the sprit of death

His massive greatsword, half-buried in the ground, became his anchor as he planted his hand against it, veins bulging against his skin as he pulled himself up. His muscles, corded with unnatural strength, tensed like coiled steel.

Then—

BOOM!

His Peak Ascended Rhu Core ignited.

A violent red aura erupted from his body, distorting the air around him. The sheer force of his will sent a powerful shockwave outward, scattering dust and debris in all directions.

The ground cracked beneath him.

The bandits still standing were forced to shield their faces, the oppressive pressure pressing down on them like an invisible hand, nearly knocking them off their feet.

Zed's copy, still catching his breath, narrowed his eyes.

"You've got to be kidding me," he whispered.

Even after all that, this monster was still standing.

And now, he was stronger than ever.

Zed, watching from the chariot, felt a rare moment of unease.

This isn't just a surge of power. This is something else.

Roadie no longer looked like a man. His expression twisted into something feral, his crimson eyes burning with unfiltered rage. His aura, thick and suffocating, crackled with raw energy, making the very air tremble.

He wasn't just angry.

He was ready to kill.

And for the first time, Zed's copy felt something creeping up his spine.

A feeling he hadn't experienced in a long time.

fear .

Before Zed's copy could react—

BOOM!

Roadie appeared in front of him in a blur of motion, his fist smashing into his stomach like a sledgehammer. The force sent him rocketing into the air, his body twisting as the air was violently ripped from his lungs.

Then—another impact.

Roadie teleported above him, his eyes glowing with bloodlust. He brought his fist down like a meteor.

CRASH!

Zed's copy plummeted back to the ground, the earth splitting apart beneath him upon impact. A crater formed where he landed, a thick cloud of dust rising into the air.

His body—barely conscious, barely moving.

But Roadie wasn't done.

In a flash, he was standing over him, his silhouette looming like death itself. His fist came down—

THUD!

Again—

THUD!

And again—

THUD!

Each blow sent shockwaves through the ground, the sheer brutality of it enough to make the bandits and nobles watching recoil in horror.

The masked figure—once swift, untouchable—was now nothing more than a broken, bloodied mess beneath Roadie's fists.

Then—CRACK.

His mask shattered.

Half of it broke away, revealing the bruised and bloodied face underneath. Yet, Roadie didn't even pause to look. He kept punching.

Zed's voice, sharp with desperation, echoed in his mind.

"Copy One! That's enough! You can't take this anymore!"

But before the link could continue, another presence intervened.

A voice—cold, calculative, emotionless.

For the first time, Copy Two spoke.

"Wait. We might be getting to the good part right now."

Zed tensed. "What do you mean, 'good part'? Can't you see he's getting beaten to death? I can't even watch this!"

Copy Two, unaffected, replied in the same emotionless tone.

"Yes, but hold it there. I want to honor Copy One's wish."

Zed looked back at Copy One.

His copy—his other self—was being pummeled into the dirt. Blood splattered with each blow. His body convulsed, yet still, he tried to move, weakly raising his arm in an attempt to block.

A pitiful defense.

Roadie laughed.

"Look at you. Struggling just to raise your hand!" His laughter echoed across the battlefield, cruel and mocking. "What happened to that speed? That precision? That arrogance?"

His fist came down once more—

But then—

A shift.

Deep inside Copy One's mind, something stirred.

A voice—one he had never heard before.

It spoke.

"Just give up."

Copy One's consciousness wavered.

The voice continued, dark and insidious.

"You know you can't win."

Copy One gritted his teeth, struggling to even respond.

"No… I won't…"

The voice chuckled.

"Even if you struggle, do you think you can defeat him? Look at him—look at yourself. He is a Peak Ascendant Stage Rhu user. And you? A mere Peak Awakener. The gap is insurmountable. Just give up."

Copy One's fingers twitched.

His battered body ached.

His vision blurred.

But his resolve—

It burned.

"Give up?" His voice was hoarse, but firm. "I'd rather die than give up. Do you hear me?"

The voice remained silent.

Copy One clenched his fists.

"If I give up now… then what was the point of all my struggles? The nights I spent training alone. The days of blood and sweat I poured into this moment. The pain—the anger—everything will be wasted!"

His breathing grew ragged.

His fingers dug into the dirt.

"I don't know what you are… or why you're in my head… but listen carefully—"

His eyes, half-lidded, snapped open.

"The past I suffered through… the revenge I promised myself… none of it was for nothing."

His body twitched.

His blood boiled.

"So get the f*ck out of my brain."

Tension gripped the battlefield like an iron vice.

Roadie stood over the broken body of Zed's copy, his fists stained with blood, his breathing slow and steady. The bandits and nobles watched, their expressions frozen between awe and horror.

And then—

"Hah! Look at him!" A noble burst out laughing, his voice echoing through the crowd. "Big talk in the beginning, and now? He's dead! Just another fool who thought he could challenge true power!"

