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Chapter 17: Hidden Dragon
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“What are you…?” Ishar questioned, his voice low.
Varek’s grin returned,the massive enforcer towered over him, muscles rippling unnaturally beneath skin that seemed too tight for his frame. His eyes held an unnatural gleam, like something else was looking out through them. “Oh, you’ll find out soon enough.”
He surged forward again, his body twisting unnaturally mid-strike, the axe’s trajectory curving as if it had a mind of its own. Ishar narrowly avoided the attack, his feet sliding against the dirt as he pushed back. For the first time in the fight, he felt a flicker of unease.
The firelight flickered around them, casting long shadows as the tension grew. The flames had only begun their feast, licking at the smaller structures and testing the ancient bark of the forest giants. There was still time before the inferno claimed everything.
Ishar’s spear was steady in his hands, his breath measured despite the strain of the battle.
The veins in Varek's neck pulsed with an unsettling blue light, spreading like spider webs beneath his skin. His movements, already unnatural, began to shift—bones cracking softly as his joints moved in ways they shouldn't.
This wasn’t a simple fight anymore. Something was wrong—something Ishar couldn’t quite define. He tightened his grip on his spear, his mind racing as he prepared for whatever came next.
The massive oak trees around them groaned under the heat, their ancient bark splitting and peeling away.
In the distance, lightning flashed and crackled, illuminating shadows of other battles being fought throughout the camp. The night had become a symphony of combat and chaos.
Smoke writhed between the trunks like living serpents, occasionally parting to reveal glimpses of the horror unfolding throughout the camp. In the distance, a mercenary's scream turned into a wet gurgle as his arms twisted backward, bones cracking as they reformed into something inhuman.
He let the greataxe drop to the ground with a dull thud, dragging it in a lazy arc through the dirt. “You’re so proud of your ‘balance,’ aren’t you? Your perfect stances, your careful little strikes.” He grinned wider, his teeth glinting in the firelight.
"You think you're protecting them?" Varek's laugh was thick with contempt. "Your precious forest folk... they're just the beginning. When Raekor's done, there won't be anything natural left in this world. Everything pure, everything balanced—it all gets remade. And you get to watch it happen."
"The forest protected us for generations," Ishar growled, parrying another strike. "Why attack us now?"
The monstrous brute's distorted face twisted into a grin. "Protected you? It imprisoned you. Kept you weak, bound by old ways." His veins pulsed brighter. "But Raekor—he sees the truth. Nature itself needs to evolve."
"By corrupting it?"
"By freeing it. Your precious balance is a cage. We're just... breaking down the bars."
The corrupted giant erupted from his position, his torso contorting at impossible angles as he closed the distance, adding a deadly arc to his greataxe swing that forced Ishar to dive to the side. The axe connected with the dirt where the tribal warrior previously stood, sending a spray of earth into the air. Varek twisted again, his body coiling unnaturally as he brought the axe back around in a reverse sweep.
Ishar barely had time to plant his spear in the ground and vault himself over the strike, the force of the swing brushing past his legs and sending a sharp gust of air into his face. He landed lightly, immediately transitioning into a defensive stance, but the titan of man was already moving again.
Varek pressed forward, his movements relentless and wild. Each swing of his greataxe carried more than brute strength—it was calculated chaos, a mixture of power and flexibility designed to overwhelm. Ishar’s spear spun in tight arcs, deflecting one strike, then another, but the force behind each blow left his arms trembling.
“Struggling already?” Varek taunted, his voice filled with mockery. He swung low, forcing the spear-wielder to leap back, then twisted mid-swing to redirect the axe in a brutal upward arc.
Varek's shoulder blades shifted beneath his skin, stretching his frame wider. His fingers lengthened with each swing of the axe, bones visibly reforming as the Catalyst pushed his body beyond human limits. The glow in his veins pulsed in rhythm with his increasingly erratic heartbeat, visible through his translucent skin.
The forest’s defender ducked just in time, the blade whistling past his ear. “Come on, protector. Show me the fire they say you have.”
Ishar said nothing, his focus narrowing as the titan catapulted forward. The great axe came in a sweeping arc, faster than anything its massive weight should have allowed. Ishar darted to the side, the blade missing him by a hair. He felt the heat of the displaced air as it whooshed past his face.
Varek spun with the momentum of the missed strike, his form contorting with eldritch fluidity.The axe came around again, this time in a wild backhanded blow aimed at the native’s midsection. Ishar leaped back, narrowly avoiding the blade as it carved a deep groove into the dirt. His ribs screamed in protest at the movement, but he had no time to dwell on the pain.
“Dodge, dodge, dodge,” the mutating colossus sneered, his grin widening as he stalked forward. “Is that all you can do, little warrior? Run around like a rat while the flames close in?” He swung the axe again, a series of unpredictable, twisting strikes that forced the sentinel of the wilds to retreat further. Each movement was wild yet precise, designed to wear him down.
Ishar’s mind raced. Varek wasn’t just strong—The realization hit him like ice in his veins. This wasn’t just enhanced strength or speed—this was something else entirely. Something that twisted the nature of what a human body should be capable of. Every instinct screamed at him to retreat, to find another way, but the faces of those he’d sworn to protect flashed through his mind. He couldnt’t fail them. Not now. Not ever.
