Chapter 232
Without hesitation, without any further regard for Aldraya lying helpless on the ground, Ilux unleashed all of his hatred.
Five elemental powers rose simultaneously around him, a manifestation of rage that was both spectacular and horrifying.
Pure white ice shimmered like a field of lethal glass shards on one side, while on the other, dense black flames roared.
These were not flames that illuminated, but flames that devoured surrounding light and heat, creating yawning pockets of darkness.
Dark-golden wind spiraled, whispering sounds like ancient mantras distorted by fury.
From beneath the ground, volcanic obsidian that had appeared inert suddenly trembled and rose, as if the stones themselves were alive and filled with wrath.
And at the peak of this rage, a burst of pure, blazing red energy erupted from within Ilux—energy not born of worldly elements, but awakened remnants of long-dead pulsars in the cosmos, now directed by his hatred-filled will.
In a single, focused momentum, those five opposing and devastating forces were not scattered, but instead fused by Ilux's singular resolve.
With a motion of his hand, or perhaps merely a concentrated gaze, he launched them all as a single, concentrated assault—a multidimensional blast that shattered all conventional logic of combat.
The target was not the cave ceiling or its side walls, but precisely the outer edge of the cave, the place from which the intrusive voice had come.
The attack surged forth like the breath of an enraged dragon, crushing the air, tearing local reality along its path, and aiming to annihilate not only the source of the voice, but the entire mouth of the cave and everything within or behind it, burying anyone who dared to intervene in the darkness of his private moment.
"I know you're crude—and yes, your depravity is undeniable.
But still, forgive me for arriving late.
There is something I need to settle… properly."
The impact that followed was not an explosion of matter tearing everything apart.
There was no massive fireball, no shockwave flattening mountains.
What echoed was a deep rumble reverberating within the cave, like the sound of a colossal strike upon a drum made of the fabric of reality itself.
Its power manifested as wind—an extraordinary wind.
It came as a deadly blast, carrying cutting ice particles, the light-devouring darkness of black fire, obsidian vibrations that shattered cells, piercing whispers of golden wind that stabbed at the mind, and strange residual pulsar radiation.
Yet all of it seemed dampened, controlled, or perhaps simply absorbed at the mouth of the cave, leaving only a violent gust that shook stalactites and sent dust flying, without destroying the cave's structure as a whole.
It was as though an invisible membrane restrained the worst of its impact.
Fifty seconds of silence followed.
It was a thick silence, heavy with dust slowly swirling in the dim light and the final hiss of dissipating elements.
Inside the cave, Ilux stood on full alert, his rage not yet cooled but now mixed with heightened vigilance.
Aldraya still lay on the ground, his body half-covered in dust, his eyes fixed toward the source of the voice and the blast, confusion and exhaustion warring within his gaze.
Then, from behind the curtain of dust and lingering elemental distortion at the cave's mouth, the figure began to walk in.
His steps were neither hurried nor arrogant.
He walked casually, as if he had just entered a living room.
He was Theo Vkytor.
His appearance resembled that of a samurai who seemed never to have been touched by anyone's care for thousands of years.
Not because he was neglected, but because the world had stopped trying to tend to him.
His hair hung extraordinarily long, wild and heavy, often falling to cover part of his face, as though time itself had given up on grooming it.
His skin appeared pale—not the pallor of illness, but a pallor born of a long existence that no longer required sunlight.
His clothing was simple and functional, almost disheveled, and yet that very disorder was what made it unnatural.
Nothing about it felt wrong, as if chaos itself had chosen that form.
At his side always hung a sword resembling a katana, neatly secured in its sheath—never drawn, never displayed.
Not because he doubted his ability to use it, but because there had never been anything urgent enough to require it.
And beneath Theo's calm, there lurked the sense that if that blade were ever unsheathed, it would not mark the beginning of a battle, but the end of an order of existence.
As might be expected—for anyone familiar with Theo's mindset and steadfastness—from the very beginning, since the chaos first erupted, perhaps even since Aldraya began to show signs of strangeness, he had been following.
Not as an emotional pursuer, but as a meticulous and patient observer.
Every step Aldraya took, every destruction he wrought upon the Star Academy's surroundings, was noted.
And Theo perceived a pattern that might have escaped everyone else, even Aldraya himself.
An oddity in his behavior.
Every time Aldraya committed a "crime," a brutal act of destruction or judgment, he would always—unconsciously—press his left hand against his chest, right near his heart.
A brief gesture, almost reflexive, as if he were contemplating or feeling something piercing within himself in the midst of violence.
It was a sign, a crack in the mask of perfect dogma, and Theo kept it carefully in mind.
Now, standing between two broken beings—one physically and spiritually shattered, the other morally ruined—Theo merely grinned.
His smile was neither one of victory nor mockery.
It was a paradoxical expression, too flat and ordinary for such a horrific situation, yet it was precisely that calmness that made it feel deeply abnormal, profoundly unsettling.
He did not appear angry or shaken by Aldraya's naked and ruined state, nor by the terrifying power Ilux had just unleashed.
He simply raised one hand, like a casual greeting, and spoke in an almost apologetic tone, offering an apology.
He said that he "had to be absent," as though this existential battle and attempted violation were merely minor disruptions to his schedule.
There were a few things, he said, that he needed to settle seriously.
'At the very least… Ilux hasn't severed Aldraya's head yet.
As long as Aldraya is still breathing, as long as his head remains where it belongs, I will endure.'
Shuuuuuh!
'For the last time, I offer my gratitude for our cooperation, O Origin of all that flows forth, Quil-Hasa.'
Within the calm yet calculating silence of his mind, Theo Vkytor murmured a quiet note of thanks.
That gratitude was not directed at cosmic forces or fate, but at two concrete factors that had arranged the chessboard of the present situation in his favor.
The first thing that eased him was his encounter with Quil-Hasa.
That Creator, the entity that had long stood at the center of dogma and conflict, had finally learned Theo's true identity.
Not as a mere teacher or troublemaker, but as the hidden source of inspiration behind one of humanity's popular creations.
The world of Flo Viva Mythology.
That strange connection had begun with the game creator's deep admiration for Theo's bestselling horror novel, Last Prayer.
An admiration that then flowed, unknowingly, into a metaphysical thread linking Theo's imagination with the reality created by Quil-Hasa.
From that connection, a mutually beneficial agreement could be woven.
The second thing he was grateful for was a fact that seemed small, yet crucial.
Ilux had not yet severed Aldraya's head.
To be continued…