Rhaelar parried the attack of the Wasteland King, his form brimming with essence flame and aura. Her Ethra of golden beast and blood Ethra filled the air just as quickly as she burned it from the space around her.

  Yet, she marveled at the third affinity he manifested—strength. Rhaelar was sure he was a newly advanced master like she was, so she wondered if he was just foolish or that strong to be able to take on a third affinity.

  She spun her bow, tapping on its string twice as the soulbound weapon fractured into two, transforming into two blades. She was on the offensive, her battle art of the Stormfire style coming to her as subtly as ever.

  Built from the ground up at a young age, Rhaelar’s art was all offense with little to no space for defense. It was a fighting style created to take on a monster—the monster of an uncle who had sent her on this particular mission. The uncle with whom Haruka had issues.

  Her essence flame gathered around her in the shape of a screaming bird, its sentient eyes pressing down on the king whose swing of his crude yet powerful soulbound thigh bone of a weapon crashed into her blade. Rhaelar laughed with reckless abandon as their combined movements became a blur of fire and blood.

  Haruka, despite not being afforded the full training of a noble clan from a young age, stood his ground, his indomitable body and will taking the brunt of her attacks. Rhaelar felt the beginnings of the working of the strength affinity.

  She was familiar with that affinity; almost everyone within her family within master rank and beyond had acquired it like prized possessions at one point or another. So it was a fact she knew just how devastatingly powerful it could be, especially under the control of a master. Her projection technique took the shape of a serpent coiled around in the air around her, its malevolent gaze on Haruka who had rage flashing within his eyes.

  He shot towards her in the blink of an eye, her weapon curved through the air, eliciting a scream from the space around her. She was an inferno, a raw ruthless being of fire and excitement. His imbued blow landed on her like a detonation, her master-ranked armor, forged by a Forgesmith of the equivalent level, trembled but held.

  It would take the blow of a paragon or a master on the very edges of advancement to do sufficient damage to it. Still, her blade came down, cutting into his skin even as his beast and blood affinity fought back, pushing back her essence flame from setting him alight from the inside. It went back and forth, with close calls that would have seen her head crushed, and cuts that would have removed Haruka’s neck from his shoulder.

  "You can never understand," Haruka spoke as his aura took the shape of a beast Rhaelar recognized, her eyes widening. "Impossible!" she hissed, staring down the serpentine creature. "You had everything given to you, another spoiled cub of the Talahan clan," he continued. "Your rise to advancement and opulence was already given. I, on the other hand," he said, pausing as veins of golden light began to glow on his form.

  Rhaelar gathered her essence flame and authority, the authority of the clan itself, as the already blackened clouds began to rumble. Haruka chuckled as he noticed, "That’s the difference between me and you," he said, raising the thigh bone, the weapon glowing. "You need the power of the divine. I will become the divine," he declared as they attacked at the same time.

  The sky darkened further, lightning crackling as Rhaelar's essence flame merged with the storm, creating a tempest of fire and fury. Her blades danced, slicing through the air with a precision that spoke of years of relentless training and an innate connection to her soulbound weapon. Haruka’s form shimmered with the golden light of his strength affinity, his beastly aura intertwining with his blood Ethra, creating a formidable defense against her onslaught.

  Their battle was a symphony of destruction, each clash of their weapons echoing like thunder, each strike a testament to their power and determination. Rhaelar’s Stormfire style was relentless, a torrent of attacks that left no room for Haruka to breathe. Yet, he stood firm, his strength affinity granting him the resilience to withstand her fiery assault.

  In the midst of their fierce exchange, Rhaelar's mind raced. She had trained for this moment, had honed her skills to perfection, but Haruka's unexpected strength and his mastery of a third affinity were pushing her to her limits along with the visage of his aura caught her off guard. Her essence flame bird screeched, its eyes glowing with a sentient fury as it swooped down, its fiery talons aiming for Haruka’s heart.

  Haruka met the attack head-on, his soulbound thigh bone weapon glowing with a crimson light as it absorbed the essence flame. He roared, the golden veins on his body pulsating with energy, and swung his weapon with all his might. The impact sent shockwaves through the ground, the force of his strike countering the fiery bird and pushing Rhaelar back.

