Seeing it unfold, Kael’thus and Dakulo’s eyes widened in disbelief. They couldn’t even trace the path of Raijen’s earlier attack—so how the hell were they supposed to follow that counter?
Just how fast is this Rhiki, really...?
Before either could utter a word, a whisper brushed the back of their necks.
"Don’t blink, or you’ll miss it."
CLANG!~
SLASH!~
Kael’thus’s instincts flared like wildfire. He twisted mid-turn, just in ti to parry a deadly dagger strike aid at his spine. Blue steel t black blade, and sparks sprayed in the air. But Rhiki wasn’t done.
"Let’s see how much you’ve improved... traitor."
Rhiki’s voice turned sharp with madness as he launched into another frenzied assault. His daggers danced like rabid shadows, slashing at Kael’thus while sending precise, brutal kicks toward the slower dwarven mage.
PANG!~
PAPANG!~
PANG!~
HAHAAHAHA~!
Rhiki, the hunter—no, the battle maniac—was grinning ear to ear, dodging Dakulo’s stone bullets and weaving through Kael’thus’s sword strikes like it was a ga. And as the seconds ticked by, he only got faster.
"Kael! I’m running out of mana here!" Dakulo shouted, sweat pouring down his cheeks. "Can’t you do sothing about this crazy dark elf!?"
He was breathing heavily now, his thick dwarven form struggling to keep up. Unlike other races, dwarves had painfully slow mana recovery—but made up for it with high elental resistance.
Unfortunately, that didn’t help when you couldn’t even touch your enemy.
"Stop whining and focus!" Kael’thus barked as he swung his sword again—only to hit air just like before. "Just stall him until Raijen’s back!"
Neither Kael’thus nor Dakulo had expected this.
This wasn’t the plan.
They were supposed to crush Rhiki—to overwhelm him with their combined strength, strategy, and coordination. Three elite warriors against one rogue assassin. It should’ve been over in seconds.
Instead, they found themselves barely staying alive, parrying blindly and gasping for breath.Rhiki wasn’t just dodging. He was dancing—weaving between attacks with a wicked grin, as if every brush with death thrilled him. His speed was surreal. His strikes unpredictable. He fought like chaos given form.
And they were the prey.
Just a few ters away, Raijen stirred.
Collapsed on one knee, his body trembled like a snapped wire struggling to hold tension. Blood trickled down his mouth in thick crimson threads, each cough heavier than the last. His legs buckled under his weight, refusing to obey his will.
How did it go so wrong... so fast?
It only took one move.Just one counter.
That single mid-air flip from Rhiki—perfectly tid, flawlessly executed—had turned Raijen’s own velocity into a weapon against him. The very force he had built to strike was used to destroy him.
Six ribs. Broken.Collarbone. Shattered.Lungs. Crushed.Pride? Obliterated.
Rhiki’s kick should have crippled him in the process. A normal body—hell, even a seasoned warrior—would’ve been torn apart by the sheer recoil. Bones would snap, muscles would tear, organs would rupture.
But Rhiki wasn’t normal.
He stood, not even winded. Moving like his body had been forged for chaos.
Raijen looked at his own shaking hands—once trusted, now uncertain.
"So... the legends about dark elves are true..." he muttered, his voice raw and his breath shallow.
He spat blood into the scorched earth, the weight of reality crashing down on him. There was no more waiting. No more hesitation. Kael’thus and Dakulo were running out of ti—and options.
"Shit... this better be worth it."
With a wince, he reached into his pouch with trembling fingers and pulled out his last Vhalka Shard. The jagged, glowing crystal pulsed softly like a heartbeat. Without a second thought, he crushed it in his palm.
Crack!
A radiant wave burst from his hand, flooding through his veins. In an instant, pain vanished as if they were never there at the first place. Broken bones snapped back into place with sharp, electric crackles. Muscles surged. Breath returned while mana flooded in like a divine storm.
Thunder sparked around him, dancing across his skin as his Divine Fra synced fully once more. His boots humd with power. His gauntlets glowed, coated in arcs of wild lightning.
He didn’t walk.He launched—a living bolt tearing across the field.
At that exact mont, Rhiki had Kael’thus on his heels. One dagger was already poised mid-air, descending toward the goldhair’s exposed shoulder like the executioner’s blade.
CRACK—BOOM!
Lightning ripped the air apart.
A blinding streak of blue slamd into the ground beside them, crackling and spitting arcs of mana as dust exploded outward.
Raijen appeared in a blur—half man, half thunder—his fists glowing like stars ready to collapse.
Kael’thus gasped, his eyes lighting up with hope for the first ti in minutes.
"RAIJEN!"
Dakulo’s face lit up as well, his voice breaking with relief.
"Finally—!"
But then... that hope was stolen.
Rhiki’s smirk returned.
His body shimred.And split.
Not one.Not two.Three Rhikis.
All identical. All grinning.
Dakulo’s spell missed its target. He whirled around, eyes darting, too slow to react—
SHHHK!
The dark blade sliced clean through his neck.
"Too easy," Rhiki said, as he reappeared behind the now headless dwarf.
And just like that, their fleeting chance of turning the tide dissolved in a blink.
"Dakulo—!"
Raijen scread as his comrade’s body crumpled, head rolling away like a fallen relic.
"Why worry... when you’re next?"
Rhiki’s whisper was ice against thunder.
This ti, one of his clone appeared behind the speeding Raijen—And before he could even evade, his twin daggers were already plunged into his back, perfectly angled to pierce both lungs and heart.
ARGHGH!~
Raijen’s body convulsed as blood sprayed into the air. His lightning fizzled out, flickering briefly before vanishing altogether. His limbs gave out, and he collapsed with a dull thud—silent, unmoving, a storm extinguished mid-strike.
And just like that... Rhiki revealed the true weight of his power.
He stood at the center of the battlefield, flanked by three perfect doppelgangers—each one a mirror of his movents, his malice, his deadly precision. They weren’t illusions. They were shadows made of Rhiki’s own mana -only with real blades.
What had once been a clash against the odds had twisted into sothing far crueler: a massacre in the making.
Kael’thus was the only one left.
Broken. Bleeding. Alone.
And with every step Rhiki took forward, the goldhair prince could feel it in his bones—the fight was no longer a contest.
It was a sentence.
And Rhiki was the executioner.
But far beyond that mont—beyond the sound of crackling blades and crushed hopes—sothing else was awakening.
Sothing ancient.
Sothing worse.
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