The mountains trembled. It was not a natural tremor, but the echo of forces colliding in the night sky two shadows moving so fast that the human eye could only perceive flashes and trails of darkness.
Each impact generated shockwaves that pulverized ancient peaks, turning the mountain range into a field of smoldering rubble.
Uriel felt the blow before he saw it. His left arm—no, not his arm, his essence—was torn when Jerom's blade passed within centimeters of him. The cut was not physical; it was something deeper, more primal. A gash in his being that made darkness flow like blood from an open wound.
He rolled across the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust and rock fragments, and stopped against a boulder. His breathing was erratic, his vision blurring. Every movement was agony.
"Kuahahaha!" Jerom's laughter echoed through the valley, amplified by the mountains' echo. "Is that all? I've fought flies more resilient than you!"
Uriel struggled to his feet. His arm—the one that had been severed—was slowly reforming, but the darkness that composed it was fainter, less dense. As if he had lost a part of himself that he could not recover.
"Shade..." he thought, and his inner voice was barely a thread.
"I'm here," responded the presence within him. But even Shade, with his usual arrogance, sounded worried. "That guy... he's not normal. Uriel, I fear to say this, but I don't see any way we can defeat him."
Uriel observed his enemy. Jerom floated a few meters away, his black sword resting on his shoulder, his posture relaxed, almost bored. He didn't have a single wound. He showed no signs of fatigue. It was as if everything Uriel had done so far had been nothing more than a passing annoyance.
"What do we do?" Uriel asked, and this time he did not hide his desperation.
"I don't know," Shade admitted, and that confession was more terrifying than any of Jerom's attacks.
"I've never seen anyone like him. He's... like us, but more complete. As if he had reached a level of existence we can't even imagine."
Jerom watched them with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. In his pupils there was no light, only an immense void, a darkness so deep it seemed to swallow the night itself.
"Are you done talking?" he asked, and his tone was almost kind. "Because I really have better things to do than wait for you to decide to surrender."
Uriel clenched his teeth. His body trembled, his essence frayed at the edges, but he couldn't surrender. He couldn't. The darkness within him was not a gift—it was a curse, but it was also his. And if he was going to fall, he would fall fighting.
He raised his hand and the surrounding darkness answered his call, forming a bow. He manifested an arrow, the most powerful he could muster, and fired.
Jerom didn't even move. The arrow struck his chest and dissipated like smoke, leaving no mark.
"Is that all?" he asked, tilting his head. "Have you been saving that all this time?"
Uriel felt his heart—that organ beating at the center of his being—contract. The arrow had been his most powerful attack, the one he used to effortlessly kill creatures of Corrupted rank. And Jerom had ignored it as if it were a gust of wind.
"It can't be..." he murmured.
"Oh, but it is possible," said Jerom, and his voice was almost gentle. "Look, child, I don't blame you for not understanding. You are a user of darkness. A tenant. Someone who rents a power you don't comprehend. But I... I am darkness itself. And what you use, what you call power, is merely a small fraction of what I am."
He moved. Uriel didn't see him coming. He only felt the impact on his side—a blow that sent him crashing against a rock formation. The collision was so violent that the stone shattered like glass, and Uriel tore through three layers of rock before stopping.
"Uriel..." Shade whispered, and his voice was a distant echo. "You have to get up. If you stay there, he's going to kill you."
"I know..." Uriel gasped. Every word was a monumental effort. The darkness that composed him leaked through the wounds, and each loss was a part of himself disappearing forever.
He forced himself to stand. His legs trembled, his vision blurred, but he stood.
Jerom watched him with an expression of cold curiosity. "Again? Don't you get tired of losing?"
Uriel didn't respond. He couldn't. Every fiber of his being was focused on staying upright, on not falling, on not disappearing.
"You know," Jerom continued, walking slowly toward him, "I've fought many like you. Beings who believed darkness belonged to them, that they had mastered its essence. But none have lasted as long as you. Do you want to know why?"
Uriel lifted his gaze. His eyes—or what remained of them—shone with a tenacious light. "Why?"
"Because you're not afraid of her."
The phrase hung in the air like a confession. Uriel blinked.
"I... I'm not afraid of darkness," he repeated, more to himself than to Jerom.
"No," said Jerom, and his tone was strangely serious. "That's what makes you different. The others, the ones I've defeated, feared their own essence. They saw it as a curse, as a burden. But you... you accept it. Not completely—not yet—but you accept it. And that makes you stronger than them."
Uriel didn't know what to say. Jerom, the enemy who had been about to kill him, was praising him. It was surreal.
"But it also makes you weaker," Jerom continued, and his voice hardened. "Because acceptance isn't enough. Darkness is not your friend, child. It is not your ally. Darkness is a primordial force, something that exists before and after you. And if you don't learn to control it, to master it, it will consume you."
He raised his sword, and the blade glowed with an intensity that blinded Uriel for an instant.
"I'll show you what it means to master darkness," said Jerom. "I'll show you what it means to be the owner, not the tenant."
And then, the darkness moved.
It wasn't an attack. It wasn't a cut or a blow. It was something more subtle, deeper. The darkness surrounding Jerom—the same one Uriel had used his entire life—began to twist, to distort. And at its center, Uriel felt something he had never felt before.
Power. True power. Power without limits.
Darkness was not a tool for Jerom. It was an extension of his being. Every particle of shadow responded to his will, not as a servant, but as part of his own body.
"Do you see?" asked Jerom, and his voice was a whisper that filled the entire valley. "This is what you can become. This is what darkness can offer you, if you stop being afraid of it. If you stop seeing it as something separate from you."
Uriel opened his mouth, but found no words. His mind was a whirlwind of emotions—fear, awe, desire—swirling like a storm.
"But," Jerom continued, and his voice turned cold, "this is also what will destroy you, if you don't learn to handle it."
The darkness closed in around Uriel. It wasn't a physical attack; it was a pressure on his essence, a reminder of his fragility. He felt how Jerom's darkness enveloped his own essence, how it crushed it, how it reduced it to a small point of light in a sea of shadows.
"You can't defeat me," said Jerom, and his voice was a distant echo. "You can't even touch me. But you can learn. You can grow. You can become someone who, one day, will be worthy of facing me."
The pressure disappeared. Uriel fell to the ground, gasping, his body trembling, with countless wounds on his body.
Uriel felt he couldn't move; he could only watch helplessly as Jerom raised his sword, ready to end his life in that instant.
Clenching his teeth, Uriel did something he never thought he would do... he fled without looking back.
Jerom showed a disturbing smile, filled with amused malice, as his sword dissolved into darkness.
"Run, run, little creature. There is no place I cannot reach." Jerom let out a loud laugh as shadows and darkness exploded, taking on the abominable forms of beasts.
Uriel, merging into the darkness, used his willpower to move through it, feeling his domain connected to Doom. He focused on one in particular—on Scarlet.
Dragging himself toward her, he emerged from her shadow, landing on the floor in a room he vaguely recognized as the meeting wing.
Immediately, he felt all eyes upon him.
Instantly, he felt something warm begin to heal him slowly. Little by little, his consciousness faded, but he needed to deliver the message.
"Scarlet..." Uriel called weakly.
Immediately, Scarlet approached with a face full of complicated emotions—panic, shock, fear, desperation, terror, and concern.
"Inform everyone to prepare for war."
With those final words, he lost consciousness.