Cravik rotated his shoulders, the chains coiling around his arms now buzzing with white runes. "He's slowing down."
Morne crouched atop a fallen archway, his fingers dancing, weaving threads like a spider in darkness. "Still dangerous… but manageable."
Dragan slammed his steel fist into his palm, the sound echoing like a gong. "Time to crush the lightning."
Velda licked the blood off her hand and chuckled. "Let's peel him apart."
They moved.
No warning. No mercy.
________________________________________
It was different now.
Earlier, they had attacked in waves. One after the other.
Now? All four at once.
Chains came from above and below, snapping toward his throat and ankles with synchronized cruelty.
Imperial ducked, but as he slashed one away, Velda's Blood Dagger sliced across his ribs. The burn was immediate—blood magic ,making the wound pulse with heat.
He stumbled—
—And Morne's threads wrapped around his wrist mid-step, jerking his blade slightly off balance.
That split-second delay was all Dragan needed.
Boom!
A steel knee drove into Imperial's gut.
He flew backward, coughing blood, smashing through a pillar of stone and skidding to a halt near a cratered wall.
Lightning sparked, but not like before.
It flickered.
Wild. Unstable.
He tried to stand.
Chains lashed his back.
Threads tangled his foot.
A blood spear pierced the ground beside his face.
He twisted, slashing upward, breaking through the bindings—but he barely had enough strength to counter when Dragan charged again.
Clang!
Their blades met. Steel against lightning.
Dragan pushed harder, and Imperial's knees began to buckle.
________________________________________
This wasn't just a battle now.
It was a systematic dismantling.
Each Vice General knew his timing.
Each struck where the others left an opening.
They weren't warriors fighting for glory.
They were executioners.
________________________________________
"Lightning Reversal!"
Imperial roared, sending a pulse of electricity from his body—arcing across the battlefield in jagged forks.
Cravik stumbled. Morne ducked. Velda's blood shield flared to block it.
It bought him three seconds.
He used them.
He moved in a jagged bolt toward Velda, ducking beneath a wave of blood lances.
His sword flashed upward, grazing her shoulder.
She hissed and vanished in a splash of red vapor—teleporting.
Before Imperial could react—
Boom!
Steel again. Dragan's hammer-arm crashed down where Imperial had just stood.
He darted sideways—panting now. The injury on his side bled heavily, the blood soaking through the tattered edge of his coat.
Cravik was already mid-air, spinning—
"Binding Magic: Guillotine Cross!"
A double-bladed chain spun toward him, aiming to decapitate.
He blocked the first edge—
Clang!
—but the second chain wrapped around his leg and pulled.
He fell. Hard.
Before he could rise, Morne landed beside him.
His fingers flicked.
"String Trap: Vein Snare."
Fine threads, nearly invisible, wrapped tightly around Imperial's arms and legs.
Then—tightened.
He screamed, just once.
Blood burst from the cuts. The strings were laced with magic—they didn't just bind. They burned.
He clenched his jaw.
Lightning surged outward, struggling to escape—but it was too controlled, too measured.
He couldn't break free.
________________________________________
"Now."
Velda stepped forward.
Her blood magic pulsed with sickly light.
Above her hand, a red sigil formed—a complex circle of rotating glyphs.
"Blood Magic: Heart Pierce."
The air screamed.
The blood spear she summoned wasn't like the others—it was solid, dense, and buzzing with power. Formed from her own life force, it glowed with an ominous inner heat.
Morne kept the strings tight. Cravik reinforced with chains, locking Imperial's limbs to the ground. Dragan stood in front, waiting to strike once the spear hit.
Imperial thrashed—his muscles surged.
Electricity tried to burst free.
It fizzled.
His magic was overheated.
His core was exhausted.
Velda's spear flew.
In that moment—time slowed.
He could see it.
A crimson bolt of death, racing toward his chest.
He roared and twisted his body just enough—taking the spear through his left shoulder instead of his heart.
Boom!
It exploded inside him.
Blood sprayed.
He screamed again, louder this time.
But it wasn't pain alone. It was anger. Desperation. A will that refused to die.
________________________________________
Velda frowned. "He's burning out."
Morne nodded. "He won't last much longer."
Dragan readied his gauntlet. "Then we finish this."
