The Vice General rose like a statue of lightning, electric threads crawling across every surface. The air shimmered, charged to the point that every breath felt like swallowing sparks.
"Enough!" he roared, voice shaking the courtyard. Suddenly, threads surged forth like living whips, burning across every surface. "Lightning Magic: Chainstorm!"
Bolts erupted from the threads, arcing wildly towards Gray and Dawn. The space became a deadly dance of electric tendrils.
"Move!" yelled Gray, planting one boot down and swinging both swords in long, arcing slices. The weapons shimmered as Mirror Drive surged forth — translucent walls of mirrors rising like petals from the earth. The threads crashed into the mirrors, refracting wildly, burning themselves out in a latticework of sparks and smoke. Yet, for every thread defeated, ten more surged forth.
From behind him, Dawn drew herself tall, ion rod humming as threads of water surged forth. The threads twisted, merged, and rose like a living beast, crashing down upon the threads of lightning. Steam rose in choking bursts as water and lightning collided.
"Keep him busy!" yelled Dawn, voice shaking with strain. "I've got one shot left, and I'll need every second to build it!"
"Got it!" replied Gray, charging forth. The Vice General sneered and hurled a spear of lightning, only for Gray to shift, swing, and release a Mirror Slash. The spear split apart like threads of mist.
Closer and closer the fighters came, swords and lightning colliding. The Vice General was fast, burning threads carving across the courtyard. But Gray refused to falter, a crimson line burning across his side as one thread clipped him. Another singed the tip of his blade. Yet still, he pressed forth, gritting every breath.
Then came the shift. The Vice General roared, charging threads upon threads until the air itself shimmered.
"Enough games! Lightning Zone: Full Bloom!"
A dome of crackling energy surged forth, threads intensifying until the very air felt like burning steel. The ground bubbled, threads burning deep scars across the courtyard. The mirrors surged forth under Gray's control, rising as a desperate barricade, reflecting threads wildly.
But the strain was too much. The threads pressed harder, burning deep cracks across the surface. The dome began to shatter.
"Gray!" yelled Dawn, voice shaking as she spun her ion rod wildly. "Get down!"
With a wordless cry, she slammed the rod down, releasing every droplet of water stored within. Suddenly, the courtyard erupted into a Whirlpool Barrier, water rising like a tower to swallow the threads whole, releasing mist and crackling sparks.
Then came the moment.
Through the mist came the Vice General, burning threads across every surface, reaching for the heart of the storm.
"Die, rebels!" he roared, charging forth like a beast possessed.
Then came the sound of Gray's voice — low, sharp, commanding.
"Mirror Drive… Final Phase: Refraction Blade!"
With a swing that shook the earth, Gray crossed both swords in a blazing arc. The threads surged forth, crashing down upon him, only for a latticework of mirrors to rise in an instant. The threads exploded wildly, refracted from surface to surface until the space became a storm of light and sound.
The Vice General roared, buried within the mist and reflections.
"NOW, DAWN!" yelled Gray as he fell to one knee.
With a scream, Dawn surged forth from the mist. The ion rod blazed like a beacon as countless threads of water surged forth, twisting, merging, rising like a dragon that shook the air.
"Aqua Creation: Ocean's Fang!"
The dragon crashed down upon the Vice General with the force of a tsunami. The threads snapped, the dome shattered, and a column of mist and light surged forth like a beacon across the ruins.
For a moment, silence.
Then came the sound of crumbling stone, the crackle of dissipating threads. The mist cleared slowly. The Vice General sank to one knee, breath ragged, threads sputtering like dying sparks.
"No… this… this can't be…," he growled, reaching for another charge.
But it was too late. Gray, body shaking from exertion, surged forth one last time. His twin swords shimmered faintly, reflections of countless threads burning down their length.
With a roar, he brought both blades down in an X across the Vice General's chest. The threads winked out instantly, and the towering figure fell backward with a sound like a burning tree falling upon dry earth.
Then silence.
The air shimmered with rising mist. The Vice General lay defeated, broken threads crackling faintly across the ruins. The sound of falling water was the only witness to their victory.
Gray sank down to one knee, swords falling from shaking hands. His breathing was ragged, chest rising and falling like a beast after a long hunt. The threads of the Vice General's electric zone winked out, dissipating like mist at the dawn.
"Is… is it over?" he breathed, voice raw.
A few feet away, Dawn sank down as well, ion rod dropping from her hands. The rod gave a faint hum before falling silent. The threads of water dissipated, and the mist thinned until only the sound of their harsh breathing remained.
"Yeah… I think so," she replied, voice wavering "That was too close."
Both side are now defeated the vice general but at cost of so much damage and wounded.
Then sense shift to imperial's fight.
The blood loss was adding up. His breath was more ragged. His movements become less fluid.
He couldn't Flash Step as often—his legs burned. His sword grew heavy in his hands.
Moreover his body is getting more heavy due to the unstable of the magic amount in his body he now know that he can go as long he hurry have to finish this .
Cravik's chain finally hit its mark—wrapping Imperial's leg and pulling.
He hit the ground.
Before he could rise—
Whip!
Morne's threads cut into his side.
Boom!
Dragan's foot smashed beside his head.
Spurt!
Velda's blood spear stabbed into his left shoulder—shallow, but deep enough to tear muscle.
He gasped and forced himself up again, body shaking.
Lightning danced around him—but now it flickered.
Less stable.
Less controlled.
He was running hot—too hot.
His magic was overflowing without focus, zapping nearby rocks and even burning his own skin.
And still…
He stood.
Sword in hand. Body bleeding. Muscles twitching.
Eyes clear.
The air around Imperial rippled—heat, energy, and exhaustion mingled in every breath he took.
His chest heaved. His limbs ached. Cuts, burns, and bruises painted a brutal map across his body. Still, he kept his stance—legs bent, sword gripped tight, eyes sharp despite the pain.
Opposite him, the four Vice Generals stood again, regrouped, barely winded.