From the moment Floro stepped forward—
from the way the air stopped trembling,
from the way lightning bent toward him instead of away—
She had no chance.
Not today.
Not like this.
Her fingers trembled, not from fear, but from clarity.
She turned her head slightly.
“Kira,” she said softly.
Kira leaned closer, confused, worried. “Yeah?”
Rina didn’t look at her.
“If I don’t come back,” she said, voice steady, “tell Dad I’m sorry.”
Kira froze.
“…Sorry for what?”
Rina smiled.
It wasn’t brave.
It wasn’t forced.
It was the smile of someone who had already chosen.
“Sorry that I wasn’t born a man,” Rina said quietly.
“Even now… I’m still trying to make him proud.”
Kira grabbed her arm. “Rina—what are you talking about?”
But Rina gently pulled free.
She stepped forward.
Each step lighter than the last.
Behind her, her team started to move—
—but the pressure rolling off Floro stopped them cold.
Floro stood at the center of the field, massive, chained, lightning coiled around him like a living thing barely held back.
He regarded Rina the way one might regard a blade offered in ritual.
Not prey.
Not enemy.
“Rina Everhart,” Floro said, voice deep and steady, echoing across the broken ground.
“As a sign of respect to my brother—”
He raised one hand.
“I will grant you the first strike.”
The crowd gasped.
Rina stopped ten steps away.
“…Is that so?” she asked.
She reached into her inventory.
The Empty Skill Book appeared in her hand.
It felt heavier than it ever had before.
She didn’t hesitate.
The page flipped on its own.
Two names burned bright—
Flercher Reflex
Flashpoint Transpierce
Rina exhaled.
“This book,” she said softly, almost to herself, “has always watched me at my worst.”
A prompt surfaced, clear and final:
[Convert Empty Skill Book → Flashpoint Transpierce (Origin Rank)]
[Warning: This action is irreversible]
She pressed YES.
The book did not explode.
It did not shine.
It simply… vanished.
Like a decision that had already been made long ago.
Rina lifted her head.
“As his student,” she said, voice carrying now, “I will fight until my last breath.”
Lightning surged—
—but not like before.
She did not start at her fingers.
She closed her eyes.
And started at her heart.
A single pulse.
Then another.
Lightning flowed outward like blood through veins—
heart to shoulder, shoulder to arm, spine to legs, lungs to skin.
Her entire body became a circuit.
No sparks.
No chaos.
Just presence.
Her skin glowed faintly blue, veins traced with controlled light, her breath steady.
Floro stared.
Then he laughed.
A deep, thunderous sound that shook debris from broken buildings.
“Amazing,” he roared.
“Truly amazing, little girl.”
He took one step forward.
“But I cannot allow you to die yet.”
His eyes sharpened.
“You are the one who knows where my brother is.”
Rina raised her blade.
“Don’t worry,” she replied calmly.
“My friend knows where he is.”
Alegor watched from the rear, arms crossed, lightning flickering nervously at his fingertips.
“To honor a duel to the death…” he muttered with disdain. “Tch.”
Maviene glanced at him. “What troubles you, Alegor?”
Alegor’s jaw tightened.
“I hate it,” he said quietly.
“Hate what?”
“How much she mirrors Father.”
The words hung heavy in the air.
Rina stepped forward.
Lightning did not scream.
It obeyed.
And the duel began—not as a clash of power—
but as a question the world itself was about to answer.
Rina planted her feet.
The world seemed to tilt, not because of Floro’s presence—but because she had already decided.
She raised her sword.
Lightning responded immediately, rushing toward her spine, coiling tighter than ever before. Her heart hammered once.
Then—
A translucent prompt bloomed in front of her vision.
Cold.
Impersonal.
Unarguable.
[WARNING]
Body condition for skill usage is below acceptable threshold.
Executing this skill will result in total systemic failure.
Outcome: Death.
Rina didn’t blink.
“I know,” she whispered.
Her grip tightened.
“He told me already.”
The lightning didn’t stop gathering.
“This is the last time anyway.”
Her breath trembled.
Why am I accepting this?
The thought slipped in, uninvited.
There are other ways.
I could run.
I could beg.
I could give them the book.
I could let someone else die instead.
Her knees almost buckled.
I don’t have to do this.
Another thought followed, cruel and sharp.
Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.
I’m really going to die today.
Her chest tightened so hard she thought her heart might rupture before the skill ever did.
Dad…
Her vision blurred.
Dad, I’m scared.
