The duel began without announcement.

  Alegor did not shout.

  He did not posture.

  He did not even step forward.

  He simply raised one hand.

  The air condensed.

  Not lightning as the world knew it—no scattered arcs, no wild discharge tearing outward. What formed above his palm was a singular, compressed filament of white-blue light so dense it made the atmosphere recoil around it.

  Then it fired.

  A beam.

  Perfectly straight.

  Not thunder.

  Not a storm.

  A blade of lightning.

  It cut across the battlefield with surgical intent, vaporizing dust, splitting stone, and leaving a trench of molten glass in its wake as it screamed toward Flercher’s chest.

  The hunters screamed.

  Drones spiked into static.

  Even the lightning clan flinched.

  No one had ever refined lightning to this level. Not into a laser. Not into something so absolute that it erased the concept of “scatter.”

  Floro’s grin widened slowly.

  “Yes,” he murmured.

  The beam struck.

  Flercher did not dodge.

  Golden armor shimmered.

  His rapier lifted.

  And with a motion so small it almost looked lazy—

  He parried.

  The beam did not explode.

  It did not clash.

  It bent.

  Like a line drawn across paper redirected by a patient hand.

  The white-blue column twisted upward at a sharp angle and carved harmlessly into the sky, punching a hole through clouds instead of through flesh.

  Silence followed.

  Alegor’s eyes narrowed.

  He fired again.

  Two beams this time.

  Then three.

  Each one cleaner than the last.

  Each one more precise, thinner, sharper.

  They came from impossible angles—crossing trajectories meant to box Flercher in, slicing through the battlefield in geometric patterns that left no safe gap between them.

  Flercher stepped.

  Not retreating.

  Advancing.

  Each movement minimal.

  Each parry effortless.

  Golden lightning flowed over the rapier’s dull edge and along its spine, guiding the beams upward, sideways, away from civilians, away from hunters scrambling to crawl clear of the battlefield.

  A beam screamed toward a cluster of injured hunters—

  Flercher flicked his wrist.

  The beam curved.

  Arced into the empty sky.

  Another cut low toward the city skyline—

  Flercher pivoted once.

  The laser split around him like water parting around stone.

  The lightning clan watched in awe.

  The Second Elder Valerian exhaled slowly. “That refinement…”

  Maviene’s lips parted slightly. “Alegor has surpassed every record.”

  “He has,” Floro agreed.

  But his grin did not fade.

  “Children,” Floro said, voice carrying to every lightning demon present, “open your eyes.”

  They did.

  “This,” Floro continued, watching his brother move like a memory reborn, “is how legends fight.”

  Alegor’s expression hardened.

  He vanished.

  Not teleported—moved so quickly that most eyes lost him. He reappeared behind Flercher midair, palm already glowing, beam forming before the previous one had fully dissipated.

  He fired point blank.

  Flercher rotated mid-step, blade rising in a clean arc.

  The beam scraped along golden armor with a scream of condensed energy—

  —and redirected harmlessly into the clouds again.

  Not one stray bolt touched the ground.

  Not one.

  Alegor pressed harder.

  Ten beams now.

  Then twenty.

  A storm of straight lines intersecting in lethal geometry.

  The battlefield became a lattice of light.

  Hunters dropped flat to the ground.

  Some screamed prayers.

  Some simply covered their heads and waited for death.

  But death did not come.

  Every single beam met gold.

  Every single beam was guided away.

  No wasted movement.

  No frantic blocking.

  No panic.

  Just… correction.

  Alegor landed at a distance, chest rising slightly. Not tired. But aware.

  “You are not attacking,” he said, voice cutting through the residual crackle of displaced lightning.

  Flercher lowered his blade just slightly.

  Golden light hummed softly across his armor.

  “I am,” he replied calmly.

  Alegor’s eyes flicked to the sky—where dozens of redirected beams had carved glowing scars through clouds.

  “That is defense.”

  Flercher’s lips curved faintly.

  “No.”

  He stepped forward again.

  “That,” he said softly, “is positioning.”

  The ground beneath him trembled—not from impact, but from recognition.

  Alegor’s fingers twitched.

  The air began to compress again.

  This time slower.

  He was thinking now.

  Learning mid-fight.

