Trees ruffled as wind blades cut through multiple cloaked figures. They fired back with bursts of flame and ice, lighting up the woods. The scent of ash drifted through the air. Droves of lantern-like objects danced around a group of women as they fought back the tendrils rushing out to ensnare them.
Hahaha... hahaha.
Malrik's bloody laugh rang out. His silver cloak flustered behind him as he jumped off and landed on a thick tree branch. His eyes darted around, catching sight of three figures rushing at him from the shadows.
"Die!" Vaelis—a elven woman who had been masquerading as a human witch—yelled, her hands gripping twin daggers as she weaved through the treetops and slashed at his neck, eyes burning with hatred.
Wind surged at her back and burst—forming two brief green wings—shooting her forward at neck-breaking speed.
Malrik's eyes locked onto her slowing body as he quickened his perception. In an instant, his form split into two versions of his new persona—one facing Vaelis, the other turning to meet the figure charging from his left.
Liraen's hands flung out gales of wind and yellowish pollen in his direction. Flowers bloomed mid-air and launched toward him, their petals sharp and vibrant, spinning like blades. His smile widened as he burst through the swarm of flowering missiles, green wings blooming at his back as he copied Vaelis's movements—adjusting, refining, moving even faster.
His fist clenched.
He collided with her stomach, the force so brutal that rings of impact rippled through the air behind her. Her insides ruptured. Shock flooded her body, pain lancing through every nerve as a lantern opened beside her—ready to incinerate her on contact.
Meanwhile, his other clone outstretched its hands, unleashing a vortex of wind and stolen pollen—mimicking Liraen's technique. It absorbed her attack, dragging the blooming flowers into the spiral, grinding them into a storm of slicing wind and entrapping blossoms.
But just as the grinding vortex reached its peak, twisting with violent wind and pollen-shredded petals, a sharp voice rang out from the treetops:
"Cancel."
The word struck like a hammer through Malrik's spellwork. His vortex faltered. The winds snapped mid-spin, petals stilled, and the entire trap shuddered before unraveling in a burst of harmless breeze.
A figure dropped from the canopy with all the grace of a falling leaf—silent, deadly. Her cloak flowing like silk magic circles stitched in mana threads. Hair the color of deep autumn leaves whipped behind her as she landed, one hand still extended from casting the nullification.
"Enough tricks," the elf said coldly, eyes narrowing at Malrik. "do you think the order will take this lightly?" she asked as everyone of his spells, lanterns were nullified and llusion clones—other then the one she was talking to—were nullified.
──────
Name: Vaeloria Duskveil
Race: High Elf
Class: Aura Knight
Level: 2,104,792
EXP: 891,105,348 / 1,300,000,000
Alignment: Lawful Neutral
Affiliation: Elarithien, Kingdom of the Letharien High Elves
Title(s):
???
???
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HP: 64,220,000 / 64,220,000
MP: 6,430,000 / 6,430,000
Stamina: 20,470,000 / 20,470,000
Strength: 1,188,000
Dexterity: 1,001,000
Vitality: 1,204,000
Intelligence: 365,000
Charisma: 998,000
[ESS: Light III]
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ABILITIES
Radiance
The user converts stamina into aura force. Gains increasing damage, durability, and reflexes during prolonged battle.
Dawnburst Step
Dash technique that leaves afterimages of light. Instantly closes gaps and deflects mid-tier projectiles while moving.
Argent Bastion
Surrounds the body in a thin, armor-tight aura layer. Reduces all non-divine physical damage and negates critical hits below Tier 15.
Lionheart Pulse
Unleashes a shockwave of willpower, knocking back enemies and dispelling illusions, curses, or fear effects within 40 meters.
Duel Oath Brand
Marks a single target as a Duel Foe. Damage dealt to the marked target is increased, while damage taken from others is reduced.
Aura Sink: Mind Over Mana
Vaeloria bypasses traditional spellcasting, instead shaping her aura manually. Spells cost stamina instead of mana, but lose long-range casting ability.
Solar Concord (Passive)
Under sunlight, her regeneration doubles and her aura flares more vividly. Grants resistance to shadow and necrotic magic.
──────
Malrik just laughed. "Aren't you impressive~" he murmured as he read her status panel. Say, how about I try and make a truce? he thought, but refrained from muttering it aloud. Instead, he checked his mental list and began preparing to leave.
