Chapter 27: Fire, Steel, and Storm
The ruins cracked under every step.
The deeper Riya moved into the Red Faction's domain, the heavier the air became—like breathing through smoke and thunder.
Then he saw him.
Tezcatlipoca stood in the heart of the shattered cathedral, draped in gold and obsidian, his jagged smile glowing like embers in a dying fire.
Eyes like dying stars fixed on Riya with contempt—and amusement.
"You? They send a boy?" His voice carried the weight of ancient sacrifice.
Riya exhaled slowly, grounding himself.
"No. They sent the guy that is going to kick your ass."
To that Tezcatlipoca just… laughed.
"You? Very well lets see what you got little boy."
Riya charged in—
First, he called on Fran.
Electricity coursed through his body—raw, frantic, unstable.
His fingers twitched. His hair crackled. His body surged forward in jolts, swinging with inhuman force the bridel chest of fran.
Each strike wild and destructive.
But Tezcatlipoca just blocked with effortless grace, each deflection sending shockwaves through the walls.
Sparks flew, thunder echoed—but no blood was drawn.
A kick from the god sent Riya tumbling into a cracked pillar.
He wiped blood from his lip.
"Fine," he muttered. "Let's try something different."
Atalanta.
Riya's heartbeat slowed. His movements became fluid, eyes sharpened.
He dashed side to side, keeping distance, launching phantom arrows of magical energy with each flick of his arm, every movement swift and graceful.
Tezcatlipoca frowned now—not out of fear, but slight annoyance.
"You mimic well," the god said, "but you are not a hunter. You are prey."
A bolt of black flame shot out, searing through three columns.
Riya barely dodged—his sleeve incinerated.
He growled. "Okay. Its Time to cheat."
Merlin.
Riya's body began to glow softly—his presence calm, composed, like the eye of a storm.
He raised his left hand, tracing a circle of silver light into the air.
Mana spiraled around him, blooming into runes and petals of gentle radiance.
Then he spoke—not in anger or desperation, but with the clarity of someone invoking a miracle.
"Hope of Avalon."
The light burst outward.
A barrier of pure starlight wrapped around him—a field woven from illusion and invincibility.
Time felt slower inside it. Wounds stopped bleeding. His mana was no longer draining, but building.
Riya stood taller. Stronger. Unafraid.
Tezcatlipoca hurled a bolt of darkness, expecting it to shatter the field but it simply evaporated as it touched the edge of the barrier.
The god's brow furrowed for the first time.
"Hmph. Interesting."
Riya smirked through the golden light.
"You're not breaking this one. Not today."
The light of Avalon still shimmered around him as Riya clenched his fists.
Merlin's boost won't last forever, he thought. Better make it count.
He focused—his aura shifted again.
The warmth of Avalon twisted into raw aggression.
Crimson lightning sparked from his fingertips. His armor flared with red and black accents.
Mordred.
His stance widened, and his grin turned feral.
Tezcatlipoca narrowed his eyes.
Riya raised his hand to the side. A broadsword of pure scarlet light materialized—ornate, brutal, vibrating with sheer destructive energy.
It was time.
"CLARENT—"
His magic circuits screamed as the sword drank in the boosted mana from Avalon.
Flames and sparks danced along the edges.
"—BLOOD ARTHUR!"
He swung.
A torrent of crimson lightning and raw force exploded from the blade.
It ripped through the air like a cannon blast, shattering the ground in its path and lighting up the battlefield like a second sun.
It struck Tezcatlipoca dead-on.
Dust and black mist billowed outward in a violent shockwave.
The very earth cracked from the impact.
Riya fell to one knee, breathing hard, sword still glowing. He squinted through the smoke.
Then the smoke cleared.
Tezcatlipoca stood in the center of the crater.
Untouched.
Not a scratch on him.
The god tilted his head with slow, amused curiosity. "...Was that it?"
Riya's eyes widened. His fingers trembled on the hilt of Clarent. Even with Avalon's strength… nothing?
"…You've got to be kidding me."
Tezcatlipoca smiled, showing too many teeth.
He rolled his neck slowly and then said.
"My turn."
—Elsewhere—
The battlefield trembled with heat.
Flames licked at the ruined stones of the Red Faction's base.
The air shimmered, warped by the sheer pressure of divine power radiating from the warrior standing calmly at its center.
Karna.
The Son of the Sun. The Invincible Hero. The Spear of Flame.
He stood like a statue of godly might, golden armor gleaming, spear at his side, cloak of fire burning behind him.
Across from him stood Sieg and Astolfo.
Sieg's brow was damp with sweat.
He felt Karna's heat just by being near him.
It was suffocating. Like standing beneath a dying star.
