My Wife Is A Witch, And I’m Her Consort

Kaelis didn't move—he exploded forward, the earth detonating beneath his feet as he lunged at Vorh'zul, his monstrous blade howling with red and black destructive light. The weapon was not just an extension of his body—it was alive, pulsing with raw hunger. His every movement was feral precision, his stance shifting unpredictably, his body warping between instinct and brutality.

Vorh'zul descended, its colossal wings casting golden radiance across the battlefield. It did not step—it glided, untouched by the ground, its grotesque form moving with an eerie, celestial grace. It lifted one hand—its fingers, thin and too many, glistened with shifting hues of luminescent gold, its power drawn from the very breath of the land itself. With a flick of its wrist, life and decay intertwined, a surge of radiant energy materializing around its palm before it swung—not as a strike, but as a decree.

Kaelis twisted mid-charge, spinning low, his blade dragging through the dirt, carving a jagged, infernal trench of black and red energy before he launched himself upward, vaulting over the divine assault. His body contorted, his heel bracing against empty air before he reversed his momentum, plummeting downward in an unstoppable downward cleave. The moment his blade touched the air, it detonated, a violent eruption of red and black ruin shattering the space between them.

But Vorh'zul did not break.

Instead, it simply… wasn't there anymore.

In the span of a single breath, the King of the Caliber Butterflies had shifted—not with speed, but with impossible inevitability, like it had never been in danger in the first place. It materialized behind Kaelis, its form a cascading afterimage of golden luminance, its fingers now glowing with something beyond mortal comprehension.

His body folded inward, his weight shifting at an unnatural angle as he dropped beneath Vorh'zul's grasp. His blade screamed, black and red energy erupting violently from its edge as he carved an upward crescent of destruction, forcing the god-king to retreat.

Vorh'zul's wings did not flap—they unfolded into infinity, their light bending the space around them. It moved with unearthly elegance, its hands drawing spirals of golden radiance in the air, each movement giving birth to something new—blooming flowers of light, shifting figures made of ephemeral breath, fragments of forgotten gods.

Kaelis did not let it finish.

He tore forward, his speed obliterating the ground behind him, his primal stance shifting mid-motion. His feet barely touched the earth before he leapt, his body snapping into a new formation—low, quadrupedal, his muscles coiled like a beast mid-pounce. His blade was no longer a weapon—it was the jaws of a starving predator, his strikes a relentless, chaotic onslaught that shattered the very air between them.

Vorh'zul's hands moved like flowing ink, its fingers grazing the empty space around them. Where Kaelis' blade would have struck, there was suddenly golden radiance, and instead of impact, there was only absence—his destruction denied by the divine.

Kaelis snarled.

His stance shifted again, his body bending backwards at an unnatural angle, avoiding a downward palm strike that would have erased his existence from the battlefield. He retaliated—his knee drove upward, his blade already slinging forward, a downward slash that howled with ruin, the force warping the terrain beneath it.

Vorh'zul raised two fingers, pressing them gently together.

The land responded.

A flash of golden radiance surged outward—not an attack, not a shield, but life itself manifesting in rebellion against Kaelis' destruction. Vines of pure radiance sprouted from the shattered ground, their forms twisting into woven runes, sealing the attack before it could reach its target.

Kaelis didn't hesitate.

He somersaulted backwards, his blade dragging against the ground, the red and black energy igniting the earth beneath him. The force of his retreat ripped apart the golden vines, shattering their form before he vaulted forward once more, his stance shifting again—this time sideways, his body rotating in an unnatural helix as he aimed a diagonal slash straight for Vorh'zul's throat.

The King tilted its head.

"Stubborn demon of corruption!"

Its wings folded inward, its body shifting as it flowed around Kaelis' attack like a whisper on the wind. One hand gently touched the battlefield—where it made contact, wildflowers burst into existence, their petals shimmering with divine power.

Kaelis' foot braced against the air itself.

And then he rebounded.

