Power of Runes-Chapter 127: Mysterious Unknown?

After that, they continued to fight for two consecutive days. Though, calling it a "fight" might be giving it too much credit.

In reality, it was more like one person constantly beating down the other, while the second did his best just to push back and hold his ground whenever he could.

That would probably be a more accurate way to describe what was happening.

"It’s getting boring now," Dark Ash said, his voice calm and flat, as he looked at Ash who was kneeling some distance away from him.

One of Ash’s legs was missing completely, and in its place was a shattered limb, broken like fragile glass.

His right eye, which had cracked like a mirror struck by a heavy ball, was slowly starting to regenerate, the pieces pulling back together as his soul tried to heal the damage.

The soul essence is almost used up...

Ash thought to himself. He had originally believed it would be enough to last at least five full days, but in just these last two, the constant clashes had left him injured again and again.

Each wound consumed more of the limited soul essence, making the pace at which it drained even faster than he had expected.

"So, what are you planning to do now?" Dark Ash asked, his expression unchanging.

Unlike Ash, his body was untouched, not even showing a single sign of fatigue or pain.

His soul had endured for centuries, shaped through time and endless torment, while Ash’s soul had never been strained to bear such assault.

And that became one of the most decisive factors between them.

I can’t win...

Ash reached that painful conclusion in silence. Even though his will manifestation had been strong enough to stand against Dark Ash for this long, it meant nothing in the end.

The injuries he dealt to Dark Ash healed without effort, while his own recovery relied entirely on the fast-diminishing soul essence.

And the worst part—Dark Ash wasn’t even dependent on that.

Even if this fight was taking place in the real world... I still would’ve lost, Ash admitted to himself.

The Divine Arts that Dark Ash used were terrifying.

Their strength was overwhelming, even too much for Ash to counter.

He had noticed a strange flaw in them, though—none of those techniques used any kind of external energy.

But that didn’t mean they were weak.

Dark Ash used emotions as fuel.

Every form he took was driven by a specific emotion—rage, regret, despair, and each of those emotions burned out quickly after use, limiting how long he could hold that form.

Because of that, Dark Ash couldn’t maintain a single Divine Form for longer than a minute or two at most.

And yet, even with that glaring weakness dragging him down, the battle had been nothing but completely one-sided from beginning to end.

The weight of defeat pressed down on Ash like a heavy fog that refused to lift.

No matter how strong his will burned inside, no matter how fiercely he clenched his fists or steeled his heart, Ash knew deep down that he could not change what was coming.

Not this time.

There were no cores inside his soul to overload, no hidden wells of power waiting to be drawn upon in some last desperate move.

He was completely helpless, trapped at this moment where every option seemed to slip through his fingers like water.

Dark Ash reached out without hesitation and grabbed Ash by the hair, pulling him close with an unforgiving grip.

Ash’s leg was still broken and healing from their earlier clash, so he did not resist.

He just watched with his emotionless eyes that showed nothing.

The Omni Thought, still active kept him calm even in this situation.

Only two minutes had passed in the outside world, but inside this strange soul space, where the mind had no physical body to tire or strain, Ash felt no exhaustion.

Time here felt different, stretched thin like a long shadow across a darkened sky.

"I will show you something new," Dark Ash said, his voice low and steady, carrying a quiet threat that filled the air.

"From the start, I was only using the first three forms of my arts to fight you. Do you know why I held back?"

Hearing those words, Ash’s eyes flashed with a coldness that cut sharper than any blade.

His hands moved swiftly and with purpose as his will gathered around Eclipse, the sword humming with invisible energy.

With a sudden slash, he cut through the hands that gripped his hair.

Ash stumbled forward as the arm holding him fell away, dropping into the black water beneath them.

Using Eclipse as a steady support, he pushed off with his good leg and steadied himself, ready to continue the fight.

"It does not matter what you do now. No one will save you from what’s coming," Dark Ash said, his tone calm but cruel as he reattached his fallen arm as if nothing had happened.

Ash quickly sharpened his senses, preparing to dodge whatever came next while his mind raced, searching desperately for a way out of this endless trap.

He had tried to leave this space.

But it was impossible.

Something unseen blocked his way, a force that refused to yield, and he knew exactly what it was.

Emotions.

Those same emotions that darkened once bright skies and muddied clear waters in his soul.

His own emotions, twisted and amplified by Dark Ash for centuries, echoing endlessly without release.

If Dark Ash had never been trapped inside him by Rune of Stability, Ash’s feelings would have been faint and distant, barely more than a whisper.

But because he was caught, a chain reaction erupted inside his soul.

Ash’s emotions, twisted through the shadow of Dark Ash, grew stronger and stronger, endlessly amplified without pause for six hundred years.

While these thoughts pressed down on him, Dark Ash made his move.

DIVINE ARTS OF ETERNAL SILENCE.

The first form unleashed a storm of punches or kicks, a relentless barrage meant to crush the spirit and fill the opponent with despair.

Each strike came fast, unyielding, like waves smashing against a cliff.

The second form burned with pure rage.

Dark Ash’s defense grew stronger, and his body moved with a terrifying fluidity.

