Dust clouds everything.

  The ground split open where Riegt’s wind blade struck, carving a trench and hurling dirt into the air.

  Riegt stands still, scanning for me.

  I slip between the dust unseen.

  The stealth technique—born from morning scouting and woven with the sixth dream.

  First test run. Going well.

  Riegt doesn’t know where I am. He isn’t vanishing either. Just waiting.

  I mask myself as ambient mana. Stagnate the flow around and inside me until I’m no different from the air itself. Ambient mana is already sluggish, and with my masking layered on, I’m nearly invisible—so long as I have cover. Without this dust, he’d catch me in a heartbeat.

  Built from my earlier rendition. Same principles. Sharper edge.

  Not like his trick. I can feel him at all times within fifteen meters—visible or not. I let him get close. I prefer it.

  I slip through the thick clouds, closer, closer.

  Until I’m a breath away.

  My lightning blade hums to life. Stance low. Sword pulled back. Mana flares, power bleeding out of me.

  Riegt swings to meet me.

  My thrust is already in motion. Blade point slams into his ward—it flares, cracks, shatters. Steel cuts through the wind he conjures to throw me off, skewers sideways, and pierces his shoulder.

  He leaps back, hurling spears of wind. I knock some aside, weave through the rest.

  Lightning blade fades. I reclaim my zweihander.

  Riegt looks weary.

  He conjures a gust, sweeping the dust away.

  “Isn’t that a bit late?” I mock, voice cutting. He really does seem green.

  Riegt’s wounds aren’t bleeding, but that doesn’t take the pain away. He’s surely feeling it.

  “Cat got your tongue?” I sneer.

  He doesn’t answer. Just focuses harder, shutting me out.

  No more falling for my taunts. Aww… that hurts.

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  Riegt rummages in his pocket and pulls out a golden trinket—same kind as Riez’s.

  You’re not surprising me this time.

  He lowers into a stance. I do the same. Seems he wants a turn.

  Wind mana swells around him, dragging the ambient flow inward. Dust scatters, dirt sprays, the ground itself rumbling. The wind coils tight around his frame.

  Lightning answers—sparking through my blade and skin as I brace.

  The world falls still again.

  He digs in, heels sinking deep. A trident of wind forms in his hand, the trinket dangling from its chain.

  Then he launches.

  The earth craters. A howling gale tears through the valley, ripping dirt skyward, flattening my hair like a storm breaking over me.

  I swing overhead, lightning flaring, steel crashing down on his conjured trident.

  He spawns wind spears along the rush—jagged points angled to gut me. I pour mana into my ward. Three slam against it—flaring solid, spiderweb cracks racing across the surface—as I strain to cleave his strike away.

  Another spear shoots from behind. I conjure a wall of lightning. It shatters, frying the air, forcing Riegt’s ward to flare.

  The spear drives forward. I let one hand slip free. Lightning bursts, snatching it midair. Snap. It evaporates in my grip.

  But with only one hand on the blade, I’m thrown back by the force of his trident.

  Riegt charges.

  I form bolts of lightning as I’m thrown back, hurling them on my retreat. All they do is make his ward flare. My boots skid to a halt. I lower myself, blade ready, and meet him again.

  He lunges with the trident, the howl of wind riding it. I slip my blade between its prongs and twist, deflecting it into the ground. The earth craters. My blade slides free. He’s open.

  I swing upward, lightning coiling tight, blade cutting from low to high.

  He releases the trident and tries to slip aside.

  Too slow. My swing carves a gouge across his chest. Blood spills—red, hot, everywhere.

  The blood is spilt. Not yet. It is. But it isn’t.

  Riegt is split. Two of him.

  The world slows.

  In the corner of my eye, the trinket gleams.

  I got overzealous.

  One Riegt grins—only one.

  The future again.

  I cut my swing short and leap back. The air where I’d stood collapses—quicker, sharper, heavier. The trinket juiced his strike. Tried to lull me into a trap.

  My foresight saved me a loop.

  Riegt looks shocked. His trinket crumbles to dust. So that’s what happens—one use and gone. I’d tried countless times to snatch Riez’s artifact, but it always slipped away. Now I know why. They vanish after use… and probably when the owner dies. Very magical.

  “Wow—you almost got me. You know that could’ve killed me.”

  He answers with a barrage of spears. Weaker.

  He’s losing control. Ambient mana might be near-infinite, but if your own supply runs dry, focus goes with it. Control shatters faster than stamina.

  I weave through the storm, batting spears aside, frying others into the dirt.

  “Was that your last effort—pathetic.”

  Luckily, his erasure magic came with brutal conditions. Shame. I’d still love to replicate it—but it needs improvements.

  Let’s end this.

  I weave through another barrage of spears. Lightning flares. My blade flashes.

  It meets his shield. His ward flares, cracks, shatters. I gouge into his arm.

  I slip aside as air collapses near me. One hand frees—lightning bursts through it, driving into his side. His ward flares again, shatters, blood spraying as the cut drives deep.

  I vault over him just as more air implodes. His eyes are dimming—mana running dry.

  Blade swings. His ward breaks. His arm falls.

  I pivot. Another collapse. He conjures a wall of wind. I shatter it. My blade carves through.

  He tries for a spear—it snaps. His other hand is gone.

  I leap back as the air folds in on itself again.

  Riegt is panting—pain, exhaustion, mana bled away.

  This is almost anticlimactic. I’ve looped, died, and bled toward this day. And now? It’s a cakewalk. He barely knows how to fight. Before, he crushed me with raw force—no finesse, no craft.

  “You—truly are pathetic.”

  I twist my face into the same disgust he once showed me.

  “All that power—and for what? You’re no better than your brother.”

  That snaps him.

  “Don’t compare me to that insect.”

  “What’s so different between you two? You’re both insects.”

  I chuckle.

  Riegt stills, the realization sinking in. He’s a dead man. But his eyes flare—burning with hateful certainty.

  “You’ll die for this. My family will have your head.”

  He looks like he just bought himself a reprieve with those words.

  “Yeah… we’ll see.”

  I lower into stance. The finisher.

  Lightning coils tighter than ever, blazing brighter, humming stronger. My muscles thrum with it, my mind a fortress.

  The world drowns in white light as I drag in the ambient mana. Lightning forms, and I streak through the brilliance as a dark silhouette, blade the same.

  I crash down on Riegt before he can even process.

  The world snaps back. The smell of seared flesh clings heavy.

  I kneel behind his body—decapitated, collapsed, done. Panting. That took a lot.

  One strike. Clean. Too fast for him to even know he died.

  Free. Again.