No one else spoke.

Not the other nobles. Not the bandits. Not even Roadie.

They all knew.

From the very start, this match had been one-sided. A fight that should have never been allowed to happen.

And yet, they had stayed silent.

Not out of arrogance.

Not out of amusement.

But because, deep down, they had respected the boy's bravery.

Then—

SHING!

A thin, glowing blue line sliced through the air.

A flash.

A wet, sickening sound followed.

The noble's laughter stopped. His eyes widened.

A second later—his head slipped from his shoulders.

It hit the ground with a dull thud, rolling a few feet before coming to a stop near the feet of another noble. The severed head lay there, its lifeless eyes frozen in shock, while the body remained standing—twitching, as if trying to grasp the impossible. 

A shudder passed through the crowd. The noble closest to the fallen head opened his mouth to scream, but the sound never came. A suffocating weight pressed down on him, a silent warning that if he so much as gasped, his fate would mirror the one before him. 

It wasn't just him. 

Everyone—bandits, nobles, warriors—felt the same paralyzing dread. It seeped into their bones, an invisible blade resting against their throats. 

And when their trembling eyes finally found the source of that attack, all gazes landed on a single figure. 

Zed.

He sat there in his chariot, still watching the fight, his expression unreadable.

One hand rested on his lap.

The other, still raised, a thin wisp of blue energy fading from the tip of his finger.

He hadn't even looked.

No one mourned.

No one even reacted.

The foolish noble had sealed his own fate.

All eyes returned to the battlefield.

And then—

A single movement.

A twitch of the finger.

A whisper of energy.

Zed's copy, still lying in the crater, raised his hand and muttered four words.

"Heed my command, Vasuki."

A pulse of blue light exploded from his body.

FWOOSH!

Blinding. Intense. Overwhelming.

The entire battlefield was swallowed in a radiant blue glow. The air crackled with raw energy, forcing everyone to shield their eyes.

Even Roadie, the undefeated warrior, instinctively flinched—his massive arms raised to block out the blinding light.

Then—

THUD!

A solid kick slammed into his chest.

It wasn't a heavy strike. Not enough to do real damage.

But—

It sent him flying.

His massive body skidded across the ground, plowing through dirt and debris as he was forcefully pushed back, carving a deep trench in his wake.

For the first time in the battle—

Distance had been created.

And at the center of it all—

Zed's copy stood up.

Blood dripped from his lips, trailing down his chin and staining his torn clothes. His breaths were ragged, his body swaying slightly, yet his stance remained unbroken. The shattered remains of his mask clung to the side of his face, revealing one eye—burning with sheer, unyielding determination.

His fingers trembled as he lifted his sword. The once-proud blade was dull, chipped from the relentless battle. But it still had power.

FWOOSH!

A serpent of pure energy slithered out from the weapon, its form flickering like a dying flame. With a sharp hiss, it lunged at him, sinking its fangs into his arm. A surge of stolen vitality rushed through his veins, the remnants of every life the sword had ever taken feeding back into him.

But it wasn't enough.

His vision blurred. His legs threatened to give out.

And then—

A voice.

Cold. Hollow. Ancient.

It didn't come from the battlefield. It didn't come from within his mind.

It came from somewhere beyond.

A whisper that slithered through existence itself, weaving into the very fabric of reality.

"The Aryans have turned their gaze from you. The Fallens remain silent, unmoved by your suffering. But I..."

The voice grew heavier, pressing against his very soul.

"I have seen you."

The air itself darkened, the battlefield growing deathly still. Even Roadie hesitated, his instincts screaming at him—warning him—of something unseen.

"I have watched you stand when others have fallen. I have watched you struggle when all hope was lost. Even when pain broke your body, even when despair gnawed at your mind, you did not kneel."

A frigid wind howled through the field, sweeping past Zed's copy, coiling around his form like invisible chains. His breath turned to mist. His wounds no longer ached.

"The heavens refuse to bless you. The abyss does not claim you."

The voice grew deeper, resonating with a power older than time itself.

"But I will."

The serpent of energy around his arm shattered, its remnants coalescing into something unseen—something vast.

"I am the watcher of the forsaken. The hand that guides those left behind."

The world around him flickered.

"I am the spirit of death."

A pressure unlike anything he had ever felt before crashed down on him, filling his lungs, his heart, his very core.

"And to you, warrior who refuses to break, I grant my boon."

A cold fire erupted within him.

His shattered mask crumbled away, the last fragments falling like dust, revealing a face twisted in both agony and exhilaration. His wounds no longer bled. His exhaustion no longer weighed him down. Something had changed. 

His sclera turned pitch black, an abyss that swallowed the light, while his blue pupils burned like flickering embers, radiating an eerie, otherworldly glow. 

Gasps rippled through the crowd. 

Many stood frozen, their minds struggling to process the sight before them—because the face beneath that mask was unmistakable. 

It was Zed's. 

And with it— 

The fight raged on.