Reborn with the SSS-Rank Creator System-Chapter 15: Rage

Theos stepped forward. The world no longer mattered. Only the man who dared to hurt his family. His fingers curled slowly into fists. The cold around him grew sharper. The earth beneath him began to crack.

His eyes locked onto the leader. Killing intent poured from Theos like a storm. He moved.

In an instant, Theos darted forward, his dagger flashing toward the leader's throat. The leader reacted just in time, parrying with a heavy sweep of his sword. Sparks flew as steel met steel. The impact shook the ground beneath them.

They exchanged rapid blows, moving faster than the eye could follow. Theos' movements were graceful, precise—guided by his Supreme Eyes. The leader, wielding his greater physical strength, answered with brute force and violent swings.

The battlefield trembled beneath their feet as they exchanged a series of bone-rattling blows. Theos dashed to the left, fainting a low jab before twisting around with a lightning-quick backhand slash. The leader stepped back just in time, blocking with the flat of his blade and countering with a vicious diagonal strike that Theos narrowly deflected.

They clashed again, blades grinding together. Some cracks starts to appear of Theos' blade. Theos spun inside the leader's guard, slashing upward, only for the leader to twist his body and deflect it with his elbow before swinging a kick toward Theos' midsection. Theos absorbed the blow with his forearm and rolled away, using the momentum to launch into a high-arc slash that was parried with a thunderous clang.

Both warriors leapt back, breathing hard—but neither gave ground.

Their battle appeared equal.

Theos ducked under a heavy slash, spun, and aimed for the leader's ribs. The blade grazed its mark, but just as he pulled back for a follow-up, the leader swung low, catching Theos' dagger with such force that it snapped in two.

Theos stumbled back, staring at the broken hilt in his hand.

"Tch..."

The leader laughed. "That's it? All that fury, and your toy breaks so easily?"

Theos didn't respond. His black eyes burned deeper. His killing intent grew stronger—thicker, colder.

The leader flinched, his body resisting movement. "Tch... so that's your killing intent," he muttered, forced to acknowledge the suffocating pressure.

Theos didn't respond. He simply stepped forward, letting the weight of his rage speak for him.

But the leader's expression twisted into a grin. "Impressive," he said, "but let me show you mine."

His aura exploded outward. The air shook. A wave of oppressive pressure flooded the clearing, pushing Theos back a step. Theos grit his teeth, muscles locking under the weight of the leader's killing intent.

Still, he advanced.

They resumed the fight. Theos, now weaponless, shifted fully into his hand combat which he trained with xiphos earlier. His stance lowered, movements tighter and more fluid. As the leader's sword came crashing down, Theos side-stepped and drove an open-palm strike into his opponent's forearm, redirecting the blade's arc.

Before the leader could recover, Theos twisted at the waist, his elbow slamming into the man's ribs, followed by a low sweep that knocked one foot off balance. Theos didn't stop—he used the momentum of the spin to flip forward, planting both hands on the ground and bringing a heel crashing toward the side of the leader's skull.

The leader barely blocked it in time, but the pressure kept building. Theos landed, pivoted smoothly, and unleashed a three-hit combo—palm to chin, knee to sternum, fist to throat. The strikes were clean and surgical, each flowing into the next like a deadly dance.

He launched into a backflip over the leader's shoulder, rebounding off a half-broken stone pillar behind them. For a split second, the leader lost track of him, his eyes scanning upward in frustration. He hit the wall with his foot and twisted midair, coming down in a sweeping kick meant to tear through the leader's defense. The leader rolled, but not fast enough—the kick caught his sword hand and disarmed him.

He's losing rhythm, Theos realized. I have to keep pressing.

He surged forward again, delivering a series of rapid palm thrusts and elbow jabs that drove the leader back. The precision of his strikes, guided by his Supreme Eyes, was overwhelming. He felt it—that moment in every taijutsu battle when movement became instinct, when his body no longer needed to think.

But the leader was no amateur. He suddenly grounded his stance, absorbing the force of a strike to the chest, then stepped in rather than back. Before Theos could shift momentum, the leader grabbed his incoming elbow, twisted violently, and slammed a knee into Theos' stomach.

Theos gasped, breath driven from his lungs, but before he could recover, the leader drove an elbow down into his back, sending him crashing to the ground. Stone shattered beneath Theos' impact, the earth cracking outward in a spiderweb pattern.

The shift had come fast—and brutally.

Before Theos could rise, a knee smashed into his gut, lifting him off the ground, only to be followed by a spinning elbow that sent him flying across the clearing.

Theos tumbled through the dirt, coughing blood. His arms trembled as he tried to get up, his vision momentarily spinning.

The leader advanced with heavy steps, his killing intent surging even more fiercely now. Theos saw him raise his sword for another strike, but in that moment, Theos kicked off the ground and lunged forward.

