Moments slipped by, heavy and tense as the two combatants in the chamber edged closer to collapsing.
Each swing of their weapons seemed to sap what little strength remained in their bodies. Every strike carried the weight of desperation, and every attempted block or parry barely dulled the impact—it was as though the pain had become the currency of survival, trading blow for blow.
Narvel was spent and bleeding, he could no longer rely on his [True Double] attribute. His body screamed in protest, and even Ebonveil felt like it weighed a thousand tons. Yet still, he pressed on. There was no other choice.
To stop was to die.
Gritting his teeth, he drove the butt of Ebonveil into the statue's chest. The force of it cracked through the brittle shell of its torso and a massive chunk of stone tore free, crashing to the ground. But the victory was hollow—they were both on their knees seconds later, drained and breathless.
Narvel's lungs struggled for air. Clutching his side, he raised a trembling fist and struck his chest hard. The impact sent blood rushing from his mouth, splattering across the cold ground, but it opened his airways just enough for him to breathe.
As the world spun around him, he tilted his head and looked toward the statue. Somehow, a smile had escaped his face without him realizing it. "I don't think I've ever felt this much pain in my life," he said between ragged breaths. "And yet… I don't think I've ever enjoyed a fight this much either. Not that I have much of a history to draw from. Still, this… this one will stay with me."
His body was broken—bones cracked, veins burned and twisted by his reckless fighting, but he spoke as if he'd already won.
"You… spe..ak. As. Though. You have… Won." The statue's voice rasped out slowly, gravel caught in the wind, its tone was coarse and raw from disuse. It sounded barely capable of speaking.
A new glow began to intensify around the statue's body, the red hue pulsing brighter with each second. Even its presence thickened the air.
"You forget… your body… is being corrupted by my darkness. Do you think you will be able to fix it… in mere moments?"
The statue took a step, then another, they were unsteady at first—but it was rising.
"I must thank you… This battle has pushed me further than I thought possible." Its words gained clarity, strength bleeding into every syllable, just as the crimson aura around it swelled, pressing heavily on the chamber like a storm just before it broke.
…
From the throne at the end of the room, the ancient statue that had watched all this unfold smiled faintly.
"He is breaking through," it murmured, barely louder than a whisper. "After being sealed in stagnation for years... Young fellow, if you don't survive this, I will grant you mercy. You will not vanish into the void. You will become one of us, a Specter. Honored… and bound to me."
Narvel's skin prickled with cold sweat. The implication of his defeat rang clear in his mind.
'It's breaking through? Then that means... it's ascending into a true Rare Specter,' he realized and a spike of dread tightened in his chest.
Then the statue finally stood at full height. Its form was no longer staggering, it was sure and unshakable. Its voice, once broken, now carried the weight of conviction.
"You said your name is Narvel?" it asked. "Forgive me for my late introduction. I am Amadeel, fifth disciple of Lord Malakai, and heir to the Emperor's Fist discipline."
The aura it exuded wrapped around Narvel like a crushing tide. It was a strong force, one that made blood run down from Narvel's lips again as his ribs tightened beneath the pressure.
"I don't believe I've encountered anyone with your instinct for combat," Amadeel said. "What you lack in experience, you make up for with terrifying adaptability. I watched you adjust, improvise, and grow mid-battle. It's a rarity with rarities. Killing you now would be a loss to the world… but I have my master's dignity to uphold, and that is a loss I cannot afford."
The chamber fell into silence again. Then, against the crushing force pressing down on him, Narvel began to move.
His legs were trembling, his spine was bent, as he pulled himself to a standing position. Slowly and painfully. But with purpose.
He gave a breathless chuckle, one almost drowned by fatigue. "I was forced to come to this place, you know. Dragged into all this madness by a damn librarian…" His voice grew quiet for a moment. "I don't even care about the bastard… but I swore that I would shove his smug face into the dirt one day."
He tilted slightly, his frame swaying like a reed in wind under the pressure, shaken but rooted. More than his wounds, it was the weight of his memories that dragged on him.
"But more than that," he whispered, "I've got a wife I'm trying to get back to." He paused, a silence laced with dejection slipping between the broken stones and flickering glows of the chamber.
"And now that I think of it… you're the first person I've told about her. Strange, isn't it? Kinda tragic." A hollow smile formed at the corner of his mouth. "She's the only one I've ever really cared for. I have never had a friend. Never thought I needed one."
