novelraw Chapter 145 - 141: All Or Nothing ll
Chapter 145 - 141: All Or Nothing ll
Jamal finished placing the last layer of dirt over Crisper's body.
It wasn't a perfect grave. He hadn't had the time for that. With a controlled blast of Ryun he had cracked the ground open and pushed the rubble inward, forming a shallow resting place among the ruined stone of Veltrisse. It was quick.
But it was enough.
Her body had started falling from the temporal damage. Jamal didn't want to see that. Didn't want to watch someone who had laughed beside him minutes ago slowly fall apart.
So he covered her.
He stood there for a second after the dirt settled.
Quiet.
Then he cocked the switch she had given him and pressed one of the health stims into his arm. The injector hissed softly as it emptied. Warm energy spread through his veins, restoring a portion of his drained Ryun reserves.
Jamal exhaled slowly.
In.
Out.
The energy came back.
But the tears didn't stop.
He wiped his face with the back of his sleeve and let out a quiet laugh.
"Xavion," he muttered.
The name felt strange and right at the same time.
He shook his head.
"I always got brotha vibes from you."
Another quiet chuckle slipped out of him.
"Guess I wasn't wrong."
For a moment he just stood there staring at the grave.
Then he looked out across the battlefield.
The sky was still tearing itself apart with power.
In the distance he could feel them.
Ozzy.
Tabia.
And—
"Oh," Jamal muttered.
"The Calmbrand."
Their auras were colliding with Jack's storm of weapons.
Even from here he could feel the pressure of it.
Crisper's voice echoed in his mind.
Teamwork.
Jamal nodded slowly. And looked up at the blue ball in the sky. Destiny would handle her shit, meanwhile he had his own priorities.
"Yeah."
"The gang need me."
He rubbed his face once more and straightened his back.
"Can't mourn yet anyway."
"Not until Jack on a t-shirt."
He rolled his shoulders.
"Not until I smoke him as a pack."
A grin slowly spread across his face.
His aura flared.
Red and purple Ryun spiraled around him. His eyes ignited into blazing red-violet light and his locs began to float slightly in the air from the pressure building around him.
He hated when the opps had one up.
Hated it.
The Soulball appeared in his hand with a quiet pulse of energy.
Jamal bounced it once.
The Ryun sphere began to hum.
"So I'll just do what I always do."
He slid one foot forward across the cracked stone.
His grin sharpened.
"Time to snuff this bitchass poser out."
The Soulball spun faster in his palm as his aura flared harder.
Jamal stepped forward into the ruined battlefield.
"Imma remind 'em why…"
"…they called me Threat."
———
Jack had passed the threshold that all those who deluded themselves with power eventually reached—the point where strength no longer sharpened the mind but instead severed it from reality.
Reason began to blur.
Perspective twisted.
The world stopped feeling like something shared with others and instead became something that existed for you.
Jack had crossed that line.
In his mind the battlefield was no longer Veltrisse.
It was a page.
A stage.
A narrative waiting to be edited.
And yet—
Ironically—
He had also gotten exactly what he wanted.
When the storm of blades had descended and the invisible lines carved the battlefield apart, the weak had been erased instantly. The countless soldiers, the background armies, the desperate masses clinging to numbers and formations—gone.
All that remained now were the figures that actually mattered.
The powerful.
The talented.
The monsters.
And now, standing in the eye of the weapon storm, Jack was experiencing firsthand why they held their titles.
Ozzy — The Mad Reaper
Tabia — Colora Queen Of Sēēķňè
Caelus — The Calmbrand
Each of them pressed him from different angles like seasoned predators circling the same prey.
Ozzy moved like a blade that refused to dull—missing an arm, missing an eye, drenched in blood, yet still smiling like the fight itself was a playground.
Tabia reshaped the battlefield with coral and Ryun control, constantly forcing Jack to divide his attention between the storm he commanded and the terrain shifting beneath him.
And Caelus—
Even wounded and shaken from everything that had happened, the Calmbrand fought with righteous anger, fighting for all those innocent souls that lost their lives.
Jack laughed.
The sound was sharp.
Excited.
Because for the first time since arriving in this world…
The story had finally stopped pretending.
No distractions.
No filler.
Just the real cast left on the stage.
And Jack loved it.
His aura surged again as more portals tore open behind him, releasing fresh waves of weapons into the swirling storm above.
"Yes," he whispered, eyes blazing with manic satisfaction.
"Now this…"
"…this is a proper final act."
———
Sšurtinaui ran harder.
