FORZA.
A Vulcan—known across the initials of the Middle Rims for their brutal air superiority and lethal dive-bombing strikes. They weren't native to this region. Not even close.
These 'Aerial beasts' made their nests in the initial layers of the Middle Rims, easily a hundred miles or more from where we are now. For one to appear here, this far from its hunting grounds, could mean only one thing: banishment. Driven out, forced from its territory by something stronger, perhaps a larger Aerial beast. Vulcans were solitary creatures. Rulers of open skies. They didn't tolerate company, not even of their own kind. For it to be here… Means it had been chased away.
But that didn't make it weak.
This one was a prime adult, no question. Its movements, its reaction speed, its coordination in the air—everything screamed experience. Strategy. Control. It flew not with instinct, but with intent.
Though it looked ancient, I thought with a continuation.
Its hide was a deep, grey-dark hue, worn like stone polished by time. Four wings adorned its back—two massive primary wings that thundered through the air, and two smaller, but no less vital secondary wings just beneath. They tilted and flicked to adjust airflow with surgical precision, giving it absolute dominance in midair.
It had not one, but two tails, long and whip-like. Each one ended in a sharp spearhead, identical to the other. And its head and legs—those looked like a falcon's, scaled and deadly, easily strong enough to snatch an adult and tear them apart midflight.
The Vulcan dove first.
Its initial strike should have ended me. Its acceleration? Perfect. Its angle of attack? Textbook. Everything about it had been calculated—clean, lethal, predatory. But I moved—barely. At the very last possible second, my body twisted out of the strike zone, and it missed by a whisper.
It wasn't luck. It was instinct. My body knew before my mind did.
As we flew past each other in the aftermath, a gust of wind trailing behind its wings nearly tore my shoulder off. My eyes, even mid-spin, darted down, back toward the swamp floor where Lucius was.
Where the Chimaera still stood.
And what I saw sent a chill down my spine.
This wasn't the same beast we'd fought together just moments ago. That Chimaera had initially toyed with him—tested him, maybe even played around while I wasn't present. But now? Her aura had changed. Thick. Vile. Wrong. Lucius was trying to stand against her; he was trying, but even his mana presence wasn't holding for long. The force she was exerting was too overwhelming, even for me to be able to tell, to witness from such a distance.
Every time I tried to shift, to break past the Vulcan's aerial control and dive in to assist him, it stopped me.
Intercepted me.
Again. And again. And again. This damn creature seriously had a death wish as it ignored the very fact that I am stronger and least interested in it, which was a blessing for the Vulcan.
The winds howled around me, catching the sharp edge of my rage. My staff was still sealed within the ring on my finger, silent. Waiting. It was ready to be summoned. All it would take was a thought.
But I didn't summon it.
Not now. Not yet.
Something about this entire fight since the beginning—it felt right, for some odd reason.
Ever since that punch I landed on the Chimaera, back when I took the charge against her on my own… my fist had tingled. Not in pain. Not in injury. Something else. A sort of pressure… an itch that had been building up for years. And now? It was gone with an addictive after-effect.
Gone the moment I struck with my own hands. Not my spells. Not my staff.
That could only mean one thing.
Something was awakening in me—something I didn't fully understand yet. But for now, I'd let it breathe. I'd honour it. I wouldn't rely on my staff, because it consumes unreal amounts of mana every second I use it. Not while my body was this alive. This sharp. This angry.
Let the Vulcan come again.
Let it try.
Because if it wanted to stop me from getting to Lucius… it would have to kill me first...
The Vulcan soared through the storm, carving its path with raw force. Its cry—or whatever distorted, guttural screech counted as one—ripped through the torrential rain and whipping wind, a sound that cracked across the skies like a rolling whip of pressure. All the while, it maintained a precise distance from me—far enough to react if I launched a spell, but close enough to keep me from diving back to help Lucius.
"SKRAAARR-KAAHH!"
