Book 2: Chapter 53: Rematch

  The battlefield tore itself apart under their feet.

  Alex surged forward first, blinding aether licking at the edges of his fists as the [Flare] spell erupted from his palm. The Aeralith Prince barely shifted his stance, sliding through the explosion like the wind itself, his blade cutting the shockwave in half. The counterstrike came fast, too fast, Alex barely brought his forearm up in time, the impact ringing down his bones even as his [Shield] spell flared to life, absorbing the brunt of the blow with a ripple of abure-blue.

  The prince’s eyes gleamed behind the mask. What Alex saw wasn’t amusement and not quite surprise, something colder. “You’ve improved.”

  Alex’s grin was feral. “I had to.”

  The next exchange was a blur. Alex’s feet carved arcs through shattered earth as he shifted through Demon Asura stances, his body twisting low, pivoting high, parrying one strike while kicking off the ground to launch a counter. The prince met every move, his swordplay smooth as a breeze, turning aside Alex’s raw aggression with infuriating precision.

  Alex wove spells into his rhythm, each strike punctuated by controlled bursts of magic. [Flare] erupted point-blank with his punches, forcing the prince back a half-step. Alex chained into [Earth-Chain], jagged aether constructed links snapping up from the ground to lash at his opponent. For a heartbeat, the prince was caught, his movements slowed… and then shadow magic bled from his blade, slicing the chains to ash.

  “You think to bind the wind?” The prince mocked. He spun, silver aether gathering and forming at his feet, launching a cutting gust that sent Alex tumbling backward to avoid his feet being severed.

  Alex hit the ground hard, rolled, and came up with a [Wind Lance] already forming in his hand. His newly routed aether channels sang under the demand of his spells, the flow smooth, flawless, energy poured through the energy-veins like liquid lightning. He launched the spell, followed by a darting rush of Asura footwork, closing the gap before the prince could counter.

  Their blade and fists met, shockwaves blasting loose rubble into the air. The prince’s wind barrier clashed against the demonic strength of Alex’s stance, every strike exploding with a crack of force. They traded feints, counters, near-lethal sweeps, neither gaining ground for more than a second.

  Alex’s mind was alive with focus, Obby highlighted incoming wind spells, prediction trajectories. Indicators for subtle stance changes flashed and vanished rapidly as the sentient rock fed him information rapidly.

  Every breath was timed. Every muscle in perfect sync with the movement. For the first time, he was flowing through the fight. Just like he had briefly seen with Sylvaris, a harmony of martial style and spellcasting, the exact lessons he was supposed to be learning from the scroll the elf had left him. His knowledge only touched on the concepts, a dipped toe in the ocean. But it was something.

  A flash of shadow-laced wind screamed toward him, Alex planted himself, flaring his aether channels to their limit, and cast [Shield] just in time. The blast shattered against it, but cracks spiderwebbed across the barrier, light bleeding from the edges. Alex shoved through, stepping into the storm with a roar.

  He struck with a right hook, augmented by [Flare], trailing dark aether across the prince’s chestplate. The smell of scorched metal hit the air. For the first time, the prince slid back two full steps. His eyes narrowed behind the mask.

  “Better,” the prince said softly. “But still not enough.”

  Alex spat blood and reset his stance, smokey purple-blue energy curling around his limbs. “Then keep trying me, fuck around and find out.”

  The prince lifted his blade in response, shadows swirling, and the air itself seemed to tremble as the fight reached its fever pitch. And then they clashed again, two storms colliding, tearing the hilltop apart blow by blow.

  Alex’s breaths came sharp and fast, each exhale carrying fire. He snapped his arm out, weaving the energy pattern for [Earth-Chain], yanking condensed aether links up from the shattered ground. They snaked toward the prince like hungry serpents, snapping and coiling. Almost at the same time, he layered [Wind Lance] spells in quick succession over the assault, shards of cutting air streaking through the gaps to pierce from unexpected angles.

  The prince’s blade cut once, twice, and the chains split, the wind blades scattering as if they’d never existed. His late stage aether made his attacks more potent than Alex’s spells, sheer power overwhelming efficiency and precision.

  He growled and drew on the aether gems in his bracer, their stored energy flooding into his veins. His body surged forward, fists and kicks blurring in a relentless cascade, each strike detonating with a burst of [Flare]. The ground fractured under his momentum as the battlefield was lit by a staccato rhythm of explosions.

  The prince countered with sweeping arcs of wind, invisible blades screaming through the air. They carved through the shockwaves of Alex’s attacks, severing the force behind the strikes and hurling him back in bursts of cutting pressure. Each clash sparked wind against pure aether, fire against storm.