Astolfo, ever brave, ever smiling, gripped his lance tightly. "Well... I guess this is the part where we do something stupid huh?"
Sieg gave a small laugh. "We've never done anything else."
They charged.
Astolfo moved first, using his speed and erratic movements to dance around Karna's defenses.
His lance clashed against Karna's spear again and again—but the Sun God barely even flinched.
blocking another strike with the shaft of his spear.
"You're fast, but i'm faster" Karna admitted,
He lashed out once—and sent Astolfo flying.
Sieg caught him before he could hit the wall. "You okay?"
"Nothing broken!" Astolfo winced. "But remind me never to get hit again."
Sieg turned back toward Karna. His hand twitched.
One command seal left.
His connection to Siegfried still burned within him—but this was the last time he could call on it.
Karna didn't wait.
He raised his spear—and flame exploded outward in a wave of divine fury.
It turned the ground to molten glass as it surged forward.
Sieg shoved Astolfo behind him and held up both hands.
"Command Seal—release!"
The crimson sigil on his hand burned to life—and vanished.
His body changed.
His skin hardened like silver. Armor formed around him—heavy, proud, ancient.
The memory of Siegfried enveloped him.
The Dragon Slayer stood once more.
Karna smiled.
"Ah. The man who killed Fafnir. I accept this challenge."
And the battlefield was swallowed in fire and steel.
The clash was cataclysmic.
Sieg moved with skill honed through battle and memory, blade clashing against Karna's spear again and again.
Each blow shook the ground.
Astolfo provided cover—supporting with blasts of mana and sudden strikes, dodging Karna's counters by a hair.
But Karna was still stronger. Faster. Endlessly calm.
He pierced Sieg's shoulder.
And Knocked Astolfo flat to the ground.
Fire raged. The sky wept sparks.
Sieg fell to one knee, blade cracked.
His armor was battered, the transformation flickering like a dying ember.
"This isn't enough…" he muttered. "He's too much."
Karna stepped forward slowly, golden cloak fluttering behind him.
His eyes burned with divine fire—but there was no arrogance in his gaze.
Only solemn respect.
"I see your strength," he said, raising his hand. "And I will answer it with my own."
He brought his spear up.
"Brahma, watch over me. This is my final battle!"
Golden energy surged around him, divine and ancient.
"Again, suffer my Noble Phantasm!"
His armor flared—then shattered into shining fragments, consumed by the weapon itself.
"This spear has gorged itself on my armor and still yet hungers."
The sky above them darkened, as if the world itself braced for the blow.
"Satiate your hunger with this single strike—
Vasavi Shakti!"
The divine spear released a beam of fire so vast, so radiant, it seemed to pierce the heavens themselves.
It wasn't just power—it was divine wrath made manifest.
And yet—
Astolfo didn't move.
He stood firm in front of Sieg, eyes burning with unshakable courage.
He raised his grimoire, the sacred leather-bound tome glowing with silver light.
"Alright, the time is now!"
"My heart trembles in the moonless terror—
But it shall never retreat!"
"Casseur de Logistille!"
A radiant force field erupted from the book, forming a magical barrier of pure anti-magecraft.
The fire of Vasavi Shakti struck it like a tidal wave.
The ground shattered.
The air screamed.
The barrier held—but cracks began to spiderweb across its surface.
Astolfo gritted his teeth, sweat pouring down his face. "Come on… just a little more…"
Sieg stood, body shaking, light burning from within him.
This was his last chance.
He raised the broken remains of his sword—no, Siegfried's sword—and whispered:
"Awaken from the golden dream…"
The fragments of the blade pulsed, reformed—shining brighter than ever.
"Release yourself from its cradle."
The jewel in the hilt flashed blue.
"The evil dragon must be destroyed."
The energy surged from the blade in a spiraling torrent of light.
"BALMUNG!"
A titanic beam of blue light roared from the sword—pure, concentrated heroism clashing against Karna's godly flame.
The two beams met in the air.
For a moment, the world was nothing but light and sound.
But Astolfo's shield—though cracking—had drained just enough energy from Vasavi Shakti to tip the scales.
Balmung broke through.
It split the fire.
It struck Karna dead-on.
The Hero of Charity stood tall to the last second—smiling faintly, even as light consumed him.
No armor. No shield.
Just pride.
When the brilliance faded, he was gone.
Sieg lowered his sword, breath ragged.
The Siegfried transformation finally faded, vanishing in golden sparks.
Astolfo dropped beside him, panting, grinning, tears in his eyes.
"We… did it."
Sieg nodded.
"…Yeah."
Astolfo leaned in, trembling with exhaustion and relief, and without another word, pressed his lips gently to Sieg's.
It was a kiss of gratitude, of victory, of love forged in fire.
When they pulled away, neither said anything.
They didn't need to.