He was trying not to extend the fight.
I could see it in the way the space around us folded and warped, constricting my movents, forcing to engage on his terms. Ren knew his raw speed couldn't keep up with mine—so he was compensating. Rather than relying purely on reaction, he was shaping the battlefield itself, tightening the noose.
The cracks of fragnted space shimred, an invisible web designed to funnel into limited paths. His control was masterful, the kind of precision that could only co from years of honing his God's Eyes.
But it wasn't enough.
The dark mana shroud around lashed out, carving through the broken space like a blade through silk. His defenses faltered for the briefest mont, and I seized it, my sword carving toward him.
And yet—Ren reacted.
His fist t my blade at the last possible instant, diverting the impact with just enough force to avoid being overpowered outright.
'He's not predicting outright,' I realized. 'He's waiting for my dark mana to clash with his space mana. The mont my mana disrupts his control, his God's Eyes catches the break.' His ability to process, predict, and react to patterns let him follow my movents just enough to keep himself from being completely overwheld.
But that was the problem—he was just barely keeping up.
If we had been equal in strength, his Gift might have been enough to bridge the gap. But his space and gravity aura, no matter how refined, was losing. The mont my dark aura enveloped it, I could feel it buckling under the pressure.
Dark mana was not rely the absence of light. If that were the case, it would be trivial to counter. But it was more. It was the weight of the unknown, the entropy of existence itself, the authority of oblivion pressing down on reality.
And in this mont, it was consuming everything Ren threw at .
I stepped forward, driving my blade with another seamless movent, the power of my Tempest Dance compounding with each strike. Ren shifted his weight, slipping past the initial cut, his fist glowing with warped gravity as he countered.
Faster.
He was adapting, but I was adapting faster.
His next strike ca with a shift in space, attempting to anchor in place. But I was already gone, my aura eating through the threads of magic as if they were paper. I twisted mid-air, bringing my sword down with the accumulated force of each previous strike—
Ren barely managed to cross his arms in ti to block, but the force sent him skidding backward, the ground beneath his feet warping as he struggled to stabilize himself.
I t his gaze. He knew it too.
I was winning.
"Well, that was fun," I said, rolling my shoulders as the last wisps of dark mana flickered around before dissipating. There was now a proper gap between us, the battlefield montarily stilled, though the air between Ren and crackled with tension.
Ren's sharp gaze locked onto mine, his eyes gleaming with the eerie precision granted by God's Eyes. He was waiting, analyzing, processing. His body was loose, relaxed even, but I knew better. That wasn't arrogance—that was calculation.
Perfect.
I smirked, exhaling as I let my Black Star fade, the oppressive aura of dark mana vanishing from around .
Ren's brows furrowed. "What are you doing?"
I tilted my head, my smirk widening. "Let's make this more interesting."
The mont the last tendril of dark mana faded, I flipped the switch.
Lucent Harmony pulsed through . My White Star connected.
A burst of brilliant light exploded around .
Mana surged, golden and absolute, washing over the battlefield in a cascade of radiance. The very air shimred with the raw intensity of light mana flooding the space, blinding in its purity.
Ren's body tensed imdiately. His enhanced vision, normally his greatest strength, was now working against him.
Light didn't obscure sight like darkness did. It didn't devour. It overwheld.
For a fraction of a second, his pupils contracted, his irises flickering as he adjusted.
A fraction of a second was all I needed.
I launched forward.
The ground cracked beneath my feet as I closed the gap between us in an instant, my sword lashing out in a clean diagonal arc.
Ren moved on instinct, twisting his body to the side just in ti to avoid the full brunt of the strike, but not fast enough to avoid the tip grazing his ribs. A thin line of blood blood across his side.
I didn't stop.
I twisted my blade, my body already in motion, my next strike flowing seamlessly from the last. Tempest Dance wasn't about brute force—it was about rhythm, about compounding montum with every successive movent. Each motion built upon the last, chaining attacks together in a devastating sequence.
Ren didn't retreat. He wouldn't.
He stepped in instead, pivoting sharply and launching a brutal fist aid directly at my jaw. I leaned back just in ti, feeling the wind of his strike pass milliters from my face, then retaliated with a downward slash.
Ren's footwork was perfect—he twisted his body mid-motion, his fist slamming into the ground instead. The impact cratered the stone beneath us, shockwaves rippling outward.
I adjusted, stepping back—but Ren wasn't done.
His mana flared.
Space twisted.
I felt my footing shift unnaturally, my sense of distance montarily warping. Gravity spiked around , my limbs dragging with sudden weight.
Ren's fist was already mid-swing, closing in on my ribs.
First movent of his Grade 6 art Void Fist: Collapsing Step.
I exhaled sharply.
I didn't resist the shift. Instead, I let my body flow with it.
My foot glided across the ground as I twisted into the unnatural pull, redirecting my montum rather than fighting against it. My sword snapped forward, slipping just past his strike—aid directly at his exposed shoulder.
Ren's eyes widened slightly, realizing his mistake a half-second too late.
The blade connected, carving a shallow line across his shoulder before he wrenched himself away, flipping backward to create distance.
I landed lightly, adjusting my grip, my smile widening.
"Not bad," I said. "For soone who can see everything, you sure do get hit a lot."
Ren wiped the blood off his shoulder with the back of his hand, his gaze unreadable. Then, slowly, his lips curved into sothing sharp.
"Oh?" he murmured. "Then let's fix that."
I felt it before I saw it.
A shift.
The battlefield itself seed to ripple, the very air becoming heavier.
Ren's stance shifted. His muscles coiled. His mana deepened.
His Gift, God's Eyes, was already monstrous. But now, he was using it at its full capacity.
His movents would no longer be just calculated. They would be inevitable.
I inhaled, my grip tightening on my sword.
Perfect.
I had been waiting for him to get serious.
Ren's vision was faltering, his breathing growing heavier. God's Eyes—his greatest weapon, his claim to the title of genius—was reaching its limit. He wasn't strong enough yet. Not fully. Not like Lucifer. Not like Arthur.
The Gift was powerful, but Ren hadn't surpassed the Wall. Not yet. He could tap into its full potential for monts at a ti, but prolonged use? That was beyond him. His body, his mind, his very mana reserve—none of them could handle it for long.
And that was exactly what I wanted.
Because now, it was my turn.
My foot pressed forward, and with a single breath, God Flash ca to life.
A blur of movent. The first strike—a feint to the left. A flicker of hesitation from Ren.
The second—an upward slash, forcing him back.
By the third movent, the battlefield had changed entirely. God Flash wasn't just a technique—it was inevitability itself.
Ren's body struggled to track my movents, his fists lashing out in precise counters that barely missed by milliters. He was still fast, impossibly so, but the cracks in his perfect perception had started to show. His eyes, once sharp as a god's decree, were now lagging behind reality itself.
He tried to compensate, activating Collapsing Step, the first movent of his Grade 6 art, Void Fist. The space around him bent, distorting his positioning, his speed multiplying in an instant.
But it wasn't enough.
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