His flexibility, the unnatural angles of his attacks, and his relentless speed made him a nightmare to counter. He could feel the strain in his muscles, the sharp sting in his side where his ribs protested every breath. He was burning energy just staying alive.
Another swing came, and Ishar ducked, twisting his body to avoid the blade. The motion was almost textbook—a classic overhead strike. But something about the way Varek moved caught the spear-wielder’s attention. His instincts screamed too late as Varek twisted mid-motion, turning the axe into a backhanded strike aimed for the guardian's head.
Ishar surged forward, closing the distance and raising his spear to block. The axe connected with the shaft of the spear in a deafening clash of metal on metal. The force of the blow traveled down Ishar’s arms, jarring his bones and driving him back. He felt the crack in his ribs like a white-hot poker, and the next moment he was airborne.
He crashed into the trunk of a burning tree, the impact driving the air from his lungs. Pain radiated through his chest as he crumpled to the ground, gasping for breath. His vision blurred, the world spinning as he forced his eyes open.
Varek was already there. The great axe descended toward him, the blade gleaming wickedly in the firelight. Ishar rolled to the side, the axe burying itself into the ground where he had been. The edge of the blade nicked a strand of his hair, sending it floating to the ground like a taunt.
Ishar surged to his feet, his spear still in hand. He had no time to think, only react. He dove forward, driving the point of the spear toward Varek’s chest. The juggernaut twisted again, his body contorting unnaturally to avoid the strike. He spun with the motion, turning the thrust into a slash aimed at Varek’s legs.
Varek countered with terrifying speed. He let the spear glance off his thigh, using the momentum to close the distance. Before Ishar could react, Varek grabbed him by the waist and lifted him off the ground. The world turned upside down as Varek twisted, slamming Ishar into the dirt with bone-crushing force.
The collision expelled the air from his lungs with devastating finality, and he bounced off the ground, landing awkwardly on his side. Pain exploded in his chest, and he tasted blood on his tongue. He tried to rise, but Varek was already there, grabbing him by the leg mid-bounce. With a roar, Varek hurled him through the air like a ragdoll.
The protector of the woods collided into another tree, the bark splintering under the impact. He crumpled to the ground, coughing violently as pain wracked his body. His ribs were on fire, and his vision swam as he struggled to push himself up.
“Look at you,” Varek jeered, his voice dripping with cruel amusement. “The great protector. The warrior of the woods. Pathetic.” He stalked forward, dragging his axe behind him, the blade carving deep furrows into the dirt. “Do you know what they screamed for when we took this camp? The women. The children. They begged for you, little warrior. Begged for their hero to save them.”
Ishar forced himself to his feet, leaning heavily on his spear. His breath came in ragged gasps, and his legs trembled under his weight. But his amber eyes burned with defiance, even as blood dripped from the corner of his mouth.
“You talk too much,” he rasped, tasting copper on his tongue. “Like all cowards who hide behind strength.”
Varek’s grin faltered for a moment before twisting into a snarl. He charged again, his movements wilder than before. The axe spun in his hands, each swing a chaotic whirlwind of metal that forced Ishar to retreat. He tried to parry, but the force of the blows drove him back, his footing unsteady.
The fire writhed and danced around them, casting grotesque shadows across Varek’s twisted form. Ishar’s mind raced, searching for an opening, a way to turn the tide. His spear flashed out in a desperate counter, but Varek batted it aside with ease, the motion almost casual.
“You can’t win,” Varek growled, his voice a guttural snarl. “You’re just delaying the inevitable.”
Ishar’s ribs screamed in protest as he moved, each breath a struggle. But his mind remained sharp, calculating. He couldn’t match the corrupted giant’s strength or speed—not directly. He needed to adapt, to exploit his opponent’s overconfidence and unnatural movements.
The fire roared around them, consuming what remained of the camp. The battlefield was a hellscape, the air thick with smoke and ash. But Ishar didn’t falter. He tightened his grip on his spear, his sharp eyes locking onto Varek’s wild form.
“For my people,” he murmured under his breath, his voice barely audible over the chaos.
The sounds of combat echoed from across the burning camp—metal clashing against metal, punctuated by unnatural crackles of electricity and inhuman screams. But Ishar couldn't spare a thought for the other battles. His own fight demanded every ounce of his attention.
Varek lunged again, his twisted form silhouetted against the flames. And Ishar, battered and broken, prepared to meet him.
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The air grew heavy, a faint hum of pressure building in the atmosphere. Soren’s grip on his katana tightened as he observed Krenja, whose already wiry frame seemed to vibrate with energy. The crackling of lightning danced along his clawed gauntlets, a faint blue glow pulsing outward.
Krenja’s grin widened unnaturally, his sharp teeth bared like a rabid predator. His hair, once shaggy and wild, began to lift, each strand standing on end as though charged by the energy surrounding him.Electricity didn't just dance across Krenja's skin anymore—it arced between exposed muscle fibers as his flesh began to turn translucent. Blue light pulsed through his veins, turning them into living conductors that pushed against his skin from within. The crackling intensified, sharp and chaotic like a storm barely contained.
