"So," she said, her voice mixing exhaustion and sothing that might have been respect, "this is how it ends."
The sword that carried the x2 buff constituted a large part of Elio's magical power, 800 of his 1360 base. Its divine tal glead with an inner light that spoke of power accumulated over battles.
"I must admit," she continued, examining the blade with an appraising eye, "that was really impressive. The combination of ten elents at your level... It's been millennia since I've seen anything like it."
But now it shone in Zahyla's hands as she channeled her mana through the ancestral tal. The magic resonated, amplifying her 1000 base points to 1800. The weapon seed to sing with newfound power, though not with the sa harmony it had shown in Elio's grasp.
Blood still flowed from her wounds, but her posture had changed. Though weakened, possession of the sword had given her a new air of danger. Even in her diminished state, she radiated lethal intent.
In Zahyla's hands, unable to multiply her magic by 16, it was only 800 points. But with Elio's miserable defense, that ant he could only withstand a single attack, two with extre luck.
"The question is," her eyes found Elio's, gleaming with amusent, "what will you do now?"
Zahyla launched forward, covering the space between them in a blink.
The sword descended in a diagonal cut that would have split Elio in two. But instead of retreating, Elio twisted sideways, his body moving so close to the blade that it cut his hair. The motion was precise, calculated to the milliter.
His fingers traced a pattern in the air, condensing oxygen into a compressed sphere that he launched at Zahyla's face. She deflected the attack with her own magic, but the movent forced her to lose montum.
Zahyla chained three consecutive cuts, each seeking to end the combat in a single blow. Elio dodged the first by milliters, deflected the second with an iron barrier, and responded to the third by sliding under the blade while his hands created a lightning network.
The discharge struck Zahyla in the side. A blow of more than nine thousand points that barely marked her skin but made her growl in pain.
"Nine more," Elio murmured, already moving for his next attack.
The loss of the sword had reduced Elio's magical power by more than half. From the 21,760 points he wielded at his peak, he now retained just under 10,000.
His mana reserves had dwindled to barely 200 points, though for the 10 hits he needed, they would suffice.
Zahyla responded with a combination of thrusts and horizontal cuts. The sword sang in her hands, each movent seeking that decisive blow she needed. A graze, a simple graze would be enough to tip the balance thanks to the system's marker.
But Elio moved like water, his superior perception turning each attack into an opportunity.
Where the sword cut, he was already gone.
When Zahyla sought him, his counterattacks found small openings to land another hit.
Perception, strength, and speed simply weren't enough for Zahyla in the first ring.
Only 8 hits more.
When she launched her next attack, thin tal filants were already serpentining between her fingers.
Then, Elio's magnetic control also seized the coating on the blade...
The blade stopped mid-way.
Zahyla's eyes widened as she felt the grip escaping her, the tal itself conspiring against her.
And…
Before she could adjust her position, Elio's hand closed around her forearm.
Six hundred and forty points of pure strength applied in a perfect twist.
Zahyla's 1000 points defense prevented the bone from breaking, but her muscles scread in protest as the arm was forced into an unnatural angle and her hand opened.
The sword fell.
Elio caught it in the air, the tal singing as it recognized its true master. Power flowed through the blade, restoring Elio's magical damage to its full glory.
Zahyla tried to retreat, but the grip was relentless. A fluid movent lifted her from the ground and slamd her against the indestructible stone. The sword also descended just after, finding flesh and tearing out a scream of pain.
Only 3 hits more.
Elental magic burst from Zahyla's free hand, a desperate combination of all four elents.
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Elio moved like smoke through the attack, his sword tracing another perfect arc that opened a new wound.
Only 2 hits more.
Zahyla's hand rose again, power condensing in her fingers. Elio responded by covering the entire limb in a boron prison, the tal absorbing and neutralizing the magic before it could take form.
Her other hand rose in a last desperate attempt.
The sword flashed, and the fingers fell to the floor.
The hand no longer had enough resistance to regenerate. The silence that followed was absolute.
As he trapped her in a prison, Elio contemplated his defeated opponent.
A single hit more would be enough.
The tal prison transford, taking the shape of a giant hand that held Zahyla aloft, an image that worked as a mirror of how he held Diana, who kept her gaze fixed on the floor in silence.
"How ironic," Zahyla's voice sounded almost amused despite the pain. "In the end, entering the first ring proved more interesting than expected."
"Interesting?" Elio's voice cut as much as his sword.
"Every interaction is interesting to ," blood dripped from her lips as she spoke. "Do you know how many tis I've seen this sa story unfold? 10,008 tis, not less."
The tal prison tightened slightly. "You talk too much nonsense for soone about to die."
"Die?" Zahyla's laugh bubbled with blood. "Do you really think I'm the one who dies in the end? If you win... the ga just continues, little human. The details change, but the essence of my victory remains."
Elio's hand tightened, reducing the space further. "You're dead, we won."
"They always say that," Zahyla closed her eyes, her smile never faltering. "They always believe their victory is definitive, that their mont is special. But in the end... it's all in vain."
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