Emery felt a profound surge as the omnipotent power of Khaos ignited within him. As it coursed through every fiber of his being, a system notification blinked into his consciousness:
[Your Battle power has increased]
[620…]
[630…]
[640…]
[Your Soul force has increased]
[290…]
[295…]
[300…]
These numbers, rising ceaselessly, bore witness to the astonishing augmentation of both his physical prowess and spirit force. Each passing second saw a further boost, and Emery felt an exhilarating rush that flooded his senses.
It was a sensation that carried echoes of a past event – the time when he was enshrouded by the primordial wisp on the Andora planet. Yet, while that was a force of light, this was its antithesis – the sheer, unbridled power of darkness.
Emerging from his silhouette was the unmistakable figure of Cthulhu, the legendary dragon adorned with tentacles. This being, now stood by Emery, its very presence resonating with anticipation and relief. Its roar, more like a guttural proclamation, conveyed its sentiment:
<Finally, I get a chance to fight>
Driven by the guardian's palpable excitement, Emery tapped into this newfound strength, allowing him to shatter Ezzekiel's gravitational binds that had previously shackled him. Free from those chains, he pivoted on his heel, finding himself once again face-to-face with his adversary.
Ezzekiel, couldn't hide a hint of amusement that played across his features. The change in Emery was undeniable, prompting him to remark, "Now this... this is how the fight should truly be."
It was as if the very essence of Khaos had silently sanctioned their clash. With an electrifying tension in the air, they charged toward each other in a blur of motion and intent.
As they drew closer, Ezzekiel, with an executioner's precision, swung his formidable [Gravity Slash], its arc promising devastation. In response, Emery brandished his twin swords in a synchronized movement, executing the [Omega Strike]. Both warriors, drawing from the abyssal depths of Khaos, collided with a force that could only be described as cataclysmic.
KABBOOMM!!!
The ensuing explosion wasn't just audible; it was tangible. The very fabric of space writhed and contorted, echoing the magnitude of their clash. The sheer force rippled outward, and the citadel, a silent observer to their duel, began to crumble, its once mighty structures disintegrating piece by piece.
"URGHH!!"
Emery's guttural cry reverberated amidst the ruins. Gritting his teeth, he tried valiantly to hold off Ezzekiel's onslaught. While the power-up had significantly enhanced his battle prowess, resisting Ezzekiel felt like trying to halt an avalanche with a mere shield. The overwhelming aura of the earth dragon pressed down on him, as relentless and crushing as the weight of the world.
Ultimately, the sheer force overwhelmed Emery.
With a burst of energy, he found himself hurled backward, crashing into the ruins and landing awkwardly in a distant corner. His once-agile arms felt numb and unresponsive, and the state of his swords bore testament to the ferocity of their clash – they looked fragile and battered, clearly not equipped to withstand such raw power.
Ezzekiel, wearing a self-assured, mocking grin, moves forward. His blade scraped the ground, producing an ominous screech, signaling his readiness for the next bout. Emery, though defiant in spirit, recognized the disparity in their strengths.
Then, like a guiding whisper amidst the chaos, Cthulhu's voice entered his mind.
<That Tarrasque is the strongest among us, Muscle alone won't suffice against it.>
The guardian, with a tone tinged with regret, confessed his limitations. Among the four guardians, he was the least formidable in raw power. Had Emery not possessed the vast reservoir of strength from his halfblood, that earlier clash would have spelled instant doom.
Victory demanded ingenuity, not just brute strength.
Pensively, Emery murmured, "Cthulhu, Let's see what power you have then!"
Emery, having harnessed Cthulhu's power on several occasions, was well-aware of the guardian's unique affinity for water and plant. So, when he invoked his trusted [Jade root] spell, he effortlessly merged it with the forbidding power of Khaos.
