Chapter 1011: The Feral Ascendant
Helena had so much she was bottling up, so much she was crushing down, so much she could say but chose not to. Of all the students caught up in the Dark Continent incident, she considered herself and Afkon no victims at all.
Many weren’t given a choice. However, she was. And she chose to do it.
Not because she needed to. Not because Rughsbourgh preached some strength-aspiring message to her. Simply because he had promised to take care of her family.
Of course, Helena was young then. She had applied to the academy hoping to become a student, join a great citadel and lift her mother, brother and sister from poverty.
She was especially confident in her victory because she was the most talented in her town. Everyone was certain she would get in.
However, the Academy shattered her hopes and dreams. They refused her. Someone with S-class talent was told she was talentless.
She couldn’t understand at the time. To her, it felt like life was viciously unfair. She hated the people who praised her strength, she hated the old men who taught her battle and forced her to train. She hated the teens her age who were easily defeated because all of them contributed to her inflated expectations and, by extension, her crushing disappointment.
However, some time later, an old man approached her and told her he could help her achieve her dream. What was her dream?
Helena’s natural response had been to get into a great Citadel like Riveramoor or Caelvyn, to make substantial money and take care of her parents.
And the old man had said:
"If you could endure ten years of suffering to take care of your parents, would you do so?"
Helena didn’t even think before she responded. Because she would do anything for her parents.
Throughout her time in the Dark Continent, she had made peace with her decision. She was sorry for those who weren’t given a choice like she was, but there was nothing she could do.
She kept this secret, and the only person who truly knew was Afkon—after all, he had a similar situation.
However, upon returning to the Central Plains, the family that was supposed to be taken care of was no more.
Her mother died of an incurable disease. Her brother joined the army to care for his sister and was assigned to a rift with some Major where he lost his life—they said no one else made it out besides the Major. And her sister was working as a maid to some rich noble who abused her.
She joined Thalen Citadel and rescued her sister, but the girl bore resentment toward Helena for leaving. Her family had enjoyed great riches for a while after she left, but it could never compare to the joy of her presence.
Her absence in the family had begun to kill it from within before their mother’s death kickstarted everything.
Helena hated herself and despised Rughsbourgh for abandoning his promise. He could have done more than send money.
But he left them to die.
How could she not repay him the favor?
The storm that enveloped both of them was madness incarnate. Wind howled like mourning beasts. Thunder struck in recursive rhythms—each boom overlapping the last, as if the sky itself was panicking.
Helena was in the center of it all.
Her feet barely touched the crumbling ground. She streaked through the maelstrom like a bolt of black lightning, rods forming midair and hurling at Rughsbourgh with raw, primeval force. Each rod twisted through the air like a serpent of divine judgment. The space they crossed warped. Time shuddered. But not because of her.
Rughsbourgh was weaving space around himself, like a tailor bored of thread and interested only in rending fabric.
One rod struck—or should have.
Helena’s eyes widened mid-flight as the spear hit nothing. The trajectory had been perfect, but Rughsbourgh had been... elsewhere.
These wasn’t a fast dodge. It was as though, he was never in his initial position to begin with.
A moment before impact, space bent around him, folding like paper and repositioning him three feet to the left—untouched.
He raised his hand lazily and with a casual flick, slashed the very air between them.
A line of silver light appeared instantaneously but Helena twisted just in time. Her body wrenched back violently as the slash grazed her.
But to her surprise, her skin was fine, her clothes was too. There was no cut. But she could feel that something attacked her. And she was hurt.
She darkened her face with indignation and as she was about to dash at Rughsbourgh, she dropped to the earth, panting all of a sudden.
Rughsbourgh looked at her with a condescending glare and scoffed. Then he spoke, his voice carried by the stillness at the eye of the storm.
"Space Sever. It cuts what exists, not what’s physical. Fascinating, isn’t it?"
Helena didn’t answer. She clenched her teeth and put more resolve into her legs and stood up. As she did, she lunged at him.
Another rod. Then three more. She circled him, each step summoning a new bolt, each breath feeding the storm. Her movements blurred with rage and momentum. Her markings deepened, more like tribal war paint now—etched with intent to kill.
She was throwing her all.
And it wasn’t enough.
Each time, Rughsbourgh bent space around her weapons. They ricocheted off invisible barriers or looped absurdly back around to strike empty air. Sometimes, they reappeared midair—inverted. She narrowly avoided her own attacks more than once.
At one point, she struck the ground to conjure a burst of raw darkness that clawed upward like a devil’s maw.
Rughsbourgh responded by folding space into a cone, crushing the darkness into a compressed ball, then snapped—detonating it harmlessly into mist.
Helena was already behind him, thrusting a rod at his back.
But it met his palm.
"You’re skilled. Feral, even. But you’re not a tactician."
He clenched his hand.
The rod shattered into splinters of black lightning.
"I’m a bit disappointed. Did all you learn from that place is strength and never how to put it to proper use?"
She didn’t retreat. She snarled, and from her chest burst a concentrated scream of power. A pulse wave tore the crater further open, erupting into multiple black spears that didn’t fly—they dove, like predators from the clouds.
Rughsbourgh tilted his head. He touched the space between them—and time slowed. The rain curved in mid-air. Thunder paused. The world stuttered.