The lightning pulsed violently now, scraping along her nerves like shards of glass. Her muscles screamed as the charge tried to tear pathways her body had never finished building.
Then—
Floro’s voice echoed in her memory.
“The Flercher way is to honor a duel.”
Rina steadied.
If it was a duel—
Then there must be an outcome.
One winner.
One loser.
No running.
No bargaining.
Only the answer.
She exhaled slowly.
The world sharpened.
Rina shifted into stance.
Her legs crossed tightly together, grounding her center.
Her left hand folded behind her back.
Her sword rose vertically, blade aligned with her gaze, tip pointing skyward.
A lunge stance.
Not desperate.
Not reckless.
Final.
[Origin Rank — Flashpoint Transpierce]
The moment she committed—
Everything detonated.
Lightning didn’t just coat her body.
It became her.
The air around her screamed as space itself vibrated, molecules rattling apart under the pressure of absolute acceleration. Her muscles tore microscopically, fiber by fiber, as her body tried—and failed—to keep up.
Her skin split.
Blood vaporized instantly.
Her bones cracked.
Rina bit down so hard she tasted iron.
Hold it.
Her flesh felt like it was being peeled away layer by layer, her nerves aflame, her organs vibrating out of alignment.
Just a second more.
Her vision narrowed to a single point.
I can do this.
She pushed.
—
A massive hand closed around her face.
The world inverted.
Before the lightning could fully resolve—
Floro moved.
Not with lightning.
With judgment.
He leapt forward, seized her head mid-lunge, and slammed her straight into the ground.
The impact shattered the earth.
Rina’s body went limp as the charge dispersed violently outward, scorching the battlefield in a wide radius.
Floro stood over her, breathing hard, chains rattling.
“I cannot allow this,” he said grimly.
“I cannot have my brother’s student die because of me.”
He looked down at her broken form.
Lightning flickered erratically around her fading aura.
Floro did not release her at once.
His palm still covered Rina’s face, pressing her gently—but firmly—into the fractured earth. Her lightning had already burned itself out, leaving only fading sparks crawling weakly across her skin. Her body trembled, not from fear, but from the aftermath of a choice she had already accepted.
She was ready, Floro realized.
Not bluffing.
Not posturing.
She had been prepared to die.
For a brief moment, his grip slackened.
Brother, he thought darkly, is this the kind of student you left behind?
The chains around his arms rattled softly.
He had stopped her blade.
But the cost she was willing to pay still lingered in the air.
Then—
The battlefield changed.
Not with sound.
Not with force.
With absence.
Lightning across the field hesitated, as if unsure whether it should continue to exist.
Floro’s head snapped up.
At the edge of the shattered ground stood a dog.
Small.
Still.
Watching.
Every lightning demon froze.
Azureveil’s breath caught in his throat.
“…No,” he whispered.
That dogs were never normal.
Not here.
Not in any world touched by demon lords.
The creature’s eyes locked onto Floro.
A low growl rolled across the battlefield—deep, layered, vibrating through bone and armor alike.
Floro frowned.
Then his eyes widened.
“…Grahahaha!”
His laughter burst out, sudden and thunderous.
“Is that you?” he roared, stepping forward.
“Gorvath?!”
He leaned closer, squinting.
“Since when did you turn into a little pup?”
The growl deepened.
Rai’s body twisted violently.
Muscle tore outward. Bone realigned. Fur erupted as mass expanded, slamming into the ground with enough force to crack the earth beneath his paws. His full form towered over the battlefield, eyes blazing with restrained fury.
The crowd screamed.
Hunters scattered.
Some fell where they stood, legs refusing to move.
Floro grinned.
“There you are,” he said, almost fondly.
“It has been too long, Gor.”
Lightning crawled eagerly along his arms.
“But answer me this,” Floro continued, voice sharpening, testing the truth between them.
“If I fight you,” he said,
“together with the entire clan—”
His gaze flicked briefly toward the gathered elders and warriors.
“—can you still stand?”
Rai did not look away.
“That,” Rai replied, voice deep and steady,
“is why I did not come alone today.”
The air behind him warped.
Something unfolded.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
A small shape emerged.
A mouse.
Floro laughed again.
“That?” he scoffed.
“You bring a mouse to frighten me?”
But the laughter died in his throat.
Astra staggered back.
Eris’s face went pale.
Bromm turned and shouted, voice breaking.
“That mouse—!”
“RUN!” Eris screamed.
Not away from Floro.
Away from it.