He flipped, twisting his body with inhuman dexterity, his blade already arcing mid-motion, a second, more vicious strike aimed straight for the god-king's spine.

This time, he was too close.

This time, he would—

A single finger pressed against his forehead.

Kaelis' vision whited out.

An ocean of golden light surged through his mind—memories, voices, lives he had never lived, futures that could never exist. It was not power. It was existence itself unraveling before him, a flood of pure, overwhelming reality.

And then, just as quickly—

He was falling.

His body crashed into the earth, the impact sending shockwaves through the battlefield. His limbs convulsed, his blade still humming with destruction, but for the first time, his movements stuttered.

Above him, Vorh'zul lowered its hands.

It pressed its palms together.

The battlefield shook.

The land answered.

Golden energy coiled around the King's body, pulsing, evolving, its very presence reaching into the fabric of reality itself. The air grew thick with energy, the whispers of a thousand unseen forces chanting in unison. The very concept of battle was shifting—no longer a mere clash of power, but a reformation of the world's will.

"For a mere demon to be able to keep up with me…..is mildly disturbing.."

Kaelis' grin widened.

He rose, his black veins pulsing violently, his blade still alive in his grip.

Vorh'zul spoke once more, its voice layered, infinite.

"This is not your battle, devourer of ruin. Behold true power."

Vorh'zul's wings surged outward, golden energy rippling through the air as it ascended, its form twisting like a specter of light and death. It glided with unnatural speed, its body shifting between divine elegance and monstrous distortion, its hands weaving radiant symbols that pulsed with the life of the land itself. The very air around it trembled, responding to its call.

Kaelis roared, his voice raw, guttural—primal rage incarnate. His veins pulsed violently, his twisted horn glowed with shifting hues of black and red, and his blade hummed with destruction, jagged tendrils of malevolent energy writhing off its surface. His stance was no longer human—it was something else, his form coiled, animalistic, unpredictable. He launched himself skyward, his foot shattering the earth beneath him, aiming straight for the god-king above.

Vorh'zul moved, its body bending as if the air itself parted for its existence. Its fingers pressed together, and suddenly, golden sigils erupted around Kaelis in midair, blooming like celestial flowers—each one a trap of pure kinetic force, designed to bind, crush, and eradicate.

Kaelis didn't stop.

He twisted—not away, but through. His blade screamed, red and black destruction shredding through the sigils as his body contorted, flipped, and twisted, evading the collapsing energy fields by sheer instinct and raw speed.

But Vorh'zul was already countering.

Its wings pulsed, and from the tips of its elongated fingers, beams of condensed land energy tore through the sky, each one a searing lance of golden radiance. They didn't just fire—they hunted, tracking Kaelis' movements, shifting angles at impossible speeds.

Kaelis laughed, his voice broken, unhinged. He spiraled downward, his blade dragging behind him, its volatile energy ripping apart the very air, creating a trail of unstable force. He used his own destructive wake to distort the tracking lances, causing them to veer off course, slamming into the terrain below and detonating entire sections of the battlefield.

Vorh'zul descended instantly, shifting from aerial supremacy to ground combat in a heartbeat. Its feet touched the earth, and where it landed, life itself responded—the ground pulsed, twisting into a sacred garden of ethereal flora, each petal brimming with divine radiance. It lifted one hand, and the flowers bloomed violently, each one detonating in a wave of golden devastation.

"Tch…still standing…?!"

Kaelis charged straight through it.

The first explosion sent him spinning, his body contorting mid-air, redirecting momentum with a jagged slash of his blade, sending a wave of volatile energy outward. The next detonations came faster, but Kaelis vaulted, dodged, crashed through the chaos, his body shifting between stances—one moment a savage beast, the next a coiled viper, then a monstrous specter of pure brutality.

He landed low, his blade screeching against the ground, carving through the divine land, his laugh now a frenzied, chaotic chorus. His stance was hunched, his fingers twitching as if barely restraining himself. His body twitched with unnatural movement, his breath ragged but hungry.

Vorh'zul lifted both hands.