The oppressive pressure settled over Soren, subtle but undeniable. His chest felt just slightly heavier with each breath, his instincts screaming at him to move—but to where? What was this?
The sound of mercenaries and bandits screaming in the distance reached his ears, bones crunching under the weight of something unseen. It added to the chaos, the primal fear clawing at the edge of his mind.
Through the smoke, figures stumbled and writhed. A mercenary's arm elongated like melting wax, fingers splitting and multiplying.
From somewhere deeper in the camp came the sound of splintering wood and a roar that seemed barely human—another battle reaching its climax.
Another's torso split open, ribs curling outward like bloody flowers. The Catalyst wasn't just changing them—it was rewriting their very existence.
‘This feeling… I’ve felt this before.’
Soren’s orange eyes narrowed, his sharp mind racing. But the answer eluded him. He couldn’t place the eerie familiarity—the sense of something unnatural, something he should remember. His gaze snapped back to the mercenary as the man’s transformation reached its peak.
'Something's off about all this,' Soren thought, watching Krenja's erratic movements. 'These aren't just enhanced soldiers gone rogue. This is organized chaos.’
With a guttural laugh, Krenja’s aura exploded outward, the blue glow intensifying until it bathed the surrounding area in crackling light. His hair spiked upward into jagged liberty spikes, each strand radiating energy. Sparks danced along his body, his gauntlets glowing as arcs of electricity crackled between his claws.
The adaptive warrior blinked. In that brief moment of hesitation, Krenja was gone.
Instinct screamed, and Soren barely shifted his stance before Krenja appeared directly in front of him, moving faster than he could track. A clawed gauntlet lashed out, grazing Soren’s shoulder as he twisted to evade. The impact sent a sharp jolt of electricity racing through his body, forcing him to stagger back.
The crackling enforcer didn’t stop. He launched into a flurry of blows, a lightning-fast combo that left Soren struggling to keep up. A punch slammed into his ribs, followed by a spinning backfist aimed at his temple. Soren managed to duck, but Krenja’s knee drove into his stomach, sending him reeling.
Gritting his teeth, Soren countered, his katana slashing toward Krenja’s torso. But Krenja moved with impossible agility, flipping over him and delivering a devastating kick to his back. The force of the blow sent Soren crashing to the ground, his katana flying from his grasp and embedding itself in the dirt, blade-first.
Soren groaned, his chest heaving as he pushed himself up. His fingers instinctively reached for his weapons—his chain whip coiled at his belt, his steel escrima sticks resting at his side. But before he could fully rise, Krenja was upon him again.
The maniacal laughter cut through the chaos as Krenja raised a clawed foot, electricity surging through his gauntlets. He stomped downward, aiming for Soren’s chest. Soren rolled to the side just in time, the impact sending a sharp shockwave through the ground.
Using the momentum, Soren twisted into a crouch and lashed out with a powerful kick aimed at Krenja’s chest. But the electric enforcer vanished again, his speed turning him into a blur. Soren’s kick struck nothing but air.
He rose to his feet, his sharp eyes scanning the battlefield. The world spun slightly, the flames around him creating a kaleidoscope of orange and blue. In the corners of his vision, he saw the distorted figures of the afflicted—mercenaries and bandits alike writhing as their bodies twisted unnaturally. The sound of snapping bones and guttural screams sent a chill down his spine.
Soren clenched his jaw, forcing himself to focus. His instincts screamed that Krenja was still nearby, but where? The heat of the fire pressed against his skin, the smoke stinging his eyes. His pulse pounded in his ears as he scanned the burning trees around him.
The sudden snap of wood was his only warning.
The lightning-touched mercenary launched himself from a sturdy tree, the bark splintering under the force. He hurtled toward Soren like a bolt of lightning, the glow of his crackling energy illuminating his manic grin.
Soren dove to the side, barely evading the strike. But the discharge of electricity from Krenja’s gauntlets grazed him, sending a sharp jolt through his body. He staggered, his muscles momentarily locking as he landed in a crouch.
Pain lanced through him, but he bit down hard on his lip, the metallic taste of blood grounding him. His eyes snapped upward, his escrima sticks sliding into his hands just in time to block a strike from behind.
Krenja’s clawed gauntlet collided with the steel, the impact sending a shockwave of electricity coursing through the weapons. The force of the blow sent the swordsman flying, his body slamming into the wreckage of a collapsed tent.
Krenja’s laughter echoed through the chaos, sharp and unhinged. He stood amidst the flames, arcs of lightning dancing around him as he spread his arms wide.
"What's wrong, dog?" Krenja's voice distorted, crackling with electricity that leaked from between his teeth. His fingers had begun to split, each digit branching into lightning-rod claws that sparked and hissed. "Afraid of a little evolution?"
Soren watched as Krenja's skin became almost crystalline, electricity visibly coursing through his transforming body. "Evolution? Looks more like deterioration to me."
