Robert stood tall, the sun glinting off the blood-slicked metal of his sword. He took a breath, then scoffed and sheathed it.
"So that's it? Is this all you had? What a waste of my time."
He turned his back on Nyros, walking away with confident strides, when something changed in the air. A tension rose behind him—the kind of silence that slithers in before a storm. A threat.
Robert's lips curled into a knowing smile. He gripped his sword again, turned, and faced the wounded man rising behind him.
"So I was wrong. You're not done talking," Robert said. "So... are you ready for the second round?"
Nyros, half-paralyzed, staggered to his feet. Blood dripped from his mouth, but his expression carried the weight of something ancient—and dangerous. A devilish smile spread across his face.
"Yeah," he growled. "I told you."
He closed his eyes, as if communing with something deep within. The battlefield held its breath. Nyros reached for his sword, gripping it tightly with what little strength remained. His body trembled from pain, but his will refused to break.
With a voice that echoed like an ancient spell, he cried out:
"Bound by blood, forged by fate, Sword of my soul — awaken and resonate. Reveal thy true form to my will and my wrath. Let none but my blood walk your path!"
The blade in his hand ignited with a ghostly light. Symbols—no, living patterns—began to twist and crawl across the metal, forming the visage of a snarling, three-eyed devil. It screamed for blood.
Robert's eyes widened in disbelief. He remembered old stories—legends of Gao and the devils that once served the god of destruction. He narrowed his eyes.
"So... is this an illusion? Or is your sword really possessed by some devil?"
Nyros answered with a wicked grin. "This is the power of our swords—the swords of the Varkari family. Each one has its own awakening. They were forged by a forgotten legend, a blacksmith who made blades only for our bloodline. Then he died. I asked you once why people fear us. Now you know."
Robert's expression hardened. "But I am not afraid."
His body began to glow as he activated his Arqui power. Without another word, the two warriors lunged at each other.
Their swords clashed with unimaginable power. In a single, blinding moment, everything within a six-kilometer radius was obliterated. Earth, trees, ruins, even time seemed to fracture. The two warriors vanished into the explosion. The shockwave struck the lone clock standing in the center of the battlefield, nudging its ancient frame ever so slightly. All who remained noticed it.
---
Northern Front — Noelle and Jeffrey Hawkins
The shockwave hit them like a meteor. They were flung back and knocked out cold, their battle forcibly ended by the clash of titans.
---
Southern Front
Paul and the Prince of the Kingdom of Caves stood before a gruesome pyramid made from the corpses of fallen soldiers. Blood pooled at their feet. But their gazes turned skyward as they felt the rumble.
"That power..." Paul whispered.
"There are others here as strong as us," said the prince, his voice laced with anticipation.
---
Eastern Front — Bero vs. Shamru
The duel between Bero and Shamru halted for a heartbeat as the shockwave passed. Dust rose. Stones cracked. But soon, the sound of metal meeting metal resumed.
"Heh... I can feel two devils now... like me," Bero said, his laughter unhinged.
"Focus," Shamru snapped. "You're losing. You know I can predict your moves."
"What a pain in the ass," Bero muttered with disgust.
"People like you have no right to live."
With that, Shamru lunged forward, his blade singing. Bero's sword fell from his hand. Blood sprayed. His half-severed body hit the ground, sliding several meters.
The fight paused. Shamru panted, thinking it was over.
But then Bero smiled.
He rose, dragging his broken arm. Reaching into his coat, he pulled another blade—one darker, thinner. And with silent agony masked by a grin, he began to cut off his own damaged hand.
"The people in thrones decide what is right and wrong," he said. "They decide who lives, who dies. The ones below? They obey. They don't get to feel. They're just tools. Disgusting, disposable..."
His eyes burned with hatred.
"And I want to watch those people burn. Every king. Every warrior. Every so-called hero. This is just the beginning. Soon, the world will see true terror. I can feel it... the death of Mother Earth."
Shamru stared at him with sorrow. "You're nothing but a killer. I pity you. You only see darkness. You can't see the beauty in this world."
"Beauty?"
With that single word, Bero moved.
No flash, no roar, just a silent step. And Shamru's body fell in pieces.
---
Eastern Front Status: Winner — Bero, the Silent Killer.