Chapter Eleven: Out of Tricks

“Everything you have is a gift from me. You can’t beat me.” Zero clamps down on the Jade Seal Sword and Thias; light flares like lightning on black water, and both blades get hurled away. He sprouts another arm like a shadow splitting, drives it through the blue giant’s chest, and drags Eli from that azure shell of energy.

“Ugh.” Eli coughs, breath snagging like a torn sail in a gale, and he thrashes on instinct like a hooked fish.

“But I didn’t expect you to live through that hit,” Zero says, eyes bright like frost on steel. “How’d you pull it off?”

“I’d rather ask—how many damn hands do you have?” Eli grits his teeth; the Jade Seal Sword shrinks back to his palm like a river returning to its source. He swings once, clean as a falling moon, and severs Zero’s new arm.

Zero pauses, glances at his hands, and feels the gleam lingering in the sword-light, a sheen painted with Eli’s power like dew on a blade. He laughs, soft as a knife slipping from its sheath. “Not bad. You’re fighting me with power siphoned from another universe.”

“Looks like it works,” Eli says, cold as snow on stone.

“If you’re that eager, I’ll play along.” Zero snaps his fingers—whoosh—and shrinks back to human size. He pinches the air as if kneading clay and shapes two long swords from the wind, and he meets Eli edge for edge like thunder answering thunder.

But weapons whipped up on a whim can’t match blades carved from the roots of the World Tree; at their first clash, his conjured swords shatter like thin ice under a heel.

Zero doesn’t slow; quick as a hawk stooping, he plucks from the nearby void two more swords, mirror images of the Jade Seal Sword and Thias, and crosses steel with Eli again, sparks spraying like fireflies.

Every slash Eli throws is caught cleanly, like waves breaking against a cliff, and as their speed climbs like a storm’s drumbeat, their battle line stretches across the void like a river of light.

At last, Zero finds a gap, flicks his blade like a viper’s tongue, snaps Eli’s grip open, and sends the sword spinning like a star torn from orbit. He smiles. “You lost.”

“Not done yet.” Eli’s smile is thin as a knife’s edge, and the flung Thias bursts into a thousand sword-shadows like a flock of ravens, all streaking for Zero.

Zero snaps his fingers, and a wall of earth heaves up like a dune in a sandstorm. The sword-shadows pierce through that guard like rain through dead leaves, then spear through Zero’s body in a storm of light. He laughs, voice cool as winter creekwater. “Is that all?”

The next breath, Eli—no, Birand’s phantom—blooms in the air like a lantern-lit mist. Hands weave seals like weaving reeds, and the sword-shadows unravel into a skyful of runes, each one bleeding crimson light like molten ore.

That crimson power, bridged to another world, spills into chains like burning vines, spearing through Zero and binding him like a tide locking rocks in ice. “Myriad Spirit Locking Array.”

Birand’s phantom speaks like an echo in a canyon, then fades like ash on wind.

Eli bites his forefinger; blood wells like a ruby and smears down the blade like a comet’s tail. While chains pin Zero in place like stakes in bedrock, Eli leaps, gathering every shred of power like drawing the ocean into a single wave.

“Sky-Sever!”

Blue light rips the cosmos like a sword tearing night, blazing in the shroud of darkness like a newborn sun. At the instant Eli’s blade strikes Zero, the dam breaks; a flood of power detonates like a mountain exploding.

The universe feels cleaved by a blue rent like a wound in the firmament. Then a riot of energies floods the void like beasts loosed from cages, roaring as they prowl and lash across the dark.

The space’s energy lattice snaps like a spiderweb in wind, and collapse blooms everywhere like pits opening in a field of snow.

The blue radiance lingers, refusing to die; it curls back into a huge blue sphere like a tide gathering, then blooms in a cross that expands like ripples, slicing the cosmic sea again.

That colossal surge scours nearby stars like a wildfire in tall grass, grinding them into the storm and dragging them into the maelstrom like leaves in a whirl.

The shock runs all the way to the Origin Continent like thunder under the earth, and the world shudders as if hearing a distant drum.