Her legs burned, lungs screaming for air, but she forced more speed out of them anyway. Something terrible had happened back on the battlefield. She could feel it in the shift of the auras, the sudden silence that had followed the storm of power.
She had abandoned the fight for this voice… so it couldn't be for nothing.
The whispers in her head had grown louder with every step she took.
Not clearer.
Just louder.
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She sprinted past ruined homes and collapsed buildings, the once-proud district now little more than broken stone and drifting smoke. This city had once been breathtaking—white bridges, carved walkways, gardens that ran beside the canals.
Now it looked like a skeleton of its former self.
She ran alongside the waterway cutting through the district, her reflection briefly flashing in the rippling surface.
She caught a glimpse of herself in the water and laughed quietly.
Her form wasn't the same anymore.
Her right arm was gone entirely.
And the long scar along her left side stretched from lip to ear, pulling slightly whenever she moved. It had changed the shape of her smile, leaving something crooked and permanent across her face.
"No longer the sexy elf," she muttered.
The voices screamed suddenly.
"Here!"
"Here!"
The sound made her stop mid-stride.
It was strange.
Not two voices speaking separately—
But two voices speaking through the same throat.
She turned.
And saw it.
A white tree stood at the center of a clearing that should not have existed within the ruined district.
Its bark was pale like polished bone, branches stretching upward in elegant arcs that caught the dim light filtering through the smoky sky.
For a moment she thought she was hallucinating.
Because it looked…
Almost exactly like the Whispering Tree from the V-Dungeon.
But not quite.
Around the base of the tree sat five figures.
Tree and stone fused together into tall humanoid forms.
They resembled monk-warriors carved directly from the earth. Bark layered across their limbs like armor, stone plates forming their shoulders and torsos.
Each held a long spear resting calmly against their shoulder.
Their faces were smooth.
Mask-like.
Featureless except for the faint carving of eyes.
Those eyes glowed softly green.
Sšurtinaui slowed to a stop just before stepping into the clearing.
Only then did she notice the ground.
Perfect lines carved into the dirt and stone formed a symmetrical pattern radiating outward from the tree.
A ritual space.
The moment her foot touched the edge of it—
All five guardians lifted their heads at the same time.
Their glowing eyes fixed on her.
The forest fell completely silent.
The closest figure to her lifted its head.
The motion was slow and deliberate, bark creaking softly as stone joints shifted. Its glowing green eyes fixed on her, studying her the way one studies a traveler who has wandered too far into sacred ground.
"A elf of the Grove," it said calmly. "Far from home, aren't we?"
Sšurtinaui's brow lifted slightly.
"You know my tongue."
The guardian's wooden face remained still, but there was something like amusement in the soft pulse of its eyes.
"A group of wandering elves lived here once," it replied. "Over a thousand years ago. They stayed many generations. They taught. They learned. Cultures were traded like seeds."
It tilted its head slightly toward the pale tree behind it.
"It was a good time."
Sšurtinaui nodded once.
"I'm sorry for what's happening to your region."
The five guardians chuckled.
It was the quiet laugh of beings who had long ago made peace with the end.
"It is our reality," the first one said. "In a few days the golden wave will devour the land. Curtenail will become a golden memory."
Its glowing green gaze met her own.
"But you are part of this event, are you not?"
Behind him, two of the other figures shifted harshly.
Their voices carried a sharper tone.
"Your pity is unnecessary."
"You stand among the destroyers."
Sšurtinaui tilted her head slightly.
Then she smiled.
"I don't pity you," she said evenly.
"I simply saw no reason to rub your situation in your face."
Her hand moved.
A dagger formed in her palm.
Its green edge caught the dim light as she raised it casually at her side.
"Like you," she continued quietly, "I have lost many."
Faces moved through her mind like ghosts.
Senten.
Bourage.
Tyzel.
Caroline.
And even North.
Though he still lived, she had a duty tied to him now as well.
Victory.
That was all that mattered.
The guardians watched her carefully.
They could see it.
The resolve.
The weight she carried behind those green eyes.
One by one, the five monk-like figures stood.
Spears lifted from their shoulders as their bark-covered limbs straightened.
"We are Nůťikens, the last of our kind," one of them said.
"Guardians of the Rigenta."
"Witnesses of Uxuella's final days."
Their glowing eyes remained fixed on her.
"And you?"
"What name do you carry into this place?"
Sšurtinaui lifted her chin slightly.
"I am Sšurtinaui of Varics."
Her gaze moved past them.
Toward the white tree.
