The clash against their enemies surged forward without pause—two sides locked in a brutal race: one to sever Chiaki's soul, the other to save it. No room for hesitation. No time to breathe.
Kaemor, still ablaze with the fury of Blythe's treachery, charged in. The betrayal hadn't dulled—it festered, growing hotter with each heartbeat. Without warning, he sprang forward, his cord of toxic purple gas trailing behind him like a serpent riding the wind.
With a guttural growl that sounded less like a voice and more like a beast's roar, Kaemor swept his arm forward. The cord snapped out with deadly precision, a venomous spear meant to tear straight through Blythe.
But before it reached him—mere inches from striking—Kaemor's body locked up. Completely.
He froze mid-throw, muscles taut, face contorting in confusion and panic. The cord dangled in the air, limp and lifeless.
His breath hitched.
Something inside him—within his own veins—had turned traitor.
He looked up and saw Blythe, calm as a sculpture, standing with his arms raised and wrists crossed delicately. A faint shimmer pulsed between his fingers—unseen by most, but Kaemor could feel it: an unnatural pull, like invisible threads coiling around his blood itself.
Kaemor's voice trembled with disbelief.
"What…? My body… it won't move!"
Blythe stood still—calm and collected—his sharp gaze slicing through the eye slits of his mask, locked directly onto Kaemor with unshakable intent. Not a single drop of sweat glistened on him. No panic. No urgency. Just unsettling poise.
"Surprised?" he said with that hollow, polite tone that always felt like mockery. "Keeping my ability hidden worked out quite nicely, wouldn't you say, Kaemor?"
The words still echoed in Kaemor's mind as he struggled to piece together what was happening.
"What did you do to me?" he muttered, muscles locked in defiance. "Why... why won't my body listen to me?"
He strained to lift a finger, to twist his neck, to blink even harder—but everything felt frozen in time, yet conscious. His expression stayed firm, but the desperation bled through in his eyes.
Then Blythe made a subtle motion—his right arm dragging back slowly through the air, and with it, Kaemor's raised arm followed like a marionette on invisible strings.
"Wh-What the hell?!"
Kaemor shouted, trying to rip his arm away from whatever unseen grip had latched onto him.
But then Blythe tilted his head slightly… and tapped his own chest once.
In that moment, Kaemor's heart skipped—literally. His own chest tightened, skipping a beat before slamming back into rhythm with painful force. A warning.
Blythe's voice slithered through the silence.
"You move only when I let you. Breathe only because I allow it."
Kaemor was outmatched—clearly, undeniably, irreversibly. No matter how much power surged through him, it wasn't enough. He stood frozen, shackled to the ground like a statue, while the sharp sting of his heart skipping a beat echoed through his chest.
Something had him locked down. He couldn't decipher what it was, couldn't grasp the reason behind it. It gnawed at his pride, his instincts, his very understanding of battle. There had to be a way to break free. There had to be. But no path revealed itself—not yet.
Then Blythe raised an arm high above his head.
And Kaemor's body snapped.
A searing jolt cracked through him as if his limbs were bound by invisible wires. His body contorted like a marionette under cruel command, pain erupting in waves, sharp and uncontrollable. No matter how desperately he tried to resist, his muscles refused to listen—betraying him again and again.
Blythe's next move came fast.
With a single drop of his hand, Kaemor's knees slammed into the ground. The weight felt unnatural, like the air had solidified around him—gravity turned against him, thick and merciless.
It wasn't long before Blythe formed a fist and slammed it into his own palm. The motion sent a brutal jolt through Kaemor's body, forcing blood to erupt from his mouth and splatter across the ground through the mask pipe beneath him. In the next instant, his torso was crushed down like a building slab had dropped on his back—hammered into the floor by an invisible force. And even then… he couldn't move. Not even a twitch. His body still wasn't his.
"You keep struggling, Kaemor, and you'll end up pushing your body past its limit. That'll kill you. You're under my control—don't forget that."
With a simple sweep of Blythe's arm to the left, Kaemor's body obeyed against his will. He rolled over and was violently hurled into the corner wall, crashing hard. Every movement—every impact—wasn't his own doing. It was Blythe. Somehow, he was puppeteering him.
While Blythe kept his battlefield locked under his twisted control, another threat loomed even more dangerous than Kaemor—Rhaziel. Calm. Composed. But behind that unreadable face was a monster of impossible speed and precision. And now, it was Temoshí's turn to face him.
The air shifted.
In a sudden burst, Rhaziel launched forward. His foot didn't slam into the ground—it glided, smooth and weightless, yet so fast the stone beneath it cracked open in hairline fractures. A shockwave trailed behind him as he vanished mid-step, reappearing inches in front of Temoshí with zero warning—his body still low, left fist cocked, right leg coiled behind for balance.
