Chapter 542: Ambush (V)
Irion scowled as Vlad continued to move too fast for him to deploy another gravity lock. Yet the Voroe Sage was far from out of tricks. In the next moment, he channeled a massive gravitational force into his spiked club, causing the weapon to glow with distortions in the air as if space itself were bending around it.
Vlad’s eyes narrowed when he saw Irion empower his already terrifying weapon with that gravitational energy.
Things grew more complicated a heartbeat later, when the Voroe Sage swung the club and unleashed a literal wave of compressed gravity that barreled toward Vlad. The sheer force ripped the ground apart, twisting and grinding the terrain into dust. Unfortunate humans or Voroe caught in its path were pulverized into mangled flesh and shattered bone.
Realizing he was too close to dodge, Vlad acted without hesitation. He concentrated all the lightning and fire he could muster into his hands, fusing the last vestiges of his Depravita Aura into the energy mass.
Just as the gravitational wave thundered down on him, Vlad clapped his hands together, creating a blade of power—a crackling fusion of flames and lightning. That blade clove the wave in two, sending its twin halves roaring past him to either side.
Irion’s eyes widened in disbelief. He had not expected anyone to counter his gravitational wave so directly. Matters grew worse for him when that blade of energy did not simply dissipate; instead, it tore past the divided gravity field and struck him head-on. The impact launched him backward, rolling end over end across the scorched ground. A spray of molten blood erupted from his mouth as his body slammed into a rocky outcrop.
Vlad refused to let up. He extended both arms behind him, channeling what remained of his gathered energy into his palms. Twin blasts erupted, propelling him forward at shocking speed. The Depravita of Wrath crashed into the Voroe Sage’s battered form with a thunderous impact, fracturing more of the creature’s metallic flesh and drawing a guttural snarl of agony.
Even under immense pain and crippling wounds, Irion’s eyes shone with the unyielding ferocity that characterized his race. Wrenching his body sideways, he managed to fling Vlad away, then rose to his feet and swung his spiked club with startling speed. Vlad barely managed to backstep in time.
The club struck the ground, instantly pulverizing rock into a fine dust. A chill ran through Vlad’s spine—despite the savage injuries he had inflicted, Irion still had enough strength left to kill him if he let his guard down.
For a brief second, both fighters locked gazes, each aware that the next series of blows could be decisive. Without a word, Irion lunged, swinging his massive club in a downward arc aimed at Vlad’s skull.