A sword of flames crackled to life in Bell's grip. A sword of steel descended to Ares' hand.
Above them, fire and steel clashed, resembling a roaring flood meeting a devastating storm. Steel melted under searing heat; flame parted against razor edges.
The distance between Bell and Ares vanished in a single, simultaneous step.
Clang.
Steel touched flame.
Bell's weapon slithered akin to a serpent on a hunt, curving along Ares' blind spots, seeking the gaps in his guard.
Ares' sword moved with the discipline of a soldier forged through ceaseless war—pinpoint precision, not an inch overextended, not an inch wasted.
Steel screamed against flame in rapid succession, each collision sending sparks cascading around.
Bell's sword curved toward Ares' shoulder from below. The god's blade was already there, catching his fire-wrought sword's edge on its spine.
Bell twisted his wrist, guiding his sword beneath the steel in its way, shifting to stab at Ares' flank.
Ares brought his weapon down, driving Bell's blade lower while his own knee rose from beneath.
Bell watched his blazing blade stop a hair's breadth from the god's side, pinned between blade and knee. He released it and sprang back, kicking the handle on his way out.
A fraction of a second before his sole met it, Ares wrenched his knee upward.
Crack.
The crimson sword snapped in two. Bell twisted his heel, stomping his sole onto the falling handle. Using that fading weapon as a springboard, he launched himself even further away just as it dissolved into specks of crimson light.
He flew back, black cracks now crawling across his chest, abyssal darkness radiating from them.
A sonic boom hit his ears a moment too late—a steel spear was already an inch from his heart.
His spine went limp, bending backward in a sharp arc, chest muscles tearing as the spear passed over him.
Bell's feet hit the ground, sliding back. Ahead, Ares held his throwing stance, composed and unshaken. Barely pausing, Bell raised a finger and pointed it at the god.
A fire-wreathed glaive plummeted from above, reaching Ares instantly. The god of war didn't look up—he merely tilted his head, letting the glaive speed past his cheek.
Ares then began to walk forward. A poleaxe, scythe, and longsword hurled toward him, detonating just before impact.
Their combined eruptions unleashed a wall of heat and flame, gouging a massive trench into the earth and staining the air crimson.
A silver line rend that explosion in two. Ares walked through, unruffled, without a scratch.
More weapons rained from above, explosions pulsing in rapid succession. The barrage continued without end, swelling into a blinding wall of light.
Simultaneously, Bell extended both arms at a slight upward angle, sliding to a stop.
"With this treasure, I summon..."
A strange silence fell at his declaration. Every person looking at him felt their hairs stand on end.
"Eight-Handled Sword Divergent Sila Divine—"
Pain flared from his wrists. A blur of silver and his severed hands flew through the air—blood spurting from them like water from a broken vessel.
Ares had closed the distance and stood beside him, flicking his blade and spattering the blood off its edge.
"You never let an enemy finish their chant—first lesson of any battlefield." He tilted his head, glancing sideways at Bell with an expression that was similar to an instructor correcting a student's stance.
BAAM!
A flaming heel connected with Ares' face faster than a blink. His head jerked slightly, finally forcing him to take a step back.
"You hit like someone who's never buried a friend."
Bell's heel hovered mid-air.
Then, Ares discarded his blade, both fists roaring toward Bell from different directions. Bell dodged with supernatural grace—one strike from ahead, followed by a blow from the side, accompanied by another curving from below.
Each attack chained into the next, seamlessly flowing from one motion to the next. Martial arts poured through Ares in an unending, varied rhythm, his footwork oscillating between disciplines from eras long past.
His speed continued to climb, his fists turning into an unending deluge of volleys.
Bell dodged. His [Instinct] might have been gone, but his body still remembered how to move, how to dodge, how to counter.
He spotted an opening within Ares' assault and slid into a stance, kicking right at it.
BOOOM!
Ares' fist connected with his ribs, precisely between the third and fourth. All those previous attacks had been a ruse—this one had come from his actual blind spot.
Bell felt the world spin, knees buckling as the force of the punch traveled beneath his skin. It bypassed his ribs entirely, acting as a localized shockwave that ruptured his heart from within.