  Adjusting.

  Lightning demons shifted uneasily.

  This was no longer a clash of raw power.

  It was precision versus inevitability.

  And Flercher—

  Was smiling.

  Not mockingly.

  Not cruelly.

  But with something almost… fond.

  As if watching a child discover a new boundary.

  The golden armor pulsed once.

  Steady.

  Controlled.

  Unyielding.

  And the sky above them continued to bear the scars of beams that had never been allowed to fall.

  The battlefield had stopped breathing.

  Even the lightning clan no longer whispered. The redirected beams had torn long glowing scars into the sky, but none had struck the ground. None had touched the civilians fleeing at the edges. None had injured the hunters still dragging the wounded away.

  Not one.

  Alegor stood across from Flercher, lightning still gathered around his arms, but something had shifted in his expression.

  It was no longer fury.

  It was calculation.

  “You are not serious,” Alegor said quietly.

  Flercher tilted his head slightly.

  “I am.”

  “No,” Alegor replied, voice tightening. “You are correcting me.”

  The words landed heavier than any beam.

  Behind them, Maviene’s eyes widened.

  Floro’s grin thinned.

  Flercher did not deny it.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  He simply stepped forward again.

  Alegor fired three more beams in rapid succession, faster than before, cutting off angles, intersecting mid-air to trap Flercher in converging lines of white-blue annihilation.

  Flercher moved once.

  A single forward step.

  The rapier rotated at a shallow angle.

  All three beams deflected upward in a smooth arc, splitting around him as if they had chosen not to strike.

  He didn’t counterattack.

  He didn’t press advantage.

  He didn’t even attempt to close the distance.

  Alegor lowered his hand slowly.

  “You are holding back.”

  The accusation was no longer disguised.

  “Yes,” Flercher answered.

  The honesty hit harder than lightning.

  Murmurs rippled through the lightning clan.

  Valerian clenched his jaw.

  Maviene whispered, “Why would he—”

  Floro didn’t speak.

  He already knew.

  Alegor’s lightning flared brighter.

  “Why?”

  Flercher’s golden armor hummed softly. The light reflected faintly in his eyes as he glanced—not at the sky, not at the clan—

  But toward Rina.

  She was watching. Standing despite the damage. Eyes wide. Memorizing every movement.

  Flercher turned back to his son.

  “I am showing her,” he said calmly.

  Alegor followed his gaze.

  Rina froze under it.

  “You use her as witness?” Alegor demanded.

  “I use her as student.”

  Alegor’s fingers curled.

  “She is not lightning demon.”

  “She does not need to be.”

  Another beam formed.

  This time slower.

  Deliberate.

  Alegor fired not to kill—but to test.

  Flercher didn’t parry immediately.

  He let the beam approach within inches of his armor before rotating his blade, sliding the beam sideways and into the sky in one smooth, controlled redirect.

  “If you cannot overwhelm someone with speed,” Flercher continued conversationally, “you must control the space they occupy.”

  He stepped to the left.

  Alegor instinctively adjusted position.

  “And if you cannot match their refinement…”

  Flercher vanished.

  Not from sight.

  From comprehension.

  He appeared behind Alegor without disturbing the air, blade resting gently against his son’s shoulder—no pressure, just placement.

  “…you teach them why they are still chasing you.”

  The blade tapped once.

  Alegor’s breath hitched.

  He hadn’t seen the movement.

  Hadn’t felt the shift.

  Flercher reappeared in front of him just as smoothly.

  Golden armor pulsed once.

  “You are magnificent,” Flercher said, not mockery, not flattery—truth. “Your lightning is cleaner than mine ever was.”

  The clan froze.

  Alegor stared at him.

  “But you still waste motion,” Flercher added.

  Alegor’s pride flared.

  “Then fight me properly!”

  Flercher’s expression changed—subtle, but real.

  “I am,” he said softly.

  “You haven’t struck once!”

  Flercher’s gaze sharpened.

  “If I strike seriously,” he replied, “you die.”

  Silence slammed into the field.

  Alegor’s lightning wavered.

  Not from fear.

  From comprehension.

  Flercher lowered his blade slightly.

  “Unlike Azhareth,” he said almost thoughtfully, “I am not good at teaching.”

