The Storm Breaks

General Bay did not freeze at his challenge, confident that he could take on Alkibiades and protect his soldiers. He took Alkibiades challenge, a duel to the death between two generals. Bay ordered his soldiers to retreat from the area, warning them that their duel was not something they would want to be caught in the middle of.

The soldiers gulped at his words, knowing full well what their general was capable of. They followed his warning. Alkibiades was intrigued by Bay's words, finding the general to be a great man. Not many account for the safety of their men.

The boots of Bay’s men thundered as they stepped back, creating a wide, desolate field for the generals to play on. They did not retreat; they fled with a sort of frantic reverence, as if standing too close to them was like standing in front of a calamity.

Alkibiades watched them go, his eyes bright with a maniac sort of joy. He kicked a discarded helmet out of the way, never taking his gaze off Bay. “Such a commanding presence,” Alkibiades mused, his voice dropping to a dangerous purr. “You do not fear to die, Bay. I have heard stories that you are faster than I and a killing machine when you take part in battle. You are one of the few generals that takes part in battle with his men, and for that I must raise my hat to you.”

Alkibiades settled into a wide, predatory stance, his golden locks blown by the wind. “Go on then. Show me the man who fought against the Nori and lived to tell the tale!”

General Bay rolled his shoulders, the leather and bronze plate groaning under the strain of his shifting weight. He threw his shield and helmet to the side, implying he did not intend to defend himself with anything but his skill. Without the distraction of the ranks behind him, his presence seemed to double. The air around him felt heavy, charged with the static of an approaching storm.

It had been months since he had gone all out. Whoever this man may be, he is not somebody that can be contained by his ranks. This man’s display of power was equal to that of the chief, and if he were to be on par with him, it could mean the end of this campaign.

“If taking part in this duel means, I can put an end to this war,” Bay muttered, his voice terrifyingly calm. “So be it!”

Bay did not just move; he exploded. The sand beneath his feet did not just splash — it cratered. He covered the distance in a heartbeat, his first strike not a probe or a feint, but a ruinous overhead blow that whistled through the air with the weight of a storm.

Alkibiades' smile did not vanish, but it hardened into a grimace of pure concentration. He caught the sword with his left hand, the impact sending a shock wave through his arm that he felt deep in his teeth. It appeared that Bay was not just fast; he was also physically gifted.

The duel had begun in earnest, and the battlefield began to shrink around these two monsters.

The flamboyant Alkibiades tightened his grip onto the sword, pulling it forward to him, catching the general off guard. Bay did not release his grip of the sword, but he was now in distance of Alkibiades. Alkibiades delivered a powerful blow to his solar plexus, causing him to vomit on the spot.

The impact was visceral — a lethal, sickening blow that echoed throughout the battlefield.

Alkibiades stood there watching his opponent, wondering if he should give him more time to recover. No man, no matter how powerful, was immune to taking a blow from Alkibiades, like that.

But as Bay doubled over, coughing and gasping, his fingers remained locked like iron talons around his blade. Alkibiades' raw power was as lethal as his abilities, but he could not doubt himself now. Alkibiades had power that rivaled or surpassed the chief. Perhaps he should retreat?

No.

This was no different than what occurred at Nori, and if it meant that he had to surpass his limits once more, so be it.

Though the golden locks flowed freely, a wild bloodshot eye looked up at Alkibiades.

Bay was not finished. He was laughing — a choked, wheezing sound.

“So…” Alkibiades smiled, thrilled to see his opponent could still dance. “The rumors were true! You fight like a beast… come on, let us keep going!”

With a sudden, violent thrust of the torso, Alkibiades did not pull away; he surged upward. Using the sword he still held as a lever, he threw his entire body weight into a headbutt aimed directly at Bay’s unprotected face. Bay had foolishly discarded his helmet prior, a prideful and amateur mistake that Alkibiades intended to exploit.

At that moment, Bay tilted his head at the last second, the bridge of his nose narrowly avoiding the collision, but the crown of Alkibiades' head slammed onto his cheekbone with a crack.

It was unlike Alkibiades to partake in a gruesome, close-quarters grapple. The elegance of the duel had vanished, replaced by the raw, primal struggle of two predators trying their every trick against one another.

The sound of the impact — bone on bone — was like a hammer striking stone. Both men groaned, the world spinning in a blur.

 Bay’s vision tunneled. The crack in his cheekbone sent a white-hot spike of agony through his skull, but he welcomed it. This feeling of being on edge was like back then: the feeling of his back being against the wall.

Alkibiades was already moving, his movements swift. He did not reset his stance, he flowed with the momentum of the headbutt. Blood from his own scalp rained into his eyes, dyeing his golden hair into a gruesome crimson, but he did not wipe it off. He looked like a fallen god, stunning and terrifying.

“You do not have time to stand there!” he shrieked, his voice cracking with the sheer thrill of combat.