"You don't even know what you're fighting against!" Krenja cackled, electricity dancing between his teeth. "This world's too ordered, too stable. It needs to be broken down and rebuilt. This is what perfection feels like. Some of us were chosen to ascend. The rest?" He gestured to a screaming bandit whose skin was bubbling with mutation. "They're just fuel for the change."
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Soren groaned, pushing himself up from the debris. Blood dripped from a gash on his forehead, staining the ground beneath him. His chest heaved with every breath, but his orange eyes burned with defiance.
“Mutts like you,” he growled, his voice low and steady despite the pain, “need to be put down.”
Krenja’s grin faltered for the briefest moment, replaced by a flicker of irritation. Then, with a snarl, he lunged forward, his body crackling with electricity as the fight continued.
Soren tightened his grip on his escrima sticks, his chain whip uncoiling at his side. The battle was far from over.
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The fire raised around them, rolling loud as beams, and the breeze fell, the heat stifling relentlessly. A burning tree crashed down nearby, sending up a shower of embers that danced around them like fireflies. Through gaps in the smoke, shadows writhed and twisted as more soldiers succumbed to the Catalyst's corruption, their screams mixing with the roar of the flames.
Ayola stood her ground, her Kama trembling in her grip as she squared off Aedor. His lean frame moved with predatory grace, moonlight glinting off his twin daggers as they cared shadows through the smoke.
“Such fragile things, aren't you?” the hunter purred, his daggers dancing between his fingers. “Like delicate little birds. I’ve broken so many winds, watch them try to fly away…” a cruel smile played across his sharp features. “They alway fall eventually”
Ayola grit her teeth, ignoring this thing of his words as she darted to the side, her kama flashing as she slashed towards his ribs. Aedor stepped into the attack, his dagger flashing up to deflect her blade, metal screaming against metal.
Her amber eyes widened in surprise, but she reacted instantly, twisting her body to drive her elbow into his side. He blocked her strike with his other arm, his grin wide in his fingers clamped around her forearm.
"Do you know what fascinates me most?" the cruel torturer's voice carried a scholarly interest that made his words even more chilling. His grip tightened, twisting her arms with precise, practiced cruelty.
"The moment when hope dies. You can see it in their eyes, that instant when they realize no one's coming to save them." Ayola cried out, her knees buckling as pain shot through her limbs.
She could react, he shoved her backward, sending her stumbling to the ground.
She hit the dirt hard, grasping for breath, forced herself up, her Kama clutch tightly in her other hand. The camp around her in a haze of smoke and fire, the inferno closing in on all sides.
“Still standing?” Aedor mused, his tone laced with amusement. He strode towards her leisurely, savoring the moment. “You’re more stubborn than the others.”
Ayola lunged at him again, her movements fueled by sheer determination. She ducked low, aiming a sharp stripe towards his exposed knee, but Aedor anticipated her move. His hand lashed out, grabbing her wrist mid-swing. With a twisted grin, he yanked her forward, forcing her to drop the weapon.
“Let’s try this again.” Aedor spun her around, twisting her arm painfully behind her back and forcing her down onto her knees. Ayola struggled, but his iron grip was unyielding. He leaned and closed his hot, his breath hot against her ear. “Do you even realize how pathetic you look?”
Before she could retort, he shoved her forward, her face inches from the scorch ground. She rolled away instinctively, scrambling to her feet, but Aedor was already there. He grabbed her ankle and yanked, sending her crashing back to the ground. This time, he pressed his boot against her thigh, pinning her in place.
"I've learned so much about pain," the merciless predator whispered, his daggers catching the firelight. "Where to cut to make it last, how shallow to keep the wounds so you stay conscious through everything." He pressed the dagger's point against her throat. "The others barely lasted a day, but you... you might actually give me a chance to demonstrate my expertise."
He pressed down harder, drawing a sharp cry from her as the weight crushed her leg. She clawed at the dirt, her mind racing for a way out, but his mocking voice drowned out her thoughts.
“You’re nothing more than a broken doll,” he said, his tone almost gleeful. “All your cleverness, all your tricks…and this is where it gets you.”
Ayola gritted her teeth, her mind screaming for her to move. She tried to twist free, but The sadistic enforcer’s boot shifted to her other leg, pinning her even harder.
“Stop squirming. You’ll only make it worse,” he sneered, leaning down. His free hand grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking her head back so he could meet her defiant glare. “But I like when they fight. Makes breaking them more fun.”
"You remind me of a girl from the last village," the shadow stalker mused, circling her with predatory grace. "She had that same fire in her eyes. That same stubborn pride." His voice dropped to an intimate whisper. "Would you like to know how long she screamed before that fire went out?"
Her breathing was ragged, body battered, and bruised, but her glare didn’t falter. Aedor’s grin twisted darker as he leaned closer, the firelight reflecting off his sharp, angular features.
“That’s the spirit,” He whispered. “Keep fighting. It makes it all the sweeter when you break.
