Riven watched as the two figures clashed once more, a shockwave rippling outward in all directions. It wasn't as powerful as their initial collision, yet the force was still staggering. He felt it this time—up close. The blast struck him like a wall of air, threatening to hurl him backward. Gritting his teeth, Riven tightened his grip on the makeshift spear still buried in the Fangleon's side, anchoring himself with all his strength. The winds whipped around him, tugging at his clothes and hair, the sheer pressure making his muscles ache.
Even so, he noticed it—their clash didn't carry the same overwhelming might as before. The tremor in the air, the slower recovery between strikes… both fighters were burning out. Their mana reserves were nearly spent.
Unfortunately, he didn't have long to dwell on it. A deep, guttural roar snapped him back to reality, followed by a sharp tug on his weapon. The Fanglion had righted itself. With a heavy shake of its massive head. Then it paused, muscles coiling, and tilted its head back to glare at him.
Its eyes were molten green spirals, glowing with a fury that made Riven's skin crawl. The beast's breath came in heavy bursts, carrying the scent of singed fur and cracked stone. It assessed the damage, a low growl rumbling from its throat, promising retaliation.
Damn it. What now? If I let go of the weapon and pull back, all the mana I poured into the spear will just dissipate.
But the decision was made for him.
A sudden gust of wind howled past his ears, carrying with it the shriek of an incoming attack. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up an instant before he sensed the spiraling mass of air barreling toward him from behind. Instinct kicked in—he released the weapon and blinked, vanishing and reappearing atop the Fanglion's back.
His boots hit the creature's fur-covered spine with a thud. He crouched low, steadying himself, and twisted around just in time to see the aftermath—deep grooves carved into the stone where he'd just stood, the ground torn up like paper. Tilting his head back, he saw the Galebeak with is wings extended, preparing what looked like another blast. While below the Fanglion snarled and thrashed, its claws scraping against the earth in anger.
This isn't good, the gale claw still has more mana left and the Fanglion has recovered its senses.
With his mind racing, Riven leapt down, grabbing hold of the pipe-spear. Using the momentum from his descent, he yanked with all the strength his mana-fortified body could muster. The Fangleon's body pulsed with green energy, the familiar glow of its charged attack flaring brighter with each passing second. Riven had seen this before—but the damn weapon wouldn't budge.
With no better option, he looked up and blinked—vanishing to the highest point his ability could carry him, nearly ten feet above the beast. He started to fall, exactly as planned. As he plunged downward, he angled his body and reached out. The moment he neared the weapon, his hands locked around the shaft. Using his falling momentum and the leverage from his grip at the far end, he wrenched it free—blood spraying upward as the spear tore loose from the creature's flesh.
As he landed with a roll, the beast howled—an unearthly sound of pain and rage that shook the air itself. The buildup of its attack faltered, momentarily interrupted.
Gripping the weapon tight, panic gripping his gut, he blinked three times in quick succession. The world jerked around him as he teleported several meters back, putting distance between himself and the monsters.
He came to a stop, breath heavy and stance wide, facing them both down.
Damn it. He could feel the strain now. A quick check on his mana confirmed the worst—his pink core had dropped to barely thirty percent. Too much wasted.
Frantically, he glanced around for Roman. There—locked in combat with the noble. One wielded a massive sword, swinging in vicious arcs; the other deflected each blow with a swirling, condensed ball of wind spinning in his palm.
Neither seemed to hold the upper hand, though both were bloodied and bruised. Roman, especially—his body slick with blood, riddled with countless cuts. Riven winced. With every deflection, Roman took more damage, the slicing winds biting into his flesh.
The noble, in contrast, was only lightly injured. A gash marred his chest, but otherwise, he looked composed. Dangerous.
Riven's gaze snapped back to the two beasts. They were preparing to pounce—shoulders tensed, eyes locked onto him. His throat was dry. Sweat trickled down the sides of his face, clinging to his skin like cold fingers.
No time to think.
He pushed Roman and the noble from his thoughts, channeling every shred of focus into the fight ahead. He assessed the situation like a tactician under fire.
The eagle beast is almost out of mana. The Fanglion's hurt but not nearly enough to matter. There's no easy way out of this.
Adrenaline flooded his system, dulling the ache in his limbs and sharpening his instincts. I'll have to somehow take the eagle out of the fight but how?
Time was running out. Both beasts coiled their muscles, ready to tear him apart, and there was nothing Riven could do against their unrelenting might. His mana reserves were nearly spent, and one misused Blink could be the difference between life and death.
