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Chapter 19: Clash of Titans
Boom!
Both swords collided, releasing a blinding veil of mist. The air trembled, and for a moment, silence hung heavy across the frozen battlefield. Then, slowly, the haze began to thin, revealing the father-and-daughter pair locked in their duel.
Hellea panted lightly, her breath forming faint clouds in the icy air. Her fiery blade still pulsed with energy, its molten light flickering against the frosted ground.
Opposite her, Kyros Helion stood unmoving, his expression calm, his ice-forged sword already reforming as shards of frost gathered around the hilt. The collision had melted its edge, but the Supreme's aura was unshaken, his stance grounded and resolute.
Hellea could have done more—perhaps even landed a solid strike—but the intense cold gnawed at her strength, suppressing the heat that fueled her flames.
She inhaled slowly. Each breath drew in tiny ice particles that tried to smother her inner fire. Her blade dimmed slightly, its glow weakening under the frost's embrace.
"The battlefield is not where you let down your guard," Kyros said calmly, his deep voice cutting through the cold as he advanced, sword ready.
But Hellea didn't move.
She stood perfectly still—calm as a frozen lake—her eyes distant as memories surged through her mind. Something deep within her stirred, rekindling a fire long buried.
The abilities powered by the Force were not like ordinary weapons or spells. They were manifestations of will—extensions of the mind forged into reality. To wield them was to bridge thought and substance.
That was what separated the Force from what ancient texts once called "magic."
For example, the Fire Arts. The ability to summon flame was not a gift—it was an awakening. Every human possessed warmth within their bodies. Through relentless training, that warmth could be drawn out, focused, and released through will—sometimes through a gesture as simple as a snap or a click of the fingers.
For Hellea, snapping her fingers had always been her ignition. But this moment was different.
For the first time, she didn't need the motion.
She felt it coursing through her entire being—her veins, her breath, her skin. Every pore in her body shimmered with the sensation of burning life.
And as her father's sword came closer—
Three feet.
Two feet.
Boom!
She erupted in flame.
The blast sent Kyros skidding backward, boots grinding into the melting frost. The fire that engulfed Hellea was unlike anything she had ever produced. It was deeper, fiercer—a crimson inferno that devoured the cold itself.
Within seconds, the snow within a hundred-mile radius had thawed. Steam rose in great waves, and even the long-dead vegetation beneath her feet sparked to life, tiny green shoots trembling in the heat.
Unlike Pash, who could only transform partially, Hellea's transformation was complete—instantaneous.
Her body became the embodiment of fire itself.
Her hair flowed like living flame, her skin glowed with molten veins, and her entire frame shimmered with the fierce beauty of a being born from the heart of an inferno.
Kyros's eyes widened.
"Just as I speculated… she's awakened it." His voice carried a hint of awe.
The Helion family had long guarded a sacred tradition—a legacy tied to an ancient, mythical being associated with fire. Generations had tried to awaken that heritage, but only few had succeeded. Seeing his daughter standing there, cloaked in fire, filled him with both pride and reverence.
Hellea looked down at her hands. What was once flesh was now a lattice of molten lava. The transformation had consumed her fully—arms, torso, even her breath glowed with heat.
But it didn't stop there. The flames continued inward.
Her liver, her kidneys, her lungs—each organ was being reforged in flame. Finally, her heart ignited, turning into a blazing core of liquid fire that pulsed with life.
The energy reached its peak.
Hellea threw back her head and roared, a pillar of flame bursting skyward. The sound shattered the silence of the tundra, pushing the snow far beyond the horizon.
Steam hissed as fire met ice, filling the air with sizzling vapors.
And then, above her—
A majestic image appeared.
A fiery bird—its wings immense, its body radiant—hovered in the sky, its eyes glowing like twin suns. It was an avatar, a guardian spirit, a reflection of the power she had become.
With renewed strength, Hellea burst forward, her body streaking across the sky like a comet.
Kyros raised an eyebrow as he watched her close the distance at impossible speed.
He stomped the ground.
In response, massive icicles erupted from the earth, shooting upward to meet her charge.
But Hellea didn't slow down.
Her right arm drew back, the fire swirling around it, and—
Boom!
She punched straight through the ice, shards scattering like glitter in the wind.
Kyros smiled faintly. "Good."
He raised his sword-arm and slashed through the air.
The movement birthed a crescent of pure frost wind—sharp, invisible, deadly. It roared forward, slicing through the battlefield.
Hellea's eyes narrowed. She raised her arm, summoning her flames into a new shape—a sword larger than her entire body. The blade hummed with heat, molten light spilling from its edges.
She swung.
Crack!
Boom!