The sky bent.

The battlefield quivered.

From the land itself, radiant butterfly-shaped wraiths rose into the air, their luminous bodies shifting between wisps of energy and solid form, their very existence woven from the essence of the world. Each one hovered like a divine judge, and then, at Vorh'zul's command, they rushed forward in a synchronized assault, their forms converging like razor-thin blades of celestial judgment.

Kaelis roared, his blade slamming into the dirt, and in an instant, black and red tendrils of destruction erupted outward, devouring the wraiths in an explosion of writhing ruin. The battlefield shook as divine and corrupted forces clashed violently, their energies colliding in a maelstrom of conflicting existences.

Kaelis lunged again, his body a blur of unrelenting movement, his attacks no longer a warrior's strikes—they were the violent convulsions of a berserker god, the raw hatred of something that should not exist. His blade came from every angle, his movements fluid yet grotesque, his body bending in ways that defied the logic of mortal combat.

Vorh'zul matched him.

The two became beasts of war, their movements so fast that the battlefield struggled to keep up, golden energy and red-black destruction clashing at speeds beyond human perception. Each strike reshaped the terrain, each clash a moment of pure, violent art.

And then—

Ripp stared.

His mask was half-shattered, exposing his grey eye, his vision blurry with blood. He was kneeling, his body wrecked, wounds covering his arms, his staff planted in the ground just to keep himself upright.

But it wasn't pain that left him in shock.

It was Kaelis.

"That…" he rasped. "That's not—human."

'He's completely lost it! I was traveling with something like him?! What kind of power is that? It's insanely unnatural…Kenda can't even produce power like that. A literal blade seeming to be connected with him, and that primal attack position. How would the Apostles react to him?'

The other Hunters were just as shaken.

"That kid…" one of them whispered, his voice hoarse. "How… how the hell is he keeping up with our target?"

Another Hunter, his arm hanging uselessly, his ribs visibly broken, exhaled sharply. "No. No, he's not just keeping up." His fingers trembled. "He's—fighting it like it's nothing."

A younger Hunter staggered back, his face pale. "We… we were supposed to kill that thing." His eyes darted toward Vorh'zul. "That was the contract." He shook his head, his breath frantic. "But if we actually engaged it… we'd all be dead right now."

Silence.

For a moment, none of them spoke.

Then—

A Hunter with bloodied daggers, still gripping his shattered weapon, froze. His gaze locked onto something off to the side. His eyes widened.

"…Why are they praying?"

The others snapped their attention toward the Caliber Butterfly humanoids. They weren't moving, they weren't attacking, they were kneeling. Their hands were pressed together, their bodies glowing with soft, golden light, their wings flickering as if their very essence was being drained into something greater.

"…They're giving him power," one of the wounded Hunters whispered. His throat was dry. His stomach turned. "They're—feeding him. T-They have to be! Look at them!"

The realization hit like a hammer to the skull.

One of the Hunters grabbed his bow, his fingers shaking as he reached for an arrow. "Then—kill them."

A warrior with a broken sword snarled, rising to his feet despite his wounds. "Don't let that bastard ascend or something!!"

The Hunters, barely standing, prepared to fight again, and the battlefield twisted. The fight between Kaelis and Vorh'Zul raged on in the distance, an unholy clash of destruction and divinity, but now the ground itself was turning against them.

A cloud, shimmering with unnatural color, began to coil around the kneeling Caliber Butterfly humanoids. The hues were impossible, shifting between radiant gold, deep violet, and unsettling iridescence, thick as rolling fog yet moving with an eerie sentience. It spread like living mist, curling and creeping until it swallowed everything in its wake.

The Hunters froze, weapons still slick with blood, their expressions shifting from bloodlust to uncertainty.

"The hell is that?" one whispered.

Another cursed, stepping back, his fingers tightening around the grip of his axe. "Some kinda defense mechanism?"

