A few minutes before David's arrival on the battlefield…
Felix's breath burned his lungs, each gasp ragged against the ash-choked air. The wasteland stretched around him like the carcass of a city—crushed towers, shattered asphalt, steel twisted into grotesque shapes.
Flames licked at the broken walls, and frost crackled across the fractured ground. He stood at the heart of ruin, his blue hair streaked red with fire's reflection, sweat plastering it to his brow.
Around him, fire and ice spun in tandem—twin elements entwined in a violent dance. His sword thrummed, its blade pulsing with heat and cold, a paradox forged into steel. Each swing painted the battlefield in clashing hues: searing flame and piercing frost.
And towering before him was the monster: the Rank three rook, Zombie.
Felix staggered back into a defensive stance, his teeth gritted. He deflected an attack from the Rook as it lunged at him. The ground cracked beneath its charge, claws carving deep trenches through the stone.
Felix raised his blade, frost enveloping the steel, and slashed at the creature. Ice erupted from the impact, biting deep into the beast's arm. The Rook snarled and flexed its muscle to destroy the ice before swinging its other hand at him.
Felix's sword erupted with fire. He met the blow in a molten arc, the clash filling the air with sparks and steam. The shockwave toppled what little still stood, scattering debris like leaves before a storm.
His arms trembled. His armour groaned, its hairline cracks glowing faintly where the enchantments strained to hold them together. Mana bled from him faster than he could measure. Still, he pressed forward—because stopping meant death, not just for him, but for the squad.
The Rook tilted its head, smoke trailing from its mouth, almost amused. Then it lowered its stance, mirroring his.
"Annoying," Felix hissed through his teeth.
The Rook struck low, its clawed fist sweeping toward Felix. He barely managed to pivot aside, his boots skidding across the rubble as his blade flared with ice. He slammed it down, sending shards flying from both his sword and his boot—the frost from the boot aimed to trap the Rook's foot for a few seconds. For a brief moment, he prayed it would hold long enough for him to make his attack.
Seizing that moment to attack, he swung his weapon. But the Rook shattered the ice with a stomp, the shockwave rattling Felix's bones. Its claws blurred into a storm of blows. One slammed into his shield arm; pain jolted through him like lightning. He countered with a burst of fire that blackened its chest, ichor hissing where it burned.
The Rook roared, its voice a furnace. Smoke thickened until Felix could barely see, the battlefield collapsing into fire, frost, and shadows.—flames surging, ice cracking, rubble flying. Felix's every step was a gamble.
He wove between claws and fist, countering with desperate arcs of fire and frost. His muscles screamed, lungs raw, vision blurred by sweat and smoke. 'One mistake,' he thought, 'and it's over.'
But he wasn't the only one tiring out.
Though zombies never tire due to their almost unlimited stamina. The wounds on it were many and grievous. Black ichor poured in thick rivulets. Its swings, while still monstrous, began to slow, each one heavier than the last. Yet the hunger in its red eyes did not dim. It bled, and it knew it—but it would not stop.
It came down on Felix like a falling tower. Felix's blade ignited red-white, meeting the strike head-on. The collision thundered across the ruins, stone bursting into shrapnel.
Felix's body shuddered, knees nearly buckling, but he twisted, sliding his sword along its claw. Fire seared. Ice froze. Flesh tore.
The Rook howled, ichor splattering across rubble.
The beast howled, black blood splattering the rubble. Yet its counter was immediate, the other claw scything toward Felix's ribs.
He barely leapt aside, flames bursting from his boots to propel him. The strike gouged a trench through the earth where he'd stood. He stood a few distances away, for a few moments, before attacking again.
They collided again. This time, Felix poured another round of his strengths into his blade, igniting both fire and ice at once.
The sword shrieked as it carved upward, flame searing, frost freezing, a perfect harmony of destruction and creation. The Rook answered with its full weight, claws swinging like guillotines.
Steel shrieked against flesh. The ground quaked. Ash roared skyward.
Felix was hurled back, slamming into a broken wall hard enough to crack the stone. Pain flared white-hot in his ribs. A crack appeared on his armour, and blood streaked his lip. His sword trembled in his grip, its flame and frost sputtering, nearly spent.
Across the crater, the Rook stood heaving, smoke rising from charred wounds, its glowing eyes locked on him with relentless hunger. Predator. Executioner.
Felix forced himself upright, body quaking. Fire sputtered faintly at his fingertips; ice barely clung to the blade. He steadied his breath. 'One more push… just one more.' He thought.
Then he looked up.
The Rook looked back at Felix, then lowered its stance for one more charge. One more charge to finish the human in front of it.
Seeing the rook's action, Felix exhaled, the corner of his mouth quirking with bitter mockery.
As he looked at the monstrous form of the zombie, taking a stance meant to end the battle finally, he couldn't help but smile at himself with mockery.
"Seems like it has realised it won't be able to kill me immediately." He said. "I keep telling myself to be fast, yet I'm holding back against a Rank-three. If that isn't hypocrisy, I don't know what is."
Felix remained silent, then his stance shifted—legs braced, one forward, one behind, sword pointed at the beast. But the air around him changed.
The battlefield, moments ago in chaos, seemed to be still. Fire no longer raged. Frost no longer bit. The air calmed, steady, as if acknowledging him.
The twin elements faded from his blade, replaced by something new.
A bright, whitish-silver aura erupted from his body. It should have been violent, overwhelming—yet it was not. The aura did not rage. It harmonised, a perfect stillness within destruction. His blue hair shimmered, then bled into the same striking whitish-silver, his entire being adapting to the aura as though it had always been meant to.
Even the battlefield reacted. Flames bent subtly toward him, frost receded, and smoke thinned. The world seemed to pause, bearing silent witness.
Felix's lips parted, voice steady.
"Life–Edge Style: Dawn-Breaker."