Ryan was completely aglow with golden light as he moved forward, locked in battle with Oliver—the mythical being. His body pulsed with radiance, as if the sun itself had ignited inside him, each step trailing shimmering traces in the air. The cave around them—vast and echoing—seemed to bend under the weight of their power. The fight had become completely one-sided. But Oliver did not stop. He released his aura, a crushing wave of pressure that hit like a thunderclap. The very air thickened, turning hot and metallic, making it hard to breathe. The people around them staggered, choking on the invisible force, their hearts pounding in their chests like drums before a storm.
Suddenly, Oliver attacked.
Ryan was flung like a ragdoll, his body cracking against the jagged cave wall with a deep, bone-vibrating thud. Dust and fragments of rock burst into the air, filling the space with a bitter, stony tang. But he didn't falter. Without hesitation, he dashed toward his opponent again, his body moving on pure instinct, ignoring the pain that screamed through his limbs. Another brutal punch sent his head snapping back—blood sprayed across the stone floor like crimson ink. When he rose, face bruised and cut, everyone could see: his eyes had turned completely red, glowing with a feral light, as if something ancient and uncontrollable had awakened inside him.
Ryan attacked again. As he struck, people saw his golden aura flickering—wavering like fire on the verge of consuming itself. Thin, sinister streaks of red began to slip through it, curling across his skin like cracks in divine marble. The gold was darkening, bleeding into crimson, forming a swirling storm of fury and grace. The mixture of colors shimmered like a dying sun caught in eclipse. Confusion swept through the crowd—murmurs, clenched jaws, uncertain glances—but this was not the time for doubt. The only truth that mattered now was the enemy standing before them.
Despite everything, Oliver was still managing to fight back. Sparks exploded with each clash, the cave echoing with the clang of impact and the roar of their auras colliding like tempests. Yet everyone could see—the red aura was growing, rippling across Ryan's form like a living flame. It was alien and intoxicating. No one could identify it, but one fact became undeniable: Ryan had lost control of his body. Something else was pushing him beyond mortal limits.
"My head completely healed… due to the leaves Ryan gave her from the World Tree," a voice whispered, reverent and awed.
She watched the battle with a complex expression, her eyes filled with worry, wonder, and something deeper—fear. She saw that Ryan was now equal to Oliver, a being of myth and legend. But this new red aura… it felt wrong. It was not his. It coiled around him like a serpent claiming its host, a presence that fought with rage, not reason. It was as if Ryan had become the battlefield itself—his body a vessel, his mind fading beneath the tide.
Seconds passed.
And the change became undeniable. Ryan was no longer merely fighting—he was ascending. The red aura expanded like a tidal wave, covering his entire body in a veil of blood-hued power. His form gleamed—golden armor encased in roiling crimson, his presence radiating like a war god forged in flame and fury. Every movement shimmered with divine wrath, every breath scorched the air around him. The red aura wasn't just growing—it was devouring the golden light, claiming dominance.
Then, in an instant, the roles reversed.
Ryan was the predator now. He toyed with Oliver, striking with merciless precision, hurling him against the cavern walls. Oliver bounced from surface to surface like a broken puppet, crashing into jagged rock that exploded in bursts of light and rubble. Ryan moved faster than the eye could follow—a crimson blur darting through shadows and flame—intercepting Oliver mid-air, kicking, slamming, launching him again and again. He wasn't just fighting—he was orchestrating destruction like a symphony of pain.
The cave trembled. Chunks of stone rained from the ceiling as cracks webbed across the walls. But every time it began to collapse, a quiet pulse of emerald light surged through the chamber—restoring it, rebuilding it. The World Tree's power was silently at work, holding the space together with its ancient magic.
The elf clenched her fists. She wanted to heal Ryan, to ease the torment surging through his veins—but she couldn't. If she did, Oliver would heal too. The magic spared no one. And she couldn't risk it. She stood frozen in conflict, helpless in the face of such raw and unrelenting force.
All around them, the others watched in stunned silence.
Ryan—once seen as just another warrior—was now something else entirely. He was transcending. And Oliver, the being they had all feared, was losing. Bruised, bloodied, breathless. He was being broken before their eyes.
It was a moment none of them would ever forget.
The elf and the sacred experts—the strongest among them—stood still, unable to speak. Their eyes wide, their throats dry. Disbelief. Awe. Terror.
They were witnessing the impossible.
They were witnessing the rise of something far beyond what they could understand.
Maya understood something—and panic rose in her chest like a tide. She quickly shouted, her voice raw with urgency, "Ryan, stop it! Stop the fight!"
She screamed again, but Ryan didn't even flinch. It was as if her voice dissolved into the charged air around him, unheard—unreachable.
Frantic, Maya turned and tried calling Ryan again, her voice cracking with desperation. But it was useless. No matter how many times she shouted, it was like screaming into a storm—her words vanished before reaching anyone.
Artesian, alarmed by her distress, stepped forward. "What happened?" he asked, eyes narrowing.
"Ryan has lost himself in the fight," Maya replied, breath hitching. "He's not in his senses. We have to get him back."