Theos spun into a low kick. The leader blocked and returned a savage punch to Theos' ribs. Theos gasped but countered with a rising knee, followed by an elbow jab to the temple.

The leader retaliated, slamming his shoulder into Theos' chest and driving him backward. Theos stumbled but planted his foot, twisting into a backfist that cracked against the leader's jaw. Still, the man stood tall.

"Boy, if this is all you have," the leader scoffed, "there's no point dragging it out."

He let out a deafening roar.

The ground split as an even larger surge of energy burst from him. Theos' body was pushed back by the sheer force, his footing sliding.

Then—

The leader vanished.

A blur came from the right. Theos tried to react.

A devastating fist slammed into his jaw, followed by a knee to his ribs and an overhead hammerfist that sent him crashing down.

He's faster, Theos thought, blood in his mouth. Much faster.

His muscles screamed. His breath came ragged. But he steadied his stance.

They had been evenly matched moments ago, but now it felt like the leader had leapt to another level. Every punch felt heavier, every movement faster. Theos was being beaten, battered. His ribs ached, blood dripped from his mouth, and his arms felt like they were on the verge of giving out.

He tried to strike back, but the leader caught his fist and twisted it, slamming his forehead into Theos' nose. Theos stumbled back, vision flashing white.

"You're too slow, boy," the leader sneered. "You had potential—but this is where it ends."

Theos collapsed to one knee, panting.

Think... I need something. I need one chance...

He glanced around—then spotted the broken hilt of his dagger lying just a few feet away.

His body trembled, bloodied and bruised, and he let himself collapse forward onto his hands and knees, his head hanging as if defeated. His left hand inched toward the hidden dagger hilt.

The leader approached slowly, sword raised, eyes gleaming with pride and cruelty. "So this is how it ends. Pathetic. I expected more."

As he stood directly over Theos, about to deliver the final blow, Theos suddenly twisted up from the ground, exploding forward. His right hand clutched the broken dagger's sharp shard—and he drove it straight into the leader's eye.

The leader howled in agony, stumbling back and clawing at his face. "You little—!"

Theos shifted his stance low and surged forward. With a swift motion, he grabbed the leader's arm, anchoring himself as he unleashed the next barrage.

Theos didn't wait. His breathing was shallow, blood clinging to his lips, but his intent was firm. With a sudden jerk, he lifted his foot and stomped hard on the hilt of the broken dagger still buried in the leader's eye.

A sickening crunch followed.

The leader screamed, stumbling backward, his hands flying to his face. But Theos didn't stop. He launched himself forward, fists pounding into the leader's chest and face with unrelenting fury. A punch to the jaw. A strike to the temple. A vicious elbow into the throat.

The leader reeled, trying to defend himself, but Theos' assault was overwhelming. Fueled by pain and rage, Theos pummeled him until the man's arms dropped, his body crumpling. Blow after blow landed—until the leader could no longer move or speak.

The leader lay on the ground, barely breathing, blood oozing from his shattered face. But Theos didn't stop. He climbed over him, raised his fist, and brought it crashing down into the man's face again.

A shockwave pulsed through the ground with every strike. The leader's head began to cave into the dirt beneath him. Again. And again. And again.

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Stone cracked. Soil splintered. The leader's body twitched weakly with every brutal blow. Theos struck him once. Twice. A third time. And then again. The fifth and sixth blows landed with such force that blood sprayed in every direction. By the seventh, the leader's face was unrecognizable, and his skull began to split under the pressure. Theos didn't stop until he had delivered ten bone-crushing strikes, his fists trembling with each impact.

Finally, Theos stood up, panting heavily. His eyes were wild, rimmed with red, his arms trembling with exhaustion.

He placed one foot firmly on the leader's neck, the ground cracking beneath the pressure. Theos gripped the man's leg with both hands, muscles tensed and shaking. Then he let out a roar—a sound that ripped through the sky, soaked with grief, pain, and rage.

"AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!"

With a final, brutal pull, Theos yanked upward. A sickening crunch echoed as the leader's spine snapped, and his body was torn clean from the neck. Blood gushed like a fountain, drenching the shattered ground in red.

Theos, breathing like a beast in battle, flung the mutilated corpse aside without a second glance.

Theos' chest heaved, his shoulders shaking. Slowly, the blackness in his eyes faded.

He turned his head and looked at Elena. Her face, peaceful even in death, sparked a memory—her warm smile as she placed a hand on his cheek after training, the way she scolded him softly when he skipped meals. Theos felt the weight of her love and the silence of her absence crash into him all at once.

Tears welled up.

He staggered toward her and fell to his knees beside her body.

"Mumma..." he whispered.

And then he broke.

Theos cried—the way only a son could cry for a mother lost too soon. Loud. Raw. Endless.