Blood dripped from Oristos' shoulder, steaming against the cold air.
He staggered back half a step, tightening his grip on the hilt,
his jaw clenched with both pain and defiance.
Darkis' smile widened.
> "The end has already begun."
Oristos exhaled, steady and fierce, and raised his blade once more.
The golden shield behind him pulsed,
lines of light racing across the fractured ground like burning veins.
Every crack seemed to carry the weight of his vow.
Suddenly, the Theater of Absence shifted.
Dozens of platforms spun around them,
shadows taking form as countless phantom actors,
each bearing weapons—swords, spears, bows.
Oristos muttered beneath his breath,
> "Illusions… these are nothing but lies."
Yet the shadows surged at once,
a storm of blades and arrows rushing toward him.
The Oath of Glory burst forward, deflecting the rain of death,
while Oristos' sword carved luminous arcs,
each swing tearing through shadow and birthing lines of light.
Darkis, arms wide, spoke like a performer to his audience:
> "The play has only just begun, Oristos.
But you… won't last until the end."
Oristos' chest heaved, sweat dripping with every breath,
but his voice came steady, laced with resolve:
> "I am not a spectator.
I am… the end."
The arena trembled.
The sky burned with crossing streaks of gold and black,
as if night and day themselves had been forced to duel.
Their weapons clashed again and again,
until the air itself shattered like brittle glass,
the ground collapsing beneath their relentless fury.
Debris flew, dust choked the air,
yet still they pressed forward, refusing to yield.
Darkis moved faster, sharper—
his blade weaving like a rhythm,
his strikes carrying the inevitability of a song's final note.
Oristos fought with grim strength,
every swing of his sword like a vow carved into existence,
every step forward a defiance of destiny.
Then Darkis vanished into the void.
In the blink of an eye, he was above,
dagger descending like a fang of the abyss.
Oristos raised his shield—
the Oath of Glory thundered,
a golden arc erupting upward.
Boom!
The collision tore the air open,
light and shadow blasting outward in a violent storm.
The arena split in two.
Half bathed in radiant gold,
the other drowned in consuming black.
And there—
in the heart of the divide—
the two warriors stood, their chests heaving,
their eyes locked like opposing gods.
Oristos whispered through clenched teeth:
> "I swore… to protect this kingdom, until the very end."
Darkis answered, voice dripping with disdain:
> "And I swore… to end its lies. To kill the false eternity you cling to."
The ground beneath their feet shattered completely,
sending both plunging into the abyss below.
For a heartbeat, only silence remained.
Then—
a roar of power split the void as their blades clashed once more,
igniting the darkness with lightning,
thunder shaking the broken world around them.
And as the dust swirled,
Elios—watching from the ruins—
clutched his chest, eyes wide, whispering:
> "Father… I've never seen you fight like this.
Can even you… truly defeat him?"
The clash raged on, light and shadow tearing apart the stage,
two legends locked in a duel that felt endless—
until at last, as the world trembled,
the chapter closed on a single truth:
The next strike would decide everything.