It screamed again, and this time the noise came like a shockwave, bursting past the sound barrier. A burst of wind followed in its wake as it ascended, trying to gain altitude, trying to establish another layer of aerial superiority. Typical bird-brained tactics.
I followed without hesitation.
My wings extended, flaring with controlled grace. I let go of the excess manifestations—dismissing the greyish armour, letting the crown vanish into particles—so I could focus solely on aerial manoeuvrability. My entire being bent toward speed and lift as I pushed higher, chasing the beast through the thick, storm-layered clouds now far above the forest below.
The air here was thinner. Sharper. Pure pressure and velocity ruled these layers of the atmosphere now.
The Vulcan was an SS-ranked Aerial Beast, no doubt about it. But truthfully? It was weak. Comparatively.
'No… not weak. Just stupid... and probably weak as well.' I thought, then recorrected that same thought.
'The Chimaera is clever. Too clever, in fact.'
Still, this bird lacked the refined instincts of an apex predator. Vulcans weren't elemental by nature—more like Lucius, in a sense—non-elemental, yet blessed with sheer physical prowess and size. But unlike Lucius, this one had no adaptability, no raw ingenuity. It was all strength, speed, and noise. No hidden trump cards or surprises.
No wonder it had been driven out of its den.
To live in the Middle Rims, even the outermost edge, meant surviving against territorial monstrosities. SSS-ranked minimum. This Vulcan was a relic of luck. Or desperation. And now it had resorted to ambushing weaker zones—territory it didn't belong in.
"SKRAAARR-KAAHH!"
It cried again.
Louder this time, though no different than before. A copy of the same irritating screech, as if its roar alone could claim ownership of the skies, but at the same time, the screech reached me, a sense of self-realisation also dawned over me, alongside the sorely missed sunlight.
I was running thin on mana.
That last bombardment against the Chimaera had drained more than just my reserves—it sapped my concentration, my breath, my very mental clarity. I could sense, feel my mind getting overwhelmed with the thought of facing another beast before engaging that Chimaera all over again. And now? I was being pulled into another prolonged dogfight with a beast that—while inferior to the Chimaera—was still fast, still lethal, and, most importantly, still annoyingly in my way.
Every second I spent up here was another second Lucius faced that thunderous calamity alone.
Worse, something about that thunderstrike… it didn't sit right.
I knew it wasn't normal. It hadn't followed the natural flow of the storm. It came down like it had intent. Like the world itself had bent to favour that Chimaera's survival over ours. And somehow—somehow, she'd not only survived the strike, she'd absorbed it. Turned it into a weapon.
The thought burned at the edges of my focus, but the Vulcan didn't give me time to dwell.
It lunged forward, diving with all four wings flaring, the upper two reinforced with a visible layer of condensed mana, slicing the very atmosphere with surgical violence. Its dive was vicious, and before I could adjust fully, its tail launched a barrage of sharp, glowing projectiles—each about the size of a human hand—angled to cut off my evasion routes.
I twisted left, then darted downward, veering hard across the current of a crosswind to avoid the first cluster. The projectiles were easy enough to dodge, thankfully—they weren't homing, just fast. My body moved on reflex. My mind was already ahead, planning my next move, next counter.
But then came the intercept.
The Vulcan curved on the gust, using the arc of the dive to shift directions mid-strike, trying to flank me. It was forcing me upward. Even farther away from Lucius, as if this much of distance wasn't enough while I was away, away from the fight that actually mattered.
Fine.
I pushed even higher, the oxygen thinning, the opposite blowing winds pulling at the ends of my cloaked back. I reached for the air around me, moulding it—manifesting.
Cold, slicing winds bent to my will, congealing into a weapon—not a spell, not some grand show of power, but something raw. Unshaped. Practical.
But the Vulcan was already there.
A blur of wings. A flash of its barbed tail. Majestic only in size, not in presence. No elegance, no depth, not compared to the creature Lucius was facing below. Compared to her, this beast was a squawking distraction.
Still, it blocked my view. Still, it clawed the skies with its presence. Still, it dared to slow me down.
And I wasn't about to let it.