The world outside had gone silent.
A vast black dome pulsed in the center of the battlefield, swallowing Evan and Sylen from sight.
No one outside could see what was happening within—only that the clash had reached a point none of them could interfere in.
Elya, still wounded but refusing to fall, rushed toward the dome. Panic and disbelief twisted her expression.
"Sylen! Sylen, answer me!"
She pressed a hand against the dark surface. No response. No sound. No light.
Her voice sharpened into rage.
"It's that masked bas*ard. He trapped Sylen because he couldn't win fairly."
She didn't question it. In her eyes, Sylen was untouchable. Unshakeable. Unbeatable.
She raised her sword. Mana surged, not reckless, but controlled and deliberate.
"Gale Sword Style — Third Stage…"
She stepped forward, breath steady, both hands gripping the blade.
"Sky Splitter!"
Her sword fell in a single, perfect arc.
The dome didn't even tremble.
The blow that could cleave stone castles did nothing. Not a dent. Not a mark.
Elya's eyes widened. Her breath hitched.
'If even this doesn't work… then Sylen…'
Her gaze flicked to their teammates—still struggling, being pushed to the edge of death.
All she could do was whisper:
"Come back… or we're finished."
—
~~Inside the Dome~~
The space within was quiet—like sound itself had been locked away.
Sylen stood beneath a moon.
A moon that should not exist.
Black, with a faint blood-red shimmer bleeding through its edges—its aura spilling like smoke, warping the air around it.
The atmosphere thickened with corruption, cold and slow like something breathing in the dark.
Sylen's body began to change.
His hair was bleached to pure white.
Red marks carved down his face, crawling along his skin like creeping cracks.
His sword darkened from silver to void-black, hunger radiating from its edge.
The air screamed with power.
Evan watched, arms crossed, expression calm.
He didn't interrupt. He didn't hurry.
Arven roared inside his mind.
"You idiot! Why are you letting him transform!? Finish him before it completes!"
Evan shrugged.
"Relax. I wanted to see how Authority scales in person. Now I know."
He said it like he was reviewing a menu.
Arven stared in disbelief.
"This isn't just a buff. This Authority halves physical stats, corrodes the mind, weakens the spirit, and doubles his own attributes. For anyone else, this is instant death."
Evan tapped his chest lightly.
"And for me?"
Arven exhaled.
"…You're only losing about five percent. That's nothing. You're basically immune. Even any other weaker Ruler Candidate would be on their knees by now."
"Right," Evan nodded. "So, the Authority isn't weak. I'm just built to counter these things."
Arven gave him a long, tired silence.
"…Just say you're a walking nightmare with no courtesy and be done with it."
Evan raised his hands in mock surrender.
"Fine, fine. I'll apologise to the Authorities later."
Exactly at that moment, Sylen's eyes snapped open.
And he saw Evan—arms raised like he was surrendering.
Sylen's lips curled. His confidence surged.
"So you are afraid."
He pointed his sword, voice shaking with adrenaline.
"You're done. I won't kill you. I'll just defeat you—and then you'll accept my request."
"…He's already losing it," Evan thought quietly.
Corruption had begun eating his reason.
Evan swapped to a clean blade—not for power, but to avoid letting more of his equipment rot under the moon's aura.
He moved first.
Steel clashed.
A shockwave burst outward.
Sylen blocked—but barely.
His eyes widened.
The strength behind Evan's strike… hadn't changed at all.
Even under the moon.
'Impossible.'
Sylen's mind raced.
My Halo reduces his strength by half. He should be struggling. So why—
His breath caught.
'He must be using an artifact.'
A lie he told himself to stay sane.
They clashed again. And again.
Dozens of strikes in the span of seconds—each one sharp, precise, lethal.
But with every exchange, Sylen noticed something else:
Evan was untouched.
His body was fine.
But his gear wasn't.
The armour on Evan's chest dried, cracking under corruption.
His sword's sheen dulled.
The edges wore down.
Sylen's eyes gleamed.
He lunged harder.
'If I break his equipment, I win.'
Evan noticed. And clicked his tongue.
"Tch. I was trying to avoid this."
He pushed Sylen back and stepped away, expression flattening into something cold and final.
"You leave me no choice."
Sylen smirked. "Running already?"
Evan ignored him.
Bone erupted across his form—smooth, elegant armour forming over his frame like a second skin.
Lightning crawled along his blade, crackling.
His presence shifted.
He was no longer fighting.
He was ending.
