James stepped forward, meeting Taren's unblinking gaze. Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy—until Taren spoke again, voice low and sharp.
"You hide behind power because you're afraid of what's inside. Anger, yes. But also fear. Fear that you're nothing without your gifts."
James's jaw clenched, fists tightening around the nunchaku. "Maybe I am nothing."
Taren tilted his head, eyes still closed. "You think strength can fix what's broken? You think your flashy tricks will silence the doubts?"
"Shut up," James snapped, voice raw. "You don't know what it's like."
"Oh, but I do," Taren said, voice calm but ruthless. "I've seen what happens when someone's whole world is built on expectations—on carrying a weight they never asked for. You're drowning in your own pride and pain."
James's breath hitched. "You don't know pain."
"Try me," Taren challenged.
That was the spark. The dam broke.
James lashed out—not just with the nunchaku, but with raw fury. His body blurred, moving faster than the eye could track. Suddenly, multiple afterimages flickered around him—phantoms of motion that confused the senses and tangled the mind.
Taren, expression calm, tilted his head slightly as if listening to the storm.
"Clones?" Taren mused aloud.
James shook his head sharply. "Afterimages. Temporal Echo. You can't hit what's not really there."
Taren's lips curled into a thin smile, impressed despite himself. "Clever. But it's not the trick that matters. It's why you fight."
James's gaze darkened, voice dropping low. "They mocked me. Laughed at me for being weak. For having nothing. And I swore I'd never be powerless again."
A long silence hung, broken only by the wind through the branches.
Taren's voice softened. "I lost my sight carrying a burden that wasn't mine to bear. Born into a family that demanded perfection, I pushed too hard, too fast. The price? These," he said, touching his closed eyelids. "I see more now than I ever did with my eyes. But that cost… it's a daily fight."
James breathed slower now. The rage hadn't vanished—but it had evolved.
"You're not alone in carrying ghosts," Taren said quietly. "But ghosts don't define us. What we do with their weight—that's what makes us strong."
James exhaled slowly, the fire inside tempered—not gone, but focused.
Taren stepped closer. "Now, show me you can fight not just with rage, but with purpose."
But then his expression soured.
"You know," Taren said, voice colder now, "people like you—you're the problem too."
James frowned. "The hell does that mean?"
"You crash through things. Burn through problems. You let the world shape you into a weapon and think that's noble," Taren snapped. "You're not the only one who's been scarred by power, James. But unlike you, I didn't turn into a storm trying to drown everything around me."
James's shoulders tensed. "You wanted honesty—now you get it. You talk like you're better, like your calm makes you righteous. But it's just another wall."
"And yours is fire," Taren growled. "Uncontrolled, entitled, reckless fire. People like you make enemies like Zephyrus necessary."
That name hit hard.
James's eyes narrowed. "So this is about Zephyrus?"
Taren nodded once. "Partially. You think I'd waste my time otherwise? He's not the only threat. The Nightfall Order is moving across multiple realms. They're manipulating Nexus Convergence Zones, warping the balance. And if someone like you doesn't start thinking beyond himself, they'll win before you even realize it."
James's knuckles cracked.
"And you think lecturing me's gonna stop them?"
"No," Taren said, his voice ice. "But beating the arrogance out of you might."
Without another word, Taren moved.
The air shimmered. A pulse of deep, resonant energy rippled from him—and in a flash, five towering phantom knights rose from the earth like obsidian statues, clad in dark ether-plate, eyes glowing violet beneath horned helms. Each one carried a weapon from a different age—halberds, greatswords, chain-whips.
And Taren stood at their center, a curved aether-spear materializing into his hand in a swirl of shadowed light.
James backed up, jaw clenched. "What the hell—?"
"You're not the only one with gifts," Taren said coolly. "I almost thought we had the same abilities. Not exactly… but close. When I felt other signatures in your previous fights, the echoes—some of them resembled mine."
He twirled the spear once, then pointed it directly at James.
"But the difference is, I own mine. You depend on yours."
James surged forward, shadows flickering around him as he invoked Temporal Echo, afterimages peeling from his body like ghostly blades as he blurred between them.
The phantom knights reacted instantly—two sweeping wide arcs with their blades, one slamming down with a maul where James had been a heartbeat before.
James reappeared behind Taren, swinging with ferocity—but Taren turned without panic, catching the blow on the haft of his spear with precision.
"You're faster than I expected," Taren said evenly, pushing James back.
James grinned tightly. "And you talk more than I expected."
In response, Taren clicked his fingers.
The knights surged forward like shadows at war.