"We're running out of time," another barked. His voice was hoarse, frantic. "Mission still stands." He slammed his fist against his chest. "I'm a Hunter—I don't care what tricks this thing pulls. 4000 gold. That's what's waiting when I take that bastard's head. I'll be able to let my little girl go to one of those Kenda academy schools. Bastards are expensive nowadays…let's do this.."

The others hesitated.

Then—they ran.

Charging toward the kneeling humanoids, their weapons gleaming, their battle cries echoing through the mist.

And then—There was nothing. They ran, but all they found was cloud. Ripp ran, too. 

The landscape had disappeared. The battlefield was gone. It was just him and the mist, stretching in all directions, infinite and suffocating.

His breath gasped, he could hear footsteps in the distance—no, all around him, circling, impossibly fast, moving like whispers in the dark. But Ripp didn't move anymore. He covered his mouth, holding his breath, his hands trembled. Not from pain. Not from exhaustion. From regret.

'This wouldn't have happened if I wasn't so eager…'

The thought cut through him sharper than any blade.

'Locked in a cage half my life, and now I just rush into things without thinking. I wanted to be free. I wanted to see the world. But what the hell did I expect?'

His fingers dug into his mask.

He could feel the heat trapped underneath it, the weight pressing down on his skin, making the urge to breathe almost unbearable.

Slowly, he pulled it off.

His patched-short grey hair stuck to his sweat-slicked forehead. One grey eye blinked through the haze, the other pitch-black, lifeless and cold. The burn marks on his face itched in the open air, raw and grotesque.

He hated it. 

'Embarrassing, honestly. But I don't have a choice.'

Somewhere, beyond the endless color, a scream ripped through the fog. Then—combat.

Ripp's fingers curled tighter around his staff. He ran.

'They're being engaged!'

The world shifted again.

Shapes appeared through the mist—bodies, moving fast, weapons clashing in brutal, chaotic combat.

Hunters. Fighting each other. Ripp stopped. His eyes darting between each and every fighter.

'No way…'

They were using their Kenda. Blood sprayed. Limbs shattered. But they weren't fighting the enemy. They were fighting each other.

Ripp wanted to scream. He wanted to yell for them to stop, but he knew—if he opened his mouth, he would breathe it in.

'What the hell do I do?! I can't sit here and let them slaughter each other!'

Then—an idea.

He gritted his teeth. He lowered his stance.

Then—he jumped.

Or at least, he tried.

Something latched onto his leg mid-motion, a hand—and before he could react, he was ripped from the air and slammed into the ground with monstrous force. Pain exploded across his back. He gasped silently, his vision going black for a second, his whole body convulsing from the impact.

And then—

A voice.

Mocking. Dangerous.

"Oh? A nasty butterfly trying to escape?"

Ripp's mind snapped into full alert.

He sat up fast—his staff already flicking up in a defensive arc—but what he saw made his stomach lurch.

The woman standing over him was uncanny.

Her skin was bronze, but her veins were silver, glowing faintly beneath the surface. Her hair was an unnatural shade of deep orchid, cut unevenly, hanging past her shoulders in chaotic layers. Her eyes were golden, split like a tiger's, and her nails curved like claws, black at the tips. Her outfit was a sleeveless red robe, tied with silver cord, her legs bare except for wrappings and jagged scars that marked her body like a warrior's history.

And her stance—

'Prancing Tiger. A unique and unpredictable combat form, a stance designed for high-speed, counter-heavy martial arts, with feral aggression mixed into every motion. That's Song! She doesn't have Kenda, so she's naturally strong, fast, agile, all that good stuff…'

The woman grinned. "I've taken down a horde of Minotaurs while poisoned. You think I'm letting a nasty butterfly escape?"

Ripp's stomach dropped.

'Song…a Hunter with no Kenda. A martial artist who took contracts no one else would.'

And she thought he was a Caliber Butterfly humanoid.

'This really sucks..'z

He had no time.

Song moved first—and it began.

She twisted forward, her foot spinning up in a blindingly fast crescent kick, her heel aimed for his temple with skull-shattering force.