  The name meant nothing to the lightning clan.

  But Rina felt it.

  “And so,” Flercher continued, looking directly at her now, “I must show you slowly.”

  Alegor’s jaw tightened.

  “I am not a lesson,” he said.

  “No,” Flercher agreed.

  “You are my son.”

  That broke something.

  Lightning exploded outward from Alegor’s body in a wild surge for the first time since the duel began. The beams lost their perfect shape, spreading into a crackling storm around him.

  “You left us,” Alegor said through clenched teeth.

  Flercher did not deny it.

  “You let us tear each other apart.”

  “Yes.”

  “You let them poison you.”

  A faint flicker crossed Flercher’s eyes.

  “Yes.”

  “And you still stand there correcting my stance?!”

  Lightning roared upward in a spiraling column.

  The golden armor hummed louder now—not aggressive, not expanding—but preparing.

  Flercher raised his blade fully for the first time.

  “No,” he said quietly.

  “Now I am going to fight you.”

  The sky darkened.

  And this time—

  Alegor did not hold back.

  The sky changed first.

  Not dark.

  Not storming.

  It tightened.

  Clouds that had been carved apart by redirected beams now spiraled inward, pulled by an unseen gravity. The air grew heavy—charged beyond ordinary lightning, beyond mana, beyond even the pride of the clan.

  Alegor rose slowly into the air.

  Not leaping.

  Not propelled.

  He simply lifted, lightning beneath his feet compressing into a stable platform of pure force.

  His body glowed white-blue now, no longer contained to his hands. Veins of condensed light traced across his arms, his neck, his temples. His eyes burned with singular focus.

  Below, lightning demons stepped back instinctively.

  Valerian’s voice dropped to a whisper.

  “…He’s invoking Skyfall.”

  Maviene’s breath caught.

  Floro did not smile.

  Alegor raised both arms.

  The clouds above split into a rotating ring.

  All scattered lightning vanished.

  All minor discharge ceased.

  The entire sky compressed into a single focal point.

  Then—

  It descended.

  Not as countless beams.

  Not as a storm.

  One.

  A singular, colossal column of lightning fell from the heavens.

  It erased sound.

  It erased air.

  The battlefield vanished beneath blinding white.

  Hunters screamed and dropped flat. Windows shattered in the city beyond. Even the lightning clan shielded their eyes as the beam carved straight down toward Flercher.

  It swallowed him whole.

  For a heartbeat—

  There was nothing but annihilation.

  The beam did not scatter.

  It did not ripple.

  It drilled downward, a divine execution meant to erase everything in its path.

  And at its center—

  Golden light flickered.

  Not exploding outward.

  Moving.

  Inside the beam, the golden armor began to dissolve.

  Not shatter.

  Not fail.

  Dissolve by choice.

  Each plate of lightning unlatched from Flercher’s body and streamed toward his blade. The gold condensed, layer by layer, until the entire armor was gone—absorbed into a single thread of radiant light running along the spine of the jet-black rapier.

  The beam screamed against him.

  The ground beneath him melted.

  But Flercher stood still.

  Golden thread humming.

  He took one step forward.

  Inside the orbital column.

  The lightning that should have disintegrated him instead parted slightly around his silhouette.

  Another step.

  The beam began to distort—not losing power, but losing dominance.

  Flercher raised his blade.

  The golden filament sharpened—not physically, but conceptually. It became a line so thin it barely existed.

  “You have grown,” Flercher’s voice echoed through the storm.

  Above, Alegor’s arms trembled—not from weakness, but from the sheer output required to sustain the beam.

  He saw it now.

  The impossible.

  His father was not resisting the beam.

  He was moving through it.

  Like a swimmer cutting against a current.

  Flercher took another step.

  The beam split down the center.

  Not violently.

  Cleanly.

  A corridor of calm formed through the descending light.

  Lightning demons gasped.

  Floro’s eyes widened—not in doubt, but in awe.

  “That’s not deflection…” he murmured.

  Flercher disappeared.

  Not in a flash.

  Not in teleportation.

  Simply beyond perception.

  Alegor’s beam continued for half a breath—

  Then shattered.

  The sky snapped open.

  The orbital column disintegrated into scattered arcs that faded harmlessly into nothing.