The voices inside her mind pulsed louder now.
She needed that tree.
And the five guardians standing between her and it had already made their position clear.
They would not allow her through.
Sšurtinaui sighed softly.
"Fine."
The guardians lowered their spears.
And moved.
The clearing erupted into motion.
The five Nůťiken guardians moved as one, their spears sliding from their shoulders with the quiet discipline of warriors who had trained together for centuries. Bark armor shifted over stone muscle as they spread out around her, forming a half-circle between Sšurtinaui and the white tree.
She didn't hesitate.
They stepped.
So did she.
The first spear thrust came straight for her throat.
Sšurtinaui dipped under it, her dagger flashing upward in a sharp arc. Steel scraped across bark armor, carving a line across the guardian's side as she twisted away from a second strike that came for her ribs.
The guardians fought like monks who moved like falling leaves—efficient, calm, perfectly balanced. Their spears flowed in synchronized patterns, each strike meant to corner and pierce rather than overwhelm.
Sšurtinaui answered with motion.
She slipped between the spears like wind through branches.
One dagger cut shallow.
The other—
She caught between her teeth.
The blade rested sideways in her mouth, clenched carefully between her jaw as she ducked under another spear and spun around a thrust aimed for her spine.
She stepped forward into the rhythm.
Her body turned in a flowing dance of slashes. The dagger in her left hand skimmed across a guardian's arm, leaving a shallow but paralyzing cut as Ryun surged through the blade. She pivoted and in the same motion spat the second dagger into the air.
It spun once.
Twice.
She caught it again in her hand mid-step and drove it deep into the guardian's side for the kill strike.
Each movement fed the next.
Ryun currents pushed her faster.
Sharper.
A spear scraped across her ribs, tearing cloth and skin.
She ignored it.
Another guardian lunged.
She vanished.
A burst of Ryun propelled her forward in a blink. She reappeared behind the guardian and crossed both daggers through its back in a sharp X—one blade in her hand, the other flicked down from her mouth as she caught it again.
The blades cut once.
But the real attack followed.
Residual Ryun blades lingered in the air behind her.
A moment later they snapped forward.
Two glowing slashes tore through the guardian's torso.
The creature staggered.
Another spear slammed into her shoulder and threw her across the clearing.
Sšurtinaui rolled through the dirt and came back to her feet breathing hard.
Pain burned through her side.
Her missing arm ached phantom-like with the memory of movement.
For a moment she stood still.
Then she smiled.
She wasn't dying here.
She carried the will of too many people for that.
Senten.
Bourage.
Tyzel.
Caroline.
And the others.
The forgotten.
The unfairly erased.
The faces of the Occulted Moons surfaced in her mind.
Kiera.
Lythra.
Tengen.
Mekiea.
Bebele.
They had met cruel ends in a world that barely remembered them.
Sšurtinaui clenched her jaw.
She had wanted this.
Wanted the climb.
Wanted the chance to prove she could stand among the Rankers.
To earn her name.
The guardians rushed again.
This time she moved differently.
Her body slipped into something deeper.
A flow.
A rhythm where the absence of her right arm stopped mattering.
One dagger spun in her left hand.
The other flashed between her teeth.
She tossed it upward mid-motion, the blade spinning in the air as she ducked beneath a spear thrust. The dagger dropped and she snatched it again before slashing across a guardian's leg.
She moved like she had two arms.
Blade juggling between hand and mouth while weaving between attacks.
One guardian stepped too close.
She drove both daggers forward in a rapid stab-and-twist combination—one guided by her hand, the other clenched between her teeth as she thrust her head forward with savage precision.
Both blades punched into the guardian's joints.
Ryun surged through the weapons and detonated inside the creature's body.
Roots burst outward from the wounds.
They ripped through bark and stone like vines tearing through soil.
The guardian collapsed in pieces.
The fight raged on.
Spears tore across her back.
She answered with blades that carved through limbs.
Another guardian fell.
Then another.
The clearing filled with splintered wood, broken stone, and glowing Ryun residue hanging in the air like drifting pollen.
Minutes passed.
Or seconds.
It didn't matter.
Eventually—
Only two figures remained standing.
Then one.
Sšurtinaui and the final guardian faced each other across the ruined clearing.
Both of their auras were fading.
Both of them bled.
The guardian's spear trembled slightly as it raised the weapon again.
Sšurtinaui's breathing was ragged.
Blood ran down her side and across her cheek.
One dagger rested in her left hand.
The other hung loosely between her teeth.
And despite everything—
She was still smiling.
