The Seer Chamber — The Gathering of the Masked

  In the dimly lit chamber, the air hummed with restrained energy. Dozens of masked nobles — kings without crowns, queens without thrones, predators in human skin — reclined in their seats, watching the glowing projection of Eryndor’s battle as if it were theatre.

  One of them, his mask carved into the likeness of a snarling beast, let out a low chuckle.

  “So young… and yet so powerful. This new generation,” he mused, voice dripping with something between awe and hunger, “is something else entirely.”

  The man in the pristine white suit, sitting at the highest seat, said nothing. His featureless white mask reflected the shifting light of the Seer. He didn’t need to speak — his very silence was louder than the others’ noise.

  A tall, sharp-voiced noblewoman leaned forward, her jeweled fingers tapping the arm of her chair.

  “There are scarcely any mages alive who can contend with advanced Bravo wielders.”

  Another woman, her voice deep and velvety, replied without hesitation:

  “This one didn’t just contend… he overwhelmed him. That Dragoon wasn’t weak. And yet—”

  “—he dismantled him,” finished a man with a mask shaped like a serpent, his tone edged with amusement. “Cleanly. Efficiently. Like peeling the scales off a fish.”

  A ripple of laughter passed through the chamber, though not all shared the levity.

  One woman, draped in blood-red silks and adorned with golden rings, tilted her head thoughtfully.

  “Such talents are… exceedingly rare. Perhaps I should make him my eighth husband.”

  A snort came from across the chamber.

  “You think you could control someone like that?”

  Her smirk widened beneath the mask.

  “That’s what Vitalis Suppression Collars are for,” she said lightly, as though she were discussing dinnerware instead of subjugating a man like Eryndor.

  ---

  Eryndor rose from the canyon in absolute silence, levitating as though the shattered ground beneath him no longer concerned him.

  He ascended to the surface and landed with perfect poise, boots touching the earth as lightly as falling feathers. He walked forward, his posture elegant, unhurried — a king among ruins.

  Magic pulsed softly across his frame. His torn clothes stitched themselves anew, mending as though time itself bowed to his will. The coat rack descended gracefully beside him, and his coat floated from it, settling perfectly across his shoulders.

  An elixir appeared between his fingers with a faint shimmer. He drank it in a single smooth motion. His wounds closed instantly, leaving no trace of the cataclysm he had endured.

  All around him, the levitating challengers he had raised moments ago descended back to the ground.

  Valerius landed on his feet some distance away, from his opponent.

  A field of power — four hundred kilometers wide — erupted from Eryndor as naturally as breathing.

  He thought of his younger brother:

  I discern no current of mana within you. Have you truly mastered Bravo? Ah, how enviable. I shall bear witness to your battle firsthand.

  With that thought, Eryndor levitated once more.

  His coat flowed behind him like liquid as he soared into the sky, higher and higher, until the whole battlefield sprawled beneath him like a map.

  And then, from over a hundred kilometers away, he saw him.

  Valerius.

  And the woman.

  He watched with perfect clarity.

  ---

  The Lava Zone

  Valerius faced the silver-haired woman across the scorched battlefield, the molten rivers casting them both in an ethereal glow.

  “You said you know what I am,” Valerius demanded, his voice low, his eyes sharp. “Spit it out.”

  The woman smiled — a serene, almost disarming expression. “Well,” she said softly, “that’s rude.”

  She took a slow, measured step toward him.

  “I know who you are,” she said. “You’re an Elvhein… and not just any Elvhein.”

  Before Valerius could speak, she closed the distance, her movements smooth and deliberate. She leaned close, her lips brushing his ear as she whispered something only he could hear.

  Instantly, Valerius’s hand shot up and clamped around her throat.

  His grip was iron.

  “How do you know that?” he growled.

  She didn’t flinch.

  “Careful,” she said sweetly.

  Valerius felt it before he saw it — the tip of her dagger, coated in Bravo, resting against his chest. Directly over his heart.

  “If you behave,” she continued, her tone almost playful, “I’ll tell you.”

  Valerius’s glare didn’t waver.

  The young woman’s eyes softened as she studied him.

  “You’re not like the other rare breeds,” she said.

  Her hand rose to his cheek, fingers tracing along his temple with surprising tenderness.

  “Your eyes… they glow faintly,” she whispered. “Beautiful.”

  And then, with a burst of speed—

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  SLAM!

  She drove him into the ground with enough force to create a crater over a hundred meters wide.

  Valerius’s back hit the stone hard.

  He was surprised by her strength — but even more by the way she moved, settling atop him not like a warrior pinning her prey, but like a lover claiming her place. She straddled him with slow, deliberate grace, her silver hair falling like a curtain around their faces, her weight warm against him.

