The ground quaked beneath his feet, the vibrations intensifying with each passing second. Veil instinctively spread his arms to stay balanced—but then, just as suddenly as it began, the tremor stopped.

  A heavy silence fell over the chamber.

  But Veil knew better.

  This calm was a lie.

  The kind that comes right before something breaks.

  From the jagged cracks webbing the floor, black smoke began to seep out. At first, it was faint—almost transparent, like mist barely there. But it thickened quickly, darkening into a dense, suffocating fog that poured across the room.

  Then the ground convulsed.

  Veil lost his balance and dropped to one knee. Around him, the smoke had grown so dense it swallowed everything. Sight, light, space—gone.

  He couldn’t see a thing.

  A chill ran down his spine. He couldn’t afford to stay still. Forcing himself up, he scanned the swirling fog—and that’s when he saw them.

  Hands.

  Dozens of shadowy hands, clawing their way from the cracks in the earth, rising like the dead from a black sea. They moved slowly, as if drawn forward by some unseen current, their fingers twitching in eerie silence, reaching for him.

  Veil froze.

  What the hell now...?

  His mind raced. If he hesitated, they’d drag him under.

  Then, a spark of memory.

  The gust.

  That cold wind—his burst of mana—that had driven the Specter back.

  Without wasting a second, he sheathed his dagger and focused all his remaining mana into his hands. Just one shot. If he released it too early, it would be useless. Too late, and it’d be over.

  He had to wait…

  The hands closed in, the pressure mounting. The air grew colder, each breath heavier, more frigid—like the Specter was right there, just beyond the mist, invisible and waiting.

  Then he felt it.

  That same cold chill brushing over his skin.

  That was his cue.

  Veil unleashed everything.

  A tornado erupted around him, a roaring barrier of wind howling in every direction. Dust swirled, the air thick with force. The fog recoiled, scattering into streams as the gale tore through it.

  The hands lunged—

  And froze mid-air.

  The frigid gust caught them in place. In seconds, they turned to black ice, suspended like statues in the air… then shattered, splintering into shards under the storm’s force.

  A chilling scream rose from the cracks below.

  A cry of pain.

  Veil’s fists clenched tight.

  He’d wounded it. The Specter had felt that.

  But he didn’t have time to enjoy the advantage.

  A thick wall of fog surged from the fissures—violent, sudden.

  The Specter reemerged.

  It rose slowly from the ground, its form seething with rage, its red eyes narrowed to piercing slits. The shadowy mass of its body wavered and pulsed, more unstable than ever.

  It had been hurt.

  But so had Veil.

  His breathing was ragged. Exhaustion tugged at every limb. Even though his body had been restored, his mana was running low—and fast.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  This had to end.

  The Specter gave him no respite.

  Three sharp snaps rang out.

  Veil lunged to the side. Three blades tore through the air behind him, slicing past with deadly precision. He hit the ground in a roll, a freezing gust grazing his shoulder, then sprang back to his feet—just in time to see the shadow vanish once more.

  “Stop running...” Veil growled under his breath.

  Darkness flowed around him—fluid, elusive. Then came a low thump.

  The Specter reappeared.

  But Veil was ready.

  He wouldn’t be caught off guard again.

  The instant the shadow lunged toward him, Veil blasted a gust beneath his feet, launching himself sideways. A blade slammed down exactly where he had been standing a heartbeat ago.

  He tightened his grip on the dagger, heart pounding like a war drum.

  He couldn’t keep this up much longer.

  Dodging, retreating—it was only a matter of time before the Specter landed a fatal hit.

  He had to kill it. But how?

  His gaze locked on the creature’s face—that empty void with glowing red eyes, a hollow that seemed to pulse with something... unnatural. He didn’t know why, but he felt it in his gut.

  That was the weak point.

  It had to be.

  Then he understood—he had only one choice.

  No more running. No more evading.

  Strike first. Hit fast.

  A reckless move… but his only shot.

  Veil clenched the dagger tighter, feeling the weight of his heartbeat slamming against his ribs.

  If he could release his mana like a burst—

  Could he wrap it around his blade?

  “If I can project it… why not extend it?” he whispered, breathless.

  He had nothing left to lose.

  This was it.

  He forced his body to relax, easing his stance, letting his shoulders slump slightly. He let his breathing slow, his expression unfocused—like he was still hesitating, still stalling for time.

  He wanted the Specter to think he was vulnerable.

  To lure it in.

  The bait worked.

  With a shrill crack, the shadow-laced blades erupted again. Veil dodged at the last possible second—but this time, the Specter didn’t reappear in front of him.

  It was preparing something else.

  Two more blades stabbed downward into the floor and vanished into the dark cracks.

  Veil’s entire body tensed. He knew what came next.

  The ground beneath him burst open.

  Spikes of darkness shot up, aiming straight for his chest. With one final reflex, he launched another gust under his feet, throwing himself backward.

  But it wasn’t enough.

  He was burning through too much mana.

  He wasn’t used to releasing this much in such a short time. His breath came in sharp bursts. His muscles trembled from strain.

  But failure wasn’t an option.

  He tightened his grip on the dagger again, scanning for an opening.

  He needed to strike from the front.

  And the Specter seemed to sense his intent.

