The battle unfolded in a whirlwind of speed and brute force.
The cultist, perched on the shoulder of his colossal golem, commanded brutal strikes, every movement of the creature echoing like thunder through the chamber.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
The ground shuddered with each impact.
Colin weaved aside, eyes razor-sharp, his body a blur threading between the golem's devastating charges. The construct—an aberration of stone seven meters tall—attacked like a living mountain, its fists dropping like hammers capable of pulverizing anything in their path.
BAM! BAM! BAM!
Each punch gouged deep craters in the floor, cracks spidering outward.
Colin knew he couldn't be hit. If a single blow landed clean… it would end there. But he had something the golem didn't: speed.
He's slow, he thought, dodging another strike. But my mana keeps dropping!
Up above, the cultist wasn't content to merely watch.
He raised his hands, the air thrumming with pulsing magic.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Stone spikes erupted from the floor like lances, firing toward Colin.
He vaulted through the rubble, muscles taut as he moved between the shadows of shattered pillars.
The cultist laughed, his voice dripping with disdain.
"Ghouv lost to a scurrying rat like you? I refuse to believe it!"
The ground rumbled harder.
His magic was swelling.
Colin grunted as the pressure tightened around him. He was running out of time.
"I need to destroy the golem first. Without it, the cultist is nothing. Right?"
He lunged, lightning-fast—and the golem answered.
In a startling burst of speed, it snatched Colin mid-leap.
BOOM!
The impact slung him into the wall. Orbs of light flickered wildly, warped shadows dancing across the room.
The cultist didn't waste a heartbeat. He thrust his hands up, a magic circle flaring beneath his feet.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Stone spikes speared the wall, detonating into a blur of dust.
The cultist gasped, eyes pinned to the settling haze.
He waited.
He waited.
And then—he saw.
When the dust finally fell, Colin was still standing.
Blood streamed from deep cuts across his body, his clothes were in tatters, yet his smile held.
"Heh… You're nothing special."
The golem stepped forward, making the walls tremble.
The cultist stretched out a hand, pointing straight at Colin.
"This is for Ghouv!"
But Colin was already ready.
In an instant, his aura shifted.
His fists sheathed themselves in raw electricity. With a crack, his hands became blades of lightning—and he charged.
CABRUM!
Energy and stone collided in an ear-splitting blast.
Fragments of the golem fanned out in every direction as a wave of electricity swept the hall.
The cultist was hurled backward, his body bouncing across the ground for several meters before skidding to a stop.
He groaned, every bone protesting.
"Tsk!" he spat, blood dotting the floor. "Where did all that speed come from?"
At the epicenter of the wreckage, Colin stood, spent—his mana nearly bled dry—but still upright, still smiling.
"What are you going to do without your little toy?"
The cultist scowled.
"Think I needed the golem to kill you? You're completely mistaken!"
WOOSH!
Another stone cone ripped the air toward Colin—but he was already moving.
He sprang, catching hold of a moss-slick wall.
"The cultist," Colin thought. "He's slower."
"My mana!" the cultist screamed, feeling exhaustion swamp his limbs.
Controlling the golem had drained him. He had to end this. Now.
He coughed, staggered to his feet, and locked eyes with Colin again.
For the first time, something different lit the cultist's gaze.
Doubt.
But Colin didn't stop.
He leapt, landed in a smooth, coiled motion, and advanced. His attributes made him faster than any ordinary human—stronger, too.
The cultist ground his teeth.
"Stay away from me!"
Colin felt it—the opening in the fight's rhythm. Like a predator sensing the perfect half-second for the strike, he pushed off a stone pillar, his silhouette a smear against the gloom. His fist met the cultist's face with a wet crack and a brittle squeal of yielding bone. The elf shot backward, but before he could smash into the wall, he twisted into a desperate tumble, scrambling on all fours across the cold floor.
Darkness pressed in around them. The cultist lurched upright, his nose pouring a thick red that streaked down his chin.
"Damn…" he hissed, spitting blood through clenched teeth.
His eyes flashed emerald as more cones of mana formed around him, loosed like cannon fire at Colin. But Colin only moved—slipping past them with unnerving precision. Simple dodges, almost lazy, as if he already knew exactly where each attack would land.
"It's not working… I need more power…"
The cultist's panic rang through his magic.
He gathered the dregs of his energy and threw up a desperate guard. Stone and rock surged from the ground, fusing around his body—an ugly carapace hardening into an improvised armor.
"It doesn't matter if he's a user of Migth. If my body surpasses his, I win!"
Then he saw it. The smile.
Colin didn't hesitate, sliding into an impeccable fighting stance. Body aligned, feet set apart, knees softly flexed. Fists shielding his chin, elbows guarding his ribs. A stance built not just on strength, but on intent.
The cultist frowned.
"Is that… martial art? As if that would help! I'm superior now!"
Colin said nothing. He simply watched.
The cultist charged, stones in his armor chattering against the floor, his speed surprising for a man encased in rock. But Colin was faster. He pivoted and whipped a high kick—his leg knifing through the air like a guillotine blade.
BAM!
The impact was crushing. The stone carapace splintered like cracked glass, and the cultist slammed to the ground.
"Shit… what was that?!"
Colin offered no space to recover.
BAM! BAM! BAM!
Savage knees crashed into the cultist's torso; elbows found fault lines in the armor and pried them wider without mercy. The grind of stone being crushed blended with the dull thud of flesh and bone absorbing punishment. Heat burned in Colin's knuckles, knees, and elbows—but it didn't matter. Pain was a whisper beside the intoxicating sense of control.
The cultist gasped, feeling the stone shell shatter around him. The illusion of power leaked away with every blow. His chest heaved, lungs pulling greedily at the air.
So that's how Ghouv was defeated? No… No, no, no! I can't die here!
No plea could halt Colin now.
He slid in and unleashed a brutal flurry, each punch finding a vulnerable seam, deepening the fractures.
BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM!
The cultist screamed, twisted sound of pain and terror. Colin's final strike fell like a hammer on a cracked mirror. His elbow crashed into the elf's chest, and the rock guarding his heart gave way.
SCRASH!
The armor exploded into fragments that pattered down like ground glass. The cultist collapsed to his knees, eyes blown wide with fear.
"I-I… I'm sorry! P-please, I…"
Colin fisted a handful of his hair and hauled him up like a rag doll. The elf's feet pedaled uselessly in the air—helpless, pathetic. Colin didn't hesitate. With a devastating punch, his fist sank into the cultist's abdomen.
CRASH!
The elf's eyes rolled back. He gulped a bubbling breath, blood spilling over his lips. When Colin drew his arm free, a slick, nauseating sound followed. The cultist's entrails sloughed out—hot and steaming—spilling across the floor in a grotesque display of defeat.
And Colin only smiled.
A strange sensation rippled through him—a shiver that was neither fear nor hatred. It was something deeper.
Something that made him want more.