The iron grip of Eon's hand should have been the end of it. The mage's throat was thin, the skin was begging to become pale and vulnerable beneath Eon's mana-stained fingers. To any observer, the battle was over. The "Black-Haired Demon" had pushed through a localized natural disaster, waded through a storm of debris, and pinned the source of the chaos.
Eon's breathing was a ragged, wet sound. Every inhale felt like drawing broken glass into his lungs, a reminder of the Gale Lance that had nearly shattered his ribs. But as he stared into the mage's eyes, he didn't see the wide-eyed terror of a dying man in his eyes.
What He saw was a smirk.
It was a slow, creeping expression that didn't belong on someone being strangled. The mage's high-pitched, grating voice managed to squeeze past Eon's thumb.
"I told you Elf... I prefer... the basics," the man wheezed.
Eon's instincts screamed instantly. It was the same visceral, soul-shaking alarm that had gone off when he first saw the man, but ten times louder this time. He tried to tighten his grip, to crush the wind out of the man's windpipes once and for all, but his hand closed on nothing but air.
The mage's body didn't vanish like Verra's. It didn't blur. It vibrated. For a fraction of a second, the man seemed to turn into a mirage, as if his physical form begin to turn into smoke. Eon's hand slipped through the man's neck as if he were trying to grab smoke.
"What….?"
Before Eon could finish his thought, a shockwave of pure, colorless force erupted from the mage's chest. It wasn't a spell with a name or a chant. It was a raw discharge of mana. Eon was sent flying backward again, his feet skidding across the damp, rotting wood of the dock until he hit the remains of the warehouse door.
"Master Eon!" Hans shouted, his voice cracked with worry.
The mage stood in the center of the street, calmly adjusting his tattered blue robe. The lazy, sleepy look was gone, replaced by an aura so cold it seemed to drop the temperature of the night air by ten degrees. He wasn't chanting. He wasn't even moving his hands, yet it felt like he casted something.
"You've played your part well, little elf," the mage said, his voice no longer grating but dangerously smooth. "You showed me your strength. You showed me your speed. And you showed me all of your little tricks. Now I can kill you for real."
Valen stepped forward, his heavy mace raised. But he could land the blow he stopped, "Wait now I remember. You are second son of Viscount Foyle. Aren't you? From what I know, You're an Invisible Mage. what are doing with Count Hyra's hired goons?"
The mage tilted his head. "Captain of the Denares guard. I know you too. I don't know why you are with these elves, but its a pity you will have to die today." saying this he tried to point his spell toward valen.
But Valen didn't wait. He knew that against a mage of this caliber, defense was a death sentence. He roared, channeling every ounce of his warrior's pride into a massive overhead swing. The mace whistled through the air, aimed squarely at the mage's skull.
The mage didn't move. He didn't even blink.
Puch.
The sound was sickeningly quiet. It wasn't the sound of a mace hitting bone.
Valen froze mid-swing. The heavy iron mace slipped from his fingers, clattering loudly against the cobblestones. The captain's eyes went wide, his mouth opening in a silent 'O' of shock. He looked down at his chest.
A perfect, circular little hole had appeared in the center of his heavy steel breastplate, right over his stomach. It wasn't jagged. It was a clean cauterized puncture, one inches wide. There was no projectile, no spear of light, nothing. Just a hole that went straight through his body, showing the dark street behind him.
"Valen!" Elsa screamed, her hand trembling as she reached for an arrow.
The captain slumped to his knees, his hands clutching at the wound as blood began to pour out in a dark, rhythmic tide. He coughed, a spray of crimson red blood hitting the ground.
"What did you useI... I didn't even... see it..." Valen whispered, his head lolling forward as he collapsed.
"Captain!" Elora rushed toward him, but the mage flicked his wrist.
A blade of compressed air, so thin it was truly invisible, swept across the ground. Elora, already exhausted and moving on pure adrenaline, couldn't react in time.
The air blade caught her in the shoulder. She didn't lose the limb, but the force of the impact sent her spinning through the air, her practice sword shattering into splinters. She hit the side of the carriage wheel and fell limp, her eyes rolling back into her head.
"Elora!" Verra's voice was a snarl.
She didn't hesitate. She vanished again, her 'Ghost' movement reaching its absolute peak. She appeared behind the mage, her fist aimed at the base of his skull, her face had a mask of murderous intent.
But the mage didn't turn around. He simply stepped to the left as if he already predicted her movement. It wasn't a fast movement; it was a perfect movement. He moved exactly three inches, just enough for Verra's fist to pass through the space he had occupied a millisecond before.
"Your 'Ghost' step is adorable," the mage said, his hand moved like a viper.
He grabbed Verra's arm as she overextended. Verra tried to pull away, to vanish again, but the mage's mana was like a lead weight pressing down on her entire nervous system. He didn't punch her. He simply tapped two fingers against her forehead.
A spark of green mana flared from his fingers.
Verra's body went rigid. Her eyes glazed over, and she collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut. She hit the ground beside Valen, her breathing was shallow but her consciousness was gone.
In less than a minute, Eon's team had been dismantled completely.
Eon tried to stand, but his legs felt like they were made of water. He looked at the system screen hovering in the corner of his vision, flashing a frantic, pulsing red.
Mana: 400/15000
'No,' Eon thought, his teeth gritted so hard they felt like they would crack. 'Not like this.I can't lose to him. I can't now. I haven't even built a safe place for the elves back home.'
He looked over at Elsa. She was still on top of the carriage, her bow drawn to full tension. Sweat was streaming down her face, but her hands were steady. She was the only one left with a clear line of sight.
"Elsa, don't!" Eon croaked, but it was too late.
She released the arrow. It was a perfect shot, aimed right between the mage's eyes. But the mage didn't even look at her. He simply raised his hand and caught the arrow between his two fingers. He didn't break it. He just held it, looking at the flint tip with mild interest.
"Wood and stone," the mage sighed. "Now you talk about me being a primitive."
He snapped the arrow with a flick of his thumb and began walking toward Hans.
The old butler was on his knees near the carriage. He had been trying to reach Valen to stem the bleeding, but he had frozen as the mage approached him. Hans wasn't a warrior. He was a man of service, a man who had spent his life maintaining the dignity of a falling house. He looked up at the mage, although his face was pale but his gaze remarkably calm looking up at the mage.
"You're a monster," Hans said softly.
"Call me whatever You want. I am just professional," the mage corrected him. He stood over Hans, his shadow falling over the old man. "And a professional knows when to prune the dead weight. You're the 'Hans' the boys were talking about, aren't you? The one who keeps that drafty mansion running? Without you, theEdger house would have fallen long ago I heard."
The mage raised his hand. His fingers weren't curled into a fist; they were held flat, like a blade. A faint, humming vibration began to emanate from his palm, the same vibration that had turned his body into a mirage.
"Wait!" Eon screamed, trying to crawl forward. "Stop! I'm the one you want! Let him go!Please!"
The mage ignored him. He looked down at Hans's neck, his eyes cold and clinical. "This won't hurt much. Think of it like a big ant bite sting."
He began to bring his hand down in a swift, horizontal arc, a strike meant to decapitate the butler with nothing but a edge of pressurized mana from his hand.
Eon watched in slow motion. He saw Elsa screaming his name. He saw Alen cowering under the wagon, his face buried in his hands. He saw the shimmering line of death descending toward Hans's throat.
And just like that the mage put his hand down on Hans neck.
Author Note: If you want to find out what happens next and can't wait for the update, head over to my Patreon! I've got the next few chapters already live.
Stay tuned, and thanks for reading!