I yawned again, stretching my jaw lazily as if I wasn’t in the middle of a fight. "Overthrowing you Lithbergs was Endo's idea, you know? I was fine with having your family act as puppets." My tone was casual. I took a single, deliberate step to the left.

  Zhen lunged forward in a blur, his fingers curled into claws, swiping right past my chest. I felt the air split open in the narrow space between us, the sheer force of his strike tugging at my shirt. Without flinching, I slammed my fist downward, driving it into the ground with a resounding crack that sent a shallow quake through the dirt.

  He twisted his torso mid-motion with an unnatural fluidity, narrowly avoiding my counter. Before I could realign, he sprang upward, clawing toward my chin.

  Reflexively, I tilted my head back and gazed skyward, letting the attack pass inches beneath my jaw. The sky stretched above us in a canvas of swirling clouds and soft blues—strangely serene. So beautiful, I thought absently, even as the faint sting of his wind current brushed my throat. Those fingernails are sharp.

  I let out a breath and slid my hands into my pockets. With a sharp snap of my leg, I drove my foot into his chest and kicked him backward. He flew a few feet before skidding roughly across the dry earth, his heels carving lines into the ground as dust plumed around him.

  Even then, he never took his eyes off me. Sharp. Calculated. Controlled.

  I cocked my head and asked, "Hey. How'd you get so strong?"

  Zhen Lithberg, the heir to the Crushing Palm technique, was supposed to be non-transcendent. Still grounded in the realm of ordinary martial prowess. But the way he moved, the power behind his attacks—it was different now.

  Something was changing.

  Zhen Lithberg... he's nearing that threshold.

  I blitzed forward, the world narrowing to a tunnel of motion. In that instant, I easily eclipsed his senses—his eyes widened, but far too late to react. My right palm swung outward to the left, my left to the right, a crisscross of motion that carved through the air.

  I struck. My right hand slapped sharply beneath his chin, snapping his head back, while my left slammed into his liver with a heavy thud that forced the breath from his lungs. His body folded and twisted midair before collapsing onto his side.

  Without hesitation, I raised my foot and stomped his head into the ground. The impact was brutal—blood sprayed out from beneath his temple, the earth beneath his skull dimpling with the force. I stomped again, the wet crack under my heel assuring me the damage was real.

  I wasn’t taking chances.

  I raised my foot for a third time—and this time, he caught my heel.

  His fingers locked around my boot, trembling with effort. Through grit teeth, he growled, "Now you're pissing me off!"

  He yanked downward, trying to unbalance me, but I reacted faster. Using only the big toe of my left foot, I jabbed at his hand and dislocated his thumb with a sickening pop. He shouted in pain, and I took that moment to leap backward, creating distance between us.

  Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

  He didn’t give me much.

  In one fluid spin, he kicked up from the ground and chased after me, feet pounding the dirt, claws gleaming with blood. His right arm extended, the fingers of his clawed hand splayed wide—and they grasped the front of my shirt like a hawk snagging prey.

  Fabric tore with ease. He closed his palm and shredded my jacket clean off, threads fluttering around us like falling ash. He struck again, and this time I caught his arm mid-swipe. I twisted my grip to throw him off balance, but he adapted on the fly, his body following mine like shadow on skin.

  We were suspended in midair for half a breath—enough time for him to rake his fingers across the left side of my neck.

  A line of fire bloomed under my skin. He missed the artery—barely—but the pain surged bright and hot, a warning flare flashing through my nerves.

  This is becoming too troublesome. He's already transcended.

  I surged forward, unleashing a barrage of rapid-fire punches into his sternum. My fists hammered against his chest like drumbeats, fast and relentless—but it was for naught. I could feel it—he was already adapting, his body learning the rhythm of my attack output. Every strike landed with less impact than the one before. He was almost done evolving, shrugging off what should have incapacitated him.

  So I stopped resisting. I opened myself—my stance, my chest, my entire being—to whatever he wished to inflict. He didn’t hesitate. His fingers drove into my chest like spears, breaking through skin and scraping bone. Before he could close his palm and end the fight in one brutal motion, I moved.

  I grasped his neck with both hands—tight, firm, inescapable. His eyes flashed, and he instantly pulled his hand from my chest. He thrashed, trying to shake free, clawing at my arms.

  It's my favorite part.

  I bent my wrist and twisted hard—snap. A sharp crack echoed into the night as his neck broke cleanly under my grip. His head flopped backward unnaturally, chin pointing skyward. His gaze locked on the stars above, just as mine had moments earlier.

  I asked, "Do you see the stars?"

  He gurgled in response, blood and spit bubbling from his lips, and I dropped him like dead weight. His body hit the ground with a dull thud, spine twisted, limbs splayed in defeat.

  I turned to face Vellin—the Serpent, or whatever he liked called himself now—and stated, "Your turn."

  As I took my first step over Zhen's body, something latched onto me.

  No!

  Zhen's hand shot up and grasped my knee. His fingers locked in with monstrous strength, and then they tore—through muscle, through skin, through bone. The pain wasn’t even a scream; it was a blackout. I immediately lost all sensation in my left leg, and my body collapsed beside him, forced down by agony.

  I hit the dirt hard, gasping, teeth clenched. My eyes darted toward the soldiers—scanning for signs of backup, any familiar face. But there was nothing. They were all down. I recognized every single corpse.

  They had taken care of most of the force, at least. That part, they made easy for me.

  Then—sharp pain. Something pierced through my back, jagged and cold, slithering through nerves like fire.

  A knife?!

  A woman's voice, confident and cruel, quipped from behind me, "Darksteel, the best thing to kill 'transcendents' like you."

  Is it that bitch in the red?! She tore through my shoulder! More soldiers began to surround me, circling like vultures sensing the end.

  I can't be bothered! I'll just return to Toda!

  In the next breath, I disappeared from their sight. Shadows swallowed me whole as I reappeared at the edge of the treeline, cloaked in distance and dark. Every step throbbed with agony, my left leg barely obeying commands. Fire licked up through torn muscle and shattered bone, but I pushed forward anyway. I had to. If I stayed, I’d die here.

  Leaves slapped against my face as I shoved past branches, the forest groaning around me. My breath came ragged, my blood a trail behind me.

  I yelled into the clearing behind me, voice raw but defiant, "Consider yourself lucky, Serpent! That bastard saved you!" My vision swam. Blood was dripping faster now—thick, hot streams soaking through the remnants of my clothing. If I wasted even a second more, they’d follow. They’d catch me.

  "I'll see you when we start our offensive."