  It was disarming. Too close. Too intimate for an enemy.

  Her dagger rested lightly on his chest, but her eyes — those luminous silver eyes — captivated Valerius

  For a moment, Valerius felt no hostility from her… and that was what truly unsettled him.

  She pinned both his arms effortlessly, their faces only inches apart.

  Emerald eyes locked with silver.

  “I’ve waited for you, you know,” she said, her voice soft but laced with something deeper.

  Valerius frowned. “Waited for me? Why?”

  Her smile only grew, but she didn’t answer.

  Instead, she said, “Ever since we learned that Elvheins opened the Beniek Ruin… we knew you had come.”

  “We?” Valerius asked sharply. “Who’s we?”

  No answer.

  He tried to break free, but her grip didn’t budge.

  She’s strong, Valerius thought grimly.

  “Sorry,” she said pleasantly, “but I’m going to win this competition. So… you’ll have to forfeit.”

  Valerius’s voice dropped to a growl. “What do you want with me?”

  She leaned closer, her lips near his ear.

  “I want you,” she whispered. “Well… not this you. The you that you will become.”

  Valerius blinked, surprised by the words.

  Yet her tone carried no malice.

  No threat.

  Only certainty.

  He relaxed slightly and even smirked.

  “Are you saying you know my future?”

  She giggled softly. “Maybe.”

  “Why do you want to win this competition?” he asked.

  Her smile sharpened. “Hefestrik’s armor.”

  Valerius’s smirk widened. “Well… sorry to burst your bubble, but I’m taking it.”

  She exhaled a thin plume of smoke against his face, making his nose wrinkle. “You can try. But why do you even want it? It was made for a woman. You can’t use it.”

  Valerius’s expression darkened. “What? How do you know that?”

  Her silver eyes sparkled with mischief. “I know a lot of things.”

  She inhaled deeply, tilting her head slightly. “You met the giants, didn’t you? I can smell them all over you.”

  Then, with a graceful leap, she rose from atop him, landing a short distance away. The dagger that had been poised above his heart slid through the air as if alive, snapping neatly into her waiting hand.

  “This is a competition,” she said lightly, her voice taking on a playful edge. “Let’s give them a show.”

  She twirled the dagger and pointed it at him.

  “Or… won’t you fight me because I’m a woman?”

  Valerius laughed softly as he stood, brushing dust from his clothes.

  “My mom always told me,” he said, his voice carrying the faintest hint of fondness, “‘Don’t look down on women. There are those out there who can beat you into embarrassment.’”

  He flexed his hands, rolling his shoulders.

  “I didn’t understand at first. Our family was the most powerful. No one could hurt us — let alone a woman.”

  His eyes burned with focus as he slid into a martial stance.

  “But now… I understand.”

  He grinned faintly.

  “She was talking about Yilheim.”

  The woman’s smile deepened.

  “So no,” Valerius finished, voice steady and sharp. “I was brought up to believe in equality.”

  ---

  The ground trembled violently, jagged fissures spiderwebbing outward as rocks and debris lifted into the air, caught in the invisible clash of forces between them. Dust swirled in slow, unnatural patterns as though bowing to the pressure of their combined presence.

  Valerius’ green eyes locked on hers, unwavering. Oddly, even though he had only just met this woman, a strange sense of calmness washed over him—like her presence, however dangerous, wasn’t hostile.

  She slid her daggers back to her hips with deliberate grace, the faint metallic click echoing in the stillness.

  Valerius tilted his head slightly. “Putting your weapons away. Not a good idea.”

  She smirked, eyes glowing with amusement. “I’m giving you a handicap.”

  Valerius arched an eyebrow. “Giving me a handicap? Me?”

  She took a slow step forward, her red aura shimmering faintly. “You haven’t drawn your sword either. Are you looking down on me?”

  The ground beneath them split wider, groaning as their energies—untouchable, unseen to most—clashed.

  Valerius’ expression softened, his voice almost casual. “I was told to only draw my sword with the intent to kill.”

  Her smirk deepened. “Aww. I’m touched. You like me already.”

  Valerius shook his head lightly. “No. I just need answers from you.”

  To untrained eyes, the battlefield seemed calm, almost eerily still. But to Bravo users, reality had shifted—vivid hues of power bled into the air. The woman’s Bravo flared bright crimson, pulsing with restrained violence. Around Valerius, a deep, tempered green radiance shimmered like a living storm, licking across his skin.

  “Oh,” she said, her gaze traveling up to his hair. “So that’s why part of your hair is green.”

  They braced themselves. Valerius’ arms turned green, the sound of shifting metal reverberating as his flesh hardened with Bravo-enhanced resilience. Fortis. Her arms turned a deep, molten red, sparking faintly with metallic echoes.