Ripp barely managed to dodge, his Wind Kenda coiling around his legs, giving him a burst of speed. But Song was already reacting mid-motion, her other foot bracing against the ground as she used the missed kick to launch herself into a ferocious spinning elbow strike.

Ripp vaulted backwards, his staff whirling up, but Song's momentum didn't break. She flipped forward mid-air, her knee driving down like a meteor, forcing him to brace against the impact with his staff.

The ground beneath them cracked.

Song's leg twisted unnaturally, her balance never faltering, and her clawed fingers lashed out, aiming for his throat.

Ripp countered instantly—his Wind Kenda detonated outward, sending him into a sideways aerial twist, evading the strike by a hair's breadth before reversing his momentum mid-air and slamming his staff downward.

'In reality, I have the advantage. Mostly because my staff was made with Kenda artifacts, and my Wind Kenda is on par with a high level Hunter…but Song, she's one of those who won't stop until she gets her kill! I can't kill her, so I have to knock her out!'

Song caught it with both palms.

Her body snapped downward, pulling him with ridiculous force, sending Ripp crashing back-first against the ground again.

He gasped, his vision flashing black for a second, pain exploding through his spine.

But he didn't stop.

His staff flicked up, Wind Kenda spiraling around it, creating a brutal vortex that ripped Song away from him, forcing her back.

She skidded to a stop, her golden eyes flashing. "Not bad," she admitted. Then—her grin widened. "But not good enough."

She rushed again.

And the fight only grew deadlier.

Blow after blow. Counter after counter. Bone-breaking, breath-stealing, earth-rending force behind every strike. Song was punching Ripp all over the place, not giving him a chance to breathe, and Song grinned at the same time.

But in the end—Ripp threw his staff at her, and she dodged it, but in that split second, Ripp was above her, and performed a spinning heel kick with his leg, with Winds spiraling around it, and it increased his speed and force because of it. Song went to block it, but she couldn't raise her hands fast enough, and Ripp's leg bashed against her face, knocking her to the ground.

Then, his chest heaving, he finally jumped.

He ascended above the mist—fresh air rushing into his lungs.

And then—he saw it.

A horde of smaller Caliber Butterflies, their bodies radiant, their wings beating in eerie unison.

They were the ones creating the cloud.

And now—he had to stop them.

The battlefield was devastation incarnate.

Kaelis and Vorh'Zul had abandoned all restraint. The fight had escalated to a monstrous collision of destruction and divinity, the ground itself struggling to hold their presence, the sky trembling beneath the weight of their power.

Kaelis' laughter had turned to roars, guttural and primal, his blackened veins bulging with raw power, his body in constant motion, shifting through feral stances faster than the eye could track. His blade, fused to his arm, released howling waves of black and red destruction, carving through the land with every swing.

But Vorh'Zul was evolving.

It was no longer just dodging. No longer just defending.

It was adapting.

The god-king moved with impossible fluidity, its grotesque form flickering between presence and absence, its elongated limbs bending reality itself. Its wings now pulsed like twin stars, each flap generating a tidal wave of golden light that twisted the very air into something unrecognizable.

Vorh'Zul raised a hand, and the battlefield shifted.

The land itself began to breathe. Pulsing. Changing.

Flowers of radiant death bloomed instantly, but they weren't just beautiful—they were predators, each petal unraveling into razor-sharp spires of golden energy, lunging toward Kaelis in perfect synchronization.

Kaelis twisted mid-air, his entire body snapping into an unnatural contortion, his blade dragging through the space around him, leaving chaotic trails of destruction in its wake. His strikes didn't just parry—they consumed.

The flowers detonated, but Kaelis was already moving—vaulting, flipping, rolling, his speed a titanic blur of violence.

Then—

Vorh'Zul descended.

No longer hovering. No longer observing.

It attacked.

One of its arms elongated, solidifying into radiant gold, curving like a serpent of divine judgment, slamming downward with the weight of the world itself.

"Why can't you just die…?!"

