Darkness

After examining the Dark energy, Asrel allowed the Chaos within him to absorb it completely. The process was almost instinctive. Threads of blackened crimson surged from his core, weaving around the condensed darkness and drawing it inward like a devouring flame consuming dry oil.

The Chaos pulsed with satisfaction.

Asrel could feel it, like feeding blood to a starving predator. The moment the Dark energy made contact, Chaos welcomed it. There was no conflict between the two forces. Instead, it was like the energy had been tailor-made for consumption. A perfect offering.

If he were to qualify their scale, Asrel thought of it like this:

Flux, widespread, foundational, understood, sat at a moderate three.

Dark Energy, in its raw, unrefined form, could reach eight, if not more.

But Chaos... Chaos stood apart. Elusive and dominant. It is definetly at ten.

That was the difference. That was the gap.

"Essence of Darkness," he muttered under his breath, a term that now seemed more fitting than ever. But even as the phrase settled in his thoughts, Asrel didn't linger.

The battlefield didn't pause with his revelations.

More Abhorrents surged forward from the outer reaches of the tide, spilling like waves upon a dying shore. He could sense their numbers growing again, Fleshspawns, Brutes, and Howlers pushing through the thinning lines, relentless.

Asrel moved.

He dove headfirst into the fray, letting himself loose. His blade danced through bone and sinew, Chaos-imbued strikes reducing twisted bodies into ash. At times, he didn't even need to swing, just will, and the air around his hand compressed, detonating with kinetic force.

Yet even while his body moved, his eyes were studying.

In the distance, the elites fought. Unlike him, they didn't rely on overwhelming power. Their strength lay in formation and precision. They coordinated like gears in a well-oiled machine, drawing hybrids into choke points, eliminating one at a time, never allowing themselves to be overwhelmed. A single misstep could mean death, and they knew it. Experience had taught them discipline.

Further beyond, Captain Owen blazed a path of destruction all his own.

Asrel observed with growing interest. Owen's control over Flux was beyond polished, it was intimate. Every motion flowed like a river fed by his will, bending to him effortlessly. His barriers weren't just shields, they moved with his strikes, redirecting blows, amplifying counterattacks. There was no wasted motion, no inefficiency.

And then, Owen did something unexpected.

Mid-combat, while clashing against a trio of hybrids, the Flux around his fist condensed, not just in form, but in temperature. It ignited.

Blue fire.

Asrel's eyes narrowed.

The moment Owen's punch landed, the hybrid erupted in cold flame, disintegrating almost instantly. Another moved in to attack, only to be blasted by a stream of that same flame, shot like a projectile spell. The flames didn't consume the surrounding ground, they clung to flesh and refused to extinguish.

Then it happened again.

Owen's body lit up with a burst of power, the air around him distorting. A circular wave of energy expanded outward, and everything within ten meters was incinerated. The blue fire, concentrated and deadly, swept through hybrids like a cleansing flood.

It wasn't just Flux anymore.

Asrel stood still for a heartbeat, watching.

"That's... just like magic," he whispered. The realization sent a chill across his spine. "Just like a spell from the old era."

The resemblance was undeniable. The way Owen shaped his energy, how it manifested into an element, how it acted like a casted spell...

Something clicked in Asrel's mind.

If Flux could be refined, pushed beyond its base state, could it become something more?

And if someone like Owen could do this with blue fire, what would happen if Asrel fed Chaos through the same principles?

But Asrel quickly dismissed the idea. Based on his understanding of Chaos, it works differently.

Asrel's curiosity deepened into something else, another possibility with the use of his "Corruption".

He turned back toward the battlefield, eyes gleaming with interest. The battle was far from over, but something far more dangerous had awakened inside him, a hunger for knowledge.

Asrel continued to observe Captain Owen with growing intrigue. Every movement the man made revealed something new, not just about his strength, but about the potential of Flux itself.

Owen wasn't simply overpowering enemies with brute force. There was a deliberate flow to how his body and energy moved together. Asrel's trained eyes, sharpened by years of experience from the Magic Era, began picking up the deeper patterns within.

'It's structured… layered,' Asrel thought. 'He's not just improvising, these are techniques.'

Owen's form revealed more than instinct. It hinted at discipline and doctrine, at a systematic approach to channeling energy in combat. And more importantly, his use of the blue flames wasn't arbitrary. They ignited at precise moments, enhancing his strikes, turning blocks into counters, and weaving through his technique like a second weapon.

'It must be like Battle Arts... drawing power from his elemental affinity and embedding it directly into his movements. That would explain the synchronization.'

Asrel analyzed it further, mentally cataloging each motion. The sparks of flame, the speed of his footwork, the momentum of his punches, it all revolved around timing and elemental synergy.

So this is how the modern era fights...

He shifted his gaze to the other front.

There, amidst the chaotic battlefield, Captain Jenna moved like a phantom blade. Her longsword glowed faintly with a smooth blue light, Flux-imbued and precise. Unlike Owen's raw and explosive style, Jenna's was graceful. Every slash struck a joint or a weak point, disabling or killing with surgical accuracy.

