Team Shyme’s battle against Orwell started with a bang.

First to march toward Orwell Mehest was Sonovia Da Attra. She ran forward like a galloping mare. The warrior leaped into the air and brought her sword down on Orwell with the force of a falling star. Golden light empowered the dropping full-body slashed, exploding outward as Sonovia’s attack cratered the ground.

Yuri expected Orwell to be reduced to paste, but the enigmatic villain wasn’t out. The strike, coming down on him with the force of a falling tank, didn’t move him a single inch. Instead, Sonovia struck a purplish spectral spherical barrier, akin to crystal condensed from indigo flames.

“What is that?” Yuri said, feeling the force of Sonovia’s golden energy like a rampaging hail-storm.

Beside him, Sharon looked at Orwell with Spiral-Eye and nearly dropped it.

“He is an S-Rank!” Charon yelled at Sonovia. “Get away, Sonovia! He is a league above you!”

“No way,” Shyme paled and checked her own Spiral-Eye. “He was still A-Rank at Venistalis. How did he improve so fast?” She read the data, “Unknown Skill and STR of 2/5, END3/5, MAG 5/5, DEX 3/5.”

Charon didn’t take it well. “S-Rank with MAG 5/5? That is a level for magical gods.”

While they talked, Orwell already took measures to deal with Sonovia. A spectral arm, sculpted as bones, emerged from his translucent spectral shield, grabbed Sonovia out of the air, and slammed her into the ground, blasting the soil into the air with the physical blow that struck with the force rivaled several bundles of dynamite.

Pressed to the ground, Sonovia still had some spunk to spare. “You think that can hurt me?” Sonovia spat the dirt and ignored her internal injury. “My skin is unbreakable.”

Orwell recalled Sonovia had [Unbreakable Skin] as a Passive Skill and [Continuation] as her Active. The [Unbreakable Skin] was self-explanatory, but [Continuation] granted her the ability to shrug off injury and continued fighting.

“Okay,” replied Orwell. His spectral glowed with power. The ground shook and exploded, kicking earth high-up in the air.

“What is that?” Yuri said, nearly flew away from the blast wave.

“That is Orwell’s Abilities,” Shyme shouted amidst the blowing dust and specks of sail raining from the air. “That man invented a method to harness Mana outside of Mystic Core. He called it Adamakles.”

Yuri thought he was mishearing. “Did you say invent?” He asked. “You mean he replaces his core with something else? How?”

“I don’t know,” Shyme sweat. “But Orwell achieved a research breakthrough during the battle of Venistalis and created an entirely new Mana system. That armor is the manifestation of his Ability. It has the power to release vibration shock.” Shyme bit her lips. “Think of it like a giant, indestructible tuning-fork that could transmit vibration through any material — even Sonovia’s [Unbreakable Skin] wouldn’t stop it.”

The skeletal hand lifted Sonovia’s limping body in its fist and tossed her at them like pitching a baseball.

“I’m surprised you actually remember,” said Orwell, applauding Yuri, who successfully caught the flying Sonovia in a dive. “Good catch, kid, but did you should be careful about—”

Yuri’s world flooded with pain as his shoulder erupted in agony. He fell to the ground in cries of pain.

“About dislocating your shoulder,” Orwell completed his warning a moment too late. “Too late—”

A tsunami of fire, courtesy of Sharon, engulfed Orwell mid-speech.

Orwell whistled in the middle of the hellfire. The air sizzled like desert air and the soil beneath him turned into a white, ashy heap of spent charcoal. These flames were strangely familiar, but the heat was excellent. Even molten rocks couldn’t turn a steak into ash in five microseconds, but Orwell knew these flames could.

“Good effort,” Orwell commended the maid. “But—”

Then a giant phoenix made ‌of compressed wind swooped down, scooping up the flames with an air-vacuum and compressing the heat into a ball of flame, glowing like a billion volt light bulb.

Charon collapsed from the strain of conjuring such an inferno. Meanwhile, Shyme, the spellcaster of the wind-phoenix, looked worriedly at the miniature stars pressing on Orwell.

“Did you get him?” Yuri asked, still biting his tongue from the dislocated shoulder. The light was so intense he couldn’t directly see Orwell.

Shyme grimaced.

“Did I jinx it?” said Yuri in dread.

The miniature sun exploded.

