Reyn vs. Captains Volen and Iza
Volen moved first, charging straight ahead like a battering ram. His massive broadsword trailed sparks as it screeched along the stone floor, announcing his raw power with every step.
Reyn didn't flinch.
He sidestepped smoothly, his fingers flicking mid-motion. Four thin threads lashed outward, wrapping around Volen's blade mid-swing.
CLANG!
Steel collided with string—but the threads held fast, humming with magical tension.
Volen's eyes widened in disbelief. "Tch—what the hell…?!"
"Dark String Magic: Weight Transfer," Reyn whispered calmly.
In an instant, Volen's weapon grew oppressively heavy, its weight dragging toward the floor like an anchor. He stumbled—only a fraction of a second—
But it was enough.
From behind, Iza appeared with blinding speed.
"Whirlwind Art: Crescent Cutter!"
A slicing gust of wind swept in horizontally, aimed at Reyn's exposed ribs.
Reyn ducked beneath the slash with a practiced motion, spinning smoothly. He extended his right hand—three threads lashed out in a defensive arc—
But Iza vanished into wind, his form dispersing like mist.
He reappeared a moment later—above Reyn—daggers glowing, flashing down.
SHHK!
Two shallow cuts grazed Reyn's shoulders. He slid back across the floor, blood trailing, but remained steady. Threads spiraled defensively around him, reacting like a second skin.
Iza dropped low, spinning rapidly. A swirling tunnel of air surrounded him. Each movement was fluid, agile, nearly impossible to track. The wind shrieked as he moved.
Reyn dropped to one knee, palm pressed flat to the ground.
"Dark String Magic: Marionette Field."
From his fingers, dozens of invisible threads snaked outward, sinking into stone, wall cracks, shattered statues—anchoring themselves across the battlefield.
Silent. Invisible. Waiting.
Iza lunged forward again.
But—he froze mid-step.
One foot caught.
Then his arm.
Thin strings had already looped him in mid-motion, like a trap laid before he even moved.
"Damn—!"
Reyn flicked his fingers.
The threads jerked, hurling Iza sideways into a shattered stone pillar. The impact thundered. Dust erupted.
Volen roared in fury, stomping forward with a metallic echo. His body now encased in glowing silver-gray plating.
"Steel Drive: Unbreakable Core!"
Steel pulsed through his limbs. His broadsword gleamed like a mountain-cut slab of metal.
He swung downward with earth-shattering force.
BOOOOM!
Dust exploded. Stone cracked.
But the sword hit only the floor.
Reyn had vanished.
Volen blinked. Then looked down.
His own leg was bound—tightly wound in thread.
Behind him stood Reyn, calm and unreadable. Threads extended from his fingers to Volen's ankle, shoulder, and blade.
"You're too slow."
Reyn gave a gentle tug.
Volen's sword-arm snapped upward involuntarily.
Reyn backstepped and whipped one hand horizontally. A black thread lashed out like a razor—slashing diagonally across Volen's plated chest.
CRACK.
A thin fracture line spread through the armor.
But suddenly—Iza returned, moving like a blur. No more holding back.
His daggers surged with compressed wind magic.
"Whirlwind Art: Razor Cyclone!"
He spun into a living vortex, spiraling toward Reyn like a human drill.
Reyn tried to shift—but Iza was too fast.
The wind tore through his left side, launching him across the battlefield and into a crumbling statue.
THUD!
Reyn coughed once. Blood leaked from his lips. Dust hung around him.
Midair, Iza hovered, breathing heavily. "Got you…"
But Reyn stood—slowly, painfully.
Threads flicked around his body like twitching limbs, glowing faintly.
"Not quite."
He raised his arm—and behind Iza, the statue moved.
A black string, previously unnoticed, had wrapped around it.
It launched forward—like a boulder flung from a giant's sling.
"What—?!"
CRASH!
The statue smashed into Iza, slamming him into the stone ground like a meteor. The entire battlefield shook.
Reyn's eyes gleamed. He flicked his wrist.
Ten threads buried themselves into Iza's limbs, locking him in place.
Volen hesitated. His partner was pinned. Reyn bled, yes—but he still stood, every thread alive and alert, dancing like fangs waiting to strike.