He lunged at him, his fingers slick with blood and bile — reaching not for the sword, but for Bay’s throat. He intended to tear the windpipe from his neck. Alkibiades was not fighting, like the elegant man of Rostov; he was fighting like a wild beast that craved the fulfillment of battle.

But Bay was ready for him. He did not move back. He stepped into the space, his feet grinding deep into the wet sand for leverage. In a flawless display of swordsmanship, Bay severed the arm that intended to go for his throat, shearing through the marrow and parchment. At that moment, Alkibiades' attempt was countered, giving Bay the opportunity to close in and pierce his sword into his neck.

A complete shock to those present, who could not believe the general had landed such a decisive blow to Alkibiades.

Bay huffed and puffed as he stared Alkibiades down, uncertain that this was enough to kill Alkibiades. On the other hand, Alkibiades' left hand grabbed onto the blade that had pierced his neck, his eyes told Bay that his spark had not left him yet.

Bay was right. At that moment, Alkibiades' severed arm began to regenerate before him, and Alkibiades proceeded to raise his hand, his body illuminating like before. In response, Bay retrieved his blade from his neck, escaping the range of Alkibiades' counterattack.

This phenomenon had been seen before by Bay, it was the same ability the chieftain of the Nori had. The capability to regenerate long-loss limbs with energy. Having the opportunity to see it close up, it did not appear to be as difficult as Bay thought it to be.

Alkibiades walked up slowly, the hole in his neck closing like a drawing curtain. His entire silhouette began to vibrate, casting a golden, rhythmic illumination that engulfed the area.

“You are not the half-wit that I took you for,” Alkibiades admitted, finding Bay’s attempt to kill him astonishing. “From here on out, I will fight you truthfully. I have gauged your fighting prowess enough.”

Bay was not surprised at his ability to recover lost limbs. The veteran in him — the man who had survived horrors much greater — knew the battle was reaching its climax.

He settled back into his stance, his sword low and ready. The “static of the storm” that had been building around Bay intensified. If Alkibiades was becoming the very light itself, Bay was becoming the storm itself.

“I have fought against the odds all my life,” Bay muttered, his voice terrifying calm despite Alkibiades' power continuing to grow. “If you are going all out, I will follow.”

Sparks of lightning began to surround the general, as his hair began to stand on its own. The pupils of his eyes were ceasing to be. This brought a smile to Alkibiades, who was thrilled to see his opponent was willing to leave it all on the floor.

“Truthfully, you are the best of them all!” he shouted, his voice ringing like a bell.

Alkibiades did not run; he cleared the distance. A streak of golden light cut through the air, his regenerated hand thrust forward like a spear made of pure solar light.

Bay met the sun with a storm.

He swung his blade in a wide, horizontal arc. He was not just swinging metal; he was pulling the lightning with him. A massive spark of electricity exploded from the tip of the sword, shocking Alkibiades to his very core.

The collision sent a shock wave across the battlefield. A dome of white energy expanded from the point of contact, vaporizing everything between the two generals. General Bay was just barley able to contain the output to not vaporize the bystanders nearby.

Inside the eye of the explosion, the two monsters stood. Alkibiades was burnt to a crisp from the shock wave, but Bay had failed to escape the brutality of Alkibiades' light. The general’s feet were buried ankle-deep in the dirt, his muscles screaming from the light constructs that pierced his shoulders and torso.

“Is this…all you got, General?” Alkibiades laughed, his face inches away from Bay, his burnt skin restoring itself.

Bay’s teeth gritted so hard they felt ready to shatter. He leaned in, the shock of his own attack had burnt his own skin and Alkibiades' constructs pierced through him, spilling crimson red blood into the crater.

“Y—You should not get ahead of yourself,” Bay growled. At a singular glance of Alkibiades' use of it, Bay, too, learned how to regenerate. “I am going to win!”

Bay was quite a special warrior. He grew stronger as he fought. There was nothing that he could not do or learn at a singular glance.

Alkibiades realized at that moment, he was not fighting a third stringer, he was fighting a beast that grew during battle.

His smirk did not vanish, it grew. For the first time in his life, he could go all out. “Y—You are not just a general,” Alkibiades mumbled, his voice trembling out of excitement as he felt that he had found a worthy opponent. “You are the one that I have been waiting for!”

“I am no general,” Bay corrected, his voice convinced he would win. “I am a warrior first, and it will be this warrior that puts an end to you!”

The crater groaned as the two forces reached their absolute peak. For Alkibiades, the fear of death had been eclipsed by the intoxicating joy of finally being challenged. He did not care for Rostov, the elders, or his lovers anymore — he only cared about satisfying himself with the man that continued to evolve before him.

Alkibiades let out a roar that was more animal than human. The golden light surrounding him stopped radiating outward and began to implode, composing inward until his skin looked like a forged sun. He was not just using light; he was becoming a singular, dense point of solar mass.

