Rivers of the Night

Wren felt as though the air around him had suddenly become heavy. The humidity of the night wrapped around him and his breathing hitched. For the first time, his focused state seemed to wane a bit, and he looked to Theron as though he was an actual person rather than just a target to cut down.

What was this power? How could a Silver Mancer control so much Mana?

Theron's gaze flashed, their reflective blue shining even brighter than the moon.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

Six hovering [Water Prisons], each one as large as three meters across, began to writhe and shake as a continuous series of explosions shook their core.

Jets of water, arcs of uncontrolled currents circulated across their surface, and yet they remained intact, growing denser and denser even as the explosions continued.

Wren felt his heart skip a beat, and he didn't hesitate to summon his Echo. A large creature with mountains of muscles and a single eye took shape. It almost looked vaguely humanoid, somewhat like the white ape Chopra had summoned, and yet not at the same time. It was like it couldn't decide whether it wanted to stand on two or four feet.

However, its body was only so hard to pick out because its one, singular eye—blinking at the center of its forehead—seemed to be all anyone could look at.

Anyone but Theron, that was.

Even as Wren sheathed his sword, bending into a power stance and focusing all his attention on Theron, it was as though Theron couldn't sense the danger coming his way at all.

In fact, standing there, his palms pointed to the skies, Theron had never looked more relaxed in his life. There was an almost gentleness in his eyes, only belied by the dull indifference of his expression.

The [Water Prisons] began to rotate as large amounts of Flux Mana gathered into Wren's sheath, pulsing so brightly that spilling rays of blinding white light shot into the surroundings.

Wren's eyes focused, his life practically flashing before his eyes. Every stroke of his blade, every felled opponent, every drop of blood, sweat, and tears...

It was all concentrated into this one strike.

He should have built up to it, he should have been ready to give it his all before resorting to this—but facing off against this mountain before him, he knew that it was impossible.

There was simply no chance if he wasn't willing to sacrifice everything.

Even if this blade of his shattered on this day, he would complete this strike.

It was his pride as a swordsman.

The only pride he was allowed to have in this life.

Wren's lips parted and he roared. It came deep from the depths of his diaphragm, exploding out with a forceful push of his lungs. His hair band snapped and his hood shredded to pieces to illuminate his face beneath the moonlight.

Calm, delicate lines of a young man that was hardly more than a boy. Strong brass-colored eyes. A jaw that cut as finely as his blade, and a visage that just might have been handsome if not for the chipped lines and scars that littered his body…

Each one reflecting a nick on his sword.

And then he unsheathed it.

A sword howl that seemed to want to sunder the moon ripped across the air, latching onto the wind and shredding even it to pieces.

If the city wasn't already paying attention to this battleground, they certainly were now. It was impossible not to.

They could feel the blade tugging on the very depths of their souls—the most beautiful sword strike many of them had seen in their lifetimes—such was the case even for Theron, who couldn't seem to react, his body being split in two by the attack.

And yet, that form of him fell into droplets of water.

Wren watched this scene, his blade trembling in his hands as he stood to his full height. His wrist tightened and the trembling stopped, but he honestly couldn't believe what he was seeing.

That blade… his strongest blade strike…

Was known as Karmic Sunder. It didn't matter where Theron was—he would be able to lock onto him. How could he unleash a strike that gave it his all like that without assurance that he would be able to strike true? That would be little more than the optimum of foolishness.

And yet…

He missed.

Theron's clone began to split. From one to two, and then from two to four, and then to eight, until one after another, they stood in the air, the spheres of water still violently churning without missing a single moment.

He had learned long ago that he was water and water was him. There was no distinction if his control was great enough.

'Die.'

Theron's [Water Prison] suddenly accelerated forward—it was just one—but Wren stood tall. With his grip on his sword firm and strong, he swung, splitting it in two.

BOOM!

The explosion rocked the palace, ripping large chunks out from the roof.

But then a second [Water Prison] approached, and then a third.

Every time Wren swung, it was like his own soul was being bombarded by [Pressurized Burst]. His eyes darted between the clones, trying to find the real Theron, only for the fourth to descend.

Wren coughed up a large mouthful of blood, the severance of the four [Water Prisons] ripping into him and practically churning his bone to pulp.

The fifth and sixth approached from his sides, tearing into the palace's roof and leaving deep trenches as they swallowed him up whole.

Wren's mouth opened, puffs of white coming out as he roared out in pain.

The [Water Prisons] fused into one, grinding into him in a series of wild, churning explosions until he was nothing more than wisps of red.

Theron's gaze, though, was on something else entirely.

Wren had thrown his sword out at the last moment, its body landing into the soft soil of the palace's ground.

BABOOM.

The clouds above churned as though mournful, the accumulation of a Tribulation failing as the last wisps of Wren's life were snuffed out.

Theron turned to leave, but then his body froze as something locked onto him.

He looked up to the skies above, his gaze becoming serious.