Every step she took was cold, wrong. Not wrong in form, but in intent. Each movement oozed unnatural malice, the kind that didn't belong in beasts. Not even in sentient ones. Her body still bore the damage Forza had inflicted—ripped flesh, torn muscles, cracked bones. And yet she moved like she didn't feel any of it. Like, pain no longer mattered.
Lightning poured from her skin, coating her like armour. It didn't just flicker—it surged, replacing the air and raw mana itself, filling the region with static pressure so thick it became hard to breathe. Her lightning mana didn't just rival nature, the natural raw mana—it challenged it, for occupancy of space. Her presence didn't belong in the forest, nor the swamp. It claimed it.
Then—she roared.
A roar supercharged with lightning mana, so vast, so heavy, that the sonic pressure alone distorted the landscape. The swamp between us trembled. The lake's surface convulsed before being pulled—no, driven—toward me. A wave surged across the mud, a filthy tsunami of water and silt heading straight for my position.
The crash before me felt massive.
Water struck the ground in front of me with violent force, splashing past, submerging my boots for a few moments. And before I could even take a breath, she attacked again.
A pulse of electrical mana shot forward, using the newly formed water trail as its conduit. Her intention was clear—electrocute me through the very ground I stood on. Clever.
But I'd seen it coming.
I leapt back—once, twice, then a third time—creating enough distance before the current could reach me. Sparks erupted where I'd been just moments before, the air crackling with residual heat. My eye and senses darted around for cover, and then I spotted it—a tree.
Tall, thick, and surprisingly intact. It stood a little behind me and to my right. In this battlefield of ash, water, and broken land, it was the only thing that looked untouched. That meant one thing: either it was strong enough to resist… or about to become my only real option for repositioning.
I grabbed hold of a thick branch and hoisted myself up, the bark damp and half-slick from the humidity in the air. I wasn't even fully upright—hadn't even finished turning to face her—when the Chimaera appeared. She was already there.
On the same branch of the same tree. My immediate first thought was, 'How the hell can this malnourished-looking branch even be capable of holding her weight?!
Time stretched thin, then snapped.
The moment she arrived, a sound followed—one that didn't belong to her claws, nor her voice. It was the aftermath of lightning. That delayed crack of reality splitting open after a thunderstrike.
And then she screamed.
Her cry was deranged—less a roar and more the shriek of something unhinged, and with that, she lashed out. Her claws snapped toward my face and shoulder, wicked fast, crackling with current. Had it not been for Crimson Ultima, rising once more in instinctive defence, I would've lost my entire left arm, and perhaps more, since her claws are almost the size of my entire body.
But the blade took the brunt of it—and paid the price.
Sparks erupted as claw met edge. The impact didn't just rebound—it bit. Chunks of Ultima's outer edge chipped away under the sheer momentum of her strike. That singular, hellish claw didn't just attack—it broke through my last cover a little, snapping through steel and mana reinforcement alike. My sword arm buckled sideways under the weight, leaving the rest of me wide open.
She took the opening without hesitation.
Her fist—yes, a fist—tightened like a human's and slammed into my chest, raw and brutal. There was no technique, only intent, precision and unreal speed. And her intent was pure destruction. My barely held up armour shattered on contact. My ribs? I couldn't tell—only that something cracked, something gave way inside me as blood burst from my lips like a detonated dam.
I flew back, crashing into the base of the same tree like a squish. Only one thing saved me from immediate unconsciousness: my telekinesis, still wrapped around my body like invisible strings, softened the blow enough to keep me alive—and barely, just barely—conscious.
I coughed, blinked, and raised my head just in time to see the Chimaera's jaw widen.
She was charging.
A beam of lightning, tightly condensed, was already forming in the back of her throat. The glow intensified. Five meters. Four. Maybe less.
I had no time.
Nowhere to move.
Nowhere to run.
So I did the only thing I could do.
"MANA ZONE: THE BURNING SWORDSMAN."
The words rang in my soul like a war cry. My flames reignited, not in fury, but in necessity. They roared to life around me, wild and radiant, even as the beam tore forward.
Crimson Ultima returned to my grip—not through muscle, but mind.
My left hand was limp, still recovering. But my will wasn't.
Telekinesis yanked the blade back, slamming it into position between me and death. The beam struck, and the world disappeared in light. My vision blurred. My ears rang. The flames did nothing to halt it—only to hold it, to resist long enough for something to change, which didn't happen.
"Shit!" I cursed aloud, pushing back against the oncoming tide.
The pressure was immense. The blast didn't just impact—it pressed, forcing me deeper into the tree. Bark split and wood cracked around my spine until the trunk itself gave out, exploding beneath me as I was sent hurtling downward once more.
But this time I didn't crash.
I landed.
Telekinesis wrapped tightly around my limbs, around my body, steadying my fall mid-air as I slammed into the swampy ground with a few meters to spare between myself and that tree, with control, not chaos. Crimson Ultima burned in my hand, still glowing, but not alone.
Between the flames and my skin, a thin layer of bluish mana shimmered like armour—my new method of survival.
A telekinetic membrane.
A second skin.
The flames of the Burning Swordsman burned hot enough to melt steel, and prolonged usage meant searing one's own flesh away with every second. But this—this barrier, my own design, was just thick enough to delay the self-destruction.
Just enough to keep me burning… without being burned.
For now.
The Chimaera conjured lightning again, arcs crackling to life around her like living serpents. Each one screamed with violent intent, pulsing with a chaotic mana presence so intense it sent an immediate ripple through my own senses. Crimson Ultima responded in kind. The flames flared violently, spiralling around the blade as if aware of the threat, as if hungry to clash again.
My grip tightened.
The moment I felt the readiness in my limbs, I slashed upward diagonally across the space between us, releasing a wave of fire. A slash wide enough to cut through the sky itself, easily spanning ten… no, twelve meters across. The flame roared through the air, seeking her.
But she had already acted.
The arcs of lightning she released struck first, blisteringly fast—some crashing directly into my flame slash, neutralising it with explosive precision. Mana and heat collided midair, detonation after detonation splitting the battlefield.
The others?
They didn't care about my spell.
They hunted me.
I moved fast—first with a sharp step backwards, then a desperate backflip, pushed not by style but necessity. My balance faltered midair, my survival instincts screaming at me louder than my pride. I let go of Crimson Ultima, abandoning my only weapon, just to stay alive.
The weapon clattered to the ground. I didn't have the luxury to mourn it.
Through the settling smoke and haze of discharged mana, I saw her.
The Chimaera lunged—fast, low, brutal.
She descended the same way I had attacked her during the early moments of our battle. But unlike her then, I wasn't unprepared. I wasn't panicking.
I was waiting.
The instant her form broke through the mist, diving down from the high branch she had launched herself off, I reached for my weapon—not with my hands, but with my mind.
Telekinesis.
Crimson Ultima trembled, then launched off the earth in the same way these wind mages take off, straight upwards with unreal pace, my will wrapping around its hilt with exact precision. As the Chimaera fell toward me, mid-descent, her lower belly aligned directly above it.
Perfect.
With all the strength I could muster—mental, physical, magical—I slammed the blade upward, defying gravity itself.
Crimson Ultima shot skyward like a burning spear, its flaming tip aimed straight at the softest point of her underside.
Not a slash this time.
Not a spell.
A single, decisive thrust.
One meant to end her.