  "You fight well, but you cannot defeat me, not with your borrowed strength!" Haruka growled, his eyes blazing with determination. "I have fought for everything I have. I will not be bested by a privileged noble."

  Rhaelar's eyes narrowed, her lips curling into a defiant smile. "We shall see about that," she retorted, her blades igniting with renewed vigor. She leapt forward, her movements a blur as she closed the distance between them, her weapons slicing through the air with lethal intent.

  As their battle raged on, the storm above mirrored their fury, lightning flashing and thunder roaring in tandem with their strikes. Haruka’s strength affinity granted him the power to match Rhaelar blow for blow, his beastly aura and blood Ethra forming a nearly impenetrable defense. But Rhaelar’s Stormfire style was relentless, her essence flame burning hotter with each passing moment.

  In a final, desperate clash, their weapons met with a resounding explosion of energy, the force of their combined power creating a shockwave that rippled through the battlefield. Rhaelar's essence flame bird screeched one last time, its fiery form merging with the storm as it unleashed its full fury upon Haruka.

  Haruka roared in defiance, his strength affinity pushing back against the inferno, but the combined might of Rhaelar’s essence flame and her stormfire style proved too much. With a final, devastating strike, Rhaelar’s blades pierced through Haruka’s defenses, her essence flame searing his flesh as he roared in rage, the malevolent golden serpent his aura took shriveling away into flecks of aura that dissipated.

  "You fought valiantly," Rhaelar said, her voice tinged with respect as she stood over her fallen opponent. "But in the end, you are torn between two fights, you cannot hope to win."

  Haruka looked up at her, his eyes filled with a mixture of pain and defiance. "This is not the end," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the roaring storm. "I will rise again, stronger than before."

  Rhaelar nodded, a solemn expression on her face. "Perhaps you will," she said softly, her essence flame flickering as the storm began to dissipate. "Or perhaps you don’t," she said as one of the blades swung to remove his head.

  Haruka’s thigh bone crashed into Rhaelar's weapon, the blade biting deep into the soulbound bone as he roared in rage, his golden eyes burning bright. Rhaelar's eyes widened as she realized what he was about to do, pushing away from him in the blink of an eye. There was a flash of power, raw strength, beast, and blood Ethra exploding through the air in all directions.

  When the dust and debris settled, Rhaelar removed the dominion she placed over the battlefield below, eyes scanning for any sign of Haruka or what remained of him. She found none, and she didn’t detect the taste of death in the air either. He was alive then. She sighed, flicking the blood off her blades as she rejoined them together, the weapons taking the shape of a bow once more.

  The storm had passed, but the echoes of their fierce clash would linger in the air, a testament to the power and determination of two warriors who had given their all. He would be back, Rhaelar knew that, as soon as he dealt with whatever master-ranked power was rampaging across his territory.

  That was the problem with cultivators with little backing behind them: their inability to be everywhere all at once ensured they could be struck from different angles simultaneously. His first claw and Highlord were nowhere to be found, perhaps slain by Varis, but she suspected differently. Varis floated up to her side as he spoke.

  “The clan heirs confessed to doing it,” he said, raising an eyebrow at the ashes and the smell of smoke in the air around them.

  “That was quick,” she commented, her black lips glistening.

  Varis nodded. “I suspect my presence and the fact that I heard it all was too much for them to deny, especially the Zhang clan heir—loudmouthed,” he replied with a bit of disdain.

  Rhaelar glanced at her brother, cupping his face even as Varis stared at her warily. She chuckled, “You’re growing attached, little brother,” she said softly, her tone holding a hint of reproach.

  “Perhaps,” Varis acquiesced, “but I have poured too much effort and resources into him to simply watch him waste it in the pointless futility of the wastelands.”

  “He could be dead by now, killed by whatever that power out there is,” Rhaelar said.

  Varis nodded. “Same thing I told his companions before they headed out there as well.”

