CHAPTER 17: Malrik Part 2

Malrik observed their struggle with an air of cold amusement, his dark presence dominating the battlefield. He extended one hand, his fingers curling as if gripping the very fabric of reality. The oppressive void, swirling with malevolent energy, seemed to tighten around them.

“Hmm. Perhaps you are still not ready for Abyssus Noctis…my domain of endless shadow.”

With a slow deliberate motion, he reversed his gesture, and the suffocating darkness collapsed inward, dissolving like mist in sunlight. The ruined clearing reformed around them, the flickering colours vanishing. The sudden return of air and light left the trio disoriented, their bodies trembling gasping for breath as if surfacing from deep icy water.

Malrik took a step forward, his dark cloak shifting seamlessly into an immaculate black suit, its sharp lines glowing faintly with otherworldly runes. His face remained formless as hair cascaded down like a waterfall of white hair resting on top of his head.

He raised his right hand, palm open, while tucking the other behind his back. His stance was elegant yet threatening, like a predator inviting its prey to attack.

“Come then,” he said, his voice dripping with extreme confidence. “I will allow you the first strike.”

Phoebe and Emma were still on the ground gasping for breath. Michael stood and clenched his fists, lightning crackling between his fingers. His muscles screamed in protest, but his resolve was unwavering. “You talk a lot for someone who’s about to lose,” he growled, stepping forward.

“Show me.”

Michael charged, propelled by a burst of lightning that cracked the ground beneath him. He was a blur of motion, aiming straight for Malrik’s chest.

Malrik didn’t flinch. He stood perfectly still, his eyes locked onto Michael’s and at the last possible moment, he subtly shifted his weight, the jab grazing past him harmlessly. His movements were so precise. It was as if he'd anticipated the attack before Michael had even fully committed to it.

Michael pivoted mid-step, swinging a roundhouse kick aimed at his head. With effortless grace, Malrik leaned back, his body bending impossibly low, the heel of Michael’s boot passing inches above his face. As he straightened, Malrik casually flicked Michael’s forearm with his fingers. The impact sent Michael stumbling backward as though struck by a battering ram.

Phoebe, now recovered attempted to strike while Michael struggled to get up. She vaulted into the air, her staff spinning as she unleashed a barrage of lightning bolts. The crackling energy lit up the battlefield, but Malrik raised a single finger, drawing a swirling barrier of shadows around himself. The lightning dissipated harmlessly against it, absorbed as if it were mere raindrops.

“Impressive coordination,” Malrik said, lowering his barrier. “Perhaps I’ll teach this to my pets.”

Before Phoebe could retreat, Malrik closed the distance in a single step, his palm striking her chest with deceptive speed. The force sent her flying back, her body violently hitting against the ground.

Emma rushed to her side. “Phoebe!” she cried, shaking her friend. “She’s out cold.” She turned to Michael, panic in her voice. “It’s all on you. I’m spent—I can’t even heal a scratch right now.”

Michael stood, his chest heaving. Blood trickled from a cut on his forehead, and his vision blurred, but he refused to give up. Malrik’s movements were fluid, effortless, like an artist painting a masterpiece of destruction. He knew he had to change his approach, he couldn’t rely on his powers alone like he did with the Deviants. Michael circled him keeping his distance, his eyes darting from Malrik’s hands to his feet, searching for an opening. He feinted left, then right, trying to provoke a reaction.

“You think too much,” Malrik said, his tone almost bored. “Combat is instinctive. Sometimes the simplest of approach is the most effective.”

Without warning, Malrik lashed out, his hidden hand snapping forward like a whip. It struck Michael across the head. The strike was not done with crushing force, but with a sharp, stinging impact that sent his head snapping to the side.

Michael touched his cheek in disbelief. “Did… did he just slap me?”

“Focus on my next movement, and you will fail,” Malrik said, his voice a dark melody. “Do not expect your enemy to be rational.”

Emma, kneeling beside Phoebe, slapped her own cheeks in frustration. “Come on, powers! Work! Work!”

Malrik’s gaze shifted to her, his movements so fluid that he blocked Michael’s punch without even turning. Emma froze under his stare.

“Why does he keep looking at me?” she thought, her hands trembling.

“You feel it, don’t you?” Malrik said, his voice a whisper that seemed to echo in her mind. “It calls to you.”

Emma shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You don’t seem to be the one I am looking for,” Malrik remarked, brushing Michael aside like an insect. “Still, you might prove to be…useful.”

Malrik advanced toward Emma, his steps slow and deliberate.

“Leave her out of this!” Michael roared, forcing himself upright. “Face me!”

Malrik ignored him, his focus fixed entirely on Emma. “You cannot deny it forever, child. Simply awaken it.”

Before he could close the distance, a fiery explosion erupted between him and Emma, forcing him to stop.

“Not another step!” Adelle’s voice rang out, her flames burning brighter than ever.

Behind her, Frank stepped forward, his hands encased in ice. He formed a protective dome around Emma and Phoebe. “Looks like we made it just in time.”

Malrik turned to them, his smirk returning. “Ah, reinforcements. I was beginning to fear this might grow dull.”

Adelle raised her fists, fire swirling around her arms. “You’re about to regret thinking that.”

Frank stepped forward, shards of ice forming into deadly spikes at his command. “Let’s end this.”

Michael grinned despite his exhaustion. “Took you long enough.”

The fight was far from over, and the battlefield trembled in anticipation of the chaos to come.