Volen charged again—but this time slower. Smarter. Cautious.
Reyn lifted both hands.
"Let me show you…"
"Dark String Magic: Execution Threads."
Hundreds of threads erupted from every finger, curving like tendrils of ink. They formed a dome of slicing death around the area.
Volen swung—
The dome collapsed inward.
Each thread targeted specific joints—shoulders, elbows, knees.
Volen blocked some—five, seven—but eight more struck in perfect sync.
His armor cracked.
Then shattered.
His legs gave out. His weapon fell with a metallic thud.
Reyn stood in the heart of the battlefield.
Bleeding. Wounded.
But very much in control.
Still the puppeteer.
Still weaving.
Iza, groaning, tried one final burst of strength. He summoned raw wind pressure, snapping through several threads.
He leapt toward Reyn.
"Whirlwind Art: Slicing Mirage!"
Illusions burst forth. Dozens of him. Shadows made of air and light—closing in from all sides.
Reyn's eyes narrowed.
His fingers moved in a slow spiral.
"Dark String Magic: Null Spiral."
A rotating cyclone of thread burst around him—a vortex of cutting silk.
Every illusion that touched it—
SNIP.
Was torn apart.
The real Iza leapt over it—only to feel his leg tugged again.
He looked down.
A thread had already coiled around his ankle.
YANK!
He slammed face-first into the floor.
Reyn landed beside him. One thread slid around Iza's neck—not choking—but anchoring him.
"You're done."
Across the field, Volen groaned, on one knee. His armor shattered. Sword lost. He reached for it—slowly.
Reyn flicked a finger.
The sword yanked away and embedded into the ground next to Volen's foot—missing by inches.
He flinched.
Reyn walked forward, slow and composed.
Dark blood dripped from his cheek, streaking down his collar.
"I don't like to drag fights out," he said quietly.
"But you two made it… interesting."
Both captains lay where they fell.
Alive.
But completely broken.
Reyn exhaled deeply. One by one, the threads spiraled back into his fingers, vanishing like smoke.
He looked up. The sky remained gray. Still rumbling with distant thunder.
Iza groaned, struggling to lift himself.
Volen tried to stand—but failed again.
Reyn didn't wait.
He raised a hand.
The strings binding Iza began to pulse—gently at first. Like snakes tasting the air.
"Dark String Magic: Phantom Marionette."
From Iza's bindings, dark silhouettes formed—humanoid puppets made entirely of string.
They mirrored Iza's movements.
Only faster. Deadlier. Unforgiving.
Iza swung a dagger—his puppet swung two.
He parried.
Barely.
And lost ground every second.
"Dammit—Get off me!"
He slashed again, but every cut he made only let more threads latch on—more puppets form.
Across the battlefield, Volen growled.
He roared and ripped free of his bindings with brute force. Steel veins surged, glowing red-hot.
"Steel Drive: Iron Tyrant!"
Metal exploded from his arms, forming enormous gauntlets—armored fists the size of shields.
He charged—bulldozing through a dozen threads.
Reyn's gaze sharpened.
He pointed.
Ten threads shot out—connecting to ten broken spears scattered in the ruins.
He jerked his arm—
KRACK-KRACK-KRACK!
The spears flew—slamming into Volen from all directions.
Volen blocked most—barely.
But one pierced his shoulder plate, pinning him to a crumbling wall.
Reyn stepped forward, silent.
Strings floated behind him like shadows on leashes.
Iza screamed in frustration, throwing wind magic everywhere.
"Enough of this—GALE STRIKE!"
A massive burst of pressure erupted outward.
Wind shrieked. Dust exploded.
Reyn leapt—lifted by invisible threads like a puppet on air.
Midair, he extended both hands.
"Thread Lockdown."
Around Iza, dozens of threads snapped into a cocoon. They bent with the wind—but didn't break.
Reyn dropped from above.
A final thread shot down—
BOOM!
The cocoon caved in, smashing Iza into the ground.
He coughed.
Blood trickled from his mouth.
"Y…you psycho…"
Reyn said nothing.
He didn't need to.
The threads said it all.