[Third person POV]

“Hehehe…” Luke chuckled, his voice hoarse, gritty, and dark. He lifted a hand to his jaw and, with a sickening crack, shoved his chin upward, relocating it back into place with a grimace.

A flicker of red energy pulsed across his face—his [Rapid Recovery] having now evolved into [Healing Factor], thanks to the gladiator potion he had consumed, sped his recovery. The broken bone mended itself in real time.

He worked his mouth in circles, stretching the newly-mended jaw as if reacquainting himself with its function. With a sharp spit, blood and tooth fragments hit the ground. He grinned wide and wild.

“You’re not the only one with a fancy piece of armor, you know—” Luke began to taunt, voice laced with arrogance.

But his words were cut short.

Lucian vanished.

Not with a sound. Not with a flash. He simply ceased to be where he stood.

Luke’s expression shifted in an instant. His eyes darted over his shoulder. ‘Behind me?’ he thought, body already coiling to react—only to be met with empty air.

Then he sensed it.

‘Above!’

Luke snapped his head upward just in time to see a fist descending from the sky, cutting through the air with terrifying speed and deadly precision. Lucian’s punch was aimed directly at his face, and it wasn’t pulled back in the slightest.

Reacting purely on instinct and divine blood, Luke activated his teleportation—one of the rare blessings inherited from being the son of Hermes. A breath before Lucian’s strike landed, Luke vanished from that spot in a flash of silver light.

Lucian’s fist collided with the hilltop.

The ground didn’t just shake—it convulsed. A shockwave tore through the earth with thunderous force, sending a ripple of grass and dirt surging outward like a green tidal wave. The hill cratered instantly, compacted into a sunken flatland. Debris exploded outward in a violent storm of mud and shattered stone.

Luke reappeared a few dozen feet away, skidding across the new barren plain. Dust trailed behind him as he came to a stop. A shimmer pulsed across his frame. A ghostly silhouette of armor materialized around him—sleek, regal, and distinctly golden—before solidifying over his form. It clung tightly to his body, covering him in ornate plates. His helmet gleamed with a black crest, and a black cape billowed dramatically behind him.

Before he could fully regain his stance, Thalia streaked across the sky like a bolt of lightning. Wrapped in a glowing spiral of white-blue energy, she spun toward him like a corkscrew, her leg extended in a powerful kick aimed for his head.

Luke raised both palms just in time and caught her strike, but the sheer force sent tremors down his arms.

Snarling, Luke clamped his fingers around her leg like a vice. With a snarl, he lifted her and slammed her into the earth with enough force to crack the ground beneath her in a spiderweb of fissures. Thalia gasped, the air leaving her lungs, eyes wide with surprise.

He didn’t stop.

Pivoting sharply, Luke hurled her through the air like a discus. She spun violently toward Lucian.

But Lucian didn’t flinch.

He raised one arm lazily and caught her with ease. Thalia groaned, grimacing as she clutched her side.

“Lucian… be careful,” she muttered, pushing herself up slowly. “He’s… he’s unnaturally strong. And fast. It must be one of his new Abilities.”

She wasn’t wrong.

[Blood Empowerment].

A terrifying ability—one that amplified Luke’s strength, speed, and regenerative ability with every drop of blood spilled around him, whether from ally or enemy. The battlefield, now soaked in the blood of both monsters and demigods, was feeding him. Every drop was fuel. Every wound strengthened him.

He had become a monster forged in carnage.

So much so that it was hard to tell if he was truly a son of Hermes… or a disguised son of Ares.

“Thalia,” Lucian said firmly, stepping forward. “I’ll only say this once—stay out of the way.”

There was no anger in his tone. Just certainty.

He extended a hand. The air shimmered.

A pulse of force exploded from Luke’s position—he was lifted off the ground against his will. His eyes widened in surprise. Magnetic force wrapped around him like invisible cords, pulling him forward helplessly.

Lucian’s fist rocketed forward.

The impact struck Luke’s torso dead center.

A sharp clang of metal rang out, followed by the deep crunch of impact. His golden armor buckled under the pressure. Blood shot from his mouth in a red spray, and a shockwave burst out from behind him as he was launched backward like a cannonball, crashing through the air.

Lucian lowered his fist and murmured dispassionately, “That hit should’ve pulverized him… That armor’s better than I expected.”

Luke twisted violently through the sky, limbs trailing behind him. But even as he flew, his wounds were already closing. His body glowed faintly as his [Healing Factor] worked in overdrive, supercharged by the ongoing effects of [Blood Empowerment].

Lucian, calm and composed, spread his arms.

Magic circles—etched with runes—flared into existence at his sides. From them burst golden threads, crafted by the hands of Hephaestus himself. They danced like snakes, weaving and spinning in midair, forming ethereal chains tipped with massive spearheads. Their craftsmanship was so perfect that they shimmered once—and then vanished entirely, turning invisible to the eye.

The golden chained-spears shot upward, silent as death, chasing Luke through the sky.

