Stormy Outcome

Riven watched as the two figures clashed once more, a shockwave rippling outward in all directions. It wasn't as powerful as their initial collision, but the sheer force still sent the nearby rubble skittering across the ground like frightened insects.

He didn't have long to dwell on it. A deep, guttural roar snapped him back to reality, followed by a sharp tug on his embedded weapon. The Fanglion had righted itself. With a heavy shake of its massive head. Then it paused, muscles coiling, and tilted its head back to glare at him.

Its eyes were molten green spirals, glowing with a fury that made Riven's skin crawl. The beast's breath came in heavy bursts, carrying the scent of singed fur and cracked stone. It assessed the damage, a low growl rumbling from its throat, promising retaliation.

Damn it. What now? If he let go of the weapon, all the mana he'd pumped into it would be wasted.

But the decision was made for him.

A sudden gust of wind howled past his ears, carrying with it the shriek of an incoming attack. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up an instant before he sensed the spiraling mass of air barreling toward him from behind. Instinct kicked in—he released the weapon and blinked, vanishing in a flash of amber light and reappearing atop the beast's back.

His boots hit the creature's fur-covered spine with a thud. He crouched low, steadying himself, and twisted around just in time to see the aftermath—deep grooves carved into the stone where he'd just stood, the ground torn up like paper.

Below, the Fanglion snarled and thrashed, its claws scraping against the earth in frustration.

Not good. The other beast wasn't out of mana yet.

Riven reached for his makeshift spear, still embedded in the beast's side. The moment his left hand gripped the shaft, he felt the mana surge again. The weapon had started to deform, mana bleeding from it in unstable flickers—but now, with his touch, the energy stabilized. The glow returned, stronger, steadier.

Still, the weapon remained stuck fast in the beast's hide, refusing to budge

The Fanglion did not seem thrilled about Riven riding on its back. Its body pulsed with green energy, the familiar glow of its charging attack flaring brighter with each second. Riven had seen this before—but the damn weapon was still stuck.

Out of sheer desperation, he jumped off, clutching the embedded spear with both hands, hoping that his weight and momentum would pry it free.

As he landed, the beast howled—an unearthly sound of pain and rage that shook the air itself. The buildup of its attack faltered, momentarily interrupted.

Riven hit the ground hard, rolled forward in a blur of limbs and grit—and to his shock, the spear came loose, sliding free with a wet, tearing sound. A warm spray hit his back—blood from the wound he'd left behind.

Gripping the weapon tight, panic gripping his gut, he blinked three times in quick succession. The world jerked around him as he teleported several meters back, putting distance between himself and the monsters.

He came to a stop, breath heavy and stance wide, facing them both down.

Damn it. He could feel the strain now. A quick check on his mana confirmed the worst—his pink core had dropped to barely thirty percent. Too much wasted.

Frantically, he glanced around for Roman. There—locked in combat with the noble. One wielded a massive sword, swinging in vicious arcs; the other deflected each blow with a swirling, condensed ball of wind spinning in his palm.

Neither seemed to hold the upper hand, though both were bloodied and bruised. Roman, especially—his body slick with blood, riddled with countless cuts. Riven winced. With every deflection, Roman took more damage, the slicing winds biting into his flesh.

The noble, in contrast, was only lightly injured. A gash marred his chest, but otherwise, he looked composed. Dangerous.

Riven's gaze snapped back to the two beasts. They were preparing to pounce—shoulders tensed, eyes locked onto him. His throat was dry. Sweat trickled down the sides of his face, clinging to his skin like cold fingers.

No time to think.

He pushed Roman and the noble from his thoughts, channeling every shred of focus into the fight ahead. He assessed the situation like a tactician under fire.

The eagle beast is almost out of mana. The Fanglion's hurt but still dangerous. There's no easy way out of this, Han.

Adrenaline flooded his system, dulling the ache in his limbs and sharpening his instincts. He tightened his grip on the spear—and charged.

The eagle remained still, energy coiling at its beak in green, swirling threads. The Fanglion roared to life, its fangs gleaming like emerald blades as it launched forward, ready to intercept.

Riven wasn't reckless—he was desperate, not stupid.

His true target was the eagle.

Just as the Fanglion's glowing fangs closed in, a breath away from his face, Riven blinked—once, then again. He passed through the beast's hulking body in two blinks, reappearing beside the crippled eagle.

Risky? Definitely. But the Fanglion wasn't bright enough to counter his teleportation with its own mana flow.

Riven spun on the spot, driving the spear forward. The eagle twisted, trying to retreat—but its mangled wings couldn't lift it, nor could it summon any powerful gust.

The spear struck true, slamming into the beast's side just beneath the wing bone. It screeched, the sound shrill enough to rattle Riven's skull.

But he knew it wasn't over. That strike alone wouldn't finish it.

No—he was waiting. Watching. Holding back the final blow until the perfect moment presented itself.

Until it was time to do something completely, utterly stupid.

He remembered Roman's warning—how most materials would've exploded under the strain of the amber mana he was channeling.

If I add pink mana to the mix…

Riven swallowed hard. Something tells me I'll finally see what Roman meant.

He didn't have a better plan. Caught between a ravenous beast and an even worse one, Riven gritted his teeth and clenched the spear tighter than he'd ever gripped anything in his life.

But do I even have enough mana left for this?

His core felt like a half-drained bottle rattling with the dregs, and the hollow ache deep inside his chest was growing sharper. Then he heard it—the erratic, heavy footsteps of the Fanglion pounding toward him. A rhythmic thump and drag, claws scraping across broken stone.

The eagle beast didn't so much as twitch. Too battered, too broken. It glared with one flickering eye, content to let its larger ally finish the job.

Perfect, Riven thought grimly. That was exactly what he needed.

He waited until the Fanglion was nearly upon him—close enough to smell the coppery breath curling off its fangs—and then let go. He poured every drop of amber and pink mana he had left into the weapon. Unconsciously, he even willed the three soul fragments orbiting his amber core to surge forth, their energy tearing free like shards from a cracked dam.

The power flooded his body like a hurricane in his bloodstream—wild, volatile, barely contained. He managed to hold back a sliver, just enough for one last Blink.

For a second, nothing happened.

Then the pipe spear in his hand flared—first a brilliant amber, then shifting into something else entirely.

The light changed. Not just a glow, not just brightness. The world was washed in the hue of a thousand sunsets—vivid orange bleeding into rich crimson, a radiant warmth that seemed to hold time still. Shadows stretched and bent around them as if reality itself were uncertain.

All three—Riven, the eagle, the Fanglion—were bathed in the brilliance.

The air thickened with heat. A pressure built behind Riven's ears, like the sky had been sucked into the weapon.

As the light reached a blinding peak, his instincts screamed. He squeezed his eyes shut and Blinked—aiming for the farthest corner of the ruined chamber.

He vanished just as the explosion tore through the space behind him.

A roaring inferno chased at his heels, licking at his back mid-teleport. Heat scorched his skin. For a moment, he could smell burning—metal, dust, flesh. Then he was gone.

Riven reappeared beside the far wall, breath shallow, legs trembling.

Silence.

He heard nothing. Not the beasts. Not the blast. Not even his own heartbeat. Just… nothing.

His mana was gone. Every last trace drained.

As his vision blurred—half light, half darkness—he collapsed to his knees. The world tilted.

The last thing he saw before the void took him was the noble, dashing toward him through the smoke.