Kaelis caught it with his bare hand.

The impact was cataclysmic. The ground beneath him erupted, the force tearing deep trenches into the battlefield, the sheer kinetic pressure cracking his arm apart—but Kaelis regenerated instantly, his bones reforming mid-motion, his blood crawling back into his veins like living shadows.

He grinned.

And then he struck back.

Kaelis lunged forward, his blade dragging through the golden arm, his red and black energy burning through the divine flesh like acid, tearing through Vorh'Zul's form.

The god-king howled, its voice a warped chorus of a thousand spirits screaming at once.

But it didn't retreat.

It countered.

Vorh'Zul's wings flared outward, and suddenly—the sky inverted.

Everything was upside down. The battlefield was no longer beneath them—it was above them. The clouds now stretched like roots, and the stars pulsed beneath their feet, warping gravity itself.

Kaelis laughed. "This again?"

He pushed off the air, adjusting instantly, launching himself toward the god-king at speeds that shattered the sound barrier. His blade roared, its destructive light expanding outward, turning the battlefield into a maelstrom of blood and ruin.

Vorh'Zul lifted its arms—and a thousand hands burst forth from its body, each one moving independently, each flickering between form and non-existence, striking from every conceivable angle.

Kaelis didn't stop.

He ripped through them.

His body moved beyond logic, his blade screaming with insatiable hunger, each slash devouring space itself, carving through the horde of hands with ruthless precision.

Then—

Vorh'Zul's chest split open.

A gaping void of celestial light, brimming with swirling galaxies and burning souls, sucked Kaelis in before he could react.

He fought against the pull, his blade stabbing into the air itself, trying to resist the gravitational force, but Vorh'Zul surged forward, its jaws unhinging wider than reality allowed, its mouth stretching past dimensions.

And then—

Kaelis fell in.

Silence.

The battlefield stood still.

Vorh'Zul landed softly, its form shuddering, its breath ragged. Its golden eyes scanned the land.

And then—it turned.

Its gaze fell upon the grove.

The cloud was gone.

And standing in the middle of the carnage was Ripp.

His chest rose and fell heavily, his body covered in blood, his staff barely gripped in his shaking hands.

The humanoid butterflies were dead.

The ritual was broken.

Vorh'Zul's expression twisted into something between fury and disbelief.

"You…" The god-king's voice was a whisper of a dying star, layered and infinite. "You will die… as your companion did."

Ripp's body locked up.

'Crap…I'm in no condition to fight anymore! I'm sorry, Kaelis.'

He couldn't move. He couldn't breathe. His fingers loosened around his staff. He dropped to his knees, his vision blurring, his chest tightening with guilt.

Then—

A rumble.

Vorh'Zul's head snapped toward its own body.

Its golden veins quivered. A slow, unnatural twitch rippled through its torso. Then—another one.

A shudder, a tremor, a flicker of black and red light from within. Vorh'Zul's voice was low. Uncertain.

"…How…?"

Another shudder, Its chest convulsed violently, as if something inside was tearing its way out.

"…How…?" It repeated, louder this time.

Ripp's hands trembled. He didn't understand.

Then—Vorh'Zul screamed.

"HOW IS HE STILL ALIVE?!"

The words were thunder, earthquakes, shattered skies—so loud that Ripp's ears burst open, blood leaking down his neck.

Then—

A sickening, wet slash.

A gurgling, inhuman shriek of agony.

Vorh'Zul's body convulsed, its divine flesh splitting open from within, red and black energy ripping through its insides, carving through organs of celestial design, tearing apart the divine framework of its very existence.

It collapsed forward, hands clutching at its own rupturing chest, but the destruction did not stop.

The agony was infinite.

From within, Kaelis was carving his way out.

The slashes were relentless—each one more brutal than the last, each one digging deeper, each one shattering the divine resistance that kept the god-king whole.

Vorh'Zul screamed.

A scream of pure torment. A god-king dying from the inside out.

Then—

An explosion.

A symphony of blood and ruin.