  A wave of shadow spread around it—and this time, it wasn’t blades that came for him.

  Three ghostly hands shot toward Veil, reaching like claws of death.

  The shadow vanished.

  Then reappeared—right in front of him.

  Veil’s breath caught in his throat.

  This was it.

  He couldn’t dodge.

  Not this time.

  The Specter’s glowing red eyes locked with his, and with a new shrill crack, its blades came crashing down.

  Veil didn’t move.

  He poured all his mana into the dagger.

  A cold surge shot along the blade, extending it into a razor-thin filament of slicing wind.

  Time seemed to slow.

  Then the pain erupted.

  A scream tore from his throat.

  The shadow-blades pierced him—ripping through his left arm and right leg. His body twisted under the blow, a freezing wave tearing through his veins like ice-cold fire.

  But he didn’t let go.

  He ignored the pain.

  Ignored the burning.

  Ignored the blood streaming from his wounds.

  His mana surged.

  The air shuddered around him.

  The blade extended further.

  A flash of wind tore forward—

  —and drove straight through the Specter’s right eye.

  The creature was thrown back, howling in agony.

  The sound tore through the room, a crushing wave that sent dust flying and filled the air with oppressive weight.

  Beneath its hood, the darkness began to freeze.

  The Specter writhed, flailing as it tried to expel the ice gnawing through its shadowed form.

  But it was too late.

  Every tendril of black mist swirling around it was contaminated.

  Each shroud of fog fractured into frozen shards, crashing to the floor in a chorus of shattering crystal.

  Its scream grew louder—raw, unhinged, shrieking with pain and rage.

  It staggered back, desperate to escape.

  But there was nowhere left to run.

  Its form cracked. Shadow peeled away like broken stone.

  Its body collapsed in pieces, crumbling like a ruined tower.

  Veil didn’t move.

  He kept pouring mana into his blade.

  His hand trembled.

  His breath came in ragged bursts.

  But he refused to let go.

  Not after what this monster had done to Alynia.

  Not after what it had done to him.

  He wanted it to suffer.

  Time stretched.

  Then, with one final, muffled scream, the Specter shattered.

  Its shadowy mass disintegrated in a flurry of frozen shards, scattering across the ground in a crystalline crash.

  The violet flames flickered in the reflection of the ice.

  The monster was defeated.

  And still, Veil didn’t lower his weapon.

  He kept the mana flowing, even as his lungs burned and pain gnawed at every fiber of his being.

  But there was nothing left to fight.

  The Specter was nothing now—just a heap of ice spread across the floor, its mist broken, its presence fading into curling wisps under the flickering firelight.

  It was over.

  But his body refused to accept it.

  His mana kept flowing—too drained to stop on its own.

  The dagger trembled in his hand. His ragged breathing echoed through the now-silent chamber. His head spun, his vision clouded with haze.

  Then slowly… fatigue caught up with him.

  The air calmed around him. His mana finally flickered out.

  His body gave in.

  He felt his legs buckle beneath him.

  And this time… he had nothing left.

  As his strength left him, Veil’s gaze fixed on Alynia.

  She wasn’t moving.

  “No… Alynia…?” he whispered, his voice faint and broken.

  No answer.

  A cold shiver ran down his spine. He winced, forcing his muscles to respond, even as pain tore through him.

  “Come on… get up…” he begged.

  He tried to take a step—

  —and nearly collapsed.

  His legs trembled, barely holding him upright, but he refused to fall.

  Tears blurred his vision, the aftermath of battle crashing against the brutal shock of reality.

  Alynia hadn’t moved.

  “You… you can’t do this…” he pleaded again, louder this time.

  She was right there. So close. He had to reach her.

  He stepped forward again—

  —and his body screamed in protest. He stumbled, crashing hard to the floor with a muffled grunt. Gritting his teeth, he pressed a shaking hand against a nearby pillar and forced himself up.

  Not now.

  He couldn’t fall now.

  “Move… please tell me you’re breathing…” Veil gasped, his voice cracking.

  He clung to the pillar, fingers digging into the cold stone, and pushed himself upright again. Unsteady, stumbling with every step, he kept going—refusing to give in.

  He had to be sure.

  He needed to know.

  Finally, after a chaotic path of near-falls and grit, he collapsed to his knees beside her. His body couldn’t carry him any further.

  Still nothing.

  No breath. No sign of life.

  His heart twisted in his chest.

  “No… no, no, no… don’t do this to me… not now…” he whispered, voice breaking with a sharp gasp of panic.

  His trembling hands cupped her face as he leaned close, his forehead brushing gently against hers. Hoping. Praying.

  And then—

  A breath.

  So faint.

  Barely there.

  But real.

  Veil froze.

  For one second, he didn’t even breathe.

  Then—a second breath.

  She was breathing.

  A shaky laugh burst from his lips, cracked and fragile with relief.

  “You’re here… you’re still here…” he whispered, exhausted beyond words.

  His shoulders slumped. The weight he’d been carrying—lifted at last.

  But his own body was at its limit. His head dropped against hers, every ounce of strength leaving him. His breathing slowed. Deep. Heavy. His eyelids too heavy to keep open.

  And just before everything went dark again…

  A heartbeat.

  Faint.

  But steady.

  A final, quiet smile touched his lips—

  And then,

  nothing.