The ground trembled as if echoing Emery's intent. Towering roots, darkened by the power of Khaos, erupted from the earth. They bore a striking resemblance to Cthulhu's sinister tentacles, dark and foreboding. Their scale was magnificent, dwarfing both combatants as they reached for the skies, creating a labyrinthine wall between Emery and Ezzekiel. Each root moved with a mind of its own, writhing and coiling, seeking to bind and constrict.
Ezzekiel, however, wasn't one to be easily deterred. His voice, dripping with arrogance and power, pierced the tension. "Not good enough!" Each word was punctuated by the swing of his hefty blade, cleaving through the roots with an ease that belied their robustness. Yet, Emery's strategy was not about the initial assault; it was about persistence. As Ezzekiel hacked at one root, multiple others would sprout in its place.
Taking advantage of this momentary distraction, Emery made a strategic choice. Swiftly and with practiced grace, he stowed his swords into their storage ring, their edges reflecting the ambient glow of the citadel. In their place, he wielded his Nature Staff.
A palpable energy surge emanated from him as he adjusted to the blend of his innate spirit energy and the overwhelming might of Khaos.
Drawing deeply from this synergy, Emery began weaving a barrage of nature spells, launching them with precision from a distance, each infused with the potent darkness of Khaos, adding layers of challenge for his formidable adversary.
Emery's mind raced, his fingers working tirelessly as he crafted his spells. Channeling the intense energy of darkness into the [Steam lance], the lance transformed from a simple projection of steam into a menacing dark spear, radiating an ominous aura. He released multiple instances of this enhanced spell, weaving them expertly between the writhing roots, ensuring Ezzekiel would have no respite.
But Emery wasn't one to rest on his laurels. He realized that he needed something more substantial, more dominant, to tackle the formidable dark elf. Merging the energies within, he simultaneously cast [whip splash] and [crushing wave]. The ground quaked as massive waves of water, darkened with Khaos energy, rose to crash down on Ezzekiel, while ethereal whips of water sought to bind and restrain him.
And then, with a flourish and a determined glare, Emery unleashed the [Dark tide] spell. It was a torrent of water so deep and vast, brimming with the raw power of Khaos.
Yet, as the water receded, Emery's heart sank. Ezzekiel, though drenched and slightly disheveled, stood undeterred and unscathed. The roots, which Emery expected to have encased the dark elf, lay severed around him, as if they never posed a threat.
Frustration and confusion marred Emery's features. "What's going on?!" He exclaimed, trying to understand how Ezzekiel could withstand such a relentless onslaught.
Cthulhu's voice resonated in Emery's mind, its tone grave. <Know that Tarrasque has high resistance to magic.>
Emery's heart sank further, the revelation dawning on him. The dark elf's physical might, coupled with impressive resistance to magic and the ability to control gravity, made him an adversary not easily overcome.
But Emery wasn't one to give up. Raising the Nature Staff with renewed determination, he started a new incantation. Roots began to converge, intertwining, growing larger and more intricate. They didn't just bind; they molded and transformed into a colossal figure—a golem sculpted from plant and rock, pulsating with the ominous energy of Khaos.
One… two… three… six of them started to fight on his behalf with Emery as the puppeteer.
Ezzekiel, confident in his might, glanced at the towering golems with disdain. With a swift motion, he unleashed a powerful battle art that swept through the battlefield like a storm. Each swing of his blade sent shockwaves that resonated with deadly force, targeting the golems.
One by one, the golems fell, their formidable forms reduced to lifeless husks.
Ezzekiel, catching his breath from the exertion, stared at the lifeless remnants with a smirk. "Huh!! You disappointed me!" he shouted, the tone dripping with arrogance. He expected fear or despair in Emery's eyes, but what he saw was entirely different.
"Of course, I would not prepare something easy for you," he replied, his voice dripping with confidence.
Ezzekiel's triumphant expression faltered as realization dawned. The corpses of the golems, the very constructs he had so easily destroyed, were not as inert as they seemed. From the mangled remains, a sinister smoke began to rise, accompanied by oozing liquid. Emery's true intentions were revealed, and the dark elf had played right into his hands.
"Poison!!"
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