The battlefield burned and writhed in the wake of their battle—golden fire against abyssal void, light and darkness colliding in a symphony of destruction. The air trembled, the shattered ruins of the church barely standing as the two warriors faced each other.

  Aldric stood tall, gripping Solbrand, his golden greatsword, its blade shimmering like a molten star. The flames coiling around him radiated not just power, but something more—dominance. Confidence. Unshaken certainty.

  Vaelros, the Hollow Reaper, watched him through narrowed silver eyes, his twin void scythes—Var’Myrr—writhing with abyssal energy, tendrils of darkness snaking from their edges. The air around him distorted as if reality itself rejected his presence. Yet, despite his overwhelming aura, there was something else—an agitation, subtle but present.

  Aldric smirked, resting Solbrand lazily on his shoulder, golden embers spiraling around his figure. "Is this all?" His voice carried an edge of amusement, but beneath it, there was pity. "One of the feared Scions, the Hollow Reaper himself, wielder of Var’Myrr—and this is the extent of your power?"

  Vaelros stiffened, his fingers curling around the hilts of his scythes.

  Aldric chuckled. "It’s laughable, really. I expected a monster, a calamity, a true test of my power. But here you are, struggling, your so-called abyssal might barely making me sweat." His golden flames burned brighter, his very presence making the air oppressive, as if his mere existence was an affront to the darkness. "Perhaps you truly don’t understand the difference between us, Vaelros."

  The Scion’s expression darkened. "You dare—"

  Aldric raised a hand, stopping him mid-sentence.

  "No, listen closely. You think the Voidaris is supreme? That darkness swallows all, that it is inevitable. But your kind never understood something essential." Aldric’s smirk deepened, his golden fire flaring so brightly that the shadows recoiled, bending away from his sheer presence.

  "Light does not fear the dark. It burns it away."

  A low growl escaped Vaelros’ lips. The void energy around him snapped violently, his patience breaking. "Enough talk. Drown in the abyss!"

  With an explosive burst of shadow, Vaelros vanished, his form flickering like a wraith. In an instant, he reappeared above Aldric, both scythes descending in a vicious, twisting arc.

  “Oblivion’s Maw.”

  A surge of void energy spiraled outward as the twin scythes carved toward him, their edges distorting space itself. The moment they struck, they would consume not just Aldric’s body—but his very presence.

  Aldric, unbothered, tilted his head slightly, his golden eyes glinting.

  "Predictable."

  With effortless grace, he twisted to the side, the first scythe missing by a fraction of an inch. The second came in low, aiming to cleave through his ribs—but Aldric brought Solbrand down in an instant.

  CLANG!

  Golden fire exploded outward as blade met scythe, shaking the earth beneath them. The force of the collision sent shockwaves across the battlefield, tearing apart what little remained of the ruins.

  Vaelros didn’t stop.

  He spun, both scythes forming a spiraling vortex of abyssal slashes. His movements blurred—too fast for the eye to follow—each strike accompanied by the eerie wail of the void itself.

  “Tenebrous Crescent.”

  Tendrils of darkness shot outward with each swing, slashing through the air like ethereal fangs, each strike aimed to sever Aldric’s limbs, to tear his very essence apart. The night itself seemed to howl as Vaelros became a storm of pure destruction.

  Aldric laughed.

  Effortless. That’s what this was.

  He moved with ease—sidestepping, weaving, deflecting—his golden flames dancing around him, incinerating every shadow before it could even touch him. His movements weren’t just fast; they were pristine, as if he could see every attack before it even happened.

  The gap between them was vast. Unfathomable.

  Aldric’s smirk grew wider as he parried another attack with a single, almost lazy flick of Solbrand, sending Vaelros skidding back.

  "That’s it?" Aldric tilted his head. "You’re supposed to be one of the Twelve?" He exhaled in mock disappointment. "Hmph. What a letdown."

  Vaelros’ aura boiled with rage.

  "Don’t mock me!" He roared, raising both scythes above his head, abyssal energy coiling around him violently. "I’ll tear that arrogance from your bones!"

  The darkness erupted.

  He brought Var’Myrr down—both scythes cleaving through the air—

  "Voidrend Cataclysm!"

  A massive crescent of abyssal energy ripped across the battlefield, distorting space, warping reality itself as it surged toward Aldric with annihilating force.

  Aldric's smirk vanished.

  For a moment, silence.

  Then—

  FWOOSH!

  Golden flames erupted from Aldric’s body, his aura exploding. The sheer force of his power dispersed the darkness before the attack even reached him. The flames raged violently, unstoppable, untamed.

  Aldric sighed, shaking his head.

