Despite the overwhelming force behind their strikes, neither Atticus nor Yorowin yielded an inch.
Their weapons ground against each other, the screeching sound like nails raking across the fabric of the world.
Azure and purple clashed with pure crimson, mixing into a vibrant, chaotic shade of violet red that pulsed with unrestrained energy. The collision radiated power in all directions, shaking the earth and sky alike.
And still, neither moved.
Amidst the devastation, Yorowin's mind raced with the speed of a supercomputer, his eyes wide with utter shock.
'What is that weapon?'
His crimson gaze trembled. Up until this moment, Yorowin had believed nothing about Atticus could surprise him further.
What could possibly be more shocking than a 17 year old withstanding the might of a paragon?
But he had been wrong.
Because right now, he was stunned beyond belief.
In the Vampyros race, as members ascended the ranks, their evolution affected more than their bodies, it fundamentally altered their blood.
Their blood was graded, its potency and versatility increasing with their power. For the Vampyros, blood was their ultimate weapon, far superior to any blade forged by mortal hands.
At the paragon rank, their blood-forged weapons were unparalleled, capable of shattering even the strongest crafted weapons of lesser beings.
Yorowin had expected his blood scythes to shatter Atticus's ordinary looking katana like a steel hammer smashing through glass.
However…
Crack.
Yorowin's eyes sharpened, disbelief clawing at his mind.
'It's breaking.'
Cracks began forming on his scythes, their forms trembling, threatening to shatter under the relentless pressure.
Yorowin's crimson, trembling gaze locked onto Atticus's unmoving blue and purple eyes. In that instant, the world disappeared.
Time slowed.
The moment hung suspended in violent perfection, the clash of their powers frozen like a masterpiece of chaos, as though even reality itself dared not intrude.
But Atticus had never been one to waste time.
No time passed.
Yorowin felt it, a primal danger surging from the depths of his soul, sharp and unrelenting.
And then he saw it.
The reflection on Atticus's gleaming katana told the story before it happened.
Behind him.
Another Atticus.
Its katana descended like divine judgment, the blade glowing with a deadly brilliance, carving through the air with precision so perfect it seemed as though the heavens themselves had guided it.
Yorowin didn't think. He couldn't. Instinct overrode all thought.
His body twisted violently to the side, his scythe shattering in the process with a deafening crack. Splinters of crimson energy burst outward as he narrowly avoided decapitation.
The blade missed his head, barely.
But he was too slow.
The edge of the katana met his wrist mid-evade.
The result was instant.
Yorowin's blood armor, forged from the very essence of his power, the armor that could withstand blows even paragons would struggle to crack, was sliced through as though it were made of paper.
The katana carved through the dense material like a hot knife through butter, clean and merciless.
A spray of crimson erupted from Yorowin's wrist, severed tendons and bone laid bare as his hand fell limp.
But Yorowin didn't even feel the pain.
Pain was irrelevant.
He couldn't focus on the gushing blood or the stinging wound.
Because at that moment, another wave of shock hit him.
It slammed into him like a sledgehammer, so intense it robbed him of his breath.
'How?'
Yorowin's mind reeled, unable to process what had just happened.
He hadn't noticed the countless clones Atticus had used earlier to save Candence and the others. Because he had been blinded by anger and entirely consumed with his focus on Atticus, he had missed it.
But now?
There was no missing it.
He had seen it.
He had felt the other Atticus behind him, the unmistakable presence of a second entity striking with lethality.
And as the reality of the moment sank in, Yorowin's thoughts spiraled into disbelief.
'The Auralithians…'
Those words echoed in his mind like a thunderclap.
Yorowin, the Grand Elder of the Vampyros, had lived for centuries. He had witnessed the rise and fall of empires, the Zorvan invasion, and the extinction of entire races.
The superior races of Eldoralth hadn't always numbered nine. Before the Zorvans arrived, there had been ten.
Each of the superior races had traits that made them unique, feared, and respected by the people of Eldoralth.
But there had been one race, a race so dangerous, so inherently powerful, that every other superior race had viewed them as a threat to their dominance.
The Auralithians.
Among all the superior races, the Auralithians were the most feared. Not because of their size, their numbers, or their raw strength, but because of their connection to time itself.
They weren't just beings that existed within time.
They were beings who wielded it.
In battle, they were untouchable, phantoms who bent time to their will. Facing them was like fighting shadows from the past, present, and future simultaneously.
The other superior races had understood the truth: if the Auralithians were left unchecked, they wouldn't just dominate Eldoralth, they would own it.
So, when the Zorvans descended upon Eldoralth, obliterating the Auralithians in one of the most brutal campaigns in history, the other superior races hadn't grieved.
They hadn't mourned.
They had been relieved.
Deep down, every race knew that the Auralithians' survival would have meant the end of any chance for coexistence.
Their destruction had been seen as a necessary evil.
Yorowin's crimson eyes widened, trembling as the realization hit him.
Because now, there was no denying it.
Atticus wasn't just fighting like an anomaly. He wasn't just an irregularity in the natural order.
He fought like them.
Like an Auralithian.
'How…?'
That single question repeated endlessly in Yorowin's mind.
The Auralithians had been annihilated. Their bloodlines had been erased, their powers wiped from existence.
So how?
How was Atticus wielding their abilities?
But there was no time to dwell on the impossibility.
Because in the next instant, Yorowin's gaze flickered to the side.
Atticus had already moved.