The dust still hung in the plaza from the aftermath of the earlier fight. Veylan crouched, panting, eyes darting between Eryndor and Kael. Pride still clenched his chest, but desperation gnawed at him. He wasn't finished—not yet.
"Reinforcements!" Veylan roared, his voice carrying through the city streets. "Bring him down!"
From the shadowed alleyways and rooftops, a figure emerged. An aura of raw, oppressive power radiated from him, bending the air around him like a storm. His robes, embroidered with crackling sigils, shimmered unnaturally. This was Elder Thalos, one of the few mortals whose name commanded fear in the council and in the underworld.
Thalos's eyes locked on Eryndor. "So, this is the thorn," he said, voice like rolling thunder. "I'll prune it myself."
Before Kael or Veylan could react, Thalos moved—fast, precise, and devastating. He raised his hand, and a bolt of searing energy shot toward Eryndor, leaving the ground smoking and cracking where it passed.
Eryndor moved—but not fast enough. The lightning grazed his shoulder, a searing pain ripping through him. He stumbled slightly, and for the first time in the fight, his smirk faltered.
Kael's eyes sharpened. "Watch yourself!" He lunged forward, palm striking the air in a magical barrier that intercepted another lightning bolt. The force pushed Kael back slightly, but he held.
Thalos sneered. "You're fast, but speed alone won't save you." He released another pulse of energy, this time aimed at Eryndor's chest.
Eryndor braced—and for a moment, the world seemed to slow. Pain lanced through him, searing as if every nerve in his body had been set aflame. His legs buckled—but then, in that split second of desperation, something inside him ignited.
Lightning arced across his skin, pure energy humming around him. His eyes flared with a brilliant white-blue light. The aura of power that had always been restrained now surged outward, cracking the pavement beneath his feet.
Lightning reborn.
With a guttural roar, Eryndor's power expanded, leveling him up in an instant. His 1–32 abilities unlocked, and a rush of new sensations flooded him: speed beyond thought, strength beyond comprehension, and a mastery of energy manipulation he had only glimpsed before. The air itself seemed to bend around him, humming with potential.
Kael, sensing the surge, grinned. "Finally. That's the Eryndor I know."
Thalos's eyes widened in shock. "Impossible…"
Before Thalos could strike again, Eryndor moved. Faster than thought, he closed the gap and struck—not recklessly, but with precision honed by countless battles. His fist connected with Thalos's side, sending him skidding back, crashing into the edge of the plaza.
Kael followed seamlessly, intercepting another bolt of energy from Thalos and countering with a blast of his own, a mixture of martial force and magic. Together, Eryndor and Kael formed a deadly synchrony—one defending, one attacking, yet shifting roles with a fluidity that left Thalos struggling to keep up.
They closed in. Hand-to-hand combat, martial strikes, and bursts of raw magic intertwined. Eryndor ducked under a sweeping strike, his elbow colliding with Thalos's jaw. Kael spun, delivering a precise kick to the elder's chest. Every strike, every dodge, every counter moved like a storm unleashed, a ballet of power, discipline, and sheer ferocity.
Thalos, though stronger individually than Kael, was now being overwhelmed. Fighting two forces who complemented each other perfectly, he had to expend far more energy than he anticipated. Each attack he made was met with either counter or preemptive strike. His lightning crackled wildly, but Eryndor and Kael moved through it as if it were a minor nuisance.
A final surge: Eryndor's fists glowed with raw energy, Kael's strikes combining force and magic in seamless rhythm. They landed a coordinated blow that sent Thalos crashing against the plaza fountain, water and energy exploding in all directions.
Breathing hard, Eryndor stood tall, lightning still crackling around him. Kael adjusted his stance, eyes on the now-recovering Thalos. The elder groaned, realizing he had underestimated not just Eryndor, but the force of their combined mastery.
Eryndor's voice rang out, calm but deadly: "This… is just the beginning."
The storm had passed, but the fight—and the rise of a new tier of power—had only just begun.