The fiery blade cleaved through the icy wind, splitting it apart with a thunderous explosion. A violent breeze followed, whipping her hair and scattering snow like ash.
Then she was upon him.
Fire and frost collided again. The ground trembled under the weight of their clash. The sky dimmed as clouds twisted into turbulent spirals, reflecting the colors of their powers—crimson and blue, rage and calm, chaos and control.
They moved faster than sight could follow.
Fists met frost. Flames shattered ice. The air itself screamed.
The land quaked as if two titans had risen to war, each strike tearing at the world around them.
Kyros parried another blow, his arm sheathed in ice. His voice, calm but resolute, broke through the chaos.
"I know that you're upset," he said, his tone almost pleading. "But I did all of this for you. Look at yourself—look how strong you've become. At your age, you're holding your own against me, the Military Supreme! You wouldn't be this powerful if I hadn't made the choices I did!"
He caught her flaming punch in his palm, frost hissing against heat.
But instead of pacifying her, his words only deepened her fury.
Memories flooded her mind—memories of her childhood, of long days under his shadow, of affection buried beneath duty. Her father had always worshiped power—strength above all else. And in doing so, he had forgotten what it meant to care.
The one person who had shown her love—her mother—was gone.
Her rage ignited her flames further. The fiery bird above her shrieked, its body blazing brighter, its wings spreading wide.
Her sword dissolved, transforming into a molten sphere—an orb of pure, volatile energy.
It began small, no larger than a pebble. Then it grew—a heartbeat later, it was the size of a football, pulsing violently, unstable and radiant.
The ground cracked under the pressure.
Kyros's eyes widened slightly. "Hellea—"
But she didn't wait.
The orb trembled in her hand, and with a shout, she hurled it straight at him.
Kyros felt the world tilt. The sheer power radiating from the orb was staggering. He could feel it in his chest, pressing against his heart.
He had held back until now, but this—this attack—
He couldn't afford to.
His aura flared. Frost exploded outward as he raised both arms, channeling his full strength.
And then—
BOOOOOOM!
The orb detonated.
A flood of crimson light swallowed everything. Fire and shockwaves tore through the plains, devouring snow, ice, and even the clouds above.
The world burned white.
---
Minutes Later
The blinding light faded.
Silence returned to the battlefield, now reduced to scorched earth. What was once a frozen wasteland had transformed into a barren desert—blackened soil, smoking craters, and not a single flake of snow remained.
Kyros Helion sat cross-legged amid the destruction. His clothes were torn and burned, the crimson fabric singed beyond repair. Yet his body bore no wounds.
He exhaled slowly. "I think I made it worse," he muttered, shaking his head.
Still, there was a faint smile at the corner of his mouth.
"But… it's for her own good. This will make her stronger."
He looked toward the distant horizon, where Hellea's energy had vanished.
"Even I can't take on a Sentinel's rank alone, not with all my power," he continued under his breath. "For her to surpass me—to stand against them—she must be far stronger than I am. And the only way… is to focus her mind. To harden her resolve. Even if it means repeating what I once did."
He sighed again, as though trying to convince himself that it was the right choice.
Beep. Beep.
A sound drew his attention. The wristwatch on his arm—the only object unscathed by the battle—blinked with a pulsing light.
He pressed it, and a holographic projection flickered to life above it.
"Sir," a voice spoke urgently. "The Scryvian ship has entered our solar system. We believe the war has officially begun."
Kyros's expression hardened. "Which ship?"
"The Crinø, sir."
He inhaled sharply. The Crinø—the third-largest of the Scryvian fleet, a vessel half the size of a moon. Its arrival meant only one thing.
The invasion had begun.
"Rally our forces," he ordered. "I'll be there soon."
The projection faded.
He lingered for a moment, staring in the direction his daughter had gone, a storm of emotion flickering behind his calm eyes. Then, silently, he turned and walked the other way.
---
Meanwhile, on Hellea's Path
Hellea now wore simple clothes—a sweatshirt, jeans, and a baseball cap pulled low over her face. The glow of battle had faded, replaced by a quiet determination.
She boarded a levitating train, its sleek form gliding silently along invisible rails through the snowless horizon. The destination was known only to her. Her training was over—or perhaps, just beginning.
She had awakened her full form.
---
Elsewhere, on the Same Train
An old woman sat a few seats away, her face half-hidden beneath a scarf. Her eyes, however, were sharp—observant.
She glanced at the young woman sitting across from her—the one with the cap pulled low.
A small, knowing smile curved her lips. A glint of mischief flickered in her gaze as the train sped onward, vanishing into the horizon.
Everything, it seemed, was falling into place.
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