A powerful updraft of wind erupted from within Rhys's domain. It pushed back against Kaelen's gravity well, a storm fighting against a star.
The two forces met in a chaotic stalemate, the air between them screaming and tearing.
Rhys was on one knee, his body trembling with the strain. He was holding his own, but it was costing him an immense amount of energy. He was in a defensive battle, and he was losing.
"You see?" Kaelen's voice echoed from above. "You can copy, you can adapt, but you can't create! All you are doing is helping me. You are just a shadow of that man and me…"
Rhys gritted his teeth.
Kaelen was right. Everything he was doing was becoming power-fuel for Kaelen. Rhys wanted to do something else.
'Something that doesn't become power-fuel for him, but rather, ends him.'
He thought of the Void Plume. The cut in reality. The power of erasure. He had the Void. He had the Flame. He could do it too.
This would be his final gamble.