Squeak expanded.
Emerald light poured from beneath his fur as his form grew—vast, towering, grotesque in its majesty. Ten times Rai’s size, his shadow swallowed the battlefield whole. The ground blackened beneath him, rot blooming outward like a living plague.
The air reeked of decay.
Of endings.
Floro took a step back.
Squeak’s eyes opened.
Calm.
Ancient.
Uninterested in pride.
A voice echoed—not loud, but absolute.
“My name is Squeak.”
The world seemed to shrink.
“First of the Twelve End Beasts.”
Floro’s breath caught.
Squeak leaned forward, emerald fur shimmering with lethal spores.
“As my brother has asked,” Squeak continued evenly,
“I am here to finish this.”
For the first time since he set foot upon this world—
Floro did not smile.
And the lightning demons finally understood:
This was no longer a duel.
It was the moment before extinction decided whether to move.
The moment Squeak finished unfolding—
The battlefield changed from war to extinction.
It was not a presence that crushed.
It was a presence that ended.
People began to die without understanding why.
Lightning demons collapsed mid-breath, emerald rot blooming across their armor, flesh peeling away in silent screams. Some tried to run. Others froze, eyes wide, bodies refusing to obey.
Around Squeak, existence itself decayed.
Metal rusted in seconds.
Stone blackened.
Lightning faltered, then died.
It felt like standing before the end of a world.
Not just Floro.
Everyone.
Hunters dropped their weapons and backed away, hands shaking. Even the elders—proud, ancient beings—felt something unfamiliar claw into their chests.
Fear.
Not fear of pain.
Fear of not being remembered.
Floro staggered as another of his kin collapsed, screaming as emerald spores ate through lightning and flesh alike.
“Stop…” he whispered.
Another fell.
Then another.
His people—his clan—dying not in battle, not in glory, but simply because death had arrived.
Rage exploded inside him.
Floro roared and charged.
Lightning surged around his body, forced into motion by sheer will as he rushed straight at Squeak.
The poison thickened.
His skin blistered.
His arm began to peel away in strips, flesh sloughing off like wet parchment.
Pain—real pain—flooded his nerves.
Pain beyond anything he had imagined.
Still, he ran.
Still, he raised his fist.
“STOP THIS AT ONCE.”
The voice cut through rot and thunder alike.
Clear.
Commanding.
Familiar.
Floro skidded to a halt.
Lightning demons froze.
The emerald decay slowed.
A man stepped forward from the edge of the battlefield.
No aura.
No dominance.
Just presence.
Flercher had arrived.
Squeak turned.
Slowly.
The pressure spiked.
“Who,” Squeak asked, voice calm but deadly, “are you to tell me what to do?”
Flercher did not raise his guard.
“I am a friend of your master,” he said simply. “Damian.”
The ground cracked.
Rot surged violently.
Squeak’s eyes flared.
“How dare you speak that name.”
Flercher took one step forward.
“Stop,” he said. “Damian does not want this.”
Squeak moved.
In an instant, his colossal form loomed inches from Flercher’s face—like a god inspecting an insect.
“Say that again,” Squeak whispered, voice carrying across the field,
“and everyone here will die before you even move.”
Lightning erupted from Flercher.
Not wild.
Not chaotic.
Pure.
Honest.
“How dare you threaten my son,” Flercher said, lightning pouring off his body like a living storm,
“and my family—”
The sky split.
A colossal bolt slammed down on Flercher, vaporizing the ground around him, scorching the battlefield into glass.
Hunters screamed.
Astra’s eyes widened.
“…That’s him,” she whispered. “The one who stopped it last time.”
The lightning faded.
Smoke cleared.
Flercher staggered—
Then his body shifted.
Lightning receded.
His posture softened.
Raine’s form twisted once more.
Damian stood there now.
Hair dark.
Eyes gentle.
The rot thickened—but for Damian, this was nothing new.
“Squeak,” Damian said calmly.
The emerald decay halted.
“…That’s enough.”
Squeak froze.
“You promised me,” Damian continued, voice warm despite the dead ground beneath his feet,
“that we would live this life without destruction. Without killing.”
Squeak’s massive form trembled.
“But they were going to kill our feeder,” he protested.
Damian laughed softly.
A familiar sound.
Affectionate.
“Let my friend handle it,” Damian said.
“And it’s rude to call someone your feeder.”
The rot withdrew.
The battlefield breathed again.
And everyone there understood one thing:
The end of the world had looked at them—
And decided to wait.