"Now," Evan said, voice steady, "the real match begins."
A beast's howl tore the air—Sylen staggered, hands flying to his ears.
Darkness drowned his vision.
Evan vanished—then reappeared high above, descending like a falling star.
Sylen forced mana through his body and shattered the veil, eyes widening—
Evan was already upon him.
[Gravitic Vein — Gravity Suppression]
The air crushed downward.
Sylen's knees buckled.
But he fought through it—stepping back—
Evan's foot struck the ground.
The floor erupted.
The shockwave ripped Sylen's stance apart.
Evan vanished——then appeared right in front of him.
Steel flashed.
The real fight began.
Evan slipped into the darkness and stepped out in front of Sylen, blade already cutting through the air.
Sylen managed to retreat, though his breathing was heavier now.
Evan didn't stop.
His sword came down again, sending a sharp crescent of wind flying forward, triggering a passive skill.
The edge carved across Sylen's chest, leaving a thin, bleeding line.
Evan followed up.
Bone spikes burst from the ground along with jagged pillars of earth, all closing in to lock Sylen down.
Evan was pushing. Hard.
Trying not to control anymore, but for a clean, crushing end.
Sylen was slipping.
His movement grew uneven.
Openings began to show.
His sword swings were no longer as precise.
He hacked apart the bone spikes with sword energy, but irritation twisted his expression.
His patience was burning away.
"It ends soon, Sylen. Try something else. Otherwise, your head is hitting the ground in a few minutes."
Evan's voice was steady. Confident.
Arven spoke in Evan's mind.
"Evan, push more. His soul is being eaten by the Abyssal Authority. If you force him too far, his spirit will empty out and the body will collapse."
Evan felt a strange calm.
He had spent years making people panic in games.
Taunt, pressure, tilt.
This was the same thing.
Sylen finally snapped.
"Hahhhh—! You've gone too far! I will kill you even if it destroys me!
No one kills my main body except me!"
His voice cracked.
His skin split in tiny fractures of shadow and red light.
The black and red moon above him turned deeper, darker, almost rotten.
Reality around him warped, like it was being peeled and devoured.
The pressure was overwhelming.
Evan narrowed his eyes.
'So this is the part where the "chosen ones" pull power out of nowhere right when they're losing…'
Arven answered before he could get annoyed.
"This isn't free. He is burning his soul as fuel. He got a partial manifestation of his Authority, beyond his tier limit. In this Expanse, he is almost invincible now. If you don't use your trump cards, you won't die — but your body will break, and your soul will be damaged for months, while his body will be disintegrated."
Evan grew silent.
His jaw tightened.
"No. I'm not using them. I can kill him like this."
Arven sighed inside the white room.
"Stubborn brat…"
Sylen's power surged further, tearing him apart from within.
He looked forward — desperate, determined, afraid.
'I have to finish this. I have to escape. Elya can't die here.'
His sword flickered violently, covered in killing intent and decay.
He vanished.
Evan barely caught the movement thanks to
Their blades met, and the impact drove Evan into the ground, cracking the stone beneath his feet.
They held each other's stare.
Neither blinked.
Evan shoved him back, switched to a spear, and ignited flames and lightning along his body and spear.
The area lit up with fire from every clash.
Sylen's aura repelled the flames while Evan pushed in with everything he had.
'I need to end this. If he gets a clean strike, I'll take a serious hit.'
Evan stepped back to adjust—
Sylen staggered.
His sword lowered.
'He's weakening… now—'
Evan lunged.
But Sylen wasn't weakened.
He vanished again — and this time Evan was too close.
The blade punched into Evan's abdomen, running through his back.
A sharp, tearing pain.
Blood splashed.
Sylen didn't stop.
His hand slammed into Evan's chest, trying to rip him apart.
Evan swung to decapitate him out of sheer instinct, but Sylen's hand slashed across the blade, corroding and shattering it into metal dust.
Arven shouted.
"Evan! Move! If he damages your body any further, it will take months to recover! Use it. Now!"
Evan exhaled slowly.
He dropped the useless hilt.
He reappeared several meters away, blood dripping, vision sharp.
"Arven. I didn't want to use this. But looks like it's time."
Arven didn't speak.
He didn't need to.
Evan lowered his hand to his chest.
His gaze hardened.
"????? Power — Release."
To Be Continued
What is the power Evan just released?
Is it something he has hidden since long ago — or a gift from the Abyss?
Add to your Library and continue the journey of Evan Windstone.