The clash continued, each strike faster, harder, more desperate.
'I can't feel any spiritual energy,' Atticus thought grimly.
He couldn't explain it, but the figure seemed to have absolute authority in this space.
Earlier, when the man had snapped his fingers, Atticus had completely lost connection to the spiritual energy in the air. It was as if, in the entire black expanse, there wasn't a shred of spiritual energy left to harness. He couldn't use the one in his body either.
Atticus had no doubt the man could do the same with mana, but for some reason, he hadn't done so.
Atticus tried everything in his power to gain the upper hand. His elements worked in tandem, his katana arts split the air, and he even tried to predict the man's movements. Yet no matter what he did, it was all to no avail.
He couldn't read the figure.
The man's fighting style was both refined and beastial, each move a perfect combination of precision and raw instinct. There wasn't a single wasted movement, not a shred of hesitation.
It was as though the man knew exactly where Atticus would be and what he would do before he even thought about doing it.
'I'm the one being read.'
Atticus felt exposed, bare. Every action of his seemed to be anticipated, as if the figure could see through his very thoughts. There wasn't a single opening to exploit. He had never felt like this before, not even when battling Magnus.
BOOM!
The air shook as they collided once more, an intense shockwave rippling across Atticus's body, making his bones quake.
'Are they really different abilities?'
Atticus's mind was muddled. His entire focus was locked on the figure's every move, and in that process, he noticed something strange, something that confused him even more.
The man was utilizing every power of the different races Atticus knew in Eldoralth. But his synchronicity was off the charts. In fact, he was using them so seamlessly that they didn't feel like separate abilities at all. They felt unified.
As though they were all just facets of one singular bloodline.
'What is going on?'
The thought unsettled him. If his observation was correct, it would be groundbreaking.
Everything he had seen so far pointed to a singular truth:
This place had been created by the last of the man's kind.
It existed to inform the worthy of the past.
Atticus's mind raced through countless scenarios, each more unbelievable than the last. Yet, one theory kept nagging at him, refusing to be dismissed.
'From the beginning, in Eldoralth, could it be that there wa—'
'What are you thinking about now?!'
Ozeroth's voice sliced through Atticus's thoughts, sounding sharp and urgent.
The abrupt shout snapped Atticus back to reality, his eyes regaining focus just in time to see the figure's head hurtling toward him like a battering ram.
CRACK!
The sound of bone meeting bone echoed through the hall like a thunderclap. The impact rattled Atticus's skull, his vision exploding with stars.
His brain felt like it had been shaken loose, and his entire body went limp as he shot backward, tumbling headfirst across the ground.
His words slurred as his head spun. "Ozeroth… I think… I can see three moons… wait, no… one of them is a potato…"
"BOND! BOND!" Ozeroth's shout reverberated in his mind, snapping him out of his delirium.
Atticus's eyes sharpened as he regained focus, only to see a foot descending toward his face like a meteor.
His pupils constricted.
'Move. Now!'
He exhaled deeply, his mana and elements churning as he mimicked the flow of water.
His body twisted gracefully, slipping just beneath the kick as it tore through the air, leaving a shockwave in its wake. He landed lightly, his movements fluid as he shot backward, putting distance between them.
His boots skidded across the smooth floor, sparks trailing beneath him.
Atticus soon came to a stop, katana raised, his cold eyes locking on the figure.
The world fell silent again.
The stars above stilled.
The figure stood tall, his gaze sharp and piercing, staring down at Atticus with an almost bored expression.
"Don't tell me this is all you have," the man said, his tone laced with disappointment. "As his offspring, I expect more."
Atticus ignored the cryptic remark, forcing himself to focus. He had almost made a grave mistake by overthinking earlier, and it had nearly cost him everything. It was something he wouldn't allow to happen again.
He's not holding back, Atticus thought, his mind serious. That kick… if it had landed, Atticus was certain he would have lost his head.
The first blow to his skull had cracked it. Blood streamed down his temple, dripping onto the ground. But for the Atticus of now, it was nothing. The wound healed as fast as it had appeared.
The man took a single step forward, the air around him growing heavier.
"I suggest you give this all you have," he said, his voice cold and final. "The consequence for failure… is death."
The word hit Atticus like a hammer.
Death.
His grip on his katana tightened, his knuckles turning white. He had wondered about this from the beginning.
Would the man simply let him leave if he failed to prove himself? No. Atticus had known deep down that failure wasn't an option.
'This is life and death.'
Before Atticus could act, something in his robe pocket lit up.
The artifact Whisker had given him.
A moment later, Whisker's voice rang out, loud and carefree, echoing through the hall.
"Heyya, my star actor!" Whisker's tone was playful, even cheerful, completely out of sync with the dire situation. "If you're hearing this, that means you actually decided to go where I asked! Took you long enough!"
Atticus froze, his eyes wide. What was happening? Even the man paused, watching with mild intrigue.
"And don't worry!" Whisker continued. "I'm very sure you'll thank me later. Probably. Maybe. Okay, maybe not immediately, but eventually!"
Atticus's expression darkened, and Ozeroth remarked dryly, "What in the void is wrong with this beast?"