Edlyn rises from the Inferno, a shadow against the ember sky, to the cheers of high-born of other races who greet their leader’s return like a dawn. The moment she learns Eli went alone to face Zero, her body locks like iron in frost.

A heartbeat later, the far void booms with that storm of power like a tide hammering cliffs, and anyone with a shred of strength feels it roll through them like cold fire.

Edlyn clenches her fists till knuckles blanch like bone, teeth in her lip like a thorn, and she holds her tongue like a blade in its sheath.

She wants to fly to him now, like a swallow shot into the wind.

But she knows she isn’t strong enough; she can’t lay a rainbow bridge across the void like he can.

If she goes, she’ll be an anchor, not a sail.

Then, as her shoulders slacken like a bow unstrung, her heart drums once, hard as a war beat.

No. She’s still too weak, the thought hisses like rain into coals.

The idea coils in her mind like ivy on stone, endless and tight.

Edlyn grits her teeth. She refuses to watch helplessly like a statue in a storm; with a face gone dark as a gathering squall, the Demonic Lord turns and sinks into the deep sea like a stone.

The high elders of every race say nothing; the Demon Race won’t invade now like wolves in winter, and the matter of the Hero lies beyond their rank like stars beyond reach. They disperse like birds at dusk and prepare in silence like farmers before a storm.

Edlyn descends to the depths of the Inferno and lifts her gaze to its sky like one reading omens in smoke. She waits, because she knows, like knowing the sea’s pull, that he still hangs aloft and hasn’t come down.

Soon, the Abyss walks to her like night curling over a hill. “Child, what do you want to know?”

“I need to break Birand’s seal,” Edlyn says, voice cold as frost on iron. “I need that step.”

“...I won’t allow it. Not yet,” the Abyss answers, like a gate closed with quiet weight.

“What?!” Edlyn flares like flint struck to tinder. “I can’t just watch!”

“...Daughter, trust me,” the Abyss murmurs after a beat, voice like a low bell. “As long as Eli doesn’t die, everything stays in hand.”

“What. Did. You. Say?” Edlyn’s gaze sharpens like a drawn blade.

The Abyss sighs, the sound like wind over deep water. “It ties to whether we can defeat Zero. Don’t ask. The future will answer.”

“I...”

“Wait in peace,” the Abyss says, ruffling her hair like a father smoothing wild grass.

Edlyn swats his hand away like a spark from her skin and leaves without a glance, a streak of storm-gray.

The Abyss sighs again, half amused, half helpless, watching the little tempest stomp off like a thundercloud with feet.

Behind him, a pair of hands slips around his arm like silk, gentle and warm. “It’s our failing we didn’t watch her grow,” says the woman, voice like rain on eaves.

It’s Yulia, the Celestial God, now that the turmoil has hushed like dust after battle.

They returned to a past node and lived forward to now like seeds sleeping and waking with the seasons.

Yulia takes out a crystal sphere; in its depths a photo floats like a lily in clear water, and a faint smile blooms on her lips like dawn light. “Edward, when will you tell her?”

“...When the child calms down,” the Abyss—Edward—says, rubbing Yulia’s head like polishing amber, and he smiles.

“Mm.” Yulia lingers on the crystal a breath longer like a hand warming a cup, then tucks it away like a treasure under silk.

Inside the sphere is a portrait of the Brulyar family, framed like a window into summer.

Yulie stands behind the girls, both hands on their shoulders like wings; Arman Brulyar stands at Yulie’s side, one arm around her waist like a band of light, the other palm on Edlyn’s head like a blessing.

Edlyn looks aside, disdainful as a cat ignoring a hand; Angela sucks a finger and stares forward, wide-eyed like a fawn.

A long time later, the storm of power thins like smoke in rain and scatters into cosmic dust like ash on wind.

Eli spreads both hands, empty as a beggar, and stares up at the sky like a man watching snow fall.

Zero stands not far away, his face crosshatched with burns like cracked lava; his clothes are gone, and his skin is a black-red ruin like scorched earth.

He opens his mouth and exhales smoke like a kiln, the burn chewing him inside out like fire through dry reeds.