He drove his punch straight for Temoshí's core—a brutal, compact strike thrown with sniper precision and no wasted motion.
But Temoshí's eyes flashed.
In a split-second, he twisted his foot, pivoted his center of gravity, and let his body drop—his entire form igniting into a rush of brilliant blue fire that spiraled away in a burst of heat.
Rhaziel's punch slammed through the flame, meeting nothing but air. The sheer force of the missed strike collapsed the space in front of it, creating a compressed air bullet that tore through the far wall with a deafening boom, vaporizing stone like paper.
Temoshí reformed behind Rhaziel mid-step, embers clinging to his limbs. He didn't hesitate. His leg coiled like a spring, then snapped upward in a brutal rising kick, his heel aimed straight for Rhaziel's back and neck.
But Rhaziel was already moving.
With uncanny calm, he arched backward like his spine had no limit, his body folding beneath the incoming strike. Temoshí's foot whipped through empty air, inches above Rhaziel's chest—but it wasn't in vain. The momentum behind the kick released a shockwave of blue fire, roaring upward and slicing through the room like a blade of flame before it fizzled into glowing ash.
Temoshí hovered above, watching—just as the air around him flickered.
Gone.
Rhaziel vanished from sight.
Then—a shift. A pull.
Suddenly, Rhaziel's form snapped into view beneath him, one leg fully extended across the ground for stability. His body twisted as he surged upward, and his hand shot up like a trap.
His fingers clamped down around Temoshí's ankle, catching him mid-flight. No hesitation. No reaction.
With a single, fluid pivot, Rhaziel turned on the heel of his grounded foot, dragging Temoshí's entire body sideways in a sweeping arc. The force twisted Temoshí's momentum, slinging him like a weapon.
And then—he threw him.
Not tossed—launched.
Temoshí's body flew through the air, spinning violently. His limbs cut through the wind as if weightless, a blue blur hurtling through the air like a flaming disc. The sound of wind tearing around him was deafening—jet-speed, raw and merciless.
Temoshí's body spun through the air, rotating fast—violently, like a disc losing control after being thrown with too much force. His arms were tight to his sides, legs outstretched, and each full rotation caused flickers of blue fire to peel off his body like burning petals caught in a storm.
Then—focus.
With a sharp twitch of his core muscles and a well-timed breath, Temoshí extended one leg downward mid-spin. His body realigned for just a moment. The sole of his boot slammed into the ground with a heavy thud—only a tap, but enough to shift the rotation.
He used that single contact point to pivot off the ground, shifting his balance with the grace of a dancer and the force of a missile. In the same motion, his body ignited into blue fire, consuming his figure in an instant.
A flash—gone.
Flames burst across the far side of the battlefield, and from the center of them, Temoshí reappeared—boots grinding hard against the stone as he landed into a backward skid. His body was low, arms slightly spread for balance, teeth clenched. He faced Rhaziel, but the speed of his re-entry made it impossible to stop.
His heels dragged lines through the stone, his boots kicking sparks behind him as blue fire poured out from under his feet, burning away speed in bursts. He leaned forward slightly, arms tucked in, almost running in place against the momentum as his friction trail sizzled into the floor.
Finally—he stopped.
The fire still danced around his frame, licking upward from his arms and shoulders like his very soul was burning. Without wasting a second, his body once again dissolved into a vortex of flame, vanishing mid-motion.
Then—above.
High in the air, flames erupted outward like a firework—and from their center came Temoshí, already in motion. His body flipped forward in a controlled spiral, arms tucked in tight, his right leg fully extended. With each rotation, the leg carved an arc of blue fire behind it, leaving glowing rings spinning in the sky.
He didn't just flip—he spun faster with each revolution, his form sharpening, streamlining. A cyclone of fire coiled around him like the teeth of a saw, whirling downward with violent speed.
He was coming in like a drill from the heavens, descending with such force that the air pressure around him screamed. The flames trailing his leg narrowed into a spiral, funneling tighter as he dropped like a meteor.
Below, Rhaziel's eyes narrowed. His foot shifted half a centimeter. His hand twitched.
He knew—this wasn't a hit he could absorb. He'd get torn in half.
With minimal motion, Rhaziel bent his knees and slid his foot outward, weight rolling to the ball of his heel. Then he snapped into a side hop, just in time to feel the shockwave of searing heat rush past his face.
And then—
Temoshí's heel slammed into the ground with earth-shattering force. The impact cracked the entire floor, stone exploding upward in jagged chunks.
At that exact point, a pillar of pure blue fire erupted, roaring skyward with explosive violence. The flames didn't just rise—they spiraled upward like a dragon's breath, engulfing the space with heat so intense the air shimmered and warped.
The entire battlefield shook.