  Teeth grit, Alex forced himself to stop holding back. There was no more waiting.

  Obby, now!

  “You got it, go!”

  Once again, his vision was lit up with predicted trajectories, weak points, and information overlays. Alex didn’t waste time looking at it all just yet.

  He felt his channels flare, the enchantments along his skin igniting like veins of molten light. [Vita-Surge Cloak] roared to life as he drained the aether gems in his bracer, a tidal wave of energy and force coursed through his channels, lashing across his body as strength and speed spiked to brutal levels. The world slowed to his mind, Obby’s overlays crawled as he read through it all, the prince’s movements were slow, finally readable.

  He lunged.

  The first blow slammed into the prince’s guard, cracking the gleaming armor at the shoulder. A follow-up kick dented the breastplate, a burst of force shaking the ground. For the first time, the prince slid back, boots digging trenches into the dirt.

  The masked man’s eyes widened, then narrowed to a razor’s edge. Without hesitation, the prince tore a talisman from his belt, crushing it between his fingers. Ambient aether flared to life around him, wind screaming like a hurricane, his aura spiking to match Alex’s in an instant.

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  Then the two storm-fronts collided.

  They crashed together, faster, harder, the world around them shattering under the weight of their blows. Sword met energy-coated fist, shadow met barrier shield, energy shockwave met piercing sword, every strike reverberating like a thunderclap across the battlefield. But the prince’s power was relentless, and Alex’s spell was burning through him like wildfire devouring dry wood.

  His body screamed as his energy reserved plummeted. His aether channels shuddered. The [Vita-Surge Cloak] finally guttered out, leaving him stumbling as the backlash hit, muscles locking, veins on fire, vision blury. The prince’s next strike slammed him to one knee, the mask looming over him like gallows noose.

  Alex’s heart pounded. Not from fear, from fury. Even now, even with everything, he couldn’t beat him, couldn’t win.

  Through the haze, Alex’s eyes caught his team. Holly tangled with thorned vines, Kate pinned by a duelist who mirrored her every move, Henry and Garret struggling against sheer weight of power of the earth mage, Allie and Cole dragged even more to cover, to tend to wounded soldiers. They were all losing in one was or another.

  Alex’s pride clawed at his throat. His anger begged for one more attack, one more reckless push, like last time. He could try for it, a combination of [Vita-surge Cloak] and [Descending Demon Fist], a truly all out attack. But survival roared louder than anger, his responsibility to his team quenching his wrath.

  He bit down on his pride and yelled out the battlefield. “Fall back! Everyone, retreat! Now!”

  The order snapped through the battle. One by one, the Worldstriders disengaged, covering each other as they pulled back from the slaughter. The mages that the prince brought with him didn’t chase the others, they only stood there, calm amid the storm, watching. As if they had been told to let them go the whole time.

  Rain-slick mud sucked at their boots as the retreat became a desperate crawl.

  Allie and Cole worked like machines, hauling wounded soldiers onto stretchers, their hands glowing faintly as they poured what healing they had left into torn flesh and splintered bone. Blood streaked down Allie’s cheek where a shard of shrapnel had grazed her, but she didn’t slow, she didn’t dare.

  Kate, Zach, Lance, and Henry were grim silhouettes in the smoke, dragging both Terraxum and Strider wounded back from the killing field. They didn’t speak. Each face was the same mask of grit and grief.

  Behind them, Devon and Peter staggered, arms raised, throwing out enchantments and burning what energy remained in them to throw up walls of light, or defensive effects. Each barrier cracked under the rain of enemy spells, but it slowed the advance just enough to keep the retreat from turning into a massacre.

  Alex forced himself upright, his body screaming, vision swimming. Every muscle felt like it was made of broken glass, but he still stood at the rear, guarding their withdrawal. Keep moving. Keep them alive.

  Then the wind howled, parting the smoke. Prince Irieth was there. The storm-wrapped figure approaching with calm, measured steps, as if the chaos around him didn’t exist. His blade trailed light, every movement effortless.

  The others were left to escape, but it seemed the Prince wasn’t done toying with Alex.

  His instincts flared and he lunged.

  The clash wasn’t the same as before. This was shorter, tighter, a vicious exchange of steel and aether that tore trenches into the mud. Alex struck hard, using everything he had left, but every attack was turned aside with a lazy flick of the prince’s wrist. The masked figure moved like a ghostly reaper, ungraspable, untouchable.

