[Third Person’s PoV]

Markus floated high in the air, his figure encircled by swirling orbs of pure darkness. But this wasn’t any ordinary darkness—it radiated death itself, an oppressive energy so thick it made the air feel heavier, colder, more still. Each orb pulsed with a malevolent glow, shadows twisting within them.

With a sharp motion, Markus raised his arm and pointed his palm toward Lucian. In an instant, the deadly spheres blasted forward, propelled by a surge of malevolent energy.

Lucian’s eyes narrowed only slightly as he observed the approaching attack. With fluid agility, he tilted his head, narrowly dodging the sphere. But it didn’t stop there. The orb twisted unnaturally in midair, curving back around, followed swiftly by the rest, as if they possessed minds of their own.

Lucian leapt, somersaulting through the air, weaving in and out between the chasing orbs with acrobatic finesse. Each movement was graceful yet purposeful, avoiding death by the narrowest of margins. The spheres trailed behind him relentlessly, refusing to give him a moment of rest.

Above, Markus hovered with narrowed eyes, his expression taut with concentration. His mind was focused solely on his task—controlling and guiding the orbs with deadly precision, using them as extensions of his will.

Lucian, knowing he couldn’t keep dodging forever, quickly cloaked his hands in protective magic. He struck the orbs as they neared, smashing some into each other. However, the corrosive nature of the dark energy overwhelmed his protection, causing the spell to fizzle. Lucian was forced to pour even more magic into his hands to reforge the protection.

The orbs collided with explosive results, releasing pulses of destructive energy. The area briefly went black with the detonation, and when the dust settled, a wide crater had formed below—lifeless, gray, and devoid of even a single particle of vitality. It was as if the orbs devoured life itself.

Suddenly, without warning, Lucian reappeared directly behind Markus, cloaked in a swirling aura of shadow magic. But Markus didn’t flinch. With perfect reflexes, he lashed out with a powerful backward kick.

Lucian caught the blow by crossing his arms, yet the impact sent a wave of pain across his body. He hissed as he felt his skin flake and burn from contact, the deathly aura of Markus’s energy eating away at his defenses. Still, he pushed back and landed, eyes flashing with amusement rather than fear.

A grin curled across Lucian’s face as he noticed something—tattoos etched around Markus’s shoulders were beginning to smolder and burn. The tattoos resembled two crescents with handles, a point in the middle of each open crescent. As they burned away, the weapons emerged into reality, spinning into Markus’s hands, alive with power.

Without pause, Markus flapped his wings—massive and dark—and launched himself forward, the twin sickles dancing like bladed extensions of his fury.

Lucian summoned his own weapon—a long, elegantly curved scythe wreathed in shadow—and dark, leathery wings sprouted from his back, mirroring Markus’s ominous look. The two soared into the sky, weapons clashing in midair, each blow releasing sparks and shockwaves that echoed across the battlefield.

Their duel was a dance of death and mastery.

“Remember this,” Lucian called out between parries, still determined to teach even in the heat of battle. “Your entire body is a weapon, Markus. Your wings aren’t just for show. Stop flying around like you’re just trying to look cool—use them. Strike with them, defend with them. Make them part of your arsenal.”

Markus snarled, his grip tightening on the sickles as he blocked another strike. “You freaking psychopath!” he shouted, his voice trembling with frustration. “The last time I took your advice and used my wings in a fight— You sliced them off my own back!”

Lucian laughed and cheekily stuck his tongue out mid-spin, flipping through the air as he redirected his scythe in a dazzling arc aimed for Markus’s vital points. Markus, gritting his teeth, desperately deflected the strikes with his blades, his form slightly shaky from the memory.

“Well duh,” Lucian quipped, never missing a beat. “I was also going to teach you how to protect them during combat. Your wings are your biggest vulnerability. Anyone with half a brain would go for them to cripple you. But stop crying about it. I healed them back, didn’t I?”

Markus growled, crossing his sickles and blocking another powerful blow. The force of the hit sent him skidding backward through the air, wings flapping hard to regain balance. “I still have nightmares about that incident!” he barked. “Every morning I check to make sure they’re still attached!”

Lucian just grinned, foreseeing the exact moment the tables would turn. He didn’t interfere—just let the scene unfold as he had seen.

Markus suddenly flapped his wings hard, launching himself backward to gain distance. His sickles shimmered and dissolved into dark mist, retreating back into the tattoos on his shoulders. He raised his palm and formed a finger gun, squinting one eye for accuracy. A faint black glow sparked at the tip of his finger.

In an instant, he unleashed a barrage—bullets of pure death energy fired in rapid succession, streaking toward Lucian.

Lucian’s eyes narrowed. Calmly, he shifted his scythe back into its dormant form—a black ring. His shadow erupted outward, spreading in a wide circle around him like an ink blot swallowing light. He raised two fingers, and from the pool of shadows rose several orbs—twisted, rotting spheres of darkness, tainted with the essence of decay.

