Itekan was still falling when the explosion finally caught up to him.
The world above detonated in a bloom of blinding light and intolerable heat, and the shockwave followed an instant later—an invisible wall that slammed into his body midair. His flesh did not burn.
It unmade itself.
Skin peeled away into vapor. Muscle fibers unraveled as though rewritten by fire. Bone blackened, fractured, then began to dissolve. Pain existed for less than a fraction of a second before his nervous system itself was erased by the sheer intensity of the blast.
And yet—
In the very same heartbeat his shadow spirit reacted.
Darkness surged upward from beneath his feet, wrapping around what remained of him like a second skeleton. Shadow threaded itself through nothingness, reconstructing nerves before they were needed, rebuilding organs before absence could become death. Where heat destroyed, shadow rewrote. Where reality failed, instinct took over.
Itekan's body reformed even as it fell apart.
By the time gravity reclaimed him, he was whole again—barely aware of how close he had come to ceasing entirely.
Shzekcl had suffered no less.
The explosion had caught him head-on. His shadow form had been torn open, its edges shredded by heat and pressure. Though his shadow lacked the purity and refinement of Itekan's, it existed within the same rank.
Both were four-flicked shadows.
And at that level, death was no longer immediate.
Dark tendrils clung stubbornly to Shzekcl's core, dragging scattered fragments of his existence back together. His regeneration was slower, rougher—less elegant—but no less effective. Bone reset itself with audible cracks. Burnt flesh regenerated in uneven waves. His shadow hissed and recoiled, but it held.
Both combatants slammed into the ground several meters apart.
The earth cratered beneath them.
Dust rose. Stone shattered. The air screamed.
And when the debris finally settled, both stood once more—bodies completely restored, as if the explosion had never happened.
For a brief, fragile moment, neither moved.
Then they attacked again.
Twin bursts of shadow energy tore through the space between them, colliding, shearing past one another, detonating in flashes of warped darkness. Itekan twisted sideways, narrowly avoiding two dense orbs of condensed shadow that carved through the air where his head had been an instant earlier.
As one passed behind him, something brushed his spine.
Not heat.
Not pressure.
A tingle—sharp, invasive, profoundly wrong.
Itekan's eyes widened.
What the hell was that?
The sensation crawled beneath his skin, bypassing flesh entirely, scraping directly against something deeper.
It's not just physical…
It's hitting the soul.
The realization chilled him more than the explosion had.
He vanished.
One instant he was there—then space folded, shadows snapping closed behind him. He reappeared directly behind Shzekcl, arm already swinging, shadow trailing like a blade.
But Shzekcl had anticipated it.
He spun on his heel, moving on instinct rather than thought, and drove his fist forward. Their attacks collided mid-motion—shadow against shadow—sending a concussive shockwave outward.
The impact forced Itekan back.
And with it, something inside him snapped.
The hatred he had been suppressing surged violently to the surface, a floodgate ripped open. His shadow flared in response, feeding on the emotion, amplifying it. Space distorted as he moved—not fast, but too fast.
Several times faster than the speed of sound.
One instant he was recoiling.
The next, he was standing directly in front of Shzekcl.
"Shadow's Hand; Inverse Gravity."
The technique formed almost unconsciously.
Instead of creating a simple inverted gravity field, Itekan compressed it—forcing the inversion inward while allowing normal gravity to exist around it. The result was unstable, volatile, and dangerously complex.
At the core: gravity twisted in on itself, directions meaningless.
At the edges: reality struggled to decide which laws to obey.
Even as he executed it, Itekan realized the truth.
Shzekcl had nearly ten years of shadow training.
He himself had barely one.
A direct contest of mastery would end in his loss.
So I don't fight fair.
The clash between regular and inverted gravity warped space itself. The opposing forces canceled and compounded simultaneously, creating a zone of absolute zero gravitational attraction—centered on Itekan.
For a heartbeat, the world leaned toward him.
With a single leap, he crossed a distance that should have taken four full steps—and released the compressed field directly into Shzekcl.
BOOM!!!
VWHOOOOSH!!!
THUD!!!
The sound tore across the landscape like the roar of a collapsing sky. Shzekcl was hurled backward, smashing through earth and stone, skidding across the ground for several meters before finally crashing to a stop.
The shockwave traveled for miles.
At Four Stars Academy Base, Nuelle screamed and clamped her hands over her ears, dropping to one knee. Her overly sensitive hearing made the distant explosion feel as though it had detonated inside her skull.
Nearby, Viktor stirred.
The vibrations rattled through the ground beneath him, dragging him back to consciousness. He groaned, disoriented, vision swimming.
Elsewhere, Itoyea and Bukanami—midway to Rangers Academy—halted abruptly. Both turned toward the horizon.
That sound had come from their base.
Back on the battlefield, Itekan lowered his arm.
His hand was shaking.
The backlash from the technique rippled through his bones, leaving a dull ache behind. His shadow recoiled slightly, strained.
That should've done it…
So why—
Why was Shzekcl still standing?
Shzekcl pushed himself upright, breath ragged. That last attack had drained nearly all of his remaining shadow energy just to block. His shadow flickered erratically, its form unstable.
What… was that attack?
He couldn't comprehend the speed of Itekan's growth.
Was it his shadow quality? His adaptability?
If this fight had occurred earlier—much earlier—Shzekcl knew he would have won.
But now?
He wasn't certain he could even last long enough to finish it.
And yet—
It had been worth it.
In this short clash, he had learned more about himself than in his entire life. Emotions he'd never named, instincts he'd never trusted, desires he'd never allowed himself to feel.
It was confusing.
Terrifying.
Exhilarating.
He hadn't known what he was missing—until now.
And he didn't want it to end.
Not this feeling.
Not this growth.
Not him.
If loyalty was the price, then it was worth paying.
Something about Itekan was different. Shzekcl didn't yet understand what—but he could feel it.
Before Itekan could prepare another attack, Shzekcl stopped.
His shadow form dissolved, retreating inward as he reverted to his human shape.
Itekan blinked.
"What are you doing?"
"I don't want to fight anymore," Shzekcl said quietly. "I lose this encounter."
Itekan frowned. This hadn't been how he expected it to end.
Then he noticed Shzekcl's breathing—heavy, uneven.
Itekan exhaled slowly.
Relief washed through him.
He was exhausted too.
But he'd done it.
He had defeated the Ace of Rangers Academy.
"B—bu—but can I stay with u…"
"What?"
Shzekcl steadied himself, took a breath, and spoke clearly.
"Can I come with you?"
"Bro what the fuc—"
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Spiritual Energy (SE)
Spiritual Sea (SS)
Spiritual Signature (SST)