"I see, so that was your game, Ithriel. You weren't just after the Human—you wanted to cripple our army for years," Darfin murmured, voice low and sharp as a blade.
He hovered high above the battlefield, suspended on unseen currents of wind, just out of reach of the snarling titan below—Atius, Giant General of Ithriel's horde.
The sky behind him bled hues of molten gold and burning orange as the sun began its slow descent, casting long shadows over the shattered landscape. The light caught in Darfin's silver armor, gilding him in soft brilliance, his long hair rippling like strands of starlight in the sky's fading warmth.
He narrowed his gaze, the winds whispering against his pointed ears as he scanned the chaos below. The scent of charred stone and blood-slicked steel rose on the thermals.
Far below, Atius shifted impatiently, thick arms rippling with muscle like coiled ropes, his pale skin smeared with streaks of dried crimson. The Giant's breath came in slow, volcanic puffs—steam curling from flared nostrils like smoke from a dying forge.
Darfin's brows knitted as his mind raced. 'I can't descend to help them; bringing this lumbering beast to the cliffs would spell disaster. Too many would die.'
His jaw tightened. 'I didn't want to expend this much mana so soon, but if this is the final stand, I won't hold back.'
He turned his head slightly, eyes drifting across the battlefield to the opposing cliff where the enemy god still sat.
There, on his polished throne of black obsidian, Ithriel lounged like a spider in its web—his glacial armor catching the dying sun and casting it cold. The light seemed to bend around him, dull compared to the god's cruel brilliance. His subtle but suffocating smirk stirred an old hatred in Darfin's heart.
'You're not better than Seraphine. You're filth. And that smile, wipe it off your face.'
Darfin's fists clenched at his sides. Nothing infuriated him more than those who caused Seraphine pain, so when he saw his lady standing helpless at the cliff's edge, tears streaming silently as her children were slaughtered, something inside him ignited.
'You don't deserve her grief,' he thought, eyes blazing. 'You or that wretched Human.'
But rage was a distraction, and Darfin was no fool. He let the fury surge through him for one burning heartbeat, then buried it. 'Not now. Seraphine needs me focused.'
He shifted his gaze downward.
Atius glared up at him from the cracked battlefield, his massive form tense, chest heaving with irritation. The Giant had stopped throwing boulders long ago, clearly frustrated with Darfin's constant evasion. Now, he stood, neck craned, staring with dull hate at the elegant figure above.
Darfin smiled faintly—almost pityingly.
Then he did something unexpected.
He leaned forward slightly and spat.
The glob of saliva glinted in the sunlight as it fell, a single droplet tumbling through the air until it landed on the Giant's now bald head with a wet pat.
To any other being, it would've meant nothing.
But to a Giant?
It was the gravest insult imaginable.
Atius froze for a split second. Then his roar erupted like a thunderclap, shaking the very air around Darfin. Dust exploded from the ground where the Giant stomped, the tremor splitting stones and sending pebbles raining across the cliff like shrapnel.
Darfin's face hardened. The smirk vanished.
Enough games.
He extended both arms and drew in a deep breath. The air around him shimmered as if the world itself paused. Then, his mana surged with a pulse like the crack of lightning.
Brilliant light-blue energy erupted from his core and spun into motion, circulating through him in furious, accelerating spirals.
It wasn't just mana—it was art. The spirals danced around his body with impossible precision, glowing brighter with every heartbeat. The sheer pressure made the air ripple outward in expanding waves. Loose dust from the cliff face lifted into the sky, caught in the current of his rising power.
And then the circles began to form.
One after another, rings of magic etched themselves in the air around his arms and crown, complex, shifting runes of glowing silver and blue. They spun in opposing directions, orbiting him like moons caught in gravity's snare. Each circle shimmered with a different hue, representing a mastered element—crimson for fire, cerulean for water, emerald for wind, ochre for stone. The four converged around him in a breathtaking display of elemental dominance.
The heat of fire licked the air, warping the sky above him. A fine mist curled beneath his boots, fed by water condensed from the very clouds. Dust and rock fragments orbited him in a low grind, while slicing gusts of wind hissed and whispered, protecting him in a silent cyclone.
Below, Atius hesitated, primal instincts suddenly screaming.
Darfin's eyes glowed brighter than the sunset.
His voice was calm, confident, and dangerous. "Let me show you the difference between a beast and a master of the arcane."
Then Darfin moved.
Not with speed alone, but with command. The elements themselves obeyed.
He cut through the air like a blade, faster than any eye could track. A blur of fire, water, earth, and wind
Atius couldn't move. His body hadn't yet caught up to what his instincts screamed. Instead, it reacted the only way it knew how: a hardened sheen of shimmering silver steel spread across his massive form, protecting his vulnerable flesh.
But that was precisely what Darfin had anticipated.
With a slight, knowing smirk, the middle-aged elf twisted mid-air, planting his foot against the wind. The air held him like solid ground. He kicked off, launching forward like a divine spear, straight into the beast's gaping mouth.
Atius blinked, dumbfounded. For all his brutish ignorance, even he knew what had just happened made no sense.
For a moment, the only sound was the distant clash of warriors on the battlefield. Silence clung to the Giant's head like fog. Confused, Atius scratched his temple with one colossal finger, frowning.
And then the pain hit.
First, a sudden heat.
Not warmth. Fire.
A molten inferno erupted in his gut, like he had swallowed a core of pure lava. His insides churned, boiling, blistering. He doubled over slightly, eyes bulging, and screamed—a deep, primal howl that echoed across the entire battlefield like the collapse of a mountain.
But it was only the beginning.
Next came the cold.
A biting, soul-numbing frost surged through his chest, flooding his lungs with icewater. It wasn't just cold—it was pressure—rivers of freezing water pressed from every angle, as if the ocean had been stuffed inside him.
And then—
Stone.
Massive, pounding boulders slammed against his insides—again and again—striking with brutal rhythm, like war drums carved from the bones of giants. He clutched his sides, stumbling backward, choking on confusion and pain.
Then came the wind.
Razor-sharp currents cut through his body like invisible blades. Whirlwinds churned in his abdomen, slicing, twisting, flaying. The sensation was unbearable. He screamed again, this time higher-pitched, shrill with raw agony.
He clawed at his chest, raking his fingers down his torso, desperate to tear out the torment within. But there was nothing he could grasp, only suffering.
He collapsed to one knee, trembling. Cracks began to spiderweb across his silver armor. Blood—thick, black-red and steaming—spilled from his mouth in gouts. It hissed as it touched the obsidian below.
He roared one final time, a sound of hopeless, cosmic pain.
Then, with a thunderous boom, his body detonated.
The force of the explosion sent shockwaves across the field. Chunks of bone and armor the size of boulders rained from the sky like crimson meteors. They slammed into the ground with explosive force, shattering obsidian into smoking shards.
Blood poured in heavy clumps, painting the battlefield red. The black stone, once slick with dark ichor, now ran crimson like fresh-spilled wine. The air reeked of burning iron, ash, and death.
And above it all, Darfin stood.
Suspended in mid-air.
He was drenched in blood, soaked from head to toe, his once-polished armor now slick with gore. Yet his posture was calm, almost regal. Around him, the elements raged—untamed and unrelenting. Fire flickered from his shoulders. Water spiraled in rhythmic arcs from his back. Wind shrieked around him in a furious cyclone, and stones hovered, trembling with power.
And then—
Darfin's eyes narrowed, gleaming with power.
He didn't need to speak. The battlefield had heard his message loud and clear.