Around the ninth round, after Narvel fled from the statue, he spent a long while deep in thought. He wasn't simply trying to recover, he was contemplating how to control Ember, or at the very least, harness a new form of energy that could be integrated into his Maddened Fist. The clashes had pushed him to the edge, and now, he wanted more than brute force.
As these thoughts turned over in his mind, he found himself absentmindedly watching Voidscale, who seemed to be entertaining itself in the distance. At first, Narvel assumed the creature was just being playful, stirring dust with its claws and gliding lazily across the uneven ground of the chamber.
Somehow, the statue didn't even act as though Voidscale existed. It wasn't attacked at all.
But then he noticed something strange.
A soft, creamy glow had begun to form along its claws, intrigued, Narvel snapped out of his thoughts and called out to Voidscale, asking what it was doing and how it had created that glow.
Voidscale, characteristically stubborn, refused to answer at first. But after some back-and-forth, it relented when Narvel promised to repay the favor in the future. The little creature wasn't much for words, but it tried its best to explain the process.
The explanation was more of gestures and incomplete, but it was enough to spark something in Narvel's mind.
He realized that if he couldn't use Ember, maybe he could replicate the effect through another method. However, a major obstacle stood in his way, he had no more Specter essence. He had used up all his reserves and hadn't managed to kill any new Specters lately to replenish them.
Still gripping Ebonveil, Narvel let his thoughts spiral into experimentation. That's when the idea struck him—to try manipulating his unnamed skill differently. It was a vague direction, but one worth exploring.
At first, controlling the dark tendrils was frustrating. They weren't designed to be shaped or handled the way Narvel wanted to use them. But slowly, as he focused and willed the shadows to obey, the tendrils began to respond. They curled and coiled around his limbs, draping over his body as if recognizing his command.
Once he managed to sheath his arms and legs in this darkness, something subtle shifted within him. It didn't exactly make him feel stronger—at least not in the traditional sense—but his strikes landed with far greater force. His movements carried weight, the kind that seemed disproportionate to the physical effort involved. The tendrils didn't increase his raw stats, but they multiplied his kinetic impact. Every step, every swing, had more presence.
…
Now, standing before the statue once again, the chamber was silent. The air itself felt coiled, waiting for release. Narvel's voice earlier had carried conviction—too much, perhaps. From his tone, he sounded sure that he would win.
Without hesitation, he activated his [True Double] attribute, carefully dividing the boost between speed and strength. It wasn't just a reckless surge, he was being strategic. Coupled with Ebonveil's influence, his stats now looked like this:
Strength: 27 (59.4)
Speed: 25 (55)
Stamina: 60/60
Dexterity: 29
Intelligence: 19
Mental: 14
Wisdom: 13
Charisma: 12
Will: 30/30
His muscles didn't swell the way they normally would if he dumped all of the boosts into strength. Instead, his physique held a lean sharpness. A balanced tension ran through his form. It was an odd sensation and his body felt simultaneously imbalanced, yet in perfect harmony, as if he stood at the threshold of two extremes.
High above them, seated on the massive throne of stone and silent, the statue smiled. It was a small smile—barely a twitch of the lips—but it was as though the two combatants had been waiting for it. A signal.
And then they moved.
In that instant, both fighters vanished, blurring from sight. The ground didn't tremble. There was no dramatic wind burst. They simply disappeared.
This time, Narvel was undeniably faster. Or rather, the environment around him offered less resistance. The air no longer dragged against his skin. Even gravity itself seemed confused, glitching in irregular pulses, momentarily forgetting that Narvel had mass and should be pulled down.
He moved as if he were weightless, slipping through the space of the chamber with a fluidity that defied physics. The combat had begun and the battle was already different from the earlier ones.
Narvel reached the statue first, closing the distance in a flash. With both hands on Ebonveil, he brought the scythe down in a sweeping arc. The force behind the slash was immense—raw, focused power that distorted the air as it moved. The statue, though durable and built for battle, didn't dare meet the strike with its palm. Its instincts kicked in. It dodged.
Just then, it activated a technique Narvel hadn't seen before.
Its body flickered, dividing momentarily into three translucent forms, each mirroring the original. These phantoms moved as though weightless, perfectly synchronized, and each began performing their version of the Maddened Fist technique. In an instant, more than sixty phantom fists erupted toward Narvel's position, blurring through the air like a barrage of spiritual artillery.
Narvel's pupils dilated in fear.
Without hesitation, he withdrew the attribute boost from his strength and poured everything into speed. The shift drained his stamina at a dangerous rate and placed a crushing burden on his body, but he gritted his teeth and pushed forward anyway.
Whoosh!
Boom!
The phantoms landed a direct hit, but only on the afterimage Narvel had left behind. Where he once stood, the ground cratered violently with stones rupturing and splitting outward.