  Far away, in the shadowed viewing chamber, the man in white leaned forward for the first time, his hands steepled. His faceless mask betrayed nothing, but his intent gaze sharpened.

  And then—

  They vanished.

  The air detonated as their fists collided.

  BOOOOOM.

  A crater nearly a kilometer wide erupted instantly, the surrounding terrain obliterated by the raw force of their first exchange.

  Then the storm began.

  They moved faster than sight, delivering blows at blinding speed. One punch, then another. Ten. A hundred. A thousand. Their strikes blurred into a living wall of destruction. Both delivering nearly a million punches per second.

  The ground beneath them gave way entirely.

  10 kilometers.

  20.

  50.

  100.

  > “WAAAAAAIT—WHA—WHAT?! WHAT?! WHAT AM I WATCHING?!”

  > “I NEED WATER. I NEED A SEER. I NEED—SOMEONE HOLD ME. BECAUSE WHAT IS THIS?!”

  The crater expanded with every hit, the earth disintegrating beneath the apocalyptic pressure of their combat.

  Each blow perfectly countered the other—fist to fist, strike for strike. Neither faltered. Neither missed.

  The shockwaves alone annihilated anything in their path, churning the air into a roaring hurricane. The friction between their limbs set the very atmosphere ablaze. Firestorms blossomed around them, yet neither so much as flinched.

  > “Firestorms? Floating debris? Explosions? Ugh, THIS is my aesthetic. Destruction and romance—two of my favorite things!”

  Far above, Eryndor—still levitating in the distant sky—was hurled back by a shockwave, his elegant composure momentarily disrupted as he was violently pushed through the air.

  Yet down below, Valerius and the woman smiled.

  They were enjoying it.

  Valerius felt the thrill of it—the dance of life and death, the purity of battle against someone who could meet his strength.

  The woman twisted mid-strike, spinning with predator-like grace before snapping a brutal kick to Valerius’ head.

  CRACK.

  Blood sprayed from his lip as he was hurled backward, tumbling through the scarred landscape for nearly a thousand kilometers, carving trenches in his wake.

  > “Oh-ho-ho! A kick to the head! That’s a lady after my own heart. BRAVO, BRAVO! And I don’t mean the energy type!”

  He came to a grinding halt, boots digging into the earth—

  Then vanished.

  In less than a heartbeat, he reappeared beside her, moving at blinding speed.

  WHAM.

  His fist buried itself in her gut, the impact launching her skyward. She vanished into the clouds, her body twisting as she regained control midair.

  Valerius crouched low, five fingers digging into the ground for stability—

  Then launched.

  BOOOOM.

  The earth shattered as he rocketed upward, tearing through the sky.

  He spun midair, twisting his body to deliver a flying kick—

  But the woman kicked off the air itself with a crackling burst of Bravo. Thunder Stride.

  She dodged effortlessly, reappearing behind him.

  They fought in the open sky, each strike parting the clouds as their blows echoed like rolling thunder.

  > “NOPE. NOPE. I QUIT. THE GROUND WASN’T ENOUGH, NOW THEY’RE RIPPING APART THE SKY LIKE IT OWES THEM MONEY!”

  She caught his leg mid-swing, spinning with vicious precision before hurling him away like a ragdoll.

  Valerius skidded in midair, stopping himself with a technique known as Cushion, the Bravo hardening the around his back, giving it a soft spring-like texture.

  Then he pushed off, propelling himself toward her like a living missile.

  At the last moment, he twisted, bringing his other leg around in a spinning kick—

  CRACK.

  It connected with the side of her head, snapping her neck slightly to the side as blood flew from her mouth.

  > “THANK THE HEAVENS WE HAVE A VERSATILE CAMERA MAN!” Balling screeched, his voice cracking with excitement. “DO YOU SEE THAT GUY? LETTER C OVER THERE? HE’S JUST ZIPPING AROUND LIKE THIS IS A WALK IN THE PARK! UNREAL! WHAT POWER DOES HE EVEN HAVE?! SOMEONE FIND OUT—I NEED TO KNOW!”

  Nearby, moving at his own impossible speed, a masked man floated silently in the air. His deep-blue mask bore a glowing letter C at its center.

  He held a camera over his shoulder. Six others shifted seamlessly around the battlefield, capturing the fight from every conceivable angle.

  The man was untouched by the cataclysmic shockwaves, his calm presence unnervingly out of place amidst the chaos. The sky felt like his domain.

  His gloved fingers flicked, and the cameras obeyed, shifting angles with mechanical precision as if the entire scene were his private stage.

  ---

  To Be Continued...