The ruins of Bhutala stood in silence.
Only the low hiss of Aether still whispered in the air, crawling over broken concrete and steel like smoke trying to remember its shape. The city had fallen still—its breath held, its pulse waiting.
From the haze walked Siddharth. White Aether pulsed faintly around him, not radiant but steady, like a calm flame that refused to yield. His steps made no sound, though the ground cracked softly beneath the invisible pressure of his presence.
The trio—Aryan, Ahan, and Abhi—watched, bruised and beaten, as if something divine had entered
the field.
Even Vigil, perched on a broken girder, let out a low, curious laugh. "The fugitive returns," Vigil said, tone almost sing-song. "And here I thought you'd run forever."
From the far side, Virag answered not with words but with a grin. His eyes were lit with that black-violet glint of corruption, veins of dark Aether pulsing under his skin like living roots. He rolled his shoulders, every movement exuding predatory ease.
"You've been running for years, Siddharth," he said. "Do you plan to keep running today?"
Siddharth's expression barely shifted. "You're mistaking patience for fear again, Virag." The tension between them bent the air. Pebbles trembled. The metallic ruins began to hum, a low resonance that made the soldiers on both sides retreat instinctively.
Ahan, still breathing hard, muttered to Abhi, "They know each other?" Abhi didn't answer. He couldn't look away. Virag took a step forward, boots grinding through the dust. "We used to stand side by side, remember? You talked about balance. I told you balance was weakness." "And you were always wrong," Siddharth replied quietly. Aether shimmered between them—black and white threads swirling like two storms preparing to collide. Vigil's grin widened. "Oh, this is going to be fun. Boys, don't blink." Aryan, half-kneeling, whispered hoarsely, "He's not… human anymore."
The next moment, the wind shifted. The very temperature dropped. The ground cracked with a THUD as both unleashed their power—not fully, but enough to fracture reality's breath. Dust spiraled upward, forming a glowing ring around them. The air screamed, pulled between opposing poles of light and dark.
Virag moved first—one blur of motion, fist cutting the space between them. The sound came after the movement: a BOOM that rippled outward. Siddharth caught the strike with his forearm. The impact threw shards of stone into the air like shrapnel. They separated by a single step, eyes locked. Virag's grin sharpened. "You've grown slower, old friend." "You've grown hollow," Siddharth answered. Then came the second clash. Faster. Heavier.
A CRACK split the battlefield as Siddharth pivoted low, driving a knee upward, meeting Virag's elbow mid-strike. The collision lit the ruins in alternating flashes—white, black, white again—until it looked
like lightning trapped in human form. Every motion felt inevitable—each counter like they'd memorized the other's rhythm years ago. Fist met fist. Foot swept. The air warped around their limbs. Each sound carried physical weight—THUD, FWOOOM, CRASH! —until even the trio had to shield their faces from the force alone.
Vigil laughed above the chaos, voice echoing like static. "Balance and fracture—two sides of the same coin! Come on, Siddharth, show him that 'light' you preach about!" Siddharth ignored him, focus absolute. His white Aedir flared brighter, not like fire, but like wind pushing back against gravity.
Each strike became cleaner, more decisive, controlled fury contained by discipline. Virag, in contrast, fought like entropy personified—each hit wild, yet precise enough to kill. Every swing tore the air into ribbons, black sparks trailing behind. His smile was pure hunger.
At one point, Siddharth caught Virag's wrist mid-punch, spun, and slammed him into the ground—BOOM! The ground dented, fissures racing outward in spiderweb patterns. For an instant, the black aura flickered. Then Virag burst out of the crater, laugh distorted by the roar of Aether.
"Still think you can save this world?"
Siddharth's voice came calm, almost sorrowful.
"No. But I can still stop you."
They collided again—pure kinetic brutality wrapped in godlike aura.
The sky itself seemed to flicker between day and night, the balance straining to hold their opposition. Aryan's chest tightened watching it—the two forces tearing at reality itself.
This isn't a fight, he thought. It's a fracture in existence.
One final clash—both fists meeting in the center of the ruined plaza.
The world stopped breathing. A soundless second, then—
KRRR-BOOOOOM.
A shockwave ripped outward, throwing rubble hundreds of meters away. Half the ruins collapsed; the trio were hurled back against the wreckage. Vigil shielded his eyes, grinning madly through the dust. As the light dimmed, both figures stood, unmoving, steam rising from their shoulders.
The earth between them had turned molten.
Virag raised his head, smiling through the smoke.
"Now it begins."
Siddharth straightened, aura shimmering brighter.
"Then let it begin."