Suddenly, a vortex tore open in mid-air with a thunderous whoosh, swirling like a breach in reality itself. From its radiant center, Samuel descended, his angelic form glowing with divine majesty. He wore a white-gold robe that shimmered like sunlight on snow, and from his back spread luminous wings, wide and regal, each feather etched with soft celestial light.
As soon as he entered the space, the raw force of energy between Ryan and Oliver slammed into him like a wall of heat. The ground trembled beneath their fury. Lightning-like flashes burst across the battlefield, and chunks of stone hovered midair before disintegrating. He hovered for a breathless moment, stunned by the sheer scale of destruction.
He looked down and saw Maya, shaken amid the chaos. In the blink of an eye, he appeared beside her in a flutter of feathers and wind.
"What is going on?" he asked, his voice both calm and thunderous. "Ryan and Oliver…?"
For a fleeting second, both Ryan and Oliver turned toward him—two gods locked in war—but then, without a word, they returned to their clash, as if Samuel were nothing but a breeze on a battlefield.
Samuel stood before Maya. Meanwhile, Artisan stared wide-eyed at the newcomer.
"Who is this new guy?" he whispered, unable to look away. "He looks like... an angel."
All around them, people stared, mesmerized and shaken. In the middle of this escalating conflict, a third being had arrived—and he radiated power equal to both Ryan and Oliver, as if he had stepped from the pages of myth itself.
Maya began explaining everything, her voice steady despite the dread in her eyes. As she spoke, Samuel listened carefully. Soon, he said, his tone grave, "Ryan is covered in soul power—one of the most unique and sacred powers in the entire universe. No one dares oppose someone who channels it. This... soul power... it's not just energy. It's drawn from the essence of souls themselves."
He paused, wings folding slowly behind him. "It's one of the hardest powers to control," he continued. "And even harder to grow in. It doesn't develop like normal power—it evolves with pain, with death, with the weight of every soul it touches."
Maya's voice wavered. "Then how do we stop him? How do we get him back? He's losing himself—we need to do something."
Samuel looked up toward Ryan, his golden eyes flickering with uncertainty. The aura Ryan was releasing rippled like molten fire, distorting the very air. Just standing near it made Samuel's skin tingle with pressure. He could tell—Oliver wouldn't be able to stand much longer.
He scanned the scene—searching for any sliver of hope. Then, a thought struck him like a blade of light.
He turned and flew straight to the elf—the guardian of the World Tree, or perhaps the Tree herself. She stood beneath a bough of softly glowing leaves, her silver hair swaying with the wind of battle. Samuel landed before her with reverent grace.
He bowed slightly. "Can you heal Ryan after he defeats Oliver?"
The elf's brow furrowed in thought. Her eyes, ancient and knowing, flicked toward the battlefield. After a pause, she replied gently, "I'll do my best."
Samuel exhaled—relief flickering across his face. That was all he needed.
Now, the battlefield had gone still for a moment, like the hush before a storm's final crash. Everyone's eyes—wide with awe and disbelief—remained fixed on the two combatants.
Ryan, once mortal and flawed, was on the verge of destroying Oliver—the terror they had once feared like death itself.
The world held its breath, waiting for the inevitable.
Right now, Ryan had completely transformed into a red demon, his entire form engulfed in a blazing crimson aura, so blindingly intense that even the golden shimmer beneath was swallowed by the storm of red. His muscles rippled with raw, unnatural force, and his skin looked like cracked volcanic stone, as if his very body couldn't contain the monstrous power surging within. The ground beneath him sizzled with energy, and the air vibrated like the moments before a thunderclap.
Maya wanted to help—but she couldn't. Her limbs felt frozen, her heart hammering against her ribs. All she could do was watch in horror, her fists clenched, nails digging into her palms, powerless to stop the inferno before her.
Ryan attacked without restraint. Each movement unleashed shockwaves. His overflowing power lashed outward like tidal waves of flame. When he struck Oliver, the impact was a burst of cataclysmic force—a single punch tearing a gaping hole through Oliver's body, as if the world had imploded in that one blow. Oliver's eyes were vacant, his body limp—only the faintest flicker of life lingered inside him.
Ryan stepped forward again. His voice a guttural growl, he drove his fists into Oliver's face, again and again. The sound was sickening—bone cracking, flesh pulverizing, like stone on wet clay. And with one final, devastating blow, Oliver's body burst into a cloud of ashes, dissipating like burnt leaves caught in a whirlwind.
Ryan's gaze swept the battlefield, wild and unfocused. For a heartbeat, he seemed lost. Then suddenly, he launched himself into the sky, soaring like a demonized comet, and let out a roar that shattered the silence—a sound so primal it rattled the clouds and echoed like the cry of a wounded god. His power kept climbing, no peak in sight. The very air warped and shimmered, as if reality itself recoiled from his presence.
Then, in a blinding flash, Samuel and the World Tree surged forward. The sky split open with celestial light as the World Tree summoned its power. Roots of energy twisted into the heavens, and a radiant beam—pure, pulsing, divine—shot toward Ryan. It struck him with the force of a falling star, but Ryan didn't waver. His crimson aura snarled in resistance. His will wanted destruction.
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