"What the—?!"

Borg's instincts screamed as the boy's magic power exploded.

Before he could react, Rayne's right arm snapped upward.

Crimson mana—dyed deeper by his gauntlet—slammed into the ground like a tidal wave of blood-red fire.

It surged toward Borg like a shark through water, shredding fallen leaves into dust, carving a trench in its wake.

Borg leapt aside, eyes darting to Rayne's position.

Straight-line attack. Not the kill move.

But—

Even anticipating it, Borg couldn't counter.

By the time his gaze refocused, the boy was already in his face.

Body coiled low, a spring primed to release.

"He's too fast!!"

Borg's pupils shrank to pinpricks.

His beloved axe, once a source of pride, now weighed him down.

No matter how he tried to swing, Rayne would tear him apart first.

Time refused to freeze for his panic.

Rayne's clawed gauntlet ripped through the air.

"Hmm~"

A flute's melody drifted through the trees.

Rayne felt nothing—but his ears caught the whisper of wind.

He aborted his strike, twisting backward.

Thwip!

Silken white threads speared into the earth where he'd stood, weaving a spider's web in midair.

Had he hesitated, they'd have pinned or bound him.

Borg seized the opening.

"HRAAAGH!"

His axe cleaved downward with monstrous force, muscles bursting through his tattered shirt.

Rayne didn't dodge.

Dragon-infused mana, amplified by Boost, forged his body into something inhuman.

Feet braced like artillery mounts, he fired his fist like a cannonball—

—straight into the falling axe.

CLANG!!!

The collision rang through the forest.

A shockwave tore through the clearing, scattering leaves like shattered glass.

Rayne's boots sank into fractured earth, bones vibrating from the impact.

Pain seared through him—yet his grin only widened, wild and feverish.

Borg staggered back, arms numb. His axe's edge was dented, cracks spiderwebbing across the metal.

BOOM!

A tree exploded behind them, obliterated by stray crimson energy.

No one cared.

The green-robed man—Lyle—had descended.

His last subordinate rushed toward Laxus's battle.

And in the chaos, a small figure darted through the canopy, vanishing into the vine-wrapped hideout.

"Lyle?"

Borg grimaced at his damaged axe before glaring at his ally.

"End this quickly."

Lyle's flute gleamed coldly—but his gaze burned as it locked onto Rayne's gauntlet.

Hungry.

Rayne smirked.

Of course.

Boost's effects were obvious. This vulture wanted the Divine Dividing for himself.

His eyes flicked to the flute.

That melody earlier…

No way it was just for ambiance.

"Brat, that green bastard's magic manipulates minds," Ddraig's voice rumbled in Rayne's skull.

"Those missing kids? Probably walked out of their villages like puppets."

A pause.

"But with me here? His tricks are worthless."

The confidence in her tone was absolute.

She'd spent centuries suppressing the grudges of past Sacred Gear hosts.

A mere flute's hypnosis wasn't even a nuisance.

"Damn reliable," Rayne mused.

His muscles tensed, gaze sharpening.

"Seven seconds."

Dirt erupted as he launched forward—

—blurring across ten meters in an instant.

Borg cursed.

For the first time in his life, he didn't want to clash head-on.

His axe couldn't take another hit.

Without it, he was dead.

But Rayne gave no choice.

"Seven seconds!"

Lyle's voice cut through his panic.

"That form lasts seven seconds tops! Survive that, and he's done!"

"Got it!!"

Borg's grin returned.

Seven seconds? With Lyle's support? Easy.

He missed the doubt in Lyle's eyes.

"My magic didn't affect him…?"

"Is it the gauntlet?"

Lyle kept silent. If Borg knew, he'd fight him for it.

Greed was predictable.

Especially for a weapon-obsessed mage like Borg.

(•̀ᴗ•́)و✧

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