CHAPTER 1195: SWOLLEN EYES.

The storm had passed over the mountains, but the valley below still burned. Trees collapsed in ash, rivers boiled from the heat, and the ground itself groaned like a wounded beast. The air reeked of iron and smoke, thick enough to choke any mortal who dared approach.

Amid the ruin, the survivors crawled. A broken handful of soldiers staggered through the haze, armor cracked, faces hollow. They whispered prayers that no one heard. Their banners had burned hours ago. Above them, the sky flickered red and white as something vast and unseen moved in the clouds—a clash that made the earth tremble.

A blade cut through the air like thunder. One of the soldiers looked up just in time to see the horizon split apart. Two figures—once men, now monsters of power—collided again. The force threw him backward, his bones rattling as light seared across the sky.

Cain crashed through a ridge, dust and molten stone cascading over him. His armor was shattered, wings in tatters, yet his eyes burned steady—cold, deliberate. Across from him, the other figure descended, wrapped in dark flame, voice distorted from the strain of power.

"Still standing," it said, words echoing like a chorus of knives.

Cain spat blood and steadied himself. "Barely worth calling a fight."

They surged at each other again—no words, no hesitation. The mountain cracked beneath the impact. Cain’s fist went through a wall of flame and struck flesh; a counterblow tore through his ribs, hurling him skyward. He twisted midair, wings snapping out, and dove back down in a blur.

Every strike now left scars on the land. Valleys split open, rivers turned to steam, and the sky fractured under the energy bleeding from their bodies. Even the storm above seemed afraid to draw near.

Cain drove his blade into the earth, channeling the static bleeding from his wounds into the ground. The tremor spread outward, and in one swift motion, he ripped it upward—a surge of burning light that swallowed the dark flame whole. But when the blast cleared, his opponent still stood, barely scorched, smiling through the smoke.

"You’ve grown predictable."

Cain gritted his teeth, eyes narrowing. "And you’ve grown arrogant."

They moved again, but the rhythm changed—slower, sharper. Cain stopped holding back. His right arm pulsed with unstable light, veins glowing through the skin like molten cracks. The other figure mirrored him, flames coiling into its form until its silhouette looked barely human.

When they struck this time, the shockwave didn’t fade. It kept spreading—rolling through the mountains, carrying debris and fire for miles. The world around them seemed to buckle under their rage.

Below, the soldiers watching couldn’t tell who was winning. They only saw flashes—light and dark tearing the sky apart, voices like thunder rumbling over the burning valley.

Cain broke through the assault, seized his enemy by the throat, and slammed him into the ground hard enough to crater it. Dust exploded outward. But before he could press the advantage, the figure’s hand shot up and gripped his arm. A wave of black energy erupted point-blank, tearing through armor and flesh alike.

Cain staggered back, chest smoking. His sword flickered, nearly fading out of existence, before stabilizing again in his grip. He drew a long breath, blood running down his chin.

"Still think you can win?" the other taunted.

Cain didn’t answer. He just smiled. The ground beneath him began to hum—a low vibration that grew louder, sharper. Energy poured from his wounds, not weakening him but feeding into something deeper, older.

The air turned white.

The other fighter hesitated, for just an instant.

Cain moved.

The next impact erased the horizon.

There would be no victor yet—only escalation, only ruin. The valley burned brighter than the sun as both figures vanished into the storm once more.

Cain’s breathing came ragged, harsh and metallic in the air choked with smoke and dust. The ground under his boots had long since melted into slag, shimmering with reflected light from the countless molten fissures cutting through the battlefield. He blinked through sweat and ash, muscles twitching as runic lines flared across his arms, rearming {Golden Tyrant} for another barrage.

The weapon screamed in his hands, spitting arcs of condensed mana that split the horizon with every shot. Nebula didn’t dodge this time—he simply extended both arms, and from behind him, a fan of serrated blades unfolded like wings. They caught the bullets midair, ringing with sharp metallic resonance as the golden shells detonated against them. Sparks cascaded downward like a rain of dying stars, lighting up Nebula’s grin.

"Still trying the same trick?" Nebula asked, voice distorted under the hum of magic. "You think repetition makes you stronger?"

Cain fired again without answering. Each bullet connected with the others midair, creating a chain of explosions that formed a spiraling column of gold. The ground fractured further, swallowing old craters, birthing new ones. Nebula raised his hand, and the storm of blades followed, swirling like a tornado around him before converging on Cain.

Cain dropped to one knee, slamming his fist into the scorched ground. A surge of raw metal energy erupted from below, turning the earth into spiked iron pillars that shot upward in defense. Blades and steel clashed violently; the sound was deafening. The resulting shockwave blew apart what remained of the arena’s perimeter, throwing molten debris hundreds of meters into the air.

Nebula appeared behind Cain before the sound even reached its peak. His blade sliced downward, carving through air thick with heat distortion. Cain twisted away, blood streaking his shoulder as the attack grazed him. He retaliated with a single point-blank shot, the bullet embedding itself into Nebula’s abdomen before erupting with concussive force.

Nebula was thrown backward, crashing through several of Cain’s steel pillars, each one collapsing into molten dust. He landed in a crouch, blood trickling from his mouth, but the same smile stayed on his face. "You’re getting sloppy," he muttered, and his eyes began to glow with that strange unnatural light again.