  Silence crashed into the battlefield.

  Flercher stood behind Alegor.

  Unmarked.

  Golden thread still coiled around his blade.

  The air between them trembled.

  Alegor lowered his arms slowly.

  He did not turn.

  “You stepped through it,” he said quietly.

  “Yes.”

  “That beam should have erased you.”

  “It would have,” Flercher agreed calmly, “if I stayed where you aimed.”

  Alegor exhaled once.

  Then—

  He smiled.

  For the first time in the duel.

  “Good.”

  Lightning flared around him again—not wild, not desperate.

  Focused.

  “Then I will not miss again.”

  Flercher’s eyes sharpened.

  The golden filament along his blade pulsed brighter.

  Now—

  Now it was time.

  The battlefield did not breathe.

  The sky, still scarred from Skyfall, hung in a stunned quiet.

  Alegor turned slowly.

  There was no rage in his face now.

  No wounded pride.

  Only resolve.

  “If I must fall,” he said evenly, lightning gathering once more around him, “then I will fall knowing I faced you at your peak.”

  Flercher’s golden filament pulsed along the rapier.

  “Then stand properly,” he replied.

  Alegor did.

  He did not raise his arms for another beam.

  He did not summon another storm.

  Instead, lightning condensed tightly around his body, forming layered spirals of compressed light. The air distorted around him as raw voltage bent space inward.

  This was no longer artillery.

  This was execution intent.

  Below, Rina’s heart pounded so violently she could hear it in her ears.

  This is it.

  Floro stepped forward half a pace—

  Then stopped himself.

  This was no longer clan war.

  This was blood.

  Alegor vanished.

  Not upward.

  Forward.

  A streak of white-blue carved through the air toward Flercher, the speed finally rivaling what the clan had always whispered about.

  For the first time—

  Flercher did not parry.

  He lowered his stance.

  Left foot forward.

  Right foot anchored.

  Blade aligned.

  The golden filament brightened.

  [Origin Rank — Flashpoint Transpierce]

  The world stalled.

  Sound cut out.

  Wind froze mid-gust.

  Even the trembling rubble suspended in the air halted for a fraction of eternity.

  Flercher moved.

  Not as lightning.

  Not as streak.

  As absence.

  He disappeared from where he stood.

  There was no travel arc.

  No transition.

  One moment he was before Alegor—

  The next—

  He was beyond him.

  The golden filament had pierced straight through the spiral lightning.

  Through the compression.

  Through the defense.

  Through the body.

  There was no explosion.

  No burst of blood.

  No theatrical devastation.

  Just a clean, impossible line.

  Alegor’s forward motion carried him two more steps.

  Then—

  Stillness.

  The lightning spirals around him flickered.

  Collapsed.

  The sky dimmed.

  For a heartbeat, nothing appeared wrong.

  Then his head separated cleanly from his body.

  The cut was so precise that even gravity hesitated.

  The lightning clan gasped as one.

  Flercher turned and caught the falling head before it struck the ground.

  The body remained standing for half a second longer—

  Then dropped to its knees.

  Then to the earth.

  Silence spread outward like a ripple in water.

  Hunters stared.

  Drones zoomed in.

  The world watched the Demon Lord of Speed hold his son’s severed head in both hands.

  There was no triumph in his face.

  No cruelty.

  Only something unbearably gentle.

  “I told you,” Flercher said softly, almost regretfully.

  “If I strike seriously… you die.”

  Alegor’s eyes were still faintly lit.

  Flickering.

  He was not fully gone yet.

  He saw his father’s face.

  For the first time since the duel began—

  He did not look like a leader.

  He looked like a son.

  “…So fast,” he whispered.

  Flercher’s lips curved faintly.

  “I was slower than usual.”

  A faint breath escaped Alegor’s mouth.

  Then—

  Darkness took his eyes.

  The golden filament faded from the rapier.

  The blade returned to black.

  Across the field, lightning demons began dropping to one knee.

  Maviene bowed her head.

  Valerian closed his eyes.

  Floro stared silently, fists clenched so tight lightning crackled along his forearms.

  The sky cleared.

  The duel was over.

  And Flercher stood alone in the aftermath—

  Holding proof that even legends bleed.