Kyren dashed forward, katana in hand, bringing it down hard on one of the Converts who had survived Runa's storm of swords. The first strike severed the man's arm in a flash of steel. But the beast didn't falter. Roaring in fury, he swung his remaining massive limb toward Kyren, who barely managed to soundless step back in time.
Four Converts had survived the storm. All of them turned their beast-warped forms toward Kyren and bounded forward.
Runa tried to assist, but her grip on the storm had weakened—only a few blades zipped past, slicing the Converts with shallow cuts. Lydel was still lost in the chaos of the crowd.
Kyren had only one option left. He hadn't mastered it yet, but he could remember the feeling.
He focused.
Mana surged from his core, pooling outward until a faint golden shimmer bloomed into a dome around him—The King's Barrier.
He stood still, breath calm, katana drawn, adopting the stance Runa had drilled into him night after night.
The first Convert broke the barrier.
Kyren's instincts screamed to life.
His katana came down in a brutal slash, severing the beast's remaining arm before the creature even realized what had happened. Without hesitation, Kyren stepped forward and sliced clean across the Convert's throat.
Another broke the dome.
Then another.
Kyren moved like a phantom. His speed was blinding, his strikes precise. The Converts were too durable to be cleaved in half, but his slashes left them mangled and unable to continue the fight.
In seconds, he'd reduced four down to one—and three figures still stood on the stage beyond.
The last Convert hesitated. His beastly eyes flicked to the bodies of his fallen allies. Some flicker of thought still lingered behind those mutated eyes.
Runa had stopped summoning blades. Instead, she gripped three with her hands, reverting to her favored fighting style. Two flew forward, distracting the Convert. Then she leapt in, swinging the third with force.
The Convert raised his arms to block—just as Kyren dashed in, Fang of Requiem glowing with mana. With a roar, he slashed through the Convert's abdomen, severing the torso just above the hip.
The beast dropped.
Above them, the Starmaker screamed.
"He chose me! He chose me! And I failed him—I failed the Heavenly Star!" His voice cracked into madness. "Kill them! They are not allowed to leave this village!"
One of the other Starmakers shot forward.
Lydel finally emerged from the fleeing crowd, eyes narrowing.
"I got this one," he said, stepping in.
Their blades met with a clash—Lydel's steel versus conjured ice. His sword cracked the magical blade and slashed at the priest's chest—but a sheet of ice quickly formed, absorbing the blow.
The second Starmaker surged toward Runa, wind spiraling under his feet. He rose into the air, dodging Runa's incoming blades with agile spins and aerial feints.
She was undeterred.
Three swords whirled at once as she fought back. The Starmaker blocked what he could, but two still found their mark, slicing shallow cuts as they pressed the assault.
And then—
The screaming Starmaker leapt from the stage.
Not a Conversion—his power was his own. Muscles swelled, bones expanded. His robes split and tore as his form grew—towering now, nearly eight feet tall.
Kyren's breath caught.
His katana trembled.
"K-Kylian?" he whispered. "Why would you join the cult?"
The massive figure halted, a wicked grin spreading across his familiar face.
"How do you know that name?" Kylian asked.
Kyren's heart thundered.
"No it can't be Kyren, The trash of the Warhammer family thinks he can stop what our ancestors couldn't," Kylian sneered, stepping forward. "You think you're the only one he threw away? He forgot about me too. But the Heavenly Star found me."
"You already had power," Kyren said, voice hollow. "You didn't need them." His voice sounded broken. "We don't have to kill each other,"
Kylian's grin widened. "You always ruined everything. Even when we were kids. Now that I've escaped the Warhammer curse, here you are—still ruining everything. So no, Kyren. I'd rather see you dead."
He charged—massive but impossibly fast.
Kyren summoned the dome again. Golden light shimmered.
He waited.
Lydel's fight with the priest raged on.
Their blades had clashed dozens of times, neither managing a killing blow. Lydel had been buying time—charging his Glimmersight Band with each second.
He needed one minute.
Almost there.
He ducked and weaved through icy strikes, his blade ringing out as it clashed against the priest's frozen armor. His afterimages danced in and out, slashing—only to be destroyed moments later.
Then he saw it.
The bracelet was full.
The priest raised his blade to strike—
Time slowed.
Lydel's mind locked in.
The world blurred into streaks of light and motion. He saw the next five seconds in crystal detail—every move, every breath, every path to victory.
He stepped in.
As ice began to form over the priest's side, Lydel adjusted his angle and slammed his blade down into the man's hip. He felt bone crunch and shatter.
The priest dropped.
Lydel moved to finish it—only for the ground to rumble with mana.
The priest rose, swelling with raw nature energy. His body distorted, muscles tearing through skin. No longer an ice wielder—he swung his fists like twin sledgehammers.
Lydel, still guided by the fading effects of Temporal Clarity, danced around the blows. His blade slashed deep. His afterimages struck with precision, tearing new wounds.
But he could feel it.
His perception was fading.
His body was weakening.
With a final breath, Lydel called upon all the mana he had left.
Four afterimages shimmered to life behind him.
He stepped in—one clean strike.
His blade tore through the man's neck.
The ghostly blades followed.
The priest's head flew.
Lydel stumbled, collapsing to the ground, chest heaving.
Runa hadn't been hit once.
But the Storm of Swords had drained almost all her mana, and keeping up with the airborne Starmaker was exhausting what little remained. Every summoned blade, every defensive slash, pulled more from her than she had left to give.
She decided she was done fighting on his terms.
Runa pulled her swords back, spinning them together in a sharp whirl of grass until they merged into her Trident Scythe. The wind howled as she stood still, the weapon gleaming in her grasp.
She waited—calm, unmoving.
The Starmaker grinned and dove forward, blade outstretched.
Runa made her move.
She feinted a swing with the scythe—baiting him in close—then dropped the weapon entirely, sidestepping his lunge with a graceful pivot.
The scythe shimmered… then unraveled back into three swords.
The Starmaker twisted, confused—just in time to see the blades flying straight toward him.
He had prepared to block a scythe.
He wasn't prepared for this.
The first blade struck his chest.
The second pierced his gut.
The third drove into his collar, knocking him backward as all three exploded with raw mana.
The swords didn't stop there.
Across the battlefield, every blade Runa had summoned began to dissolve into glowing particles. Her storm had ended—not with a roar, but a fading breath of brilliance.
Runa didn't collapse.
But she had nothing left.
With her mana gone, her role in the fight was over.
Only Kyren remained—standing tall, katana in hand, unmoving.
Waiting for Kylian to breach the golden dome.