James darted sideways, his afterimages scattering across the glade like echoes of thought—blurring, fading, reappearing with unnatural sharpness. One knight brought down a massive cleaver where James had just stood, crushing the crystalline ground in a flash of light. But it was a decoy.
The real James slipped through the chaos, hands glowing faintly as he invoked Ethereal Strike—his body half-phasing, slipping between the slashes of the summoned warriors like smoke.
He appeared behind one of them, solidifying just long enough to drive a strike into its neck with the nunchaku—crack.
It staggered.
Not destroyed. Just stunned.
Taren didn't move. He watched—cold, calculating.
"Spectral constructs," James muttered under his breath. "They're not just summoned… they're bound."
Taren raised a hand, and in a smooth motion, snapped his fingers again.
From thin air, a swirling ring of voidsteel weapons appeared behind him—floating blades of all kinds, rotating in a tight, controlled orbit like satellites around a star. Longswords, daggers, glaives, even ancient relics half-covered in runes James didn't recognize.
One moved.
With a ping, a spear fired from the ring like a missile.
James ducked—barely.
It slammed into a tree behind him and detonated in a pulse of kinetic force.
"What the hell is that?" James barked, winded.
Taren's voice came like stone through fog. "Crescent Arsenal. Manifested from the resonance of those I've defeated. Aetherius remembers... I just ask."
The summoned weapons responded to his intent. Another sword twisted in midair and rocketed toward James. He spun and used Spectral Bind, calling forth ghostly chains that lashed out and intercepted the blade in midflight.
But the moment his energy focused—one of the phantom knights closed in.
WHAM.
A massive shoulder slammed James into the dirt, shattering his defense.
Taren walked forward, calm. "This is why I don't trust your kind."
James groaned, coughing, trying to stand. "My kind?"
"Fighters who think power is glory. That overwhelming strength makes you righteous." Taren's tone sharpened, like a blade unsheathed. "That's what gave rise to monsters like Zephyrus."
James's head snapped up. "You don't know a damn thing about him."
"I've seen the damage he left behind," Taren said flatly. "Heard the echoes of what he's done. The lives he erased."
"He's sealed," James growled. "Right now—barely. And I'm not here to stop him from breaking out... I'm here to stop him after he does."
Taren's posture didn't shift, but the air around him seemed to still—just for a moment. A pause. Heavy. Calculated.
"You think you'll win?"
"I don't have a choice."
That was the last straw.
James roared—raw energy spiraling around him. Shadow Tempest ignited. Darkness and blinding light exploded outward in a devastating vortex, his eyes burning with dual radiance. He spun, unleashing a wide, sweeping strike that collided with one of the phantom knights.
He spun mid-air, brought the nunchaku down with brutal finality—
—and struck through one of the knights.
BOOM.
The construct shattered—disintegrating into burning fragments of spectral dust, gone in a blink.
Taren stepped back, gauntlet plates of black aether forming over his left arm in a flicker.
> He actually destroyed one, Taren thought. Mid-tier class… collapsed under direct impact. At this rate…
His brow twitched faintly.
> If I used my high-ranked knights, would he still keep up?
But he said none of it aloud.
Instead, James charged again, shifting stances, afterimages spiraling around him like mirrored ghosts—Temporal Echo folding reality behind his every step.
He reappeared mid-strike—CLANG—the nunchaku slammed into the haft of Taren's spear. Again—CLANG—sparks spat between them.
For the first time, Taren grunted under pressure.
"You're pushing harder than I expected," he muttered.
James spat blood onto the ground. "You expected less?"
"I expected failure."
Taren lifted his hand. The Crescent Arsenal responded.
All at once, the floating weapons detonated outward—dozens of blades launching like guided meteors. James twisted, invoking Veil of Aether—a translucent barrier erupting around him in time to block the first wave.
But the storm didn't stop.
The barrier cracked under pressure. James was flung back, crashing through a crystalline tree that exploded into glimmering shards.
Silence returned—broken only by his ragged breathing.
Taren approached slowly. This time, his voice wasn't cold. It was quiet. Measured.
"You asked what happened to my eyes?"
James looked up, dazed, sweat and blood painting his face.
"I lost them during the siege at the Southern Gate of Aetherius. I was meant to hold the line. I didn't. I was reckless. Like you. My squad… paid for it."
James groaned, trying to stand. "So all this… it's guilt?"
"No." Taren's grip tightened around his spear. "It's clarity."
He pointed the tip toward James.
"I see more now than I ever did with eyes. And I won't let another fool walk into the fire thinking he's immortal."