His main body had already shot Emilim and Fuyumi into a lake hidden deep in the wilderness, while scattering most of his other consorts throughout the region: caves, mountains, deep underground, within the labyrinth—any place they wouldn't be easily found. He buried them in stasis, forming a self-sustained network by linking their cores together to power the human lanterns, thanks to his manipulation and engineering of cold, healing, illusion, mana transfer, water, and—surprisingly—moonlight magic.
He could feel the power radiating off Vaeloria, its strength permeating the air like a candle held aloft against the clear blue sky.
The space around her warped, light bending around her body itself, twisting and flowing toward her sword. His spell-sight tried to analyze it, but for the first time, it failed to comprehend the supernatural power before him. It clearly wasn't mana—it was aura force, listed plainly in her status.
Malrik smiled, bowing slightly. "My lady, forgive me, but has anyone ever told you how mesmerizing your beauty truly is~?" he spoke sweetly.
When he looked back up, the first thing he saw was her sword—at his face.
Her speed was truly unbelievable. Time had been moving slowly for him as he made himself faster, yet here Vaeloria not only matched his speed while holding a conversation, but had completely outpaced him—appearing directly in front of him with blade in hand.
Her blade hovered a hair's breadth from his brow, gleaming with bent light, humming with the pressure of her aura. The air between them crackled, space folding in on itself. Wind didn't dare pass.
"Speak your name," Vaeloria demanded, her voice like steel dragged across ice—sharp, cold, and without patience.
Malrik said nothing. His eyes closed as his perception returned to normal. His breathing was steady and calm, despite her tone. The two elves he'd fought earlier recovered from their wounds and moved behind her, weapons at the ready. More arrived, fanning out into the trees around him—half a dozen or more, tense and silent, circling the stillness.
The silence stretched.
A crow somewhere in the trees squawked and flew off, as if chased by death itself. Leaves trembled high above them, but no one moved.
A few heartbeats passed.
Then—Vaeloria's body jerked. It wasn't pain. It wasn't fear. It was stillness, unnatural and suffocating. Every muscle in her body seized for a breath.
She didn't notice it, but the air behind her had changed.
The others—every single elf who had gathered—stood still as statues. Eyes wide. Fingers clanched tightly on blades and notched arrows. Frozen mid-motion, locked in place.
Only she remained moving.
Malrik looked up at her with that same half-smile curling on his lips.
"I don't have one... But you can call me your biggest admirara~" he whispered, voice soft as fog and laced with something deeper, darker.
Malrik tilted his head slightly, almost joyful. As he fully stopped attempting to paralyze her. His actual body playing with her body. His hands roamed her body as he rubbed his glans between her firm warrior muscles called her thighs.
His glans effortlessly cut through her underwear and filled her whole. His warmth flooded her soft velvet walls. Pulsing, as the arousal he built up through molestation done through his previous silence was released in several streams of hot semen that flowed into her womb.
Malrik grunted with satisfaction, "Last-minute revenge sure is sweet," he said as if praising his own actions. His tail flicking in argument, his crimson irises savored the look on Vaeloria's face as she turned around; disgust, shock, and confusion swirled in her mind.
Her instincts flared.
She surged forward in a flash of light, her feet kicking off the ground and carrying her through the warped air ahead. Her sword drew back without thought, not in defense—but in a sweeping arc aimed clean behind her.
Steel sang.
The blade screamed through the air like a comet, slicing through the space Malrik's presence had just brushed—clean and merciless. Her form twisted mid-leap, a dancer's grace honed by a hundred battles.
But her attack moved cleanly through him.
"Ouch, that hurt~" Malrik said, forming the elf persona over his body, his hand clutching a large wound along the line where her blade would have cut.
His feet stumbled back. "And here I gave you something so precious," he cooed.
Vaeloria didn't miss a beat—and decapitated him.
Her blade cut clean through, severing his head from his shoulders in a gruesome mess. The strike carved through multiple eighth-tier magic barriers—which collectively would have drained more than a third of her mana just to activate.
Around his blood gushing body, the other elves gasped—finally freed. Their limbs trembled as they collapsed or raised their weapons in alarm, regaining control of their bodies. Their legs shook, a hollow ache running between their thighs of the more experienced while the pure had sunken eyes as tears flowed down their cheeks—a feeling of blood seeping into their undergarments.
For just a split second, silver rings flickered onto their fingers—each etched with a rating: 1/5, 2.5/5, and so on. A final, mocking verdict as Malrik's severed head tumbled through the air.
With a rustle of leaves and the faint creak of disturbed branches, Malrik's severed head tumbled down from the treetops. It fell in a slow arc, thudding against a lower bough, bouncing once—then dropping lifeless to the forest floor with a final, dull thump.
Silent. Still. Dead.