, staring at the distant tower. At the destruction. At the hell around them.
"Are you sure?" Her voice was restrained. But there was something different. Concern.
Flávio didn't turn.
His profile against the smoke-filled sky was serious.
"I don't have a choice."
His voice was low. Calm. Final.
Amanda was silent. Her fingers gripped the arms of her chair.
"Don't think this will make me forgive you," she said.
But the words had lost their force. They sounded like a habit.
A smile touched Flávio's lips. Not his usual one—ironic, provoking. It was sad. Grateful.
"Thank you," he whispered.
And he left. He ran toward hell without looking back.
Present
"Empty, I came here to stop you!" Flávio announced, puffing out his chest.
The beam groaned.
And gave way.
With a surprised shout, Flávio plummeted. He landed face-first in the dusty ground with a dull thud.
Crunch.
Empty stopped. Looked.
No expression. But his head tilted—almost comically. Processing the absurdity.
Flávio lifted his head, spitting dust and blood.
He smiled. A hole where a tooth used to be.
"Shit! I lost a tooth!"
Empty began to turn away.
"Hey, Empty!" Flávio shouted, getting up. "Where are you going??? Don't underestimate me!"
He wiped the blood from his chin.
"My power is people genuinely putting their faith in me!" he announced. "The only one putting faith in me right now is Fencer!"
Observation Point
Fencer lowered the binoculars slowly.
His face—always controlled, analytical, closed—was now a mask of horror.
He had seen everything. The fall. The tooth. The declaration.
Brother...
Even I'm not doing this.
He swallowed hard.
Get out of there, you idiot.
Flávio couldn't hear him.
Empty sighed.
A strangely human sound. Weariness.
"Get out of here, Flávio." His voice was clear, clean. A final warning. "I don't want to hurt you."
Flávio stood, rubbing his swollen jaw.
The smile he gave wasn't bravado. It was sad. Disappointed.
"Hypocrisy, huh?" he said. "Saying that after everything..."
He took a step.
"Empty, Empty... I thought we were the same."
Another step.
"But I realized we're not."
He raised his fists—fragile, without power, without magic.
"I'm going to stop you! Com—"
Empty raised his hands to the sky.
The air began to spin. To condense. To come alive.
Multiple miniature hurricanes formed—carrying sharp debris, glass shards, metal splinters, all wrapped in cutting green energy.
They began sweeping the area.
The winds tore stones from the ground. Metal sheets flew like paper.
Flávio was hit by a blast. He rolled on the ground.
But he got up.
He dug his feet into the cracked earth.
"I WON'T LET YOU!"
The wind carried his scream away. Scattered it like dust.
He ran against the wind.
His body lashed by stones—cuts opening on his skin, blood mixing with dust. Each step is a battle. Each meter is impossible.
He stumbled.
Fell to his knees.
"FLáVIO!"
Luna's voice.
Even wounded. Even exhausted. She had dragged herself through the debris. Positioned herself where she could see him.
Her arms trembled uncontrollably.
But she raised them.
A thread of golden light bloomed from her hands—weak, wavering, almost dissolving. But persistent. Stubborn. Alive.
It traveled through the chaos, ignoring winds, debris, everything. It wrapped around Flávio like an embrace.
"TAKE IT!" she screamed, voice hoarse with effort. "TAKE MY FAITH!"
It wasn't the Definitive Light. It wasn't prophecy. It wasn't what the books said.
It was trust. The genuine, desperate belief that he—the weakest warrior, the comic relief—could make a difference.
Raphadun, dazed on the ground, saw.
His body wouldn't respond. His legs wouldn't work. Power exhausted.
But he understood.
He raised a trembling hand toward his friend.
No glow. Only the intention. The absolute desire.
Go, Flávio.
Something changed inside Flávio.
Luna's light and Raphadun's will didn't strengthen him physically. Didn't give him bigger muscles. Didn't transform him into a warrior.
But they ignited something.
His power had always been meta—fueled by the faith of others. And in that moment, the purest faith he had ever received—from a fallen queen and a shattered prince—flooded his being.
From his hands, no weapon emerged. No lightning bolt.
What emerged were bonds.
Luminous ropes, golden-yellow, woven from pure faith energy. Physical and ethereal at once.
Flávio spun his arms.
He threw the ropes.
They cut through the hurricanes as if they didn't exist. The destructive energy didn't undo them. The metal didn't cut them. They ignored everything, connecting to something more fundamental.
One end flew toward Empty.
Before he could react—before his future could predict—the rope wrapped around his arm.
A tight grip. Bright. Inescapable.
Empty looked at the rope.
Surprise—an emotion he thought he had overcome—crossed his face. It wasn't the strength. It was the nature of the power. Something he didn't understand.
Annoyed—another emotion he shouldn't feel—he pulled his arm.
The rope didn't break.
A wave of reflexive pain coursed through the rope. Pure. Crushing. Absolute.
It hit Flávio full force.
He screamed.
It wasn't theatrical. It wasn't bravado. It was real, human, torn apart—blood spurting from his nose, ears, eyes. As if Empty's very act of resistance was tearing him apart from within.
"Stop this." Empty's voice was a grave warning. The last chance. "I don't want to hurt you."
Flávio spat blood.
His body trembled in spasms. Every muscle, every bone, every fiber.
But his grip on the rope didn't loosen.
A crazed, victorious, tragic smile stretched his bloody lips.
"Hahaha..."
The laugh came out broken. Wet. Wrong.
"You... aren't what you're pretending to be, Empty."
He forced the words out. Each syllable an effort.
"Deep down... you're a good person..."
His knees buckled.
Vision darkened.
"But well... I won..."
He looked at Empty with glazed eyes. Smile still on his lips.
"I got the time you needed."
And he fell. Body hitting the ground with a dull thud. Arms outstretched. The rope still glowing faintly in his unconscious hand.
Everything looked at fallen Flávio.
Too late.
Something was behind him.
He felt it before he saw it—a different presence. Not Alfredo's fury. Not Bruce's darkness. Nothing he expected.
He turned slowly.
And saw.
Not Alfredo. Not Bruce.
Just a woman. In a wheelchair. Radiating confidence.
"Right where I wanted you, curse..."
Amanda Graymon smiled.
Everything tried to move. His future showed a thousand possibilities, a thousand reactions, a thousand outcomes.
Her hand moved faster than his own future.
Above, a golden magic circle spun invisibly against the gray sky.
"Lunar Blast!"
The beam descended. Enormous. Purple and blue intertwined.
It struck Everything head-on.
The explosion created a new crater—larger, deeper, more absolute. The ground shook for kilometers. Buildings collapsed. The sky darkened.
Amanda Graymon, the strongest mage in the world, had just entered the battle.