Red and black magic erupted outward, golden divine energy bursting apart, the battlefield drenched in the remnants of Vorh'Zul's agony.

Smoke swallowed the land, ash and radiance swirling together, the ground cratered beyond recognition.

And in the midst of the devastation—

Ripp slowly rose to his feet, his fingers clenched around his staff. And he stared, then took a step forward. The smoke curled before him, thick, heavy with the scent of blood, ash, and something unnatural—a fusion of divine ruin and monstrous power, clinging to his skin like a curse. The land itself felt… wrong, as if the very fabric of reality was still trembling from what had just happened.

His body ached. His fingers shook.

His heart pounded like a war drum inside his chest.

But he walked.

Slowly.

Each step sent a dull throb through his legs, his wounds reminding him of the hell they had barely survived. The further he stepped, the stronger the metallic tang of blood filled his nose, thick enough to taste, mixing with the faint, sickly sweetness of the land's unnatural flora, now scorched beyond recognition.

He coughed, wiping his mouth. His fingers came back stained with red.

He swallowed.

"He's alive."

The thought strangled him.

"He has to be."

The world felt smaller inside the smoke—tight, suffocating, like walking through the breath of something ancient, something waiting. His mind drifted, thoughts spiraling into places he didn't want them to go.

What if it killed him?

What if that thing finally took over?

His breathing was shallow.

Each inhale dragged the scents of the battlefield deeper into his lungs—burnt ozone from Kenda-heavy attacks, the acrid reek of smoke, the unmistakable stench of death, all wrapped in the faint floral undertone of a land that had never known true peace.

It was sickening, and he kept walking. He stood just outside the final veil of smoke, a single step away from the unknown. He exhaled, his voice quiet, uncertain.

"…Kaelis?"

Nothing.

His heart pounded harder.

"…Kaelis, are you—?"

A flash of superior motion. In the span of a breath, Kaelis was in front of him. Too fast. Too sudden, Ripp's instincts screamed.

Kaelis' fist-blade was aimed straight for his skull. Ripp gasped, his body already moving before his mind could catch up—his staff snapped up in a desperate block, and then—Impact.

A brutal, devastating collision, the force ripped through his bones, the power behind the strike so overwhelming that it felt like his soul was being launched out of his own body.

And then—he was flying.

Ripp's body tore through the trees, shattering their unnatural spiraled trunks, smashing through strange, glowing plants, skimming across jagged terrain before slamming against a stone outcrop, sending debris exploding outward.

"AGHH!"

His entire body seized, his ribs screaming in protest, his arms burning from the impact, his mind struggling to register the pain before the next wave hit.

And yet—

As he hurtled through the air, limbs flailing for control, his mind was already racing.

'I can't fight him head on…that'll be idiotic!'

The thought lodged itself deep, refusing to let go. Kaelis was not the same anymore, that thing inside him had taken over.

The sheer speed, the raw brutality—Ripp couldn't believe what he was witnessing. After meeting so many legends and warriors due to his eagerness, he never came across anyone like Kaelis.

He clenched his jaw, twisting mid-air, his Wind Kenda surging outward, grabbing hold of the currents and forcing his body into control. He angled his feet downward, aiming for a landing—

But it was shaky, unstable.

He stumbled, knees nearly buckling, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts.

And then—

Kaelis was already above him.

Descending like a falling meteor, his blade poised to drive straight through Ripp's skull, his body still shuddering with laughter.

"Shit—" Ripp acted on instinct. His fingers snapped to his belt, pulling something free, a small, black feather.

A crow's feather.

He barely had time to hold it up as Kaelis plummeted downward, his blade mere inches from splitting him in two.

Ripp's hands shook.

His heart slammed against his ribs.

Kaelis' eyes burned with feral hunger—unrecognizing, uncaring.

Ripp's voice wavered.

"…H-Hey, buddy. Please go back to normal!"

The feather quivered between his fingertips.

And for the first time since the fight began—

Kaelis hesitated.