2023-05-21 23:59:30
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PERFECTION
The arena trembled with every beat of the dragon’s wings. Smoke and embers swirled, stinging eyes, yet clearing the hoard that had buried Noah. One by one, the twisted, writhing Syrics were reduced to ash beneath the dragon’s merciless fire. The roar of destruction was deafening, and still, the dragon pressed on, circling with precise strikes that left no path for the Syrics to regroup.Redrick, Ragmus, Kylie, Kinsley, Ryn, Benjamin, Lilia, Hawk, Camelia, Tracy, and Mike could only stare, frozen between awe and confusion. Ragmus had returned to his human form, naked and exposed, yet no one even noticed. Every thought was consumed by the impossible presence of the dragon and the inferno clearing the hoard.At last, as the last Syrics dissolved into smoke and ash, the dragon retracted its wings slightly, and there, standing amidst the remnants of fire, was Noah. His body burned with controlled flames, every scale and muscle glowing like molten gold. Heat radiated from him, yet he moved
ETHUSA
Noah was a storm the Syrics could not weather. His claws ripped, his blade sang, and his fire burned swathes of the enemy into ash. They fell around him like shadows torn apart by the sun—dozens in a heartbeat, hundreds in moments. Yet still they came.The Syrics didn’t retreat. They didn’t fear death. Even as Noah slaughtered them as if they were nothing, they kept pressing forward, an endless tide of fangs and shrieks. Their orders were clear: overwhelm him, or break past him to reach the others, but they found no passage.Noah’s duplicates stood in their way—echoes of his dragon might, each one fighting with perfect, merciless precision. Any Syric that tried to dart past was met with steel, claw, or flame before it could even scream. Around Redrick, the unconscious Esther, and the others, the circle of defense never faltered. The others stood ready with weapons in hand, but their grips were tight with awe more than action. There was nothing left for them to do but watch.This was t
THE HEART TO VICTORY
The Mountain’s roar rolled like thunder, shaking the shattered ground beneath them. Cracks split wider as molten veins blazed beneath its skin of jagged stone and tangled roots. Its colossal form—half rock, half living fire—shuddered, and then, impossibly, it moved.Despite its towering bulk, the Mountain launched forward in a blur, as if gravity itself bent to its will. Its pillar-like legs coiled, then hurled it across the battlefield with the weight of a collapsing world.Twin blades, born from its own arms—jagged obsidian streaked with glowing magma—came cleaving down. The air split with a howl, and the ground erupted as the strike carved a canyon of fire through the arena floor. The impact sent shockwaves outward, boulders and molten shards exploding into the air like arrows of flame.Ramsay’s eyes flared wide for a heartbeat, but the living rhythm of his sword surged through him. His body moved before thought, vaulting sideways as the molten trench carved the battlefield where h
NOAH THE MESSENGER OF HELL
Ramsay pressed forward with ferocity, his twin blades carving streaks of light across the Mountain’s massive form. Each strike bit deep, tearing molten cracks into its stony hide, only for the wounds to seal again in seconds. Still, Ramsay did not relent. His arms moved in a storm of precision and fury, forcing the colossal being back step after step. For the first time, the Mountain yielded ground beneath the weight of his assault.The arena shook with every blow, dust raining from above to tell the arena was nothing but illusion, sparks bursting where steel met stone. Ramsay’s breathing came fast, but his focus was absolute. The Mountain was healing, yes—but it was being pushed.Then the mountain's molten eyes flared. The ground rumbled low and deep as cracks split along its left arm, glowing veins spilling fire from within. With a grinding roar, it lifted the arm high. Stone twisted, fire poured forth, and a second jagged blade took shape, mirroring the first.Ramsay froze for hal
VICTORY AT THE END
The moment Ramsay was yanked off the ground—his body slid aside in a seamless motion just in time to avoid the Mountain’s blade sweeping for his neck—he landed lightly on his feet, breath sharp in his chest. A current of raw energy surged through him, crackling like lightning in his veins.Sparks danced across his skin, knitting torn flesh, sealing wounds that moments ago should have killed him. Ramsay muttered under his breath, stunned, “So this is what it’s like… being one with the sword?”.Pain vanished. Fatigue evaporated. Every fiber of his body hummed with new strength. For a heartbeat, regret pricked him—why hadn’t he listened to the sword’s voice earlier? Why had he resisted the bond?Then the soul of the blade spoke clearly in his mind, firm and resonant, “Concentrate, Ramsay".Ramsay's gaze locked on the Mountain. The massive figure had paused, a flicker of surprise breaking its stony calm as Ramsay’s gashes closed before its eyes. Ramsay smirked, straightening to full heigh
THE SOUL OF THE SWORD
Ramsay’s eyes widened as the Mountain soul’s jagged sword arced down toward his neck. Every instinct screamed that this was the end — the final strike that would shatter everything he had fought for. He felt the crushing weight of inevitability press down on him, the world narrowing to the gleaming black edge above him. And then—time suddenly slowed.The sword, which had been an unstoppable force of death, now moved as if through thick honey, descending in a measured, torturous rhythm. Every second stretched, each motion magnified. Just then Ramsay suddenly felt a strange tug within his chest, a warmth and light coursing through his veins, and then, shockingly, his spirit lifted from his body. Though unconscious, his eyes remained wide open, seeing, understanding, aware.Ramasy blinked—or thought he did—and found himself several steps away from the Mountain, standing and fully conscious. Ramsay's gaze dropped to the battlefield: his physical self still crouched on the ground, bloodie
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