  "This has been amusing, Vaelros. But playtime is over."

  His grip tightened on Solbrand, golden flames spiraling around the blade, gathering—intensifying. The sheer heat from the sword began to melt the ground beneath him, warping the air into a shimmering haze of devastation.

  "You've had your turn. Now, it's mine."

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  Aldric raised Solbrand high, golden fire surging like an unchained inferno.

  "Solar Annihilation!"

  With a single, devastating swing, he unleashed a golden arc of pure destruction—a radiant crescent of fire that roared across the battlefield, engulfing everything in its wake.

  Vaelros’ eyes widened—too fast—too powerful!

  The attack struck.

  The explosion that followed was cataclysmic—a tidal wave of golden fire engulfing Vaelros completely, the sheer force of it tearing through the land, carving a trench deep into the earth. The ruins behind them shattered like glass, the night itself turning to day under the overwhelming brilliance of Aldric’s unleashed might.

  As the flames settled, Vaelros slammed into the ground, his form battered, his cloak in tatters, his breathing ragged. His void aura flickered—unstable.

  Aldric laughed.

  It was not a mocking laugh.

  It was a laugh of pity.

  "A Scion, huh?" Aldric rolled his shoulders, letting Solbrand rest on his shoulder once more. His golden flames still raged, completely unshaken. "I expected more."

  Vaelros coughed, his hands shaking as he tried to rise.

  Aldric smiled. Prideful. Unbothered. Supreme.

  "Get up, Hollow Reaper. I’m not done ye-"

  Aldric’s breath falters, from the weight of something far worse.

  The air itself quivers, thickening with an unseen force that seeps into the marrow of his bones. It is not just darkness. No, this is something far more absolute. A presence beyond mere shadow. A hunger beyond mortal comprehension.

  The wound in the sky yawns wider.

  From its abyssal depths, tendrils of writhing void descend, devouring the very essence of the world around them. The ground beneath Aldric cracks, not from force—but from absence. A consuming nothingness that strips away reality itself.

  His grip on Solbrand tightens. The golden blade hums in defiance, its radiance flickering like a dying star against an endless night.

  And then he feels it.

  Not fear. Not despair.

  But insignificance.

  A crushing, undeniable certainty that he is standing before something that should not exist. A force that was never meant to be witnessed by mortal eyes, nor fought by mortal hands.

  Vaelros does not move—he does not need to.

  His body is no longer his own.

  The obsidian plates that encase his form pulse like living flesh, shifting and twisting as though the abyss itself breathes within him. The four eyes along Var’Myrr’s length lock onto Aldric, their eerie crimson glow burrowing into his soul, searching, peeling back layers of will and defiance.

  The scythe-wraith grins—a sickening, jagged thing that splits too far across his face. His abyssal voice slithers through the void, reverberating from all directions.

  "I see you, Aldric. And soon, the abyss will too."

  A cold, merciless wind howls through the battlefield, carrying with it whispers—names, memories, entire lifetimes that had long been swallowed by the void. A reminder that the abyss does not simply kill.

  It erases.

  Aldric exhales, steady. His body is breaking. His soul flickers like embers in a storm.

  And yet—he lifts Solbrand once more.

  Even as the abyss looms.

  Even as reality itself begins to fracture.

  He will not kneel.

  Then Vaelros vanishes.

  Aldric barely has time to react.

  Vaelros appears behind him.

  Var’Myrr’s twin scythes descend like reaping fangs.

  Aldric pivots—just in time. His blade meets the first strike, but the impact hurls him back.

  Before he can recover, the second scythe is already slicing toward him.

  Aldric twists, dodging by instinct alone. A single strand of his silver hair drifts into the air—cleaved away by Vaelros' precision.

  He’s faster. Stronger. The abyss has made him unstoppable.

  Vaelros doesn’t relent. He moves like a phantom, striking from every direction at once.

  The battlefield is devoured in a storm of scythe slashes and abyssal energy.

  Every arc of Var’Myrr distorts reality itself. Each swing leaves behind a trail of utter nothingness, a void that consumes all it touches. The ground beneath them doesn’t just crack—it ceases to exist.

  Aldric parries, dodges, counters—but his body is slowing.

  His arms ache. His breaths are growing heavier.

  Vaelros senses it.

  And he grins.

  "Is that all, Aldric? The legendary mercenary? The Radiant Reaper?"

  One of Var’Myrr’s blades hooks around Aldric’s guard, tearing into his side.

  A deep gash.

  Darkness seeps into the wound—not just physical pain, but an abyssal corruption eating away at him.

  Aldric stumbles back. His flames flicker.

  For the first time… he feels it.

  His age.

  "Damn it."