Reappearing behind the debris cloud, Narvel adjusted his balance and quickly redistributed the boost, splitting it once more between strength and speed. Letting go of Ebonveil, he clenched both fists, muscles rippling, and with a sharp roar, unleashed the Maddened Fist technique himself.
He didn't have three translucent phantom forms like the statue, but the result was no less fearsome.
A wall of fists exploded outward from his position, more than the statue alone could have produced without its divided forms. Each of Narvel's strikes shimmered with an eerie darkness, and the force they carried seemed to drink the light from the chamber, drawing it inward and suffocating it.
Boom!!
The clash of fists tore through the silence. Shockwaves crashed against the chamber walls, echoing like thunder underground. When the dust cleared, both combatants had been knocked apart.
Blood trailed down the corner of Narvel's lips and his face paled. Across from him, the statue bore fractures that weren't healing. Small veins of darkness crept across its body, originating from the tendrils Narvel had wrapped around himself earlier. Whatever they were, they interfered with the statue's natural regeneration, slowly corrupting its essence.
They had both landed blows.
And they had both suffered damage.
Chunks of stone crumbled from the statue's limbs, shattering as they hit the floor. Neither gave the other time to breathe.
In the next moment, they surged forward again. This time, Narvel relied more heavily on Ebonveil, carving out advantage after advantage with its sweeping, unpredictable reach.
But the statue adapted quickly. Within seconds, it had closed the gap again, countering with crushing blows of its own.
Then something unexpected happened.
Narvel landed a kick—a Maddened Fist kick—and it connected hard, sending the statue flying. The entire chamber seemed to freeze for a second.
The audience watched in disbelief.
Narvel had done something wild. He'd channeled Maddened Fist through his leg, proving just how far he'd come in mastering the technique. The move had nearly torn a muscle across his lower back, but it created the opening he desperately needed.
Seizing the moment, Narvel lunged forward with an overhead slash. The statue recovered quickly and rolled across the ground, narrowly avoiding the strike.
Boom!
Ebonveil carved through the floor, shattering stone and sending shards into the air. Without pausing, Narvel hurled the weapon skyward.
As the statue rose from its evasive maneuver Narvel was already on it, landing three punishing blows on its shoulder, then jaw, and then its cheek—before the statue retaliated with a heavy punch to Narvel's chest. The blow knocked him back several feet, forcing the air out from his lungs, and making his ribs tremble hard.
The space between them barely lasted a breath.
The statue lunged again, relentless, and this time it landed a flurry of powerful strikes. Narvel staggered under the barrage, arms rising just in time to block a few of the hits.
With effort, he extended his hand, eyes locking on the falling arc of Ebonveil above. Channeling everything he had left into his telekinesis, he reached for it, straining his mind greatly with the act, the weapon though, was already answering.
With his telekinesis guiding it, the weapon spun furiously through the air becoming a blur of dark steel whistling as it cut through the chamber's atmosphere.
The moment the statue sensed the oncoming threat, it waited until the final instant before reacting. It had gauged the weapon's speed and trajectory, choosing to endure a fraction more risk to capitalize on the chaos. Before Ebonveil could reach them, the statue had landed a few more blows on Narvel, turning the evasion into an opportunity.
It pressed forward with ruthless efficiency. Then, taking advantage of a narrow opening, it slammed a foot onto the hand Narvel had raised to block, pinning him in place. Using that leverage, the statue pivoted and launched itself into a backflip. The blade narrowly missed its body as it arced past.
The backflip created much-needed distance between them.
But Narvel was already in motion.
Catching Ebonveil mid-flight, he swung it in a fluid, merciless arc, aiming precisely for the point where the statue was set to land. His timing was immaculate so much so that once the statue landed, it would lose its legs.
But it wasn't going to fall that easily.
Sensing danger again, the statue tucked its legs at the last moment and allowed itself to land on its back, hitting the ground hard. In one seamless motion, it rolled backward and returned to its feet, its form still composed despite the close call.
They faced each other once again.
The tension in the chamber felt heavy. The flickering red-orange light of the molten veins lining the catacomb walls gave their silhouettes a glowing outline, as if both combatants were shaped by fire and shadow. Dust floated in the air from their recent collision, catching light as it swirled around them.
Narvel's breathing had grown heavier and his chest was rising and falling with visible effort. Sweat slicked his pale forehead. Across from him, the statue's energy had dimmed and its movements were becoming just a touch less fluid. Even the glow in its eyes was not as intense.
The two stood still, motionless for a full ten seconds. No sound.
It was a silent understanding. Both had tested each other's limits, both had taken damage, and neither was willing to fall just yet. They weren't just catching their breath—they were preparing for the next collision.
And when it came, it would be even more brutal than the last.