“I will be incredibly grateful if I can finish my sentence,” Orwell, protected by a purple spectral rib-cage, complained.

Shyme looked at Yuri coldly, “Yeah, you jinxed it.”

Orwell, utterly unharmed, not even sweating a drop from his time under fire, was disappointed at the effort.

“Seriously, Enma,” said Orwell. “I survived a direct attack from Ace’s finisher and incapacitated Empress for two minutes straight. It took Chronicler everything he had to stop me the last time.” Orwell started as a monologist. “And you think surrounding me in a compress furnace with the heat rivaling the surface of a planet’s core will kill me? Are you—”

Shyme twirled her staff, conjured a flaming tiger a size of a small house, and launched it at Orwell.

“For a love—” Orwell greeted the burning tiger with exasperation at the constant interruption. “Oh, forget it.”

The fed up Orwell activated his Skill.

“[Cryo Supreme]”

…

Cold was the word.

Mana fluxed and waned, exploding out as commanded. An eldritch cold, a reminder of the eventual entropic death of the universe, befell. Concepts of frost and an absence pervaded the battlefield at one man’s behest.

Yuri felt the chilling bitterness invading his body. It was the creeping, frozen depth and the void parting. There was no meaning in this cold universe. It was the power representing the end of worlds; an absence of warmth and comfort.

It was the power of Orwell Mehest.

Orwell waved his hand and conjured the ice. Freezing mist below zero hung, putting out flames and shattering grasses into bitter, tiny droplets of frozen cellulose. A fifty-meter high wall of icy glacier emerged, large and wide enough to crush the trio like a child squishing a bug. The wall smashed Shyme’s flaming tiger, reducing it into fragments of fundamental particles.

Yuri fell to his knee, in awe at the creeping icy ram about to turn him to a puddle of blood and bones.

Instant death would be their fate if Charon’s amber eyes hadn’t turned gold and unleashed golden waves of fire which turned the glacier into steaming chunks of falling ice.

…

The golden flames Charon unleashed could ignite Mana itself, but it wasn’t working against Orwell Mehest.

He closed his eyes and recalled who he was.

Shyme’s ‌summary hadn’t fully explained the walking terror Orwell was.

That man was born human, but such a description no longer fit. In pursuit of his power, Orwell transcended humanity — a bid to conquer the Dawn in the Venistalis Incident. He augmented his DNA with that of a Reverse Beast, Tundra, granting him [Ice Body] and [Regeneration]. They were inhuman Passive Skills, evidence of his RB’s physiology and marks of a person who left humanity.

But he knew it wasn’t enough — not against the Knights.

Thus, he shunned the concept of Mystic Core, an imitation of the loathsome Divine. Abandoning it, Orwell researched a new field. His intellect proved superior to the Divines and Ancients, perfecting his theory of Mana and using it to create his Magnum opus—the Adamakles. He incorporated Mana with his soul, freeing himself from the tyranny of Mystic, and trailblazing a new path.

But despite this, the Knights of Hope defeated him fair and square.

For all his progress, Orwell lost to a man — an honorable man.

His sympathizer helped him escape after that exhaustive battle. In hindsight, he was lucky to survive the battle at all.

Contrary to expectation, Orwell didn’t resent that man — the Chronicler. He admired the path the hero walked, the compassion and the honor he held. Their duel was magnificent. Orwell knew the feeling was mutual. Chronicler may disagree with his method, but they hold mutual respect.

And hence, Orwell must become even greater for his greatest rival.

Orwell understood this was the path of an avenger. The Grand Empire, in their conquest, committed genocide upon his noble fore-father. That blood debt had been repaid in Venistalis. But the Divine, the gods, still has yet to pay for their arrogance. The weak needed power to face the strong, so he pursued more strengths, more discoveries to share with the mass. Inspired by his battle with that man, Orwell delved into the secret of Mana and gazed upon its history, polishing the art of combat.

For half a year, Orwell Mehest trained for his eventual rematch, because he knew, surer than the certainty of sunrise, that the Chronicler would only get stronger. He was under no illusion. His method bred misery and war, but he deemed the price acceptable to upend the system.

The man who abandoned humanity's frailness knew he would be punished, but the Divine who didn’t have that right. Only men who held the same heart as the Chronicler were worthy of that monumental quest.