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Ishar vs Varek
Varek leapt again, his monstrous frame cutting through the smoke like a beast unleashed. His great axe swung in a wide, brutal arc, aimed to cleave Ishar in two. But Ishar, battered and broken, spun fluidly, the spear in his hands moving like the rushing rivers of his homeland. The blade missed by inches, the displaced air tugging at his cloak as he repositioned.
His ribs throbbed with every movement, the earlier slam against the tree and ground having left him bruised—or worse. Each breath was a sharp reminder of his injuries, but he pushed through, gritting his teeth as he refocused on the enemy.
Varek’s glowing veins pulsed erratically, the light spreading across his arms and neck. His body contorted unnaturally, and a guttural growl escaped his lips as if the Catalyst itself was taking over. Yet his strikes became more reckless, each swing imbued with overwhelming power but lacking precision.
The spear-wielder’s amber eyes caught the first sign of weakness. ‘He’s losing control.’
Each of Varek's transformations followed a pattern—the pulsing veins, the contortions, the loss of human awareness. It wasn't just mindless mutation; there was a progression. Understanding it might be the key to surviving it. Through the smoke, he caught glimpses of others transforming, each following the same cruel evolution. Whatever this power was, it had rules, limits—and weaknesses.
Ishar prowled forward, his spear spinning in tight arcs as he closed the gap. He wasn’t retreating anymore. Instead, he pressed into Varek’s space, forcing the larger man to adjust. Varek swung the axe downward, aiming to end him, but Ishar sidestepped, his spear deflecting the strike at an angle. Sparks flew as the shaft met the blade, and Ishar felt the jarring impact reverberate through his arms.
The next strike came faster—a diagonal slash meant to catch Ishar mid-movement. But the spear-wielder anticipated it, stepping inside the swing and deflecting the axe again, this time striking at the same spot on the blade where he’d noticed a faint imperfection. A small crack formed, and Ishar’s sharp gaze narrowed in recognition.
‘There it is,’ he thought.
Ishar spat blood to the side, his body aching as he pushed through the pain. His movements grew sharper, more aggressive, each motion designed to guide Varek’s strikes into predictable patterns. He deflected another blow, this time driving the spear’s shaft directly into the weak point. The crack deepened.
Varek snarled, his glowing eyes narrowing as he adjusted his stance. “Getting tired, tree-hugger?” he growled, but his voice wavered, betraying his growing frustration.
“Not yet,” Ishar replied coldly, his spear twirling once in his hands as he prepared for the next exchange.
Varek roared, raising the axe high above his head for a devastating overhead strike. Ishar planted his feet, his spear positioned perfectly as he braced for the impact. The axe came down with a deafening crash, and Ishar met it with precision, striking the weak point a third time with the tip of his spear.
The sound of shattering metal echoed across the battlefield. Varek’s axe split apart, the blade crumbling as the shaft splintered under the force of the strike. The sheer power of the clash sent both weapons flying—the remains of the mutated titan’s axe spinning into the flames, and Ishar’s spear embedding itself into the ground, its dull end pointing skyward.
Varek staggered back, his glowing veins pulsating violently now. His muscles spasmed as the Catalyst energy surged through him uncontrollably.
His face began to split, jaw unhinging as additional rows of teeth pushed through his gums. Muscle fibers tore and rewove themselves across his expanding frame, his spine elongating and twisting as he struggled to maintain his humanoid form.
His grotesque form writhed further, his arms elongating unnaturally as claws began to sprout from his fingertips.
"Your people could have joined us," Varek snarled as his body continued to warp. "Could have been part of the new world."
"We've seen your 'new world'," Ishar countered, eyes darting to the transforming soldiers. "It looks a lot like destruction.
“You’ll pay for that!” Varek roared, his voice distorted, almost inhuman. He charged forward, his massive frame barreling toward the spearman like an unstoppable force.
Weaponless, Ishar stood his ground, his body coiled like a predator ready to strike. As the brute closed in, Ishar pivoted at the last moment, his movements fluid and precise. He ducked under a wild swing, his hands flashing out in a blur of motion.
A sharp elbow strike connected with Varek’s ribs, followed by a spinning kick to his knee. The brute stumbled, his balance faltering as Ishar capitalized on the opening. His unarmed strikes were a symphony of precision—each blow targeting a vital point, each movement designed to disorient and disable.
Varek swung wildly, his clawed hands raking through the air, but Ishar was already behind him. He delivered a powerful kick to the back of Varek’s knee, forcing the giant to kneel. Without hesitation, Ishar grabbed the broken shaft of Varek’s axe, twisting it in his hands as he prepared for the final move.
Varek roared, his energy exploding outward in a chaotic burst as he surged to his feet, charging at the spearman with reckless abandon. But Ishar was ready. Using the bear of a man’s momentum against him, he sidestepped and delivered a devastating spinning kick to the brute’s chest, sending him flying backward.
The dull end of Ishar’s spear stood waiting. Varek’s massive frame collided with it, the force of the impact driving the fractured weapon into his back. A sickening crack echoed through the air as his’s spine buckled under the force.
The brute let out one last guttural roar before collapsing, his body twitching as the Catalyst energy consumed him from within. The golden glow along Ishar’s arms faded as he stood over his fallen opponent, his breath ragged but steady.