  Rhaelar frowned. “I’m guessing that’s where Haruka headed as well,” she said, “meaning whatever is out there was enough of a threat to draw the attention of the bastard.”

  Varis glanced at her with reproach. “Careful,” she said, her eyes glancing around. “You maintain a distance from him, you grab your… student, and you get out of there, am I clear?”

  Varis inclined his head as she nodded. She wouldn’t be the one to tell her mother that her favorite brat had died due to saving one flimsy cultivator from the borderlands. Nothing would remain of both the wastelands and Black Rock if that happened.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Varis shot into the distance as she watched him go in silence. Sighing, she spoke into the air, “I should burn you where you stand,” she said quietly, eyes staring at the smoking air where a figure materialized.

  Dressed in black robes that hid every feature except for the grey eyes that stared at her, the obviously muscular and male figure chuckled as he bowed by the waist. “As expected of the master of the Talahan clan,” he said, his voice soft and carefree.

  “What do the Whispering Phantom Sect want this far from the capital?” Rhaelar asked, her eyes alight with suspicion.

  The figure inclined his head. “I would not insult the venerable master by assuming you’re not aware,” he said. So, a Highlord then. Good, Rhaelar could end his existence without any reproach from the clan.

  “Before you light me up with your concept, perhaps you should see this,” the figure said, producing a golden token as her eyes widened.

  “Where did you get that from?” she snarled.

  “From the very person who sent you here to deal with his… ah, the empire’s problem,” the figure said.

  Rhaelar mulled over his words for a bit before speaking, “You want the girl,” she said.

  The assassin nodded. “Indeed,” he replied.

  Rhaelar’s mind raced, weighing her options. The presence of a Highlord from the Whispering Phantom Sect complicated matters significantly. If the token was genuine, and it appeared to be, then she was dealing with orders from a higher authority within the clan. Her mission had suddenly taken a turn, and she had to tread carefully.

  “Why should I trust you?” Rhaelar asked, her grip tightening on her bow, now reformed from her twin blades.

  “You have little choice,” the Highlord replied calmly. “The girl is more valuable to our sect than you realize. Hand her over, and you fulfill your mission. Resist, and you risk the wrath of those far more powerful than you.”

  Rhaelar’s eyes narrowed. “And what guarantee do I have that you’ll leave once you have her?”

  The Highlord smiled, a cold, calculated smile. “My word as a Highlord of the Whispering Phantom Sect. I have no interest in your affairs beyond the girl. Take the token as proof of our agreement.”

  Rhaelar considered her words carefully. The Whispering Phantom Sect was notorious for their ruthlessness, but they were also known to keep their word when it suited them. The token was a powerful symbol, and defying it could bring disastrous consequences.

  “Very well,” she said finally, lowering her bow slightly. “But know this—if you betray our agreement, I will hunt you down and destroy you, Highlord or not.”

  The Highlord inclined his head. “Understood, Master Rhaelar. I have no intention of crossing you or your clan.”

  Rhaelar took a deep breath, her mind still racing. She needed to find the girl and deliver her as promised. But she also needed to ensure that her brother, Varis, and his student were safe. The presence of the Highlord added a layer of complexity to an already dangerous mission.

  “The girl will be brought to you,” Rhaelar said, her voice steady. “But you will wait here. Any sign of treachery, and our agreement is void.”

  “Agreed,” the Highlord replied, his tone respectful. “I will await her return.”

  Rhaelar turned and moved swiftly through the battlefield, her mind focused on the task at hand. She needed to order Varis to find the girl quickly and ensure her safety. The clan and in tandem, the empire’s interests were at stake, and failure was not an option.

  As she moved, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched, that the shadows themselves were closing in around her. The Highlord’s presence was a reminder of the dangers that lurked in the darkness, and she needed to be prepared for whatever came next.

  ****************************

  The storm of Ethra and aura from the masters intensified all around him as Tunde wrapped himself within his dominion. The tyrant’s weapon in one hand, the other shielding his face from the raging sands that blew all around him, biting into his skin to the point of cutting it despite his aura’s protection. He should be nothing but bones right now, but somehow, his body healed just as fast as the Ethra of the tyrant somehow avoided him.