He launched himself forward, but he was not swinging a sword or first. He became a blur of high frequency vibrations, his movements so fast they created after images of himself. Each image struck Bay — violently delivering cuts of solar heat at the warrior in a fraction of a second.

Bay did not try to dodge, his body unknowingly regenerated itself to stay alive. Every second that passed, Bay felt his body giving up. He had reached his limits long ago, compared to Alkibiades, who appeared to have refined his powers.

The young Bay had recently just acquired his abilities, leaving him outclassed by Alkibiades in terms of knowledge and creativity with his power. In a last ditch effort, Bay dropped his sword to the ground.

The man was not foregoing the duel, but he wished to trust his instinct. The properties of Alkibiades' technique were similar to his, meaning he could possibly grab onto his light. In a last ditch effort, to redirect it at him.

Alkibiades noticed his blade drop, leading him to believe his opponent had no other play. As Alkibiades' after images descended — a thousand stinging points of solar light — Bay stopped thinking. He stopped trying to “fight” and started to feel Alkibiades light. If his power and Alkibiades’ were two branches of the same tree, then the light was not an attack — it was a means to victory.

Alkibiades lunged for the finishing blow, his hand shimmering in gold. “Be proud, warrior! You have pushed me further than most!” he cried, a mixture of ecstasy and madness in his voice.

Bay did not move his feet. He reached out with bare, trembling hands. His fingers, charred and bleeding, did not recoil from the heat. Instead, they dove into the radiance.

The air screamed as Bay’s fingers closed around the constructs of Alkibiades energy. It should have vaporized his hands instantly, but Bay’s body, pushed to the absolute brink, underwent a final, violent adaptation. The indigo lighting in his veins surged into his palms, acting as a grounding wire.

For a heartbeat, time slowed. Alkibiades' eyes went wide as he felt his own momentum stop. For the first time in ten years, the prideful Alkibiades felt fear. A fear not felt since he fought Illya the Elder.

“Impossible…” Alkibiades whispered.

“It is just energy,” Bay wheezed, his muscles tearing and knitting together in a horrific simultaneous cycle of destruction and rebirth. “And energy…can be redirected!”

With a guttural roar that tore his throat, Bay did not just hold the light — he twisted it. He used his own body as a conduit, a living bridge between the star and the storm. The solar light followed through his arms, across his chest, burning him from the inside out and into his other hand.

He caught the blunt of his light the entire battle, but he managed to condense a singular construct — doubling the power of it.

As Alkibiades tried to get away from the range, he realized it was too late. Bay slammed his palm into Alkibaides' chest, releasing the redirected light in a violent, blinding discharge into his forehead. It was Alkibiades' own power, amplified by Bay’s genius, sent screaming back into its source.

The prideful Alkibiades had no chance to scream. The blinding discharge did not just strike his physical form — it burnt the inner and inside his body.

For a split second, Alkibiades remained on his feet — his head snapped back, his newly regenerated limbs trembling from the amplified redirection of his light. The fear he had felt, that ancient echo of the Elder Illya, was now a harsh callback to the past.

Bay’s breathing was shallow, a wet, rattling sound in the newfound peace. He looked down on his hand — the fingers were black and curled, but already, the sparks of his energy continued to persist, stubbornly trying to restore his body.

He had done the impossible. He had not just survived Alkibiades, he had extinguished the last hope Rostov had.

Across the battlefield, Alkibiades' compatriots were in disbelief. No one moved. No one cried. They simply could not believe their lord’s back hit the ground, realizing the great Alkibiades had perished in battle at the hands of Bay.

He had won, or so he thought.

The victory was short-lived as Bay and what was believed to be the corpse of Alkibiades were engulfed in the world of Alkibiades, a world that overwrote the natural environment with a landscape born of his imagination.

Bay was terrified at the sight of being trapped, knowing he had no more energy to continue the fight. At that moment of fear, he heard the voice of Alkibiades.

'The true extent of one’s power starts when one is able to reach this point of power.'

'During the revelation, it becomes possible to trap the opponent and deliver an attack that even they cannot dodge. Of course, that is if they are not able to overpower my world.'

'It was an incredibly difficult technique to obtain, but I have had the luxury of fighting stronger opponents to push me to this.'

'You were fabulous, General. I shall remember your face and your country for as long as I live.'

When the space came down, Bay stood there, charred to a piece. His body on fire from the final blow, his life extinguished from this world.

Alkibiades stood before the scorched remains of his opponent. He was no longer the burnt ruin he had been moments before. In his own world, he had rewritten his wounds. His golden hair flowed perfectly once more, and his skin glowed, with a soft, triumphant radiance.

He reached out a hand, almost tenderly, and touched the shoulder of the charred General. With the slight pressure, the remains of Bay crumbled, the ash drifting away into the breeze.

“You were the best,” Alkibiades praised, his voice carrying no mockery, only a haunting, sincere profound respect. “You pushed me to the edge, and for that, your name will be carved into legend.”