“For my people,” he whispered again, turning away from the lifeless form as the flames continued to rise around him.
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Soren Vs Krenja
Soren tightened his grip on his katana, the faint glow of firelight reflecting in his focused, orange eyes. He charged forward, his blade a gleaming arc, meeting Krenja’s lunge head-on. Their weapons clashed, sparks flying as metal scraped against electrified claws. Krenja laughed wildly, his movements erratic yet precise, driving the swordsman back with a relentless flurry of strikes.
Soren ducked and twisted, narrowly avoiding The lightning-warped hunter’s swiping claws. A jagged slash nicked his shoulder, sending a burst of pain through him. Another blow grazed his ribs, the gauntlet’s claws tearing through his armor and leaving shallow gashes. Despite the pain, Soren pressed forward, deflecting a downward strike with his katana and spinning into a low sweep with his escrima stick.
Krenja leapt over the attack with ease, his laughter echoing through the battlefield. “You’re fun to play with, I’ll give you that!” He twisted mid-air, his claws flashing toward the swordsman’s chest. Soren intercepted with the flat of his blade, but the force sent him skidding back. A searing pain bloomed across his torso—a deep slash across his chest, hot blood trickling beneath his armor.
The versatile warrior staggered but kept his stance, his mind racing as he observed Krenja’s movements. ‘He’s fast, erratic, and his electricity makes every strike unpredictable. But he’s playing with me. Toying with me. I need him to overcommit.’
He darted forward again, attacking with a mix of feints and swift strikes from his katana and escrima stick. Krenja parried and countered, his claws stabbing and slashing in rapid succession. Soren gritted his teeth, taking glancing hits to his arms and legs, but kept pressing Krenja, forcing him to escalate.
Krenja’s laughter grew louder as he slammed his gauntlets together, releasing a sudden shockwave of electricity that rippled through the air. Soren barely had time to brace himself as the wave struck, sending jolts of electricity coursing through his body. His muscles seized, and he dropped to one knee, his blade trembling in his grip.
The electrified enforcer sneered, his voice dripping with mockery. “You’re slowing down! Let’s make this quick.”
Through the haze of pain, Soren’s sharp eyes caught something—the electricity from the shockwave surged into his discarded katana, grounding itself into the earth.
'The electricity—it's not just power, it's making him unstable,' Soren realized, watching Krenja's increasingly erratic movements. 'The more he uses it, the more it warps him. He's so focused on showing off his strength, he can't see he's losing control. Perfect.'
His mind worked quickly, formulating a plan. He clenched his fists, gritting his teeth as he pushed himself to his feet. “You talk too much,” he spat, stepping back and readying his chain whip. “Come on. Show me everything you’ve got.”
Krenja roared with laughter, his gauntlets sparking as he lunged. The swordsman dodged, twisting and rolling as Krenja’s claws slashed at him. The electricity crackled around him, making even near misses sting like wasps, but Soren remained focused, using his escrima stick and chain whip to keep Krenja at a distance. Each strike was calculated, drawing The lightning-warped hunter deeper into his game.
Krenja moved with dizzying speed, his body a blur of erratic motions as he lashed out. Soren parried the first strike, sidestepped the second, but the third caught him—a jagged slash tearing across his chest. Blood seeped into his tunic, the pain sharp and immediate, but Soren didn’t falter.
Krenja’s laughter echoed as he pressed the attack. “What’s the matter? Too slow?” He coiled, slashing horizontally, forcing Soren to duck and roll away. A follow-up stab narrowly missed his shoulder, the electricity crackling dangerously close to his skin.
Soren stayed focused, his mind racing even as he evaded Krenja’s relentless assault. He’s toying with me. Overconfident. If I push him, he’ll show me everything.
He darted back, feinting a stumble to goad the electric horror into advancing. The enforcer took the bait, slamming his gauntlets together and releasing a radial shockwave of electricity. The burst hit Soren head-on, jolting his body and sending him sprawling to the ground.
Krenja grinned as he approached, the arcs of lightning around him intensifying. “Look at you, crawling already.”
Soren gritted his teeth, forcing himself upright despite the lingering pain. “Is that all you’ve got?” he taunted, spinning his chain whip with one hand while gripping his escrima stick in the other. “Come on, show me something real.”
Krenja’s grin widened, his veins glowing brighter as his power surged. His claws extended fully, crackling with raw energy as he surged. Soren met him with a flurry of movements, dodging and weaving while countering with precise strikes from his escrima and whip. Each blow was aimed to buy time, forcing Krenja to exert more of his power.
The enforcer’s speed increased, his movements becoming more erratic. He slashed and stabbed with wild abandon, landing glancing blows that nicked the quick witted warrior’s arms and legs. But Soren stayed the course, analyzing every attack, every movement.
The walking generator let out a frustrated growl, slamming his gauntlets together again. This time, the shockwave was stronger, sending sparks flying in every direction. Soren braced himself, absorbing the impact while keeping his eyes on Krenja. ‘Just one more push.’