Ash frays from the ends of Zero’s flesh like charred paper, and he crumbles by degrees like a log burning from the edges.

Even so, he doesn’t die; the other half of his body knits itself back together like ivy reclaiming a wall.

Eli lies on the ground, drained like a tide-flat, his strength all but gone like a candle guttering.

Zero smiles and raises a blackened hand missing five fingers like a branch snapped in storm. He studies his wounds like a craftsman eyeing cracks and falls silent for a long beat like dusk holding its breath.

At last, he shakes his head. “What a shame. Just a little more. Don’t you think? A pity. Any other tricks? Looks like you’re out.”

With the last thread of strength like a single strand of silk, Eli keeps himself from blacking out and just stares at Zero like a man staring down a cliff.

Seeing that look, Zero stops talking. He sits cross-legged like a stone Buddha, and the energies around him pour into his body like a river finding the sea.

Eli can’t pull so much as a sip against that gravity; it’s like trying to drink in a flood.

He doesn’t know how long passes—minutes or hours—time unspooling like a frayed rope. The darkness of the universe slides over his mind like night over a field, and his vision goes grainy like snow on an old screen.

Zero rises. A thin scar still marks his face like a line of ice. He pulls a garment from raw power like weaving mist and drapes it over his charred wounds like a veil.

He floats down to Eli like a hawk lowering to a branch and looks down at him from above like a cold moon. “Not bad. That hurt enough I’ll need time to recover. But too bad—I just won’t die.”

Eli’s pupils have lost their focus and his eyes are dull, glassy as still ponds. If not for the faint breath like a moth’s wing, anyone would call him a corpse washed ashore.

“Blinded?” Zero frowns, studying those clouded eyes like a physician peering at frost. “Just to slow me down, you did this to yourself. Was it worth it?”

He kneels and places a hand on Eli’s chest like a stone on a cairn. A trickle of energy slides into Eli like warm tea down a cold throat. Zero frowns and sighs. “You’re hanging by a thread. There’s not a single piece left whole. You really spent it all.”

“For your effort, I’ll spare you,” he says, tone almost fond, like a hunter leaving a stubborn wolf. “I’ll wait for you to beat me. Though it’s impossible now. You’re a cripple; who knows how long to recover. Old friend, for all our years and your grit, live until the world ends. It won’t be long.”

He smiles, gives Eli’s body a light push like a leaf set on a stream, and sends him drifting toward the Origin Continent like a falling star.

Eli closes his eyes and yields to the plunge, the freefall tearing at him like cold wind ripping banners.

Edlyn sits by the sea, watching the tide breathe like a sleeping beast, her heart still knotted like rope.

A prickle runs through her like a sudden chill, and she looks up; a black speck blooms in the sky like ink in water.

She squints; a familiar shape plummets like a meteor.

Her heart lurches like a drum hit once, and she springs barefoot, leaping like a swallow, and gathers that familiar body into her arms like catching a fallen banner.

The moment she touches him, she feels the ruin of him like broken glass under silk, and her tears spill like rain breaking from a stormfront.

Eli turns his head a fraction, and his unfocused eyes seem to rest on Edlyn like stars blurred by mist. His body does heal, not slow, but the wound is an ocean, and the shore crawls forward like inches of tide.

His fingers twitch like leaves in a breeze; he tries to lift his hand like a branch toward light.

Edlyn grips his hand tight like anchoring a boat and bears him back to her castle in the Inferno like a torch carried through wind.

“Quick! Everything for healing!” Edlyn kicks the door open like a wave smashing a gate and shouts, voice ringing like a bell.

Maids scatter like startled birds and rush to gather what the Demonic Lord demands like ants gathering grain.

Edlyn lays Eli on the bed like setting down a precious relic and looks at him, worry carved deep as a riverbed.

Eli tries to curl his lips, a ghost of a smile like dawn through fog, but he can’t manage it; the strength won’t come like a flame that won’t catch.

“Idiot,” Edlyn says through her teeth, glaring at him like lightning trapped in a bottle.