Orwell opened his eyes and glared at Shyme. The daughter of the Divine Beast shouldn’t even fantasize about defeating him.

…

Yuri felt it. He knew for certain, Orwell was about to bake them into a pie.

A burst of a fluctuating air repelled Charon’s fire, revealing Orwell utterly unharmed underneath his purple protection. Done with this waste of time, Orwell activated his skill. Green flames emerged from beneath his fingers and fired it at the false sky. It spread, drawing a green flaming circle, a hole in the expanse of blue.

[Summoning (Amalgam)]

From the hole, a being crossed between geometrical-shape and ice emerged. Its spine of stone embedded into a pair of ice wings, together forming a horseshoe arc of ice. At the spire’s tip was a gray, cold theater mask of frowning tragedy.

“Ice Circuit,” Orwell ordered his creation, “unleash Amalgam Blanket.”

Ice Circuit, the geometrical artificial angel of Orwell’s creation, responded. Its wings of ice glowed and unleashed the build-up of the hailstorm. Snow fell, but there was no frozen water. As a researcher, Orwell engineered an Artificial Spirit knitted from basic soul fragments — the Amalgam. One fruit of his research was Amalgam Blanket, snow that could consume Mana.

The snow fell to the meadow, consuming the Mana fuelling Charon’s flames, extinguishing them beneath the mystical snowfall. Charon, exhausted from her effort, fell prone on the ground as the snow slowly fell on her body, sapping her strength even further.

…

Shyme watched her maid fall, quickly deduced the effect of Amalgam Blanket, and went serious.

Steam rose from her body. Scarves of golden energy wrapped around her body. Her pupils turned into serpentine slits of the dragon. Her black hair, wolf-ear and tails turned crimson as her internal [Divine Core] overclocked. It was the Enma Clan’s innate Skill — the [Divine Raiment] — an ability to raise all physical and magical output at the expense of a massive reduction of parameter once the Skill deactivated.

Shyme wasn’t finished with her budding. A spectral image of a dragon curled around her body. It was the [Dance of Divine Beast] — a skill available to those of Divine Beast’s descent which further boosted her stat.

“I am stronger than the last time, Orwell,” Shyme’s Mana exploded, blasting away the snow from Amalgam Blanket.

“I concur,” Orwell’s expression hardened. “You finally ‌master your family’s power. I estimate under that amplifier, your ability already hit the S-rank and your raw parameter might even be above mine, but how long could you keep it up?”

Shyme’s face twitched. She knew Orwell was right. The clock was ticking the moment she activated Raiment. If Orwell outlasted her, she lost.

Shyme conjured the beast’s flames and unleashed a tornado of fires and winds.

Orwell met the attack with another ice glacier.

Yuri was blasted back by the raw amount of mystical power the two unleashed. He could barely open his eyes in the surging pressure as fire and ice clashed. Mana churned, and the air bubbled as the very oxygen vacated for the battle of supremacy.

It was the battle between Skills. Shyme’s [Enma Fire Attribute] and [Enma Wind Attribute] allowed her to conjure the elemental power of Divine Beast. Normally, their combination should be sure-fire wins against anything less than a god.

However, Orwell already surpassed the god.

The mighty glacier broke the fiery tornado, and the icy aftershock of the result sent Shyme blasting across the earth and landing in a coughing heap. Orwell’s [Cryo Supreme] easily won the clash of power.

A layer of ice, courtesy of [Ice Body], crept across Orwell’s body. “Decent effort,” he said, “but even Divinity was no match against a Primal Arcane.”

Shyme gritted her teeth and got up. She grabbed the staff she dropped, returning into the card as the Quick-Equip system swapped it out for a spear. Shyme sprung forward, coating her spear with winds and flames, and launching the fiery weapon with all her strength.

The winds generated by that attack nearly lifted Yuri into the sky. The super heated spear launched off like a rocket, breaking the sound barrier in deafening thunder, cutting the path across the earth, raising rock and fracturing the ground.

Orwell met the attack with his strongest shield — a Frost Skull.

[Summoning (Amalgam)]

The same fiery circle of green flames appeared, revealing a towering skull of ice. Shyme’s spear slammed into the skull, causing it to fracture into a thousand shards. However, at that instant, the Amalgam activated, pulling each shard back together and immobilizing Shyme’s spear, disabling it immediately.