As Soren maneuvered, Krenja’s Catalyst power began to spiral out of control. Krenja's form flickered like a malfunctioning light, his body struggling to remain solid as electricity ate away at his humanity. Parts of him began to dissolve into pure energy, blue-white arcs replacing flesh and bone.
His veins glowed brighter, spreading across his body like molten wires. His arms contorted grotesquely, the claws on his gauntlets elongating unnaturally. Sparks leapt from his form, scorching the ground around him.
“You’re mine!” Krenja roared, his voice distorted and guttural. He lunged with feral speed, forcing Soren to retreat toward the grounded katana.
Soren’s chest heaved as he evaded another slash, rolling under a wild swing. He planted his foot and flipped backward, narrowly avoiding a thrust aimed at his throat. Krenja followed relentlessly, his manic laughter echoing as he closed in.
Frustrated, The storm-wielder raised his gauntlets again, slamming them together with an even stronger shockwave. Soren braced himself, the electricity jolting through his body as he staggered but kept his eyes on the ground where his katana lay.
As Krenja prepared another shockwave, the quick witted warrior leapt into the air, using a nearby tree for momentum. He landed on the hilt of his grounded katana, the sword acting as a conductor that diverted the electricity away from him. Krenja’s glowing veins surged brighter, his grin faltering as the feedback stunned him momentarily.
Soren didn’t hesitate. He launched himself from the hilt, his chain whip snapping through the air and wrapping tightly around Krenja’s gauntlet covered arm. The enforcer snarled, sending volts of electricity surging through the chain, but Soren gritted his teeth, enduring the pain as he pulled Krenja off balance.
Soren closed the distance in a burst of speed, his katana flashing in a reverse grip. Krenja flailed, his claws slashing wildly as he tried to dislodge the chain from his neck. One of his claws swiped dangerously close to Soren’s face, but the swordsman ducked and pivoted, driving his katana into The electric monstrosity’s side and severing his arm in one clean strike.
Krenja stumbled back, his glowing veins pulsating erratically. Sparks erupted from his body, the electricity surging out of control. His eyes widened in confusion and fury as his Catalyst power began to consume him, his form distorting grotesquely.
Soren didn’t give him a chance to recover. Despite the searing pain in his own body, he tightened his grip on the chain whip, using it to pull himself closer. Krenja let out a guttural roar, his remaining claw slashing upward in a desperate attempt to stab Soren’s head.
The chain-wielder pivoted at the last second, the blade grazing his temple as he brought his katana down in a powerful arc. The blade cleaved through Krenja’s neck, severing his head in a fountain of blood and sparks. The enforcer’s body convulsed violently before collapsing, the crackling electricity fading into silence.
Soren stood over Krenja’s body, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. His clothes were singed, his body aching from the shocks, but he refused to let himself collapse. He wiped the blood from his blade, his eyes narrowing as he turned toward the distant sounds of battle. No time to rest. It’s not over yet.
Through gaps in the smoke, Soren caught glimpses of other struggles throughout the camp. Somewhere to his left, he heard a woman's defiant cry mixed with the roar of flames. But the electricity dancing before him demanded his focus.
----------------------------------------
Ayola Vs Aedor
The inferno roared around them, casting erratic shadows across the battlefield. Ayola lay sprawled on the scorched ground, her body trembling from exhaustion and pain. Her vision blurred as she struggled to push herself up, her bruised arms quivering beneath her weight. The taste of smoke filled her lungs, every breath a desperate fight.
The heat of the flames pressed down on Ayola as Aedor leaned in, his breath hot and suffocating against her neck. Around them, the camp continued to burn, another section of the wooden palisade collapsing with a thunderous crash. Through gaps in the smoke, dark figures writhed and twisted, their screams mixing with the roar of the inferno as the Catalyst claimed more victims.
His large hand pinned her wrist to the scorched ground while his dagger twisted deeper into her thigh. The pain was blinding, her vision blurring with each heartbeat, but Ayola held onto one thought, clear and sharp amid the chaos.
‘Not like this. Not ever.’
Aedor’s lips curled into a demented grin, his cruel blue eyes flickering with the reflected firelight. “You can stop pretending,” he murmured, his voice a low growl as his free hand trailed down her face. “This is where the strong ones always break. And you will break.”
Ayola forced herself to breathe through the pain, her chest heaving as she felt the familiar cold stirring in the back of her mind. She'd always kept it contained, controlled. Small alterations. Subtle misdirections. But now... now she could feel it pushing against its boundaries, responding to her desperation. Her mind raced as his weight pressed down on her. She'd never pushed her ability this far, never risked losing control. But watching him, seeing the cruel pleasure in his eyes as he tortured his victims—it awakened something cold and calculating within her.
It was cold, like frost blooming against her mind, coiling in her veins as she reached for it. Her amber eyes flickered to the depraved hunter’s, and for the first time, she didn’t resist.
As his lips brushed against her neck, Ayola closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. Her voice, calm and deliberate, cut through the crackling of the flames. “Do you really think this will end well for you?”
Aedor paused, his grip on her tightening. “What are you talking about, little mouse?” he hissed, his tone dripping with disdain. “You’ve already lost.”