  Gashes opened up across Alex’s body as he could no longer keep up the same tempo to which the prince danced with his blade. He dodged and blocked the worst of the blows, [Shield] flickering and dying away in a fast paced light rave. Still the damage grew and Alex’s [Asura’s Bloodwrath] passive kicked into effect, flooding his muscles with the rage filled purple-crimson aura of his martial style. But that’s didn’t mean much. Alex was still loosing.

  Finally, they broke apart, chests heaving, staring at one another through the haze of battle.

  Alex spat blood, voice hoarse. “Why toy with us?!”

  The prince tilted his head, the faintest curve of amusement behind the mask. He sounded calm, almost… bored. “Because you’re the only game worth playing.”

  Then, just as quickly as he had appeared, the prince stepped back. The storm wrapped around him, swallowing his figure until only the echo of his words hung in the air. Alex staggered, but forced himself to turn, to limp after his squad. The retreat continued.

  ***

  The triage tent smelled of blood, smoke, and bitter healing salves. Silence pressed down like a weighted blanket, but provided no comfort.

  Allie and Cole moved from cot to cot, hands glowing with healing light as they patched up Kate’s scorched arms and Holly’s lattice of shallow cuts. Neither woman spoke, Kate just gritted her teeth, and Holly stared at the ceiling, eyes dark and unreadable.

  Zach sat cross-legged in the corner, chugging down potion after potion, his usual stoic calm frayed at the edges. Eric was leaning back against a stack of crates, his ribs bandaged tight, breathing carefully. Garret, who could always be counted on for a joke, sat stitching his own side with grim precision, lips pressed together like the world’s worst tailor.

  In the same tent, Alex stood alone over the war map set over an empty table. His hands gripped the edge hard enough to make the wood creak.

  “They studied us,” he said, voice low. “Made counters for all of us.” His eyes flicked over the map, but the lines and markers might as well have been meaningless scratches. Even with the upgrades he had fought, bled, and nearly died for, even after the brutal Earth Tribulation and every sleepless hour spent carving new power into his body, he hadn’t won. He had survived, but only because the prince let him go, again.

  “I can stand toe-to-toe with him for a few seconds now,” Alex muttered, almost to himself. “But I can’t beat him.”

  One by one, the others drifted over, moving like shadows.

  “Then we all get stronger,” Kate said hoarsely, her throat still raw from battle.

  Zach nodded, arms folded. “We train against each other. Harder. Smarter. We learn to break their counters.”

  Holly smirked faintly from where she leaned on the doorway. “They’re not the only ones who can prepare.”

  Garret dropped his needle into a cup and grinned weakly. “Yeah. Let’s make them regret being clever.”

  Alex looked up at them, chest tight. “Alright,” he said. “We’ll do it. If they’re giving us the time to get stronger, then just like you said, we’ll make damn sure they regret it.”

  Kate smirked back. “Tomorrow, then?”

  Alex let out a short breath that was almost a laugh. “Yeah. Tomorrow.”

  He glanced at the tent flap, at the dark sky beyond. “For now, get some sleep. We’ll work on our revenge plot in the morning.”

  The squad nodded, dispersing out into the camp and toward their personal tent. The rain outside had stopped, but the smell of wet earth and blood still clung to the air. Alex lingered a moment longer, staring at the map. Tomorrow, he promised himself.

  Then he turned away, following his team into the dim quiet of the camp.

  ***

  The Aeralith camp was quiet under a sheet of thick mist, its banners hung limp in the cold night breeze. Dotted among the camp, fires burned low, casting rippling, curling shadows over many tents and the forms of the patrolling sentries.

  Inside a pavilion adorned with black silk and silver thread, Prince Irieth sat alone in front of a scrying mirror. The surface rippled with faint light, replaying images and scattered moments of the earlier battle. It showed Alex darting through a storm of blades, his cloak of aether burning bright, then the flare of martial techniques colliding midair, the ragged determination in his eyes when he ordered the retreat.

  The mirror dimmed, stopping on a display of Alex standing bloodied but unbroken.

  A soft rustle of cloth announced the approach of a royal servant, he hesitated at the edge of the light, unsure of his choice to approach. Eventually the man swallowed hard. “My Prince,” the man said cautiously, “the others… they do not understand. Why let him live again?”

  Irieth didn’t look up at first. He reached out with gloved fingers and traced the edge of the mirror, as if committing the last image to memory. When the prince finally turned, he wasn’t wearing his mask, allowing the starlight to catch on the bare glint of his eyes. They were sharp, calm, and lit with something between amusement and hunger.

  He smiled, faint and razor-thin.

  “Because,” he said softly, “every king deserves to know when he’s in check.”

  The aide swallowed and said nothing more. The mirror went dark. Outside, the night wind carried only silence, and the quiet promise of battles yet to come.