But Luke wasn’t helpless.

His eyes flashed.

[Martial Foresight]—the upgraded evolution of [Combat Intuition].

A rare gift that allowed him to see seconds into the future only during combat. And in that vision, he saw himself being impaled by an invisible force—dead center through the chest.

Time seemed to slow.

Luke twisted his body, midair, into an impossible contortion—and a gust of wind screamed past the space he had just occupied. Had he not moved, he would’ve been skewered clean through.

His grin returned.

As Luke plummeted toward the ground, he twisted and maneuvered through the air like an acrobat. His instincts, sharpened by countless encounters and honed by divine blood, guided him. He landed briefly on one of the invisible chains—his feet barely making a sound—as he sprinted across its surface with preternatural balance. More chains shot toward him from all directions, their spear-like tips aiming to pierce him mid-flight.

Luke slid under one, leaping over another, twisting in midair as two passed just inches from his sides. He deflected several with rapid slashes of his blade, the ghostly golden armor rippling as sparks flew. He ducked, spun, vaulted, and surged forward like a predator locked on its prey, closing the gap between himself and Lucian with terrifying speed.

Lucian’s expression didn’t change. He watched the display with calm indifference.

Seeing that the chains were proving ineffective, Lucian dismissed them with a simple wave of his hand. The air shimmered as they unraveled into threads of divine energy and vanished.

He spread his arms faintly. A new magic circle appeared before him, spinning silently in the air, its core pulsing with growing energy. The circle glowed an ominous crimson, arcs of raw magic crackling along its edges like angry lightning. The inside began to distort space itself as an overwhelming discharge of power gathered at the center.

Without hesitation, Lucian aimed the circle at Luke.

Then unleashed it.

A devastating beam of pure red magical energy exploded forth. The sound was altered by its power— a deep, vibrating hum that seemed to press into the skull. The beam carved through the air, and the ground around Lucian cracked, buckled, and flattened from the violent recoil of his spell.

Luke’s eyes widened. There was no dodging it. No teleporting out in time. The blast was too fast, too wide, too powerful.

With no other choice, Luke raised his sword in front of him in a desperate attempt to slice through the beam. The collision was instantaneous.

“AAAAAAAHHHHH!!” he screamed, his voice ripping from his throat in agony as the energy met him.

His sword sparked violently, glowing bright from the friction and heat as he held his ground, momentarily forming a fragile equilibrium. His muscles screamed under the strain, veins bulging across his arms and neck. Sweat and blood mingled across his face.

But he couldn’t hold it.

Lucian’s magic was beyond overwhelming.

The beam surged forward, overtaking him completely. Luke vanished within the inferno of red light.

Then—silence.

As the beam dissipated, the air distorted, scorched, and smoking.

Lucian remained still. Calm. Controlled.

But then—whoosh.

Lucian leaned back just in time, and a sword carved the air where his throat had been a second ago.

His red eye, glowing faintly through the slits of his helm, flicked to the side.

Luke was still alive.

Barely.

He stood hunched, half-dragging his sword, the edges of his golden armor glowing red-hot. His skin was charred and blistered, like someone who had clawed their way out of the deepest pits of Tartarus. And yet—he grinned.

Lucian didn’t hesitate.

He flipped upward and delivered a brutal spinning kick across Luke’s face. There was a loud crack as blood and teeth flew from Luke’s mouth. His head snapped to the side and he staggered backward, nearly falling.

Lucian landed gracefully, his cape fluttering as he straightened. It was time to test something new.

During his time at school, Lucian hadn’t just wasted his time refined his strength and weapon skill—he had immersed himself in magic. Not just the structured, well-known types. But hybrid forms. Dangerous ones. Ones he had crafted himself through experimentation and raw intelligence.

One such creation was a spell that combined the psychological manipulation of Charmspeak with the corrosive potency of curses.

He called it: [Curse Speech].

Lucian’s voice dropped low, hoarse and raspy, the spell still imperfect as it still brand new.

“Luke…” he rasped. “Kill yourself.”

It wasn’t a command.

It was an affliction.

Luke’s eyes widened, and for the first time—he looked confused. Lost.

His arm began to rise against his will.

His own sword, trembling and hesitant, reached toward his neck.

His sword pressed to his skin—and a thin line of red began to surface.

Just as blood began to trickle—

He vanished.

A blink later, he reappeared beside Lucian with a wild grin and his sword already swinging.

“Just kidding~!” he growled with a snarl, voice shaky but full of mockery.

But Lucian didn’t flinch.

His scythe was there in a flash, catching the blow with a deafening clang. Their weapons trembled from the clash, the pressure between them splitting the ground at their feet.

Luke continued to grin, teeth bloodied. “Sorry,” he spat, “but my will is unbreakable~”

Lucian’s expression remained unchanged.

“I’m honestly glad it didn’t work,” he said coldly, voice like a blade in the dark. “Because I would have lost the satisfaction I’ll get from killing you with my own hands.”

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