"Have I?" she whispered, her voice carrying an edge that made him falter. Her amber eyes flickered to Aedor's, and for the first time since the fight began, she let her mask slip. Aedor's lips curled into a sneer. "Finally breaking, little—" He stopped, something in her gaze making him hesitate. The first change was subtle. A whisper of wrongness that made him blink. Then another. And another. Small things. The way the shadows moved against the firelight. The way the heat seemed to retreat from his skin. The Catalyst surged through him instinctively, his veins beginning to glow a sickly blue, eyes blazing as his power responded to the threat he could feel but couldn't quite identify. But before he could harness it fully, Ayola's voice came from everywhere and nowhere.
"You never asked yourself the right question," she said softly. "You were so focused on breaking bodies..." The world lurched sideways. "...that you forgot about minds."
“What the—?” he muttered, his sneer faltering as the world around him began to warp. The ground beneath them rippled like water, the shadows stretching unnaturally, clawing at his feet. The once-roaring flames twisted into serpentine tendrils of darkness, their jagged forms writhing and coiling around him.
He stumbled back, his gauntlets sparking faintly as he reached for his dagger. But Ayola was no longer beneath him.
She was gone.
“What’s going on?!” Aedor shouted, spinning wildly as the ground beneath him began to dissolve into an endless void. His voice cracked with panic, the confident sneer on his face replaced by a flicker of fear. “Where are you?!”
Ayola’s voice echoed through the shifting landscape, cold and sharp as a blade. “I’m right here.”
She strode forward from the shadows, her figure cloaked in a faint blue light, her amber eyes glowing with a chilling intensity. The cruel tormentor froze as her words cut through him, each one laced with quiet power.
“You didn’t even notice, did you?” Ayola said, her tone calm and unyielding. “While you were gloating, while you thought you had control… I was unraveling yours.”
Ayola tilted her head, her expression devoid of warmth. “Your senses, Aedor. I altered them. Everything you felt, everything you thought you were doing—it was all in your mind.”
He staggered, his limbs trembling as he tried to move, but the shadows coiled tighter around him, binding him in place. “No!” he roared. “This can’t be real!”
Ayola crouched before him, her gaze cold and unyielding. “You wanted to break me. To make me powerless.” She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “How does it feel to be on the other side?”
Aedor's eyes widened, the blue glow in his veins pulsing erratically as he fought against her control. "You... you're like him. Like Raekor. He said there might be others, hidden ones—"
"The difference," Ayola cut him off, her voice ice-cold, "is that I don't use it to torture. To break." Her grip tightened on the dagger. "I use it to protect. To end monsters like you."
Aedor thrashed against the bonds, his glowing veins pulsing erratically. “I’ll kill you!” he snarled, his voice raw with fear and rage. The Catalyst’s energy surged within him, his body trembling as he tried to activate it.
Ayola’s hand shot forward, the dagger pressing against his throat. “No,” she said coldly. “You won’t.”
With one swift motion, the mind walker drove the dagger into his neck. Blood erupted from the wound, painting crimson patterns across her face as the sadistic hunter gurgled, his eyes wide with terror. The shadows around him writhed, feeding off his fear as life began to drain from his body.
But the perception twister didn't stop. Her hands, no longer trembling, plunged the dagger into his chest again and again with mechanical precision. Each strike sent a fresh cascade of warmth across her features, the arterial spray marking her like war paint. Her amber eyes blazed with an almost feral intensity, tears cutting clean trails through the blood-spattered mask her face had become. The flames cast her shadow large against the smoke, each downward strike of her arm creating a dark symphony of vengeance.
The reality bender's lips pulled back in a rictus of primal satisfaction, her teeth bared in a crimson-flecked grin that mirrored the very predatory expression he'd worn moments before. Blood saturated the ground beneath them, turning the earth into a dark altar of retribution. Her chest heaved with exertion, each breath a savage harmony with the wet sounds of the blade finding its mark over and over.
The white haired tactician became the very nightmare she'd been fighting - a blood-soaked harbinger of justice, her face a terrifying canvas of vengeance and survival. The firelight caught each droplet of blood as it flew from her blade, creating a macabre constellation around her form. In that moment, she was no longer prey turned predator - she was something else entirely, something born in the crucible of survival and baptized in the blood of her tormentor.
“You don’t get to hurt anyone else!” she screamed, her voice cracking as she stabbed him repeatedly. “Never again!”
Reality rippled back into place like a stone breaking still water. The flames roared back to full intensity, heat slamming into them as another section of the camp collapsed nearby. The cold blue light of her power faded, leaving only the orange glow of the inferno and the dying pulse of Catalyst energy in Aedor's veins.
The flames seemed to consume the illusion, the cold blue light fading as the fire reclaimed the scene. Ayola collapsed beside Aedor’s lifeless form, her chest heaving as the dagger slipped from her trembling hands.
“For them,” she whispered hoarsely, her voice barely audible over the crackle of the flames. “For me.”
Her vision blurred, the strain of the Catalyst’s power overwhelming her. The world dimmed as Ayola’s body gave out, her consciousness fading into the darkness.