Just when the Mist Guardian thought he had seized victory and was preparing to unleash his next offensive, something strange happened.
When G released his tenth arrow, the furious sea of fire suddenly twisted as if pulled by an invisible thread. The flames, once under the Mist Guardian's control, now roared back against him—as though granted life, rebelling with vengeance.
The walls of fire that had been conjured to engulf G reversed course, slamming into the Mist Guardian himself with terrifying momentum.
His expression changed instantly. He had never imagined G could dismantle his attack in such a chaotic, yet deeply calculated way.
Flames surged and swallowed him whole. A column of fire burst skyward, devouring everything.
When the fire finally subsided, the Mist Guardian—formerly known in some circles as "Pomegranate"—emerged from the scorched ruins. His skin was torn and cracked, unable to withstand the intense heat. Lava-like blood oozed from the fissures, making him look like a demon dragged up from hell.
"Hahaha... It feels so good!" he laughed maniacally. "Fighting someone on the level of the First Storm Guardian—this is what I've been waiting for! But this time, I won't lose!"
"Art is... explosion!" he roared, clutching his chest and tearing it open with both hands. A strange, glowing core spun within—his Mare Ring. His eyes gleamed with madness. "Take this! End Star Explosion!"
As his will surged, the sky erupted in blazing fireballs—tens, then hundreds, then thousands. A storm of flame, growing and multiplying like a meteor shower.
The sheer radiance and heat distorted the very air. Even distant onlookers could feel their skin prickle. The oppressive force was suffocating.
Yet, despite the apocalyptic sight, G stood calm and resolute.
No fear. No panic. He watched with the eyes of a hawk—sharp, calculating, undisturbed.
Though sweat rolled down his face—mistaking him perhaps for a Mist Guardian—his primary concern wasn't his own safety.
"Damn it," he muttered. "If those fireballs fall... Hell's Kitchen is going to be vaporized. Alex Ray's not going to forgive me for this."
His mind raced.
And then, he smirked. "Too straightforward," he taunted. "Your flames are nothing but chaotic destruction."
"It's time you understood what 'Storm' truly means."
He ripped the chain from his neck and pressed the Storm Ring into his collarbone.
A searing jet of Dying Will Flame burst from the wound, flaring into a corona of red lightning.
"The Storm attribute... is Decomposition."
At G's command, the residual flames in the air whipped into motion, spiraling toward him. He compressed the fire with incredible precision, shaping it into a dark red longbow.
The bow blazed with volatile heat, forged of pure Dying Will Flame. Its string shimmered like a thin thread of death itself.
G pulled it back, drawing a glowing arrow, the arc curving like a crescent moon in the night.
He loosed it.
The arrow shot forward—then fragmented mid-air into one hundred thousand fire-tipped arrows, streaking like meteors toward the fiery storm above.
When the fireballs collided with G's arrows... there was no explosion.
No thunderous roar.
Instead, the fireballs disintegrated into harmless particles of light, scattered by Storm's power of decomposition.
Pomegranate's eyes went wide in disbelief.
His grand ultimate move—reduced to cinders without even a sound.
But G wasn't done.
"The so-called raging tide..." he began, wind whipping through his cloak.
His Storm Ring pulsed, channeling kinetic energy from Hell's Kitchen's surroundings into a new surge of Dying Will Flame.
"It's the fury that unravels causality itself."
He drew one final arrow—its tip glowing with the full weight of his will.
This was his judgment. His climax. A blow not of vengeance or hatred, but truth.
As he loosed it, the arrow sliced through space.
Pomegranate raised his arms, trying to form a defense—but it was futile.
The arrow unwound the structure of his flame as it flew, pierced his body, and shattered through his Mare Ring.
He staggered backward, eyes glazed.
In that moment, beneath the eternal night sky, a memory resurfaced—
The 13th century. Seven young men seated around a bonfire, their laughter echoing into the stars.
Their dream. Their past. Their pride.
And now, nothing more than a wound in time.
Pomegranate dropped to one knee. His body shed embers, his mouth bleeding.
Though pierced through the chest, G's arrow had not extinguished his life.
"It's flawed," G said, standing over him coldly. "You only know destruction. That's not strength."
He turned away, unimpressed.
"Why..." the Mist Guardian rasped, "why don't you finish me?"
G didn't stop walking.
"Storm doesn't execute," he said flatly. "It decomposes what shouldn't exist."
A complicated emotion flickered in Pomegranate's eyes.
He said nothing more.
Silently, he reached for the red arrow embedded in his body, pulled it free, and drove it into his own heart.
"I don't need your pity."
His body burst into flames—and vanished into the wind.
Ashes to ashes.
G stood motionless, watching the final sparks drift away. For a second, a flicker of emotion crossed his face.
Then he shook it off and turned into a dark alley, expression softening into something almost boyish.
"I was seriously cool just now," he muttered with a grin. "Too bad the First and Alex Ray didn't get to see it."
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Bonus Chapter - 150 Power Stones
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