His eyes lifted toward the warrior statue before him. "And yet here I am, standing across from someone I might consider one... even while we try to kill each other." He breathed in shallowly, then said with quiet gravity, "The irony's cruel. But maybe that's just how things are."
"I too have never called anyone a friend, mainly because I thought they were just trying to get closer to me because of who my master is. But you… I agree with the sentiment, friend." Amadeel uttered.
As though he'd been waiting for those exact words, Narvel smiled, faintly. "How about we end this with the next joust?"
Amadeel gave a slow nod. "I will make it fast and painless."
'It's do or die now. I hope this works,' Narvel thought, the weight of everything pressing down on him as he prepared to risk it all.
Without hesitation, he activated his [True Double] attribute. But instead of reinforcing himself, he aimed it elsewhere—toward the darkness buried deep within Ebonveil.
Almost immediately, he hit a wall. Not a physical one, but a barrier nonetheless—unseen and impossible to break with force alone. The moment he tried to push his energy into it, his body began to rebel. Blood streamed from his ears, eyes, and nose, flowing freely as if every part of him was being unraveled.
Still, he kept going.
With a furious cry, he gripped Ebonveil tightly in both hands and slammed the blunt edge of the scythe into his forehead.
The crowd around shifted uneasily, whispering. To them, it looked as though Narvel had finally snapped under the immense pressure of Amadeel's presence.
But something was happening.
The first strike made the barrier shudder. He could feel it. The second blow cracked it—just barely. And on the third, something deep within him broke loose. The barrier gave way, not completely, but enough for a sliver of his power to pass through and reach Ebonveil.
The scythe answered.
A wave of dark energy surged back through the channel into Narvel's body. In an instant, his form was wrapped in thick, writhing shadows. The darkness clung to him like smoke caught in a storm, spreading rapidly across the cracked tiles beneath his feet and frosting the air around him.
…
From the throne overlooking the arena, the ancient statue shifted, observing with a faint, approving smile. "Hmm. He's forced a partial fusion with his weapon. Dangerous and reckless. But considering the state he's in... I approve."
…
"You've done something insane again, haven't you?" Amadeel's voice cut through, tired but not surprised.
"All I did was force my weapon to grow stronger... then take a bit of that strength for myself," Narvel answered flatly.
The spectators murmured again, some laughing softly, almost disbelieving. Narvel blinked, confused at their reaction.
"You have only just become a Nova, haven't you?" Amadeel said, amused. "You don't even realize what kind of person you are. What you've done... it's something most wouldn't even dare. You've achieved a forced fusion with your weapon. You're stronger now, yes—but when this ends, if you survive, you may be crippled beyond repair."
Narvel didn't flinch. Instead, he smiled faintly, worn at the edges. "Then it'll be worth it... won't it, Amadeel?"
He meant it. Every word. Somewhere inside, he could feel a quieter version of himself the rational and composed side, pleading for him to stop and think. But that voice was distant now. He ignored it.
At this moment, he felt free. Strangely alive.
Even Joseline didn't feel as important as this battle to him at the moment. This battle had become something else entirely.
He lifted Ebonveil high, then brought it down with force. The butt of the weapon slammed against the ground, sending a burst of dark energy surging outward. The impact created a shockwave that twisted the air and shook the earth.
Amadeel instinctively crossed his arms in front of him, reinforcing himself with the red hue of its body. The other statues watching did the same, erecting barriers between them and the creeping darkness.
Narvel's voice rang clear through the tension. "Shall we?"
"You're a friend now," Amadeel said, a smirk in his voice. "You don't need permission to try and take my life."
They both smiled—softly, tired, but ready. Then, they vanished, leaving only their afterimages behind, flickering in the dying light.
Boom!
A colossal crash echoed as their attacks collided mid-air, and the resulting blast tore through the space around them. Stones cracked and dust swirled like a rising storm. Even the ceiling groaned beneath the weight of their power.
From his perch, the statue on the throne spoke again, more to himself than anyone else. "This child… he's the very definition of abnormal. What Gene Class could produce this? Or perhaps... it's just him. Raw talent and great potential. An Awakened Nova battling a Rare-Class Specter. Even Eclipse-level Novas would hesitate to face such odds."
The atmosphere changed.
"This is it. Their final clash." As his words faded, a vast curtain of darkness unfurled through the battlefield, swallowing Amadeel whole. The Specter fought back immediately, his fists tearing at the veil with furious speed.
But just before he could fully break through… a blade—cold and absolute—pierced through his head on a clean diagonal line.
And the area fell silent.