The ruins trembled beneath the force of their clash.
Alan's katana met the Black Herald's spear again and again, sparks flying with each impact. The very air seemed to shatter under the pressure of their blows, sending violent shockwaves through the shattered remnants of the Temple of the Skies.
Above them, the sky twisted unnaturally, black clouds swirling into a vortex as if the heavens themselves were watching the battle unfold.
Alan gritted his teeth, every muscle in his body alive with tension.
This was no ordinary enemy.
The Black Herald's strikes were precise, monstrous in strength, each one aimed to kill with no hesitation.
Alan dodged a sweeping thrust, the spear barely missing his face, and retaliated with a blur of motion, his katana slicing upward toward the Herald's side.
But the Herald moved like liquid darkness, twisting at impossible angles, deflecting the blade with the shaft of his spear.
He's not just strong, Alan thought grimly. He's perfect.
Every instinct screamed at him—one mistake, one hesitation, and he would die.
But Alan smiled.
Because fear was a luxury he had long abandoned.
*****
Seris and Kraevok watched from a safe distance, knowing this battle was beyond them.
"Is he winning?" Seris asked, her hands itching toward her daggers.
Kraevok squinted, shaking his head. "Can't tell. But he's smiling... that's either a good sign or a really bad one."
*****
Alan shifted his stance, a different aura surrounding him now.
The blessing from the Temple pulsed within him, threads of ancient magic weaving into his strikes.
The next blow came faster—sharp, unpredictable.
The Black Herald blocked it—but stumbled slightly, the ground cracking under his feet.
Alan pressed the advantage.
His katana blurred, each strike carrying the weight of divine wrath, fueled by every betrayal, every lie, every chain the gods had placed upon the world.
"You're strong," Alan said between strikes, voice like a snarl. "But you're not enough."
The Black Herald responded with silence—and unleashed a burst of dark energy that sent Alan flying.
Alan flipped midair, landing hard but upright, the ground spider-webbing beneath his feet.
His chest heaved.
Power.
He needed more power.
And he knew where to find it.
Alan closed his eyes briefly.
A forbidden rune, one carved deep into the fabric of his soul, awakened.
The ground trembled.
The sky flashed white for a heartbeat.
And when Alan opened his eyes, they blazed with an electric blue light that seared the very air.
*****
The Black Herald faltered for the first time.
A moment's hesitation.
Alan vanished from sight.
In less than a blink, he was upon the Herald—his katana singing, cloaked in roaring, forbidden magic.
He struck.
The Herald barely blocked, but the impact cracked his spear, sending the masked figure staggering backward.
Alan stood tall, a storm of magic swirling around him, his black hair whipping wildly, the runes glowing along his skin.
"I am Alan Grey," he said, voice thunderous, carrying across the desolate land. "The blade that will tear down the heavens. Remember that—if you survive."
*****
The Black Herald steadied himself.
For the first time, he shifted into a defensive stance.
He understood now.
This was not a simple execution.
This was a war.
And Alan Grey... was already becoming something far worse than any god had dared to imagine.