A blade shimmered into existence, forged not from metal but from pure light.
Annie held it with a calm resolve as the tension thickened between her and Vel'Kareth.
No words were exchanged—none were needed. The clash was inevitable.
Vel'Kareth lunged first, abandoning weapons entirely. He trusted his body—his hands, his feet, his instincts.
With each step, he unleashed a barrage of physical attacks, fists slicing through the air, kicks aiming to disarm or disrupt.
But Annie… Annie moved like a ghost.
Not once did she flinch or stumble. She dodged with ease, gliding between his strikes as though she were dancing with the wind.
Every so often, her blade would graze him, leaving behind thin, stinging scratches—deliberate reminders that she wasn't just defending.
Despite the growing tally of nicks on his arms and sides, Vel'Kareth grinned.
His power surged within him, rising steadily to 65%.
His aura flared with golden light, wrapping him like a second skin. This—this was what he craved. A challenge.
A fight that pushed him. Every time Annie avoided him, he felt more alive.
His strikes grew faster, wilder, as if fueled by joy itself.
But that joy was short-lived.
With a sudden spin, Annie brought her leg up and slammed her heel into his knee.
The force was precise and brutal. Vel'Kareth staggered, his balance thrown.
For a heartbeat, his guard dropped—and in that heartbeat, Annie's blade nearly found his throat.
He barely managed to twist away, throwing up a shield of energy and surging his power up to 80% in sheer desperation.
The golden light around him pulsed erratically, showing just how close he'd come to death.
Annie's voice rang out, sharp and unwavering. "I'm not here to enjoy the fight, Vel'Kareth. I'm here to end it."
Still clutching his leg, Vel'Kareth laughed bitterly. "That was close… too close," he muttered.
Then, his eyes blazed with intensity as he released every restraint. "Fine. No more games. 100% it is."
The ground cracked beneath him as his full power exploded outward.
The air shimmered with heat and energy, the battlefield itself reacting to the overwhelming force he now emitted.
But Annie didn't falter. Instead, she changed her weapon.
The sword dissolved into radiant particles and reformed into a whip—one with a vicious spiked ball at its tip.
The battle resumed with blinding speed. Vel'Kareth charged in, but every time he thought he had found an opening, the whip lashed out.
Even when he managed to dodge the spiked ball, it would explode mid-air, unleashing bursts of blinding light and dozens of knives in every direction.
One of them sliced into his shoulder. Another pierced his thigh.
He gritted his teeth, blood trickling down his skin. "Damn it…!" he hissed. This wasn't a fight. It was a storm—and he was caught in it.
"Who is she?" he muttered under his breath. "What kind of monster fights like this…?"
But Annie wasn't done. Without warning, the whip dissolved, transforming again—this time into a trident, sleek and elegant, humming with latent power.
Vel'Kareth's instincts screamed. He couldn't let her fully control the new form.
If there was ever a moment to strike, it was now—during the transition.
He launched a barrage of punches, kicks, and energy blasts. His movements were desperate but calculated.
Yet Annie didn't miss a beat. She weaved through his attacks with terrifying precision, as if she could read his thoughts before he acted on them.
And then, without a word, she raised her hand and moved a single finger.
Vel'Kareth's breath caught.
He spun around.
The trident—now hovering several feet behind him—darted forward, aimed straight for his spine.
He twisted just in time, the weapon grazing his side instead of skewering him.
"What the hell…?" he muttered, backpedaling rapidly.
Her finger moved again.
The trident followed.
Wherever her finger pointed, the weapon obeyed like a trained hound.
Vel'Kareth was forced entirely on the defensive, ducking, rolling, flipping through the air, every second more chaotic than the last.
His face twisted with frustration.
"Fight me directly!" he shouted, throwing up a shield to deflect the next strike. "Stop hiding behind tricks!"
But Annie didn't respond. She didn't need to.
Vel'Kareth lost it.
His golden aura flared erratically as he threw a tantrum mid-fight, slamming his fists into the ground, sending up bursts of kinetic energy.
"You think this is funny?!" he yelled. "You think this is a game?!"
Then he stopped.
His eyes narrowed.
He looked not at the trident, but at her finger. It was the key.
Every move the weapon made coincided with the direction of her finger. That was the link.
"I see it now," he muttered
He waited.
The next time her finger twitched, he moved—not away from the trident, but toward her.
For every motion she made, he adjusted. He began predicting the path of the weapon by reading her hand.
Step by step, he closed the distance between them, dodging almost perfectly, ducking under the weapon's lunges, weaving through its deadly path.
His fist clenched. Just a few more steps. He saw her eyes widen—not in fear, but interest.
Three feet away.
Two.
One.
He lunged, fist aimed straight for her jaw.
But then he felt it—an icy spike of pain from behind.
He froze mid-motion, his punch stopping an inch from her face.
The trident had pierced straight through his back.
Blood poured from the wound, staining his already-tattered cloak.
He stumbled back, coughing violently, each breath rattling through his lungs like glass.
He clutched his side, confusion and agony painting his face.
"But… I watched your finger," he gasped. "I blocked every move… I read you!"
Annie's expression softened into something like pity—but just barely.
"Who said the trident moves at the will of my finger?" she replied.
Vel'Kareth's eyes widened as he staggered.
His knees gave way, and he dropped to one knee, blood dripping steadily from the corner of his mouth.
The pain was overwhelming, but what stung more than the wound was the realization: she had been deceiving him the entire time.
The finger was never the weapon's guide—it was the distraction.