They floated into position just in time, colliding with Markus’s bullets and detonating instantly. Each interception triggered a shockwave of sickly green and black energy, blinding flashes lighting up the sky.

An eruption of darkness exploded outward, blanketing the area in a thick, suffocating shroud of black smoke. The shadows were so dense they seemed to swallow light itself, rendering everything around them imperceptible.

Without warning, Markus burst through the gloom, his body a streak of motion. His fist was cocked back, crackling faintly with residual energy as he drove it forward. Lucian reacted instantly, raising a steady palm to catch the blow with a resounding thwack. Markus didn’t pause—he followed up with a swift kick, but Lucian’s other hand shot out and blocked it with equal precision.

The two of them fell into a natural rhythm, as if choreographing a deadly dance they had long since memorized. Martial arts took center stage. Each of them used their forearms and wrists to deflect, redirect, and counter every attack that came their way. There were no wasted movements—only sharp, efficient gestures honed by countless hours of practice and shared battles.

Their arms spun and twisted, reacting to each other’s pressure, manipulating the flow of momentum. Sweat glistened on their brows, but neither showed signs of slowing down.

Lucian’s fist swung upward in a vicious arc, but Markus intercepted it with one of his dark, feathered wings. A second blow came from the opposite direction—Markus mirrored his defense, using his other wing to shield himself. In that moment, Lucian was completely open.

Markus took the opportunity. With a fluid motion, he brought both palms to his side, energy swirling between them, and then thrust them forward. His strike landed squarely against Lucian’s chest, a burst of concussive force erupting outward. The impact didn’t harm Lucian physically—but it launched his Astral Form from his body, sending his soul-like essence spiraling out.

Lucian gasped as he snapped back into himself with a sharp inhale, stabilizing midair. Both combatants drifted a few steps apart, breathing heavy, energy flickering faintly around their forms.

Lucian regarded Markus with a gleam of pride in his eyes. His usual smugness was tempered by genuine admiration. “Well damn,” he said with a half-smile, “you’ve really come a long way.”

Markus, meanwhile, looked down at his hands with a complicated expression—half thoughtful, half disappointed. He clenched his fists slowly.

“Mind sharing what’s on your mind?” Lucian asked, cocking his head slightly, intrigued by Markus’s silence.

“I don’t know… it’s weird,” Markus replied after a moment. He flexed his fingers, then balled them into fists again. “I guess I should be happy. I mean, I technically won our spar. But deep down, I know you let me win.”

He glanced at Lucian with a mixture of suspicion and clarity. “You wouldn’t have gone easy on me without a reason. You’re not exactly the type to hand out pity victories. This… this was your way of telling me I’ve improved, right?”

Lucian remained silent, but his smile widened knowingly.

Markus continued, voice tightening with frustration. “And I have improved… a lot. But instead of feeling satisfied, I feel… hollow. Dissatisfied. Like there’s still something missing.”

Lucian finally spoke, his tone firm but warm. “Good. You’re allowed to be proud of your progress, Markus—but never satisfied. Satisfaction is the poison that kills growth. Always aim to be better than who you were—not yesterday, but five minutes ago. Hell, five seconds ago. That’s how you keep moving forward.”

Markus slowly nodded and then bowed, placing his hands together in a formal martial salute. “Thank you, Teacher,” he said sincerely, having long since accepted Lucian not only as a fighter, but as his master in both martial arts and magic.

Lucian scratched his cheek, clearly a bit embarrassed. He chuckled awkwardly. “Sure… just don’t go calling me ‘Sensei’ or anything weird like that.”

Markus smirked at his awkwardness, then turned his gaze back down to his hands. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “There’s something else I’ve been thinking about…”

“Oh yeah?” Lucian’s curiosity was piqued.

Markus nodded, his voice steadier now. “I think… it’s time I met my father.”

Lucian’s expression shifted slightly, the playful energy fading into something more serious.

“I’ve held off for so long,” Markus continued, clenching his fist again. “I wanted to be stronger. I didn’t want to stand before him as someone that was too weak to face him. I wanted to look him in the eyes and not flinch. I think I’m ready.”

Lucian raised an eyebrow, smirking. “So, you think you’re ready, huh?”

Markus gave a low laugh, somewhere between a scoff and a genuine chuckle. “Alright, fine. I know I’m ready. I’ve finally reached a level I can be proud of.” He looked Lucian straight in the eye. “So please… take me to meet him.”

Lucian’s grin returned, broader now, filled with excitement. “As you wish. How do you want this trip to go? Just us? Or should I bring along a few others?”

“Just us,” Markus said without hesitation. “This is something I need to do with you—and no one else.”

Lucian nodded solemnly, but there was a flicker of joy dancing behind his eyes. “Alrighty then… Just between you and me—I’ve been waiting for this day since the moment I met you.”

Markus rolled his eyes, lips twitching in reluctant amusement. “Glad to know my life is a source of entertainment for you.”

Lucian simply chuckled, rubbing his hands together with anticipation. “Oh, you have no idea.”

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep