The tower's lobby had become a battlefield.
Fragments of broken stone covered the floor, mixed with the remains of destroyed servants and bloodstains still steaming from residual magic.
The apprentices fought to contain the last servants, while Thiriel advanced alone toward the source of this chaos.
Toward Vexar.
The old man barely stood upright, leaning against a cracked column. His left arm, almost severed, was wrapped in a layer of greenish magic attempting to reconstruct nerves and flesh.
Every breath was heavy, painful, but his eyes continued to shine with a dangerous lucidity.
"Do not make the mistake of thinking you have defeated me," spat Vexar, with a twisted grimace. "Even if I am wounded… I am still a Rank C mage."
Thiriel didn't answer.
He grit his teeth and took a step forward.
The Magic Warrior Aura ran through his body again, this time with more intensity than ever. The magic compressed into every muscle, into every joint, pushing him beyond what his young body should withstand.
He felt an internal pull, the warning that he was approaching his limit.
But he didn't stop; with explosive power, he took a step toward Vexar.
Vexar raised his healthy hand and cast a spell without reciting a single word. A wall of energy formed in front of him, thick, dense.
Thiriel crashed against the barrier.
The impact threw him back several meters, dragging his feet along the ground to keep from falling. A thread of blood trickled down from the corner of his mouth.
"Do you feel it?" laughed Vexar with a hoarse voice. "That is the difference between you and me. You play at being strong. I am strong."
The old man gave him no time to recover. He extended his hand and the air became heavy. Shackles of pure magic closed around Thiriel's body, pressuring him from all angles.
"Kneel," he ordered. "Like all the others before you."
Thiriel's muscles trembled.
For a second, it seemed he was going to yield.
Then he growled.
"No!!"
The aura's magic exploded outward, partially breaking the pressure. The floor beneath his feet cracked as he took a step forward, forcing his body to move against a force that should have immobilized him.
Vexar's eyes widened with genuine surprise.
"What…?"
Thiriel didn't let him finish.
He ran.
His speed was unnatural. Every step left a deep footprint in the stone. In less than an instant, he was in front of Vexar, the kitchen knife shining with compressed magic.
The old man reacted on instinct, raising a curved barrier at the last moment. The blow didn't pierce completely, but the force was enough to shatter it into fragments of energy.
Vexar retreated, panting.
"Damn spawn!" he shouted.
Thiriel attacked again.
A horizontal strike.
Another vertical.
A reinforced kick that impacted the old man's torso and threw him against a wall.
Vexar spat blood.
"Ingrates!" he roared. "I gave you food, shelter, and magic! Without me, you would be nothing!"
He responded with violence.
A magic circle formed beneath Thiriel's feet and an explosion of compressed fire burst upward. Thiriel was thrown through the air, crashing against a column. He felt something crack inside his body.
Pain.
Real.
"That is Rank C!" shouted Vexar, standing up with difficulty. "Magic without need for gestures or words! Absolute dominion!"
Thiriel fell to his knees.
For a second, the world spun.
Then he took a deep breath.
"Then…" he said, rising slowly, "I will stop holding back."
The Magic Warrior Aura changed.
It was no longer just reinforcement.
It was wringing out his very self.
Magic flooded his body without reserve, pushing every physical limit to the breaking point. His muscles defined, veins bulged, and the air around him seemed to distort.
Kael, in the distance, shouted:
"Thiriel, stop! You'll kill yourself like that!"
Thiriel didn't look back.
Vexar, for the first time, retreated of his own will.
"What are you?" he whispered.
The answer was a blow.
Thiriel crossed the space in the blink of an eye and his fist impacted Vexar's face with brutal force. The old man was sent flying, rolling across the ground, leaving a trail of blood.
"AAAAH!" shouted Vexar, more furious than scared.
He stood up staggering, eyes bloodshot with hate.
"I will refine you all!" he roared. "One by one! In the most painful way!"
Curses began to pour from his mouth, not just insults, but spells. Words charged with dark intent that warped the magic around him. The air turned cold, oppressive.
Thiriel felt the pressure on his mind, an attempt to corrode his will.
"Kneel!" bellowed Vexar. "Accept your place!"
Thiriel advanced.
Every step was torture. His body protested. Muscles burned, bones creaked under the aura's overload.
But he didn't stop.
The knife descended again, opening deep cuts in Vexar's side and thigh. The old man screamed, casting erratic spells, losing precision as desperation grew.
"No! It cannot be!" he shouted. "I am superior!"
The fight became chaotic.
Physical blows against spells.
Barrier against brute force.
Blood against magic.
And, little by little, something changed.
Vexar began to fail.
His spells took a fraction longer to form. His breathing became irregular. The healing of his arm slowed down.
Thiriel's aura, even while taking him to the limit, continued functioning at its peak energy.
"Enough!" roared Vexar, face contorted. "Enough!"
He looked around.
The servants had almost fallen. The remaining apprentices fought with desperation, but they held on. There were no reinforcements. There was no absolute control.
Vexar felt something new.
Real fear.
"If I am going to die…" he whispered. "I won't do it alone."
He closed his eyes.
And made a decision.
Thiriel felt it before seeing it.
A sharp change in the magical flow.
"What are you doing?" whispered Thiriel, while preparing for whatever Vexar was planning.
Vexar opened his eyes.
"Collecting what is mine."
The magic holding the servants together shattered all at once. A dark pulse ran through the lobby and the servants' bodies shuddered, decomposing into particles of energy that flowed directly toward Vexar.
The old man screamed.
Not of pain.
Of ecstasy.
His aura expanded violently. The shattered arm began to regenerate rapidly. His posture straightened. The magical pressure in the room multiplied.
Thiriel was pushed backward as if he had hit an invisible wall.
"HAHAHAHA!" laughed Vexar, with a rejuvenated voice. "Do you feel it? This is my true power!"
Thiriel dug into the ground to keep from falling.
The Magic Warrior Aura was at its limit.
His body screamed.
Vexar advanced, now with a firm, dominant step.
"Now," he said with a cruel smile. "Now your true despair begins."
The scales had tipped.
Thiriel was being overpowered.