The storm came crashing down.
Not in waves—but in an unrelenting, merciless assault.
Rhazan's glaive became a whirlwind, a streak of steel that never stopped, never slowed.
And Rikard—
The strongest version of Rikard.The Rikard in his prime.The Rikard that should have been unbeatable.
Even he was overwhelmed.
Their weapons clashed, sword against glaive, steel screeching in defiance.
But Rhazan never let up.
A swing to the ribs—Rikard reformed.
A slash across the throat—Rikard reformed.
A crushing strike to the skull—Rikard reformed.
Again. Again. Again.
Rhazan struck too fast, too hard, too many times.
Each death barely a second apart from the last.
And Rikard couldn't keep up.
His form became unstable, flickering.
He reformed slower, less solid, more fragmented.
Rhazan didn't stop.
Didn't hesitate.
Didn't even let him breathe.
He killed Rikard too many times.
And then—
Rikard didn't return.
The phantom warrior, my weapon, my shield—
Gone.
I sucked in a breath, gripping my sword tighter.
Had I reached his limit?
Was there a limit to how many times Rikard could die and come back?
I had no answer.
And I had no time to find one.
Because Rhazan's ember eyes locked onto me.
From my side, I heard a scream.
Not of pain.
Of fury.
I turned just in time to see Astrid change.
Her body tensed, veins bulging beneath her skin, dark and pulsing like something alive.
A fiery aura erupted around her, raw, untamed energy licking across her arms and shoulders like flames.
Her breathing was ragged, heavy—but her movements were faster now, sharper, more violent.
Her eyes burned, golden embers that glowed like molten metal.
She wasn't holding back anymore.
She launched herself forward.
Faster than I had ever seen her move.
Faster than Rhazan.
His eyes were still locked onto me when her fist collided with his ribs.
The impact was like a hammer on steel.
Rhazan—the immovable storm—was thrown sideways, skidding across the arena floor.
Astrid and Rhazan clashed in a storm of steel and fury.
But this time—
She was winning.
Her double short-axes spun in her hands, a whirlwind of sharpened death.
She weaved between his attacks, faster than before, stronger than before.
Rhazan swung his glaive in a brutal downward arc—
Astrid twisted to the side, dodging by an inch.
Before he could recover—her axe slammed into his ribs.
Crack.
The impact sent blood flying, bones creaking under the force.
Rhazan grunted—but she didn't stop.
She dropped low, spun, and carved another deep wound into his thigh.
The storm had shifted.
And this time, it raged against him.
Rhazan countered—a horizontal slash meant to cleave her in two.
Astrid blocked—but instead of just absorbing the impact, she caught the glaive between her crossed axes.
Her grip tightened, muscles bulging, veins darkening beneath her skin.
Then—with a snarl—she tore it from his hands and hurled it across the arena.
The glaive clattered to the far side of the battleground, far out of reach.
Rhazan was unarmed.
And for the first time—
Astrid smiled.
Even without his weapon, Rhazan did not back down.
With a roar, he lunged forward, massive fists swinging.
Astrid met him head-on.
She dodged his first punch, then countered with an axe buried deep into his shoulder.
Rhazan snarled in pain—but his next strike connected.
A devastating fist to her stomach.
The impact sent her skidding back, coughing, gasping for air.
But she didn't fall.
She wiped the blood from her lips.
And charged again.
This time, Rhazan was too slow.
Astrid danced around him, her axes carving through his flesh, again and again.
A deep gash across his chest.
A slash along his ribs.
Another cut to his thigh.
Blood pooled beneath him.
I stood frozen, watching.
Astrid was overwhelming him.
Stronger. Faster. Dominating the fight.
If I had that power…
That rage.
That strength.
If I had that, combined with my ability to see one second ahead…
I would be unstoppable.
I took a step forward, ready to move in, to back Astrid up.
But my mind was still lingering on the thought—
How strong could I be if I had that kind of power?
And because of that—
I didn't see it.
I only snapped back to reality when I saw her.
Right in front of me.
Astrid.
Standing between me and Rhazan's fist.
A fist aimed straight at my heart.
And instead—
It tore straight through hers.
She gasped.
A sharp, choking sound.
Her body jerked.
Her veins—the burning marks of her berserker state—vanished.
The fire in her eyes flickered, then dimmed.
Her muscles, once tight with rage and power, went slack.
And then—
She coughed blood.
Even in death, she held on.
Astrid's grip tightened around Rhazan's arm, the very same one embedded deep in her chest.
He tried to pull back—but she didn't let him.
Veins bulging. Muscles straining.
Her blood poured down his arm, dripping onto the dirt, but her hands refused to loosen.
Rhazan grunted, struggling.
She coughed, her mouth full of blood.
"Go… do it. Finish it!"
Her voice was weak, but her will wasn't.
She was holding him down.
Whether by instinct, by plan, or just sheer reflex—she had trapped him.
I could end this right now.
A simple sidestep. A single clean swing.
Take Rhazan's head.
Take the victory.
Take the King's ring.
But that power of hers…
That rage.
That strength.
My thoughts darkened.
I had seen what it could do.
I had seen what I could be.
I could be more stronger than even Rhazan himself.
And I wanted it.
I wanted it more than anything.
I tightened my grip on my sword.
And instead of stepping past her—
I swung.
The blade cut through flesh and bone like it was nothing.
Astrid's head separated from her shoulders in a clean, merciless stroke.
Her grip finally loosened.
Her body collapsed.
Rhazan stumbled backward, free—but it didn't matter.
Dark energy surged through me.
The moment she died—
I felt it.
The power.
Her power.
Burning. Consuming. Becoming mine.
I didn't feel regret.
I didn't feel sorrow.
I felt stronger.