“Ice Circuit,” Orwell commended his Amalgam. “Open fires.”

The Amalgam, laying down the snow from above, responded. Its curved wings of ice glimmered and laid down an aerial bombardment of homing cryogenic projectiles. Shyme equipped a staff, shaped like a bident, designed for burst damage, and met Orwell’s countless homing icy-blue beams with a single high-intensity blast of flames. That blast promptly detonated the storm of attacks, penetrating the Ice Circuit, blasting a hole righting into the spine, causing it to explode.

Orwell was impressed enough to give Shyme a round of applause. “Excellent,” he exclaimed, “that—”

Shyme reemerged in front of Orwell with a flaming needle spike in her hand and interrupted his speech again with a thrust at his armor. The high-penetration needle sparked against Orwell’s Adamakles.

Orwell sighed and waved his hand, releasing the vibration force, which bounced Shyme across the ground.

“You know what,” Orwell conjured another green summoning circle. “I have enough with people interrupting me today.” Orwell drew his sword, a sheathed ice katana, from the circle. “Congratulation Shyme, you are going down with the trick I prepare against Chronicler himself.”

Shyme’s eyes widened a little at the mention of her crush.

Orwell held the sword by the scabbard, “Chilling Thorn,” he called the sword name, “Single Flow — [Cryo Supreme] Edition.”

Orwell drew the sword at lightning speed. All it took was a single swing. One glimmer of the icy blade, a swallowtail of crystal water, reflected the light and encapsulated the magnificent arc.

Yuri didn’t even realize the amazing sword-drawing until Orwell returned his blade back to the scabbard.

Unlike Yuri, Shyme saw the movement, but something was off. Her body responded too slowly. An icy hand gripped her heart. The wave of frozen cold bound her leg taunt like a rope from the pit of the underworld. Vibration energy impacted her like a collapsing skyscraper. It was a demolishing shock-therapy that decimated her equilibrium and pounded her muscle like a jackhammer.

Shyme Enma collapsed onto her knees. The scarves of golden light and the crimson glow dissipated as she fell. She was still conscious, but all her battered body did was grunted and glared at Orwell.

Yuri knew he was powerless.

Charon was unconscious. Sonovia was injured. Shyme was utterly beaten.

Opposite his defeated opponent, Orwell stood. His hand held upward, conjuring a massive sphere of freezing medium to engulf them in a wintry death.

Then Orwell Mehest did something uncharacteristic of most Phantasian. He gave the ‘new meat’ a choice.

“Kid,” Orwell held out the death sphere. “Last chance, I will let you go. I only have gripes with these three,” Orwell eyed Shyme and Charon with distaste. “Trust me, this entire planet will be better off with them gone.”

Smart men would accept the deal. A wiser man would realize Orwell knew something about the maid. Yuri wasn’t both of this type. He was the foolhardy one who always followed his heart and instinct.

“Okay,” Yuri gathered his courage before the superhuman who just stomped an All-Star line-up without shedding a drop of blood. “And why should you keep your word? You kill around a million people in Venistalis.”

“It is to even the book,” justified Orwell.

“Mass murder is still a massacre,” Yuri replied, trying to suppress his desire to bolt. “Sure, I believe you,” he gestured to the helpless trio, “the world might be better off without them. But who are you to judge. Everyone deserves a chance. Why are you people so obsessed with punching your point across?”

“Are you willing to die for that belief?” said Orwell, fascinated.

Yuri refused to meet anyone gaze, “I don’t know.” Then he looked into the eye of the insurmountable Juggernaut. “But I know I won’t forgive myself until I try.”

The answer stunned both Shyme and Orwell.

“Run,” said the struggling Shyme. “He is going to kill you.”

“Magnificent. If nothing else, you have the heart of those heroes,” said Orwell, tossing his attack.

Yuri looked at the freezing ball of doom clouding his vision and closed his eyes, gritting his teeth as he waited for the end.

But the end never came. Death looked at the intervention and decided the winnowing quota wasn’t worth the broken jaw.

When Yuri opened his eyes, he saw the image that had traumatized Reverse Beasts, the 33 Stars, and countless hardcore psychopaths.

A black coat blazed with the symbol of the rising dawn, fluttering fearlessly in the wind.

The hero finally arrived.