Flame raged around the impact zone, licking upward in chaotic, twisting arcs—then suddenly collapsed inward and vanished in a thunderous gust of pressure.
After narrowly evading the attack, Rhaziel dragged both palms across the ground, his fingers clawing into the dirt to resist the pressure rippling from Temoshí's earlier kick. The force had thrown him backward like a leaf in a storm, but he clenched down, forcing friction beneath his feet to bring himself to a grinding halt.
With a sudden push, he locked his stance—legs coiled, heels dug in—and then shot forward like an arrow loosed from a warbow, slicing through the air toward the curtain of fire. The flames began to thin just as he broke through, revealing Temoshí standing with his back turned, unaware of the incoming strike.
But Temoshí wasn't one to freeze in battle. His instincts flared.
Before even fully processing the danger, he ducked low and lunged forward into a diving roll, just as Rhaziel came crashing down from above with a heavy, straight-legged kick that cratered the earth where he would've been.
Mid-roll, Temoshí twisted his body, planting his left hand firmly behind him to pivot. He used that momentum to swing into a low slide, stabilizing his motion before whipping himself back upright in one seamless spin.
Dust still trailing off his boots, he locked eyes with Rhaziel across the short distance—Rhaziel now standing firm in the cracked ground from his missed kick, both of them poised, breath sharp, muscles ready.
And without a heartbeat wasted, Temoshí launched forward again, a streak of heat and motion, just as Rhaziel adjusted his footing—both warriors now facing each other head-on, tension building like the pause before lightning splits the sky.
Rhaziel didn't wait for a single breath. He drove his fist forward just as Temoshí lunged in with a punch of his own—only his carried added momentum and power from the sudden thrust. Mid-swing, steel wrapped around Temoshí's left fist like a gauntlet forged in battle, sharpening the impact. But Rhaziel didn't flinch. He knew of those forbidden techniques. He'd seen them before. He was prepared.
In a flash, the entire battlefield shifted.
Color drained from the world.
The air grew still.
Time itself bent.
Everything around Rhaziel slowed to a crawl—locked in a monochrome haze. A forbidden technique had taken hold: a temporal zone crafted by Rhaziel himself, one that froze everything around him in suspended animation. Yet within this silent, frozen frame of time, Rhaziel alone remained untouched—his power and movement unbound, fully retained.
And within that space…
Rhaziel looked like victory incarnate.
The Gate of Time stood open, and for a moment, it seemed as though nothing could stop him.
Instead of driving his fist straight into Temoshí's chest, Rhaziel shifted mid-strike with razor-sharp control. His fingers unfurled with surgical precision, palm snapping open as the ghostly white energy ignited around it—shaped like a swirling lens framed in a crackling red aura. It pulsed with the distortion of time itself, bending the air as if reality were being suctioned into his hand. The sphere hummed, low and ominous, and in one smooth motion, he aimed to phase his palm through Temoshí's chest—directly into his heart.
"I told you…" Rhaziel murmured, his voice composed, undisturbed. "I keep my promises."
The moment his palm came inches from impact—
A sharp, unnatural fracture spiderwebbed across the Time Gate embedded in front of Temoshí's chest—its smooth, warping surface suddenly splintering like broken glass.
Rhaziel's eyes twitched, just the slightest flinch—too late.
With a primal roar, Temoshí's fist burst forward through the fractured Time Gate, shattering it into a thousand mirror-like shards, all exploding outward in a slow-motion cascade of glowing fragments. His punch didn't just continue—it rocketed, flame and lightning coiling violently around his arm like a comet trail.
The punch connected squarely with Rhaziel's face—his composed expression obliterated in an instant as his head jerked sideways from the blow, body launched violently backward through the air. His limbs whipped behind him from the force, aura flickering erratically.
He smashed backward through his own time rift, which imploded behind him like a pane of glass detonating from within. Explosions of white and red particles surged, filling the space with rippling energy and scattered timelines glitching like torn frames of a film reel.
But Rhaziel wasn't done.
Still spinning midair from the strike, he twisted his body hard, throwing out his arm to create a stabilizing spiral of temporal force that warped the air around him. With the centrifugal motion, he redirected his trajectory, dragging his boots across the air like a skater skimming across shattered time. He spun to a crouch midair and slammed one palm down, generating a circular ripple of energy that halted his momentum just before his back could collide with the wall.
His breathing was sharp now, his lips pursed, and a faint trickle of blood crept from the corner of his mouth.
Eyes narrowing, he glared through the remnants of the shattered Time Gate, just in time to see Temoshí slowly lowering his arm, lightning flickering across his knuckles, fire flicking upward around his shoulders like a cape rising to meet a storm.
"Yeah?" Temoshí exhaled, cracking his neck with a non-expressive gaze. "I keep mine too."
To be continued...