Then—an idea struck.He remembered what Roman had once told him: recklessly injecting mana into a weapon could cause it to either dissipate outward—or worse, explode into a burst of magic and shrapnel. Yet, when Riven had done it before, neither had happened. His amber mana had somehow stabilized the process.
A thought flickered in his mind. What if I push it further?What if he forced even more amber mana into the already reinforced weapon—along with every last drop of his remaining pink mana?
A slow smile crept across Riven's face, twisting into something almost feral. My weapon can pierce their mana-hardened flesh. All I need… is to get close enough. And right now, that was the one thing he excelled at.
Instead of charging or blinking forward, he stayed perfectly still—waiting, baiting them into overconfidence.
As if on cue, the Fangleon roared, fangs gleaming like emerald blades, and launched itself toward him—ready to end his life for his many transgressions
Just as the Fanglion's glowing fangs closed in, a breath away from his face, Riven blinked—once, then again. He passed through the beast's hulking body in two blinks, reappearing beside the crippled eagle.
Risky? Definitely. But the Fangleon wasn't smart enough to counter his teleportation with its own mana flow—he knew that much from experience. When he'd first met Luna, she had effortlessly evaded one of these beasts in the forest, darting around it again and again until she'd finally run out of mana.
The thought of her sparked another worry—where had she gone since the barrier broke? Riven forced himself to focus, reassuring himself that if nothing else, Luna was a master at hiding. She was probably somewhere safe, far from the chaos.
That thought brought a small measure of comfort, especially since what he was about to do next wasn't something he could risk attempting with his bonded beast anywhere nearby.
Appearing next to the Galeclaw, Riven spun on the spot, driving the spear forward with his momentum. The eagle twisted, trying to retreat—but its mangled wings couldn't lift it, nor could it summon any powerful gusts that quickly.
The spear struck true, slamming into the beast's side just beneath the wing bone. It screeched, the sound shrill enough to rattle Riven's skull.
But he knew it wasn't over. That strike alone wouldn't finish it.
No—he was waiting. Watching. Holding back the final blow until the perfect moment presented itself.
With a glance inward, his cores felt like half-drained bottles rattling with the dregs. Then he heard it—the erratic, heavy footsteps of the Fanglion pounding toward him. A rhythmic thump and drag, claws scraping across broken stone.
The eagle beast didn't so much as twitch. Too battered, too broken. It glared with one flickering eye, content to let its ally finish the job.
Perfect, Riven thought grimly. That was exactly what he needed.
He waited until the Fanglion was nearly upon him—close enough for its coppery breath to curl across his face—then let go. Every drop of amber and pink mana he had left poured into the weapon. It began to tremble under the strain, humming with unstable power. Yet even as his reserves drained to nothing, he could tell it still wasn't ready to burst.
With the threat of his imminent death pressing down on him, Riven forced his cores to empty completely. Even the mana reinforcing his body was ripped from circulation and funneled into the weapon. Deep within his soul space, his three soul fragments stirred. They drifted toward the amber core, merging into it—dissolving themselves and releasing a surge of raw energy that tore free like water from a shattered dam.
Power flooded through him, wild and volatile, like a hurricane ripping through his veins. Riven had no idea where this sudden overflow of mana came from, but now wasn't the time to question it. He held back only a sliver—just enough for one last Blink.
For a second, nothing happened.
Then the pipe spear in his hand flared—first a brilliant amber, then shifting into something else entirely.
The light changed. Not just a glow, not just brightness. The world was washed in the hue of a thousand sunsets—vivid orange bleeding into rich crimson, a radiant warmth that seemed to hold time still. Shadows stretched and bent around them as if reality itself were uncertain.
All three—Riven, the eagle, the Fanglion—were bathed in the brilliance.
The air thickened with heat. A pressure built behind Riven's ears, like the sky had been sucked into the weapon.
As the light reached a blinding peak, his instincts screamed. He squeezed his eyes shut and Blinked—aiming for the farthest corner of the ruined tavern.
He vanished just as the explosion tore through the space behind him.
A roaring inferno chased at his heels, licking at his back mid-teleport. Heat scorched his skin. For a moment, he could smell burning—metal, dust, flesh. Then he was gone.
Riven reappeared beside the far wall, breath shallow, legs trembling.
Silence.
He heard nothing. Not the beasts. Not the blast. Not even his own heartbeat. Just… nothing.
His mana was gone. Every last trace drained.
As his vision blurred—half light, half darkness—he collapsed to his knees. The world tilted.
The last thing he saw before the void took him was the noble, dashing toward him through the dust and smoke with a desperate look on his face.