  Aldric exhales sharply.

  His Ascen burns bright within him, but his body isn’t what it once was.

  This is a battle he would have once dominated without question.

  His mind flashes—

  ---------------------------------------

  A battlefield, long ago. Thousands screaming. Flames rising.

  A younger Aldric stands amidst the carnage, his blade dripping with the blood of legends.

  He was unstoppable. The flames of Ascen bowed to him alone.

  His swings carved through mountains.

  His enemies once screamed his name—not as a warrior, but as an inevitable disaster.

  He had no equal. No rival.

  But that was then.

  Now… his body betrays him.

  --------------------------------

  Vaelros lunges.

  Var’Myrr’s twin scythes spiral in a blur of black arcs, aiming for Aldric’s throat.

  Aldric moves—slower than he should.

  He barely evades the first strike, but the second—it grazes his shoulder, abyssal fire searing into his flesh.

  "Tch—!"

  Vaelros presses forward, relentless.

  "Where is your pride now, Aldric? Where is that smug arrogance?"

  Aldric grits his teeth.

  He needs to end this. Now.

  His golden flames roar, consuming his body, melting away the abyssal corruption in his wound.

  He plants his feet.

  Vaelros swings—a finishing blow.

  Aldric meets it head-on.

  "CELESTIAL ASCENSION: PYRE OF RECKONING!"

  A single swing.

  The world explodes in fire.

  A shockwave of pure solar devastation erupts from Aldric’s blade, engulfing everything in an ocean of fire.

  The battlefield melts. Mountains in the distance crack and fall.

  Vaelros is caught in the inferno.

  The monstrous Scion of the Abyss is hurled backward, his abyssal flesh burning, his regeneration struggling to keep up.

  Aldric exhales, his vision swimming.

  He can feel it—his body is breaking down.

  Yet, he laughs.

  "Hah. Is that all, Vaelros?"

  But Vaelros… is still standing.

  And Var’Myrr’s demonic eyes are still open.

  ---------------------------------------------------

  Aldric stands amidst the scorched battlefield, his once-magnificent flames flickering, struggling to stay alight. His breath is ragged. His body—crumbling. His golden aura dims, cracks forming across his skin as if his very soul is burning itself out.

  Yet, before him—Vaelros still stands.

  The Abyss refuses to be extinguished.

  Despite the devastation of the Pyre of Reckoning, Vaelros' demonic form regenerates. His abyssal armor twists and writhes, reforming stronger than before. His flesh, though scorched, knits itself back together. The four abyssal eyes along Var’Myrr’s scythe blink, burning with unholy power.

  Vaelros’ lips curl into a dark grin. He is beyond mortal limitations now.

  "You feel it, don’t you, Aldric?"

  He twirls Var’Myrr, the twin scythes humming with endless void energy. The very ground beneath him collapses into nothingness.

  "The weight of time crushing you. The truth that no matter how brightly your fire burns—it will always fade."

  Aldric, panting, lets out a raspy chuckle.

  "Heh… You think I don’t know that, boy?"

  His grip on his weapon tightens, his pride unshaken despite his failing body.

  "Yes, the sun sets… but do you think that means the fire dies with me?"

  He lifts his gaze, his golden eyes burning with defiance.

  "Even if I fall here, my flames have already been passed on. The warriors of tomorrow are rising, stronger than I ever was. Lucian—the boy I forged in battle, the one I made sure would never be consumed by the same abyss that has swallowed you—he will stand where I fall."

  Aldric straightens, despite his body breaking apart. His voice is resolute, carrying the weight of countless battles and victories.

  "And he won’t stand alone. For every warrior that falls, a hundred more will rise. That is the truth of the world, Vaelros. Darkness may consume, but it can never truly reign—not as long as there are those willing to defy it."

  He grins, the embers of his power flaring to life one last time.

  "So tell me, Abyss. Are you ready for the firestorm that comes after me?"

  Aldric’s flames roar, golden embers spiraling around him as his form becomes something more—a being of pure radiance, a pyre burning beyond mortality. His body cracks apart, but he does not falter.

  Vaelros, the Hollow Reaper, is relentless. The abyss surges, his form shifting, twisting into something unrecognizable—an entity no longer bound by flesh. Var’Myrr shrieks, its countless eyes burning with hunger.

  Their final strikes meet.

  The world ignites.

  A golden eruption swallows the battlefield. The very air quakes as Aldric’s last act of defiance rages against the abyss. The heavens split apart, fire and void spiraling into the sky in a blinding pillar of destruction.

  For a moment, time itself holds still.

  Then—

  A deafening silence.

  The flames fade. The abyss recedes. The sky, once fractured, begins to mend.