He could fight from any position without needing a formal stance. Every part of his body was a weapon, and even the air itself could become a foothold to launch an attack, because rage knew no limits and no boundaries.

The third form focused entirely on defense.

It absorbed the force behind every enemy attack, like a sponge soaking up water.

Then it returned that energy back in full force, crushing the opponent with their own strength and making them regret the moment they chose to strike.

So far, Dark Ash had only revealed these three forms of his divine arts, but now he was ready to unveil another, more terrifying power.

FIFTH FORM : Art of Suffocating Fear.

As soon as the words faded away, in Ash’s vision—one slowed to a near standstill by the power of Omni Thought—Dark Ash vanished.

Yes, gone.

Completely gone.

There was not a single trace of him left, not even in this slowed-down world where even falling droplets took minutes to touch the ground.

Ash felt a chill down his spine, a silent whisper of dread that made imaginary goosebumps rise and ripple across his entire Soul body.

And then it came.

BAM!

BAM!

BAM!

BAM!

Four consecutive strikes—

One punched straight into his stomach, bending his body like a bow.

The second snapped against his chin, sending his head jerking upwards.

The third slammed down directly on the crown of his head, the impact ringing through his skull like a gong.

And the fourth drove straight into his back, nearly collapsing his spine.

All four attacks landed at the exact same moment.

Ash could do nothing.

He couldn’t even blink in response. His body just took the full force of the assault as he helplessly watched Dark Ash appear again, standing casually in the same spot he had disappeared from, like he had never even moved.

My eyes can’t even follow his movements...

That was the last thought Ash had before his body screamed in agony as all four strikes exploded at once, his soul cracking under the pressure, pain he felt was unfiltered, as if the world itself was crushing him.

But even after all that...

Dark Ash didn’t stop.

SIXTH FORM : Art of Crushing Grief.

He closed the distance between them again—but this time, at a regular pace, without any rush, as if he had all the time in the world.

Then, with deliberate calmness, he jumped into the air and raised his fist high above, aiming to strike with a final, destructive blow.

Ash, now forced to his knees with both legs bent and trembling, could barely lift his head.

Cracks had formed across his stomach and crown, his body was breaking apart.

He looked up at the falling fist.

He tried to move, he really did, but the pain was unbearable. Every nerve in his body burned.

It felt like there were sharp thorns wrapped around his muscles, tearing at him from the inside.

His thoughts lagged behind reality, and in that one second of hesitation, the punch finally landed.

Yet, even in that moment of desperation, Ash gathered what little willpower he had left and poured it into his arms.

He enchanted them with his will, and crossed them in front of his face, hoping to block the worst of the damage.

But—

BOOM!!!!!!!

It felt like a mountain had dropped from the heavens.

A crushing force beyond anything Ash had ever experienced pressed down on him. His arms started to give in. First, a small crack formed on the surface. Then another. And another.

Until the cracks multiplied, spreading like spiderwebs across his hands and forearms, as if his very soul were made of glass and were slowly breaking under the weight of the world.

And then the pressure disappeared,

But Ash didn’t even get the chance to breathe.

His eyes, blurred by pain, caught the image of Dark Ash stepping back, raising both hands, and clasping them together as if holding the hilt of an invisible sword. His body twisted, his muscles coiled, and in the next instant—

He brought his hands down toward Ash with killing intent.

"DIEEEEE!" he screamed, his voice echoing with a vicious roar that felt like it could shatter the air itself.

Ash’s heart sank.

He knew this was it.

All his body had cracks running through them, and his healing was slow.

And, he could tell—if that strike landed, he wouldn’t survive.

And Eclipse, the only weapon he could rely on, was now lying a distance away.

It had been knocked away during the earlier attack and now it felt as distant as the stars.

Even moving a single part of his body felt like dragging a thorn-covered rope through his veins—agonizing, unbearable, pure torture.

In that moment, as death loomed above him like a falling blade, Ash remembered someone.

He thought of Elysia.

Looks like this time, I’ll die before you...

Her face flashed before his eyes...and,

Even when death stared him in the face, he didn’t close his eyes. He didn’t beg, didn’t scream.

Instead, he looked up.

And stared deep into Dark Ash’s eyes, as if saying with his gaze alone—

I will die with my head held high.

And in that gaze, there was no despair.

Only pride.

Even if everything else failed, even if the world turned against him, even if his body shattered—he would not fall with his head bowed.

Dark Ash, seeing that fire in his eyes, accelerated the strike.

His hands, like a blade of death, moved to end it all.

But then—

Right before the blow could land—

A single, fragile hand reached out and blocked it.

There was no rebound, no shockwave, not even a sound.

The hand didn’t tremble.

It didn’t flinch.

It simply stopped the strike, as if the force behind it had been swallowed whole and erased from existence.

The silence that followed was so deep, it felt like time had frozen.

And then came a voice.

A soft voice.

A man’s voice.

But it wasn’t cold or proud—it was sweet, like a melody sung on a quiet night. The kind of voice that could pull someone out of the depths of despair and wrap them in warmth.

"Who knew it was me all along..."

***