  It was a subtle thing, done to avoid the notice of the possessed Highlord whose form blotted the space in front of him. Tunde’s breath was audible even to his ears as he took one step at a time, gripping the dull green blade tight. It wasn’t time, not yet, not until he had gotten close enough to the true beast.

  Then he would unleash the true bite of the blade in whatever capacity he was able to raise it to. Instincts plus his void realm warned him of the attacking projection technique of golden light, a snarling feline-looking creature coming at him.

  He met it head-on, despite the sheer madness of such an endeavor, the black tattoo of his relic glowing as the jade blade cut into the projection technique despite its dull edge. It was like he swallowed liquid fire. His body lit up with wracking agony as Tunde’s legs shook, nearly betraying him.

  Tunde immediately transferred the stolen power into the jade blade, watching as it lit up for the first time, runic inscriptions he could barely stare at burning to life on the master-ranked weapon. He was just as grateful as the power left him, his flesh and bones steaming, Tunde shuddering.

  It was too much—the task, the power, the situation he found himself in. It was too much. He was like a slave again, dancing in the palms of the higher beings back in his home, a memory that was as much bitter as it brought back the taste of regret. What could he have changed if he had been a lord back home? The power to at least protect his family?

  He could feel the rising tempo of the battle the closer he got to them. Where he had once been able to move, Tunde found himself unable to lift a leg, rooted to the spot. It took all he had to even stay awake, his entire senses bent towards weathering the storm.

  He was like a single leaf, swaying in the wind, useless, with no significance. Still, he gripped the blade tight. He would have one chance, one chance at stabbing the blade through the body of Yumar.

  ***********************************

  The grand Ethralite and true beast clashed, master-ranked power savagely biting at each other, raw power swirling around them. The tyrant’s blow, while seemingly powerful, lacked the true bite of a master, his body barely awake despite the long sleep it had endured. Yumar could see it, could feel it as he willed his body to take on more power from the king.

  He could feel his mind, Haruka’s, his king. Feel it as the king directed his body and fought the master of the Talahan clan all the way back at Black Rock. It was a feat that marveled the first claw, who itched to relieve his contractor of the burden. He had been nothing but an ordinary Sandshard, barely any sentience at adept realm when Haruka had found him.

  The both of them without a home, one cast away and left to die, the other in an endless survival within the wastelands of predators and prey. Haruka had bonded with him in the way of his clan he refused to talk about. The both of them, contractor and servant, fighting their way through the endless horrors of the wastelands, carving their territory bit by bit till they had a place to call home.

  Kugan had been met along the way, loud, boisterous Kugan whose ego had been more than his strength. In a way, he and Haruka were blood. Tied by soul contracts, he knew how much Kugan’s death must have hurt the king, and yet, he somehow wondered why he had sent the Blazewing to his death.

  There was lost history between the king and the fabled Talahan clan, that much he could see and feel, but one thing he knew Haruka would not permit was someone toppling what they had built. The jade tyrant’s presence was a threat he had to deal with immediately, and then the lord ranker.

  “Patience, Yumar,” Haruka’s voice said within him.

  It was complicated, seeing as Yumar was watching the king control his body through his own eyes, and yet, Haruka’s voice echoed within his very being even as the master ranker gathered another onslaught of techniques, the landscape around them changed.

  “He might get away,” Yumar rumbled, rage within his features. He hated distracting Haruka like this, fighting another master, he guessed, needed complete attention. The fact that the king could handle facing two masters at the same time spoke to his strength cultivated.

  “Then we hunt him like vermin, I—” Haruka said, pausing as an attack slammed into him. “My king,” Yumar said with worry in his voice.

  “I come, hold!” Haruka said as his consciousness suddenly vanished. Yumar was left naked, the fleeting power of Haruka in the air as he scrambled to grab it with all his willpower, channeling the king’s authority.

  It was like using his human palms to catch water.

  Still, the wrath of the jade tyrant descended from on high, the projection technique of an entire hive of insects descending to swallow his true form, and Yumar met it. Instincts, honed from countless decades of battle within the wastelands, saved him from what came next.