The clearing grew quiet again.
The other four bodies lay scattered across the ground like fallen statues.
Both of them were breathing hard.
Both of their auras were fading.
The guardian glowing green eyes studied her for a long moment, memorizing the opponent who had defeated its kin. Then the ground beneath Sšurtinaui's feet trembled.
Ryun surged outward from the guardian.
Stone cracked.
Roots burst upward through the earth like serpents breaking free from soil. Massive slabs of ground rose and folded toward her, jagged pillars launching upward in violent arcs meant to crush and impale.
The guardian stepped forward, guiding the terrain itself.
The ground bent to its will.
Sšurtinaui spat the dagger from her mouth and caught it in her left hand as she pushed off the ground.
She moved.
Green Ryun compressed into her legs and exploded outward.
Her body vanished in a blur of motion.
For a moment she wasn't on the battlefield at all.
Then she appeared high above the guardian.
Dagger raised.
She dropped like a diving hawk.
The strike carved downward in a single brutal arc meant to split air, bone, and spirit in one motion. The guardian raised its spear and the impact exploded outward in a shock of Ryun.
Stone shattered beneath them.
The guardian slid backward across the ground, bark armor cracked from the force.
But it did not fall.
Instead the earth roared again.
Massive stone hands erupted from the ground, grasping toward Sšurtinaui while jagged roots snapped like whips around her body. One caught her side and hurled her across the clearing.
She rolled through the dirt, coughing blood.
Her body trembled as she pushed herself back up.
She inhaled slowly.
Then exhaled.
Green Ryun flowed from her lungs in a long, controlled breath. The air of the clearing thickened instantly, turning heavy and damp like a forest choking on decay.
The guardian stepped forward—
Then slowed.
Its glowing eyes flickered slightly.
The air distorted around them.
To weaker enemies the technique would cause hallucinations.
To stronger ones—
Every movement heavier.
Every step delayed.
Sšurtinaui staggered forward through the thick air.
Blood dripped from her side.
Her vision blurred.
But her eyes never left the guardian.
She raised her dagger.
The Ryun gathering around it was almost invisible.
A whisper.
A thread.
"Téma i-Farion."
The blade moved.
A narrow streak of green light flashed across the clearing—so thin it could easily be mistaken for a trick of the eye.
Then the world split.
The beam carved through the air like a surgical cut.
Branches.
Stone.
Armor.
The guardian's body shuddered.
A line appeared across its torso.
Then half of it slid away.
The monk-warrior collapsed in two broken pieces as the green light faded.
Sšurtinaui stood there for a moment.
Then her legs gave out.
She hit the ground hard.
Her dagger slipped from her grip as she dragged herself forward across the dirt. Each movement was slow, painful, her body barely responding anymore.
But her eyes remained fixed ahead.
On the white tree.
The voices were screaming now.
Closer.
Louder.
Sšurtinaui dug her fingers into the soil and pulled herself forward again, crawling through the broken clearing with stubborn determination.
Her eyes burned with one simple thought.
She had come this far.
She wasn't stopping now.
Sšurtinaui dragged herself the last few feet across the clearing.
Each movement scraped dirt and splinters into her wounds. Her breath came out shallow and uneven, but she kept moving anyway, pulling herself forward with her one arm until the pale bark of the white tree finally filled her vision.
She reached out.
Her fingers pressed against the trunk.
The moment her skin touched it, the voices exploded inside her head.
"Here."
"Here."
"Here."
The words overlapped each other, two voices speaking through the same throat, urgent and desperate.
"Help."
"Help."
"Call."
"Call us."
"Call me."
Sšurtinaui blinked slowly, forehead resting against the tree.
"Call?" she murmured hoarsely.
"Call who?"
Her eyes drifted across the clearing behind her.
The broken guardians.
The ruined symmetry of the ritual ground.
The white branches stretching above her.
"Why would—"
She stopped herself.
She had already made enough mistakes today.
She hadn't questioned the guardians.
Hadn't questioned the voices.
And yet here she was.
So maybe—
Maybe questioning now wasn't the point.
The voices pulsed again.
"Remember."
"Remember."
Her brow furrowed.
"Remember… what?"
"Remember."
The word echoed again, softer this time.
Sšurtinaui stared at the bark beneath her hand.
"Who remember who?"
"Who would even still be—"
Her voice faded.
Then slowly…
She smiled.
"Oh."
The realization settled into place.
Her head tilted slightly as she looked up into the branches.
"Well…"
A tired laugh escaped her.
"How'd you end up in there?"