The ground rushed up to meet him as his back slammed into a gouged slope of soil, crumpling like a marionette with its strings cut.
Clank. Clank.
Two armoured legs came to a stop beside him.
Ares looked down at him from above, arms crossed beneath his chest, as though what he'd done was nothing more than a passing effort.
In the sky behind them, flaming weapons began to lose ground, overwhelmed by steel from all sides.
The wheel above Bell trembled even more. It was about to rotate.
"Noisy." Ares spoke and brought a hand down, gripping his trembling wheel, forcibly preventing it from turning.
Blood dripped from Bell's mouth without stop, pooling beneath him in sheer quantity.
"Mortal... Why do you look calm even after you've lost? I should end you right now, but consider it my last curiosity before sending you on your way." Ares spoke, genuinely perplexed.
Bell did not gaze at Ares.
"Why am I still calm?" Slowly, a smile began to form on his face.
A bloodied, broken, and tired smile.
"Because...
I only feel unstoppable when I'm about to lose."
Ares went silent.
"You're quite resilient for a mortal. I'll give you that. I haven't stretched my legs like this in a while." A spear rotated into his free hand with a sharp whistle.
"I'll remember you." Ares pulled his spear back.
Bell looked at that spear and slowly opened his mouth, choking on blood.
"God of War... have you not heard the saying?" The wheel above his head began to radiate a golden brilliance, its trembling reaching the zenith.
"When you hear the sound of a wheel turning..." Its brilliance grew intense enough to scorch even Ares' hand, forcing him to jerk his arm back.
"You don't look back. You run."
Clunk
BOOOOOOOOOOM!
Air shrieked away. A trench was carved into the earth for a kilometer straight. Wild colors flashed across the sky, vibrations shook half of Orario behind them.
Steam rose from Ares' bare, crossed forearms as he slid ten steps back, his vambraces having disintegrated into ash.
A tall, fair-skinned woman stood at Bell's side, arm casually extended toward Ares. White hair, eerily similar to his own, cascaded down to rest across Bell's face.
Her right eye was green, her left gray. Both irises settled on Bell, lying in a pool of his own blood, with a complex expression—a mix of maternal protectiveness and doting affection.
The Silence, Alfia.
She didn't look at Ares. Not yet.
"...You want to kill my nephew."
Still not looking at him.
"And you didn't think to ask me first?"
Ares opened his mouth.
BOOOOOOOM!
He could not.
...
..
.
***
[300 Power Stones = 1 Bonus Chapter]
[8 chapters ahead on P@tr3on = [email protected]/Not_Aaryan]
...
What the wheel gave him -
[Revenant Epoch]: An ability heavily inspired from [Historical Projections] from Lord Of The Mysteries series.
Effect Description:
By using a biological medium (blood, hair, bone) or a deeply personal possession (a weapon, armor, or accessory) of a deceased individual, the user can project a "Phantom" of that person from a specific point in the past.
Unlike standard summoning magic, this projection is not a mindless construct. Through a certain resonance with the skill [Asura Soul Reaping], the original consciousness and soul of the deceased are temporarily "Reaped" from the past and tethered to the projection in present, allowing them to think, speak, and act exactly as they did in life.
Mechanics -
- A projection cannot exceed the user's current Level. If a Level 4 user projects the consciousness of a Level 7 adventurer, the adventurer's projection is capped at Level 4 stats. However, the adventurer's technique, experience, and skill proficiency remain entirely intact, making them incredibly dangerous.
- The user acts as the "Anchor" for the consciousness. The user's Mind/Mana stat dictates how many projections can be summoned and their duration.
...
[Author's Thoughts]
Have a good day everyone.
Mommy Alfia is here!
...
Note: Bell used his own blood to summon Alfia through their blood connection.
...
Remember, attacking between the third and fourth rib is only ever done for self defence, a impact there directly fools the brain to think that the heart just stopped beating, essentially a fake heart attack, cutting off oxygen to the brain and forcing every single vein across the body to dilate. Only ever attack there for self defence and not with full force, or the person attacked would be done for.