The ruins had become a furnace. The air shimmered with heat, ash clung to every surface, and each ragged breath Felix took cut through his chest like shards of glass.
His body screamed, every muscle trembling from strain, his mana well nearly bled dry. Still, he stood, sword in hand, its glow compressed into a dangerous whisper of light instead of the roaring flare from before.
The Rook, though bloodied, was far from finished. Black ichor dripped from its wounds, sizzling where it struck the scorched ground. Its crimson eyes burned with feral rage, yet behind them lay calculation. A predator's mind, refusing to bow.
It slammed its claws into the broken earth, pulling itself upright again despite its faltering strength.
The impact shattered the road in a spiderweb of fissures, rubble exploding upward. With each breath, its body swelled, cords of muscle knotting beneath as it forced its raw strength to carry on.
Felix smirked faintly, sweat sliding down his dirt-streaked face. His stance shifted, calm and razor-edged, his blade angled with purpose.
"Life–Edge Style…" His voice cut like steel in the storm. "…Breakdown."
The Rook didn't hesitate. It charged, earth buckling beneath its monstrous weight, claws ripping through the air with bone-crushing force.
Felix stepped in—precise, not hurried. His blade traced a thin crescent across the Rook's arm. A faint shimmer pulsed where the steel kissed flesh. The beast's claw jolted mid-swing, power collapsing into its shoulder. The intended killing strike turned into a desperate flail, smashing uselessly against stone.
The monster bellowed, staggered, then swung with the other arm. Felix slipped past, his sword flickering again, carving a shallow cut across the beast's ribs.
The line glowed faintly, cracks spidering out from the wound. The Rook stumbled, its balance undone, as though the strike had carved into the very flow of its power.
Again and again, Felix moved—each slash small, almost insignificant. A wrist, a tendon, the inside of the thigh. He wasn't breaking the beast with brute strength. He was dismantling it, piece by piece, until even its monstrous frame couldn't hold together.
The Rook roared louder, rage drowning out reason. It lashed wildly, smashing buildings apart, sending waves of debris and fire outward—a claw carved through a stone tower, sending the wreckage raining down like meteors. The ground shook with every missed strike, the battlefield torn into deeper ruin.
Felix weaved through the chaos, each movement deliberate. His body ached, his breath ragged, his sword heavy as lead—but his eyes never wavered. With each shallow cut, with each fracture etched into the Rook's body, he forced the beast further into desperation.
"Why won't you fall?" he muttered under his breath, voice cracking with exhaustion. His smirk remained, but behind it lay grit, not arrogance. He was pushing himself past his limit.
The Rook's answer was another charge, reckless now, its claws tearing apart streets and rubble alike. Its body quaked with fury and strain, its movements a storm of raw destruction.
Felix braced, sword glowing faintly. The monster lunged.
The clash was thunderous. The Rook's claw met Felix's blade, but instead of shattering him, the force faltered, folding in on itself. The beast shrieked as its own strength betrayed it, its arm buckling backward at an unnatural angle.
Felix staggered back, chest heaving, his armor cracked even more, and blood dripping from a dozen cuts. His vision blurred at the edges, but he tightened his grip, refusing to let go.
Step by step, cut by cut, he had unraveled it.
The Rook stumbled now, its colossal form trembling, claws dragging against the broken earth. Cracks of light spread across its body where Felix had struck, glowing like fault lines in stone about to give way. Its roars turned into pained howls, still savage but laced with desperation.
It tried once more, summoning the last dregs of its strength, its massive frame quaking as it swung down with a strike meant to crush Felix into the ground.
Felix exhaled sharply, his body screaming in protest as he stepped in. His blade flickered, one final cut—not deep, not grand, but precise—right where all the fractures converged, its neck.
The Rook froze mid-swing. Its crimson eyes widened.
Then its body collapsed inward, strength unraveling all at once. Like a tower with its foundations shattered, the beast crumpled to its knees, claws digging trenches into the earth as it tried and failed to keep upright.
With a guttural roar that echoed through the ruins, it fell, shaking the battlefield with its final collapse.
Felix stood in the storm of settling ash, sword lowered, aura flickering weakly before fading. His chest heaved, his legs nearly giving out. Blood trailed down his arm, dripping onto the broken street. Yet through the exhaustion, through the pain, his smirk remained.