From all four directions—
the spells launched.
Chains launched like railguns from beneath Cravik's foot, piercing through space.
Velda's blood pillars transformed into piercing serpents, slithering toward him in a spiral.
Morne's threads crossed the entire battlefield, forming a net of slicing death from every direction.
Dragan raised his hand.
"Steel Magic: Breaker Lance!"
A gigantic steel spear shot forward, three times the size of Imperial.
All of them.
Together.
At once.
________________________________________
The last thing Imperial saw was the sky above—gray, broken, but open.
He whispered something.
Maybe a name. Maybe a prayer.
Then the spells struck.
________________________________________
BOOM.
The battlefield shook.
The shockwave leveled the surrounding ruins. Lightning screamed. The sky tore.
Dust and smoke swallowed the scene.
And at its center—
Nothing could be seen.
Dust choked the battlefield.
The crater left by the Vice Generals' combined spell still hissed with residual magic—red, silver, black, and gray lights flickering in the swirling smoke. The air itself felt… warped. Heavy. Unnatural.
Then silence.
A silence so thick it rang louder than any explosion.
High above, the clouds parted briefly, revealing a sliver of sunlight—but it offered no warmth.
Just a spotlight on the ruin below.
________________________________________
The Vice Generals stood still.
Even they weren't sure if it was over.
Dragan slowly lowered his arm. His skin was still rippling from the recoil of the Steel Breaker Lance.
Cravik's chains rattled faintly, coiling back into his arms like serpents returning to their master.
Velda exhaled and wiped the sweat from her brow. "That… should've done it."
Morne narrowed his eyes. "Don't assume."
They took a step forward, slowly approaching the epicenter.
The crater was enormous—at least thirty meters wide, scorched deep into the earth. The center was blackened and cracked, the smell of ozone and blood thick in the air.
And there—at the very heart of it—lay a broken figure.
________________________________________
Imperial.
Flat on his back. Sword still in hand.
His body was covered in burns. His coat was barely cloth anymore—just ribbons scorched onto skin. One leg was twisted beneath him unnaturally. The lightning that once roared from his form now flickered in soft sparks—occasional and weak, like dying embers in a fire long extinguished.
He coughed once.
Blood splattered onto his own chest.
His chest still rose and fell—but only just.
Then suddenly he falls on ground .
________________________________________
From some distance, Ari, Tracey, Dawn and gray stopped mid-fight. Even everyone stopped that time.
Ari's breath caught in her throat.
"No…"
Ezren's hand clenched into a fist. Even Mirae paused, her focus broken.
Dawn's voice trembled. "Is that…?"
Tracey gritted his teeth. "That's Imperial…"
From the other side, Gray had frozen. One blade trembled in his grip. Even he, so stoic in combat, didn't speak.
The battlefield stilled.
Everyone—ally and enemy—watched the crater.
________________________________________
Ari, Tracey and dawn are on the state that even they can stand once again in front of an vice general. They are feeling helpless out there.
Ari was shaking. Not in fear—but in fury.
"Stop," she said. Quietly.
Tracey grabbed her wrist. "Ari—"
"I said STOP!"
Ezren's eyes narrowed.
"She's going to break her limiter…"
Silver's voice cut through the tension.
"Don't be stupid. Remember what Imperial said — our priority is to save your parents. That's all."
The other CA members were still locked in battle with what remained of the royal army.
Only Ari, Gray, Dawn, and Tracey were free now — but even they were exhausted. They had just barely survived a fight against a single Vice General.
Facing four?
That was beyond imagination. Beyond reason.
And yet—
The Vice Generals turned their cold, ruthless gazes toward Imperial.
Cravik, Velda, Morne, Dragan — their magic surged, deadly and focused.
• Cravik: Binding Zone.
• Velda: Blood Zone.
• Morne: String Zone.
• Dragan: Steel Zone.
Four circles formed beneath them — massive magic arrays, their glow spreading outward until Imperial lay trapped in their centers.
Without hesitation, they unleashed their combined assault.
The air roared as their magic struck, a storm of death crashing toward Imperial.
CLASH!
The attack was blocked.
By Gray.
Gray appeared like a silver flash, his Mirror Magic: Reflection Edge casting back the incoming spells.