Michael pressed forward, his strikes relentless, but no matter how fast or precise he moved, none of his attacks landed. The stranger dodged with ease, slipping through each blow as though he were merely strolling through a light drizzle rather than facing a tempest of steel and lightning. Frustration burned within Michael—he could feel it now. William’s body was reaching its limit, exhaustion weighing down on him like chains. I can’t keep going like this. Gritting his teeth, he made his decision. If he couldn’t outmatch the stranger in speed, he would end this in one decisive strike.
Drawing in a deep breath, he planted his feet and raised Stormrend. Mana surged through him, crackling in the air, pulling from the very essence of the storm itself. The sky darkened in response, rolling clouds swallowing the stars as the world trembled beneath the gathering power. Lightning rained down in furious arcs, striking the ground in rapid succession, illuminating the battlefield in blinding flashes. Energy crackled along the length of his blade, tendrils of electricity weaving through the air like living serpents.
From a distance, Aurelia and Elara could only watch, their eyes wide as the storm raged around him, an unstoppable force barely contained within a single warrior.
The stranger, standing amidst the chaos, merely smiled. Not in fear. Not in anger. But in anticipation.
“Good,” he murmured, his scarlet eyes gleaming with something unreadable.
Michael let out a sharp breath and swung Stormrend downward, unleashing the storm in full force. A vortex of lightning roared forward, twisting violently as it tore through the battlefield, consuming everything in its path. The air howled. The earth cracked. The heavens screamed.
And then—impact.
The explosion that followed was deafening, a surge of light swallowing the battlefield whole. Barrages of lightning crashed down in its wake, scorching the land, reducing everything in its path to ruin. For a moment, nothing else existed but the sheer power of the storm.
Michael’s vision wavered, his body growing heavy as exhaustion crashed over him like a tidal wave. His crimson hair faded back to black, the eerie darkness of his pupils retreating as William reclaimed control. The storm within him quieted, but the toll it had taken was undeniable. Pain flared through his body, muscles trembling, blood dripping from his nose as he fought to stay conscious.
His gaze flickered toward the battlefield, toward the devastation his final attack had wrought. Smoke and dust choked the air, lingering in the aftermath of the explosion. But as the haze began to clear, William’s heart sank.
The stranger stood there—tall, unmoved, utterly unscathed. Not a single scratch marred his form, his cloak barely even ruffled. And then, as if to mock the very idea that he had been in danger, he smiled. A slow, satisfied smile.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
"Hmm," he mused, flexing the fingers of the hand he had used to stop the attack. "This is not enough. It’s good… but not enough."
William’s breath hitched. That was my strongest attack… and he stopped it with one hand.
Two figures emerged from the shadows, approaching the stranger with an air of familiarity.
“Have you had enough fun?” one of them asked, their tone laced with impatience.
“Clearly not,” the other replied, their voice carrying an amused lilt.
But before they could continue, the stranger silenced them with a single, chilling glare. A command unspoken, yet absolute.
Then, without another word, he turned and walked toward William.
William's body refused to move. His strength was gone, his vision darkening at the edges. His instincts screamed at him to fight, to flee—anything—but all he could do was watch as the stranger loomed over him.
A shadow fell across his face as the stranger knelt slightly, his scarlet eyes locking onto William’s own.
“My name is Alexander,” he said, voice smooth yet weighty, as if branding his name into William’s very soul. “Remember it.”
And then—he was gone.
The other two figures followed silently, vanishing as if they had never been there.
William barely had time to process it before his body finally gave in, the world tilting as darkness claimed him.
Aurelia and Elara sprinted toward William, their breaths ragged, hearts pounding in their chests.
“William! William!” Elara’s frantic voice cut through the night as she dropped to her knees beside him, hands shaking as she grasped his shoulders, trying to rouse him. But he remained still, his body limp, his face pale beneath the streaks of blood and dirt.
Aurelia, still reeling from the paralyzing fear the stranger had instilled in her, forced herself to focus. Her gaze flickered to William’s hair—black once more. The eerie transformation was gone, leaving only exhaustion in its wake. What was that? she thought, but there was no time for questions now.
“Elara, we need to move him,” Aurelia said, shaking off the lingering dread.
Elara nodded quickly, her fingers brushing against his wrist, checking for a pulse. Relief flooded her face when she felt it—weak but steady. Together, they lifted him, struggling under his weight but determined to get him somewhere safe.
Around them, the battlefield was eerily quiet. The bandits who had once stood alongside Elara were gone—vanished into the night the moment things had turned dire.
Aurelia’s jaw clenched. “Bastards,” she spat, her voice thick with disgust. “And you called them heroes? What kind of heroes run away?”
Elara didn’t respond right away. Instead, she kept her focus on William, gently tending to him even as her hands trembled. Then, with a broken sigh, she whispered, "I lied."
Aurelia’s eyes widened slightly, but Elara continued before she could speak.
“They weren’t heroes,” she admitted, her voice breaking. “They were just hired mercenaries. I only called them heroes to reassure myself… to believe that there was still someone left who would help me.”
Tears welled in her eyes, slipping down her cheeks as her words cracked beneath the weight of her grief.
