Chapter 8: Rivals! SYRIL VS WRICT

The air was heavy with silence as two figures stood across from each other, tension hanging like a blade suspended mid-swing.

"Hello, Wrict," Syril said, his voice calm, unreadable.

Wrict narrowed his eyes slightly. "Syril. So, you've joined the Divine's army after all."

"And you're here to kill me, I presume."

"Precisely."

Syril gave a faint scoff, a low growl rumbling in his throat. "I see. Yet there's a severe miscalculation on your part. I'm not the one dying in this battle—rather, you are."

"A miscalculation?" Wrict's lips curled into a cold, mirthless smile, his eyes sharpening like honed steel. "I assure you, that's infinitely impossible."

Syril met his gaze without flinching. "We'll test that theory, won't we?"

"Indeed," Wrict replied, his voice thick with malice, shadows flickering over half of his face. Then his tone shifted, calculating. "But first, let's move out of the city. There's an abandoned town not far from here. We can fight loosely over there."

Without another word, they vanished in blurs of motion.

The abandoned town loomed ahead, its streets empty, buildings cracked with age, and distant plateaus rising like silent sentinels. The moment their feet touched the ground, Wrict began to chant.

His incantation rose like a dirge—dark, melodic, and laced with an eerie hum. Energy rippled outward, vibrating through the air with unnatural resonance. The ground responded with a shudder as a deep blue barrier erupted around them, spanning a ten-kilometre radius. The energy crawled underground like tendrils, anchoring itself to the earth and sealing their battlefield from the outside world.

"The others forget that we need humans alive to reach our goal," Wrict said, his tone cool and precise. "They wield their powers recklessly. I don't. And even though we've moved away from the city, there's no guarantee the earth can survive what's coming. This veol barrier will isolate us—keep the world beyond untouched."

"Strategic as always," Syril said with a thin grin, his eyes igniting with intensity. "Convenient too—now I won't hold back."

"You'd better not," Wrict replied. His tone was like ice—sharp, merciless. "Or it's your life."

For a heartbeat, time paused.

Then their zails (energies) surged into existence. Syril's flared into a fierce, silvery-white blaze, arcs of lightning crackling like a storm unleashed. Wrict's zail answered with an oppressive midnight blue, pulsating with shadow and malice, each throb like a war drum sounding from some abyssal deep.

The ground cracked beneath them, veins of light spider-webbing outward. Pebbles trembled—then rose into the air, caught in the weightless field their power had summoned. The barrier around them groaned, the very fabric of space rippling in anticipation.

Buildings creaked violently. Windows shattered with sudden, crystalline bursts. The space between them warped and snapped, unable to contain the pressure of two titans ready to clash.

Then—they moved.

The impact of their collision sent out a deafening boom that split the air, an explosion of raw force that seemed to freeze time for a single, infinite instant. Walls burst apart. Streets curled like waves underfoot. The shockwave launched both combatants in opposite directions.

Syril tore through a row of crumbling stone structures, their facades collapsing in a cloud of dust and flying debris. Wrict slammed into a jagged plateau, skidding across its broken surface before catching himself, feet digging into the rock.

Without pause, Syril came flying back into the fray, muscles coiled like springs of iron. He tore through the air, claws trailing razor winds. Each slash sent gashes carving through stone and soil, hurling fragments skyward. Wrict weaved between them in a blur, rebounding from rooftops and walls with seamless grace.

He met Syril head-on.

His fist, now engulfed in seething dark-blue zail, collided with one of Syril's slashes. The result was a thunderous shockwave that cracked the ground like a drumbeat of the apocalypse. Dust exploded upward. Syril leapt back, landing on a nearby rooftop just as Wrict advanced again, unrelenting.

"It's fascinating, Syril," Wrict said mid-motion, his voice disturbingly calm amidst the chaos. "You and I—never opponents until today. Even in hell, where betrayal and alliances twist like vines, our paths never clashed like this."

"True," Syril replied as they circled. "We stood shoulder to shoulder against the Divine's forces. Even during the rebellion. Until Raphael cast us both into the abyss." His eyes narrowed. "Yet, I've long wondered what it would be like to face you."

"As have I," Wrict said. "And now, your betrayal makes it the perfect time."

In a blur of motion, Wrict shot forward, his momentum like a collapsing storm. His fist led like a comet across the battlefield.

Syril met him mid-air, muscles taut, claws bared.

They collided with such force that the air bent. Shockwaves pulsed outward. The earth below cracked open. Glass windows shattered from the vibration. Light distorted—space itself convoluted and snapped back with a metallic whine.

Both were thrown apart again, arcs of destruction trailing behind them like scars on the world. Syril landed against a slanted wall, momentum absorbed by feline grace. Without a breath wasted, he darted between rooftops, a silver blur against the chaos.

At the final moment, Syril twisted and launched himself in a lethal arc.

But Wrict was waiting.

He slipped to the side and unleashed his Nova Pact Punch, the blow striking Syril's exposed ribs with the force of a detonating star.

Syril's body was sent flying, slamming against the barrier wall with a quake that rippled through the Veon dome. A deep boom echoed across the field. He coughed blood, a crimson line streaking his chin as he slid down the humming surface.

"Damn…" he rasped, voice broken and breath ragged. "That punch—it felt like a supernova."

Blood dripped from his lip, hot and metallic on his tongue.

Wrict stepped forward slowly, eyes gleaming. A predatory grin curled across his face.

"Yes, you noticed," he said. "I've taken on my Nova form. Your resilience is commendable—you've matched blows that warp the laws of space. But this…" He extended his arm, the blazing aura around him intensifying. "This is where I elevate the battle. I suggest you do the same."

Syril's eyes gleamed with defiant fire. He took a slow breath.

Then, his zail erupted.

Green light ignited around him—soft, then roaring. The wind howled as the aura gathered, folding inward before detonating outward in a brilliant cyclone. The power reshaped him—scales emerged across his form, gleaming like emerald armor beneath the shimmering air. Wings spread wide behind him, casting monstrous shadows. Horns spiraled back from his brow, and his eyes—now burning slits of gold and jade—locked onto Wrict with primal rage.

He roared.

The sound shook the barrier, tremors racing through the sealed field.

When he grinned, it was a predator's grin—sharp, fearless, deadly.

"Shall we continue?"