  ***************

  The possessed Highlord, Yumar, stood tall and imposing amidst the chaos, his aura a golden, malevolent presence that seemed to devour the air around him. His eyes glowed with an unnatural fire, Tunde guessed was the mark of the king controlling him.

  Tunde’s heart pounded in his chest as he inched closer, the jade blade humming with the borrowed power. He knew he couldn’t match Yumar’s strength directly, but he didn’t need to. He just needed to get close enough for one strike, one moment where he could plunge the blade into Yumar’s body and sever the connection with the possessing entity while ending the Highlord in the process.

  The Highlord shuddered as Tunde felt the oppressive presence of the king vanish from the air around him, the oppressive feeling of the master gone. Left in its place was the giant form of the Sandshard that glowed golden, its roar causing the ground to tremble.

  He was already moving before he felt the aura of the tyrant wrap around him. “Now!” the tyrant’s voice hissed in his ears. Tunde drank in the power of the tyrant in the air, the blade glowing bright as it seemed to press down on his spirit as well.

  Yumar turned just as the tyrant struck, the Highlord managing to deflect the attack of the master, his gaze locking onto Tunde. “You return to die, good,” the Highlord snarled, his voice a mixture of his own and what remnant of the king was left within him.

  The gaze of the Sandshard stared him down, baleful yellow eyes atop a golden-brown skin that glowed. Tunde didn’t respond. Words were useless now. He focused all his remaining strength on his next move, the blade in his hand glowing brighter with every step. The air crackled with tension, the clash of auras and Ethra creating a storm of energy that Tunde thought threatened to tear apart the very fabric of reality.

  With a roar, Yumar unleashed a torrent of earth energy, a wall of destruction that swept toward Tunde. He braced himself, his dominion flaring as he met the attack head-on. The impact was immense, sending shockwaves through his body, but he held his ground, the jade blade absorbing and deflecting as much of the energy as it could.

  This was his moment. Tunde pushed forward, every muscle in his body straining as he closed the distance. He could see the flicker of doubt in Yumar’s eyes, the briefest hesitation as the possessed Highlord realized Tunde’s intent. It was all the opening he needed.

  With a final, desperate surge of power, Tunde leaped forward, the jade blade thrusting towards Yumar’s chest just as the projection technique of the Highlord crashed into his body. Time seemed to slow as the blade pierced through the thick imbued body of the Sandshard Highlord, cutting through the layers of Ethra and essence flame.

  Tunde’s scream of effort and pain, partly due to the attack of the Highlord that ravaged his body, echoed through the storm as he drove the blade home, the runic inscriptions flaring to life with a blinding light.

  Yumar’s eyes widened in shock, Tunde shot back, his body burning from the inside as the jade blade fell from his grasp. Crashing onto the ground in a heap as he convulsed. His life flickered before his eyes even as his body fought to absorb the power of the Highlord that tore him apart from the inside.

  He sent it all to the fang, the ever-hungry weapon swallowing it all in mouthfuls as Tunde bit back a scream of agony. It wracked him, whatever the power of the Sandshard was, like tiny sand drills tearing through him. The worst was gone, but what remained was pure agony, causing him to come in and out of consciousness.

  Tunde wasn’t aware of his surroundings much, but when he felt the presence of the wasteland manifest, the skies glowing yellow as he puked blood, he knew it was the end. The tyrant’s gleeful laughter filled the air even as Tunde felt tears leaking from the corner of his eyes, mingling with the blood that stained his lips.

  Anytime now, he would be dead. The king would eradicate him for taking out his Highlord. Was the first claw dead? Tunde couldn’t tell, but he sure hoped so. It would be a shame to die for nothing.

  The face that stood over him next had him wondering if he had finally lost enough blood to begin hallucinating. Varis Talahan, Highlord of clan Talahan, crouched over him, a frown on his face. Tunde tried speaking, coughing blood as the Highlord poked his body in a series of fast movements that had his eyes widening before he passed out for the last time.