The air folded again, brighter, darker, both energies spiraling upward like twin storms ready to consume each other—
The amphitheater had become a cratered wound — stone walls torn into splinters of shadow and light. Dust swirled like burnt ash, rising in spirals around Siddharth and Virak as if the world itself was holding its breath.
Virak tilted his head, eyes glowing coal black.
"You remember what I told you the last time we met?" His voice was low, guttural, vibrating like a blade scraping against stone. "That you could run forever… but I'll always find you."
Siddharth didn't answer. The faint hum of his Aether shimmered around him, white light breathing through the cracks of his armor. The ground under his boots pulsed — restrained, patient, ready to burst.
Virak smirked. "Still hiding behind purity." He slammed his heel into the floor. The earth fractured beneath them like glass under a hammer — a black pulse shot out, splitting the arena in two.
The battle began.
The first clash was a sound more than a sight.
A flash — then a crack that tore through the air.
Their fists collided mid-strike, the shockwave throwing dust and debris in every direction. Both men slid backward, boots grinding against fractured stone.
Siddharth lunged first — open-palm strike — Virak blocked, twisted, caught his wrist. Siddharth used the momentum, rolled over his arm, planted a knee into Virak's chest — thud. The hit echoed like thunder, forcing Virak back.
"Still using those monk techniques?" Virak spat, wiping blood from his mouth. His grin widened. "Let's see how long faith holds up against fury."
He blurred — vanished — then reappeared behind Siddharth, elbow driving toward his ribs. Siddharth barely twisted away, but the force clipped his shoulder, sending a ripple of pain across his frame.
White and black streaks intertwined like dueling comets — each impact ringing across the ruins.
Far off, Ahan watched, his body half-buried under broken rubble.
"...They're beyond anything we've seen."
Vigil smirked despite the blood running down his face.
"That's what happens when gods pretend to be men."
Aryan groaned nearby, trying to push himself up. His vision blurred.
"Then we… become the reminder of why they shouldn't."
Back in the arena —
Siddharth caught Virak's leg mid-kick, twisted it, and launched a counter-blow into his ribs. Virak growled, spinning out of it with a backfist — smack — the blow cracked across Siddharth's jaw, sending a mist of blood through the air.
He staggered but didn't fall. Instead, his palms glowed — the air thickened, a hum rising — then boom. He sent out a focused blast of Aether, a wave of white energy that shattered through the debris and slammed into Virak.
The impact cratered the wall behind him.
Virak straightened, dust and smoke curling off his armor, his grin wider than ever.
"Finally showing teeth."
He raised both hands. The air went cold — black Aether coalesced into jagged tendrils behind him, forming a silhouette like demonic wings. Each pulse darkened the light around them.
Siddharth exhaled slowly. Balance, he reminded himself. Control the flow. Don't become the storm.
He dropped into stance — low, grounded. A soft halo of white spread beneath his feet, glowing veins of light spreading like roots across the cracked arena floor.
The ground trembled.
Then they collided again.
The second half of the fight was no longer choreography — it was chaos dressed in precision.
Their movements blurred into flashes, their impacts painting brief afterimages: a kick here, a sweep there, the air itself hissing from the heat of their Aether.
Each time Siddharth struck, white trails spiraled in his wake.
Each time Virak countered, darkness swallowed the color, leaving only void.
They were opposites not by birth — but by choice.
A stray blast tore through the side, forcing Abhi to duck behind a fallen barricade. He raised his blade, slicing down the few surviving reinforcements who dared approach.
Even exhausted, his strikes were merciless — clean arcs of metal and motion.
"Focus on the main field!" he yelled, cutting through a soldier's gun mid-fire. "Siddharth can't hold forever!"
But none of them could truly help — not here. Not in this storm.
The light was fading fast now.
Siddharth ducked under a swing, swept Virak's legs, caught his arm mid-fall, and twisted — bones cracked — crunch. But before he could capitalize, a surge of black Aether burst outward, throwing him back like a ragdoll.
He hit the wall, hard.
Dust exploded around him.
From the smoke, Virak's voice rumbled, deeper, distorted.
"You think this is balance? It's weakness wrapped in light."
Siddharth's breathing slowed, steady — his lips barely moved.
"Light… exists because of dark. You forget that."
He rose again.
The energy around him flared — white fire coiling around his arms, burning hotter, brighter. The debris lifted off the ground as if gravity had bent in reverence.
Across from him, Virak's own energy howled in response — black fire, jagged, pulsing, corrupt.
The amphitheater cracked down the middle, the air tearing open between them like fabric.
A single heartbeat of silence.
Then—
BOOM.
They charged.
White met black.
Faith met fury.
And the world itself split at the seam.