Asrel narrowed his eyes.

'She's from a sword lineage. Maybe one of the old families who preserved sword techniques into the Flux Age.'

Around her, a subtle current stirred. He noticed it, faint streams of wind swirling about her feet and shoulders, barely visible to the untrained eye. But to Asrel, it was unmistakable.

Wind affinity, he confirmed. That explains the speed. She's reinforcing her mobility with elemental flow.

Then Jenna unleashed a powerful swing.

A brilliant arc of energy, shaped like a crescent, burst from her blade, tearing through a line of Abhorrents in the distance. It hummed with volatile power, sharpened by her control and propelled by air.

Asrel's eyes lit up. A ranged Flux slash. She's not just using wind for movement, but manifesting it as an attack medium. That's close to magic in structure...

He clenched his fist slightly and channeled Flux into it, trying to mimic the motion. The energy responded, but the moment he tried to externalize it, nothing happened. The arc didn't form. The air didn't shift.

It was like trying to play a familiar tune on an unfamiliar instrument.

'My understanding of elements should be more than enough... but something's still off.' His mind raced. 'Back then, with Mana, elemental conjuring followed resonance and intent. But this Flux... it resists that kind of shaping. It's different. Less yielding to thought and more bound to the core itself.'

His gaze dropped to his own hand as the dull glow of Flux faded.

There must be a condition...

Either he lacked the affinity, or more likely, the stage of mastery required. Asrel knew this feeling well. It wasn't a lack of talent, but a restriction of the vessel. His core, though powerful, had only just stabilized in this era. He hadn't yet refined it to harmonize Flux the way these people had.

So that's the key. It's not just about knowledge or skill… it's about the evolution of the core itself.

He took a deep breath, watching Jenna move through another group of hybrids with silent efficiency.

Owen and Jenna, two distinct styles, two refined manifestations of Flux, but both were proof of what was possible.

Asrel had seen the peak of magic. Now, he was beginning to glimpse that of Flux.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

With the reinforcements now in full control of the field and the last of the hybrids falling, the tide finally began to turn in their favor. Without the hybrids directing or reinforcing the charge, the remaining Abhorrents lost momentum. Lacking coordination and driven purely by primal instinct, they were easily intercepted before reaching the outer walls.

From that point on, it was only a matter of time.

The defenders tightened their formation, sweeping through the scattered remnants of the tide with precision. Even the acidic mist that had once made the battlefield so hazardous began to dissipate, thanks to coordinated suppression efforts.

Some clusters of Fleshspawns and Brutes had wandered far from the site, straying away from the main horde. But they posed no real threat anymore. Small patrol teams were dispatched to track and eliminate them before they could regroup.

It wasn't until the battlefield was quiet that the soldiers began to relax.

The last Abhorrent fell. Silence settled over the ravaged plain. And for the first time in hours, the defenders stood down.

Exhausted and wounded, they returned within the safety of the mining site's walls. Medics moved between squads, attending to the injured. Engineers and support staff resumed their posts, reactivating perimeter defenses and assessing structural damage. The immediate crisis had passed, but the unease remained.

At the heart of the site, the two Captains finally reunited.

Owen approached, his armor still bearing the scorch marks and residue of battle, and nodded toward Jenna.

"This must be the work of the Eidolarchs," he began grimly, voice low but firm. "They've turned their attention to the Darklings… and begun experimenting. Twisting them into weapons. These hybrids, this was only the first iteration. If they continue developing them... the Dead Zones will become breeding grounds for something far worse."

Jenna's face was tense. "If that happens, we won't have enough manpower to cover even half of our border sectors. Reinforcements are already stretched thin along the Veil." She folded her arms. "And if the hybrids become more common…"

"They'll punch through our defenses eventually," Owen finished.

The silence between them said everything else.

They were both veterans, seasoned leaders who had seen many waves, many horrors born from the Eidolarchs' twisted creations. But this was different.

"I managed to capture one of the hybrids intact," Owen finally said. "It's not fully stable… but it's enough. I'll have it sent to the Sanctuary's lab for analysis. We need to know what we're dealing with, and how soon they'll evolve."

Jenna gave a sharp nod. "Do it quickly. If we delay, the Sanctuary will be caught off guard."

Her expression shifted slightly, eyes narrowing.

"And we'll also need word from the Veil."

Owen turned to her, eyes steady.

The weight in Owen's gaze said he understood.

"We need more manpower," Owen said, his voice firm, the weight of recent events pressing behind every word. "I think it's time the Sanctuaries stopped holding back. They need to train more operatives, unveil some of those guarded secrets, and focus their resources on the world beyond their walls rather than on internal politics."

Jenna let out a quiet breath, her expression caught between frustration and realism. "That's easier said than done," she replied. "The upper seats are buried in bureaucracy and power plays. Unless someone with real authority pushes for reform, moves decisively, nothing will change."

Owen's jaw tightened. "Then let's hope someone does. Before it's too late."

A new phase of the war had begun.