My world-tree system-Chapter 67 - 66: The clock is ticking

The hellish general gave an amused chuckle.

- Really? In that condition?

Foster wasted no time in wasting words and charged again.

Blows followed blows and the fight fell into a stalemate.

-Shit, shit, shit," swore Foster.

The more time passed, the more exhausted he became and the greater the chances of losing.

- What did you expect? That I’d be as weak as the others you killed? That you’d be powerful enough to challenge my masters?

Foster’s lips twisted into a sneer.

- Let me laugh, my masters have a power you’ll never reach in all your poor life, and when they get what they’re after, they’ll rule the whole world of Lyréanor! he boasted.

-We’ll see, and as long as I’m here, the forest of Vollua will be safe.

The hellish general burst out laughing and the battle resumed.

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Foster lay breathless, his body bruised by the violence of the blows. In the din of battle, all that remained was an inner murmur, a flickering light in the heart of pain.

- for my people...

The general walked towards him.

- what did you say, insect?

Foster closed his eyes, as scenes from his former life replayed under his eyelids.

- for my friends...

If he died here, hope for them would be extinguished.

- for the future...

He then saw himself in a city with a titanic tree at its heart, its gigantic branches spreading a shimmering canopy that captured the sunlight and diffused it in a thousand reflections of gold and silver. Its thick, tangled roots seemed to plunge into the very bowels of the earth, breathing ancestral life into the city. All around him, buildings of stone and carved wood blended elegantly into the landscape, as if they had sprung up naturally in a fairytale garden.

In the cobbled streets, elves, radiant and carefree, went about their business. Their crystalline songs echoed in the air, mingling with the gentle rustle of the wind in the foliage. Their faces, illuminated by a serene joy, seemed to carry within them the hope of a painless future.

Beside him, an elf, whose identity he already knew, spoke softly to him in a tender tone.

- prepare to die," said the general suddenly, raising his claws.

Foster took a deep breath.

- For Lïanna!

In an instant, the tumult of battle faded into the distance. Foster closed his eyes, his hand clutching the cold handle of his katana. He let the pain transform into absolute concentration, every pulse of his heart mingling with the metallic clink of his weapon. He felt the subtle thrill of the blade, an imperceptible but highly significant vibration.

- You’re more than metal," he murmured inwardly, almost with a newfound reverence. You are the expression of my will, the reflection of my soul.

All around him, the air seemed to vibrate with the energy of his nascent intention. The demon, still perched, taunted him from the height of his fallen arrogance, his hoarse voice echoing through the clearing:

- You think you can rise from the ashes, insect? Here you are again, fighting like a desperate man.

As the demon continued to taunt, Foster concentrated on the sensation of steel vibrating beneath his palm. The katana was no longer a mere object: it had become the materialization of his determination, of his restrained rage. The pain turned to intense heat, an inner fire that consumed his doubts.

In this new state of consciousness, every sensation was amplified. He could hear the gentle whisper of wind caressing the blade, the tinkle of sweat beading on his forehead, the pounding of his heart hammering the silence within. Slowly, the boundary between elf and weapon disappeared. The katana began to pulsate with a diffuse light, a fragile yet determined aura that blended with the surrounding darkness of battle.

- You are in me," Foster continued, "more than a tool: you are the path that guides me to victory...

A discreet smile grazed his lips despite the pain, and his eyes opened, sparkling with a new resolve.

"Strike" he heard inside him.

In a flash, energy amalgamated around his blade. The ethereal light emanating from it seemed to defy time itself. Foster straightened up, the silhouette of death still lurking in the shadows, as he made the decisive move.

[Tempestive Fulgurance]

He launched his first cut with lightning speed. The blade split the air like a bolt of lightning, tracing a trail of silvery light that sliced cleanly through the thick flesh of the general’s arm. The shockwave sent an incandescent shiver through the air, and the demon let out a muffled scream, his arm wavering under the force of the blow.

Without missing a beat, Foster followed up. The second cut, executed in a lethally graceful circular motion, tore through the general’s torso. The precise arc of his gesture seemed to sculpt space itself, leaving behind a perfectly contoured gash. A jet of black blood gushed forth, briefly illuminated by the glow of intent, and caused the demon to recoil, his arrogance transformed into astonishment.

Finally, the ultimate gesture took shape. Foster, in perfect communion with his katana, concentrated all the energy gathered within him. Time seemed to dilate as he made the final cut, his blade moving with a speed that defied imagination.

Every fiber of his being vibrated with unheard-of intensity.

The third slash struck like a thunderclap, slicing with surgical precision through the very essence of the evil power emanating from the general. This final blow didn’t just split flesh: it penetrated to the very heart of the demon’s soul, breaking the barrier between the physical and the spiritual.

The Hell general, whose eyes had been tinged with fear and disbelief, let out a guttural rattle. His defenses cracked under the impact of this gesture.

The air was still vibrating, the echoes of Fulgurance Tempestive spreading.

- it’s not enough, yet.

The general of Hell was still staggering, his body riddled with wounds, but he refused to collapse. His eyes, blazing with fury, fixed on Foster.

- Do you really think you can finish me off with these scribbles of sparks? I’m more than the sum of your parts, insect!

Foster didn’t reply.

The blade sprang from his hand again, tracing fiery arabesques in the air. This time, the first cut cleaved the general’s hip, spurting out a torrent of dark blood. The demon staggered, his grunts mingling with the hiss of steel.

Without waiting for time to recover from this first assault, Foster made his second cut. The blade drew a dazzling arc and, with a precise gesture, slammed into the general’s abdomen, fracturing bones already weakened by the first attack. The demon tried to raise an arm to parry, but was swept away by the dizzying speed of the attack.

The third blow, final and decisive in this new burst, cut its way to the very essence of the general’s power. Foster, in total communion with his katana, unleashed a wave of energy capable of upsetting the balance of power. Time seemed to stand still as the blade, in a final volley, traced an incandescent furrow in the air, piercing the infernal defense.

The general let out a hoarse cry, heartrending pain mingling with furious incomprehension.

- Again, again!" roared the demon, his voice shattered by agony and wounded pride.

Foster, his muscles on fire, felt his energy renew with every impulse of his will. The moment allowed no respite. He then launched into a third iteration, a frenetic sequence in which each Tempestive Fulgurance followed the next like a rain of murderous lightning.

The first cut of this series ravaged the general’s flank, cutting into his skin like a streak of lightning. The demon staggered to his feet, his limbs refusing to cooperate. Foster, implacable, gave his adversary no time to rest.

The second cut, executed with unprecedented precision, severed the invisible links binding the general’s evil essence to his body. A shrill cry ripped through the air, and the shadows around the demon began to flicker, as if unable to withstand the force of the attack.

The third, ultimate repetition, was the apotheosis of concentrated intent. The blade, vibrating with an unearthly brilliance, split space and time. This final blow, executed with the grace of a dancer and the power of a hurricane, seemed to seal the general’s fate. The energy unfurled in a vortex so intense it shook even the earth beneath their feet.

The demon, in the midst of this storm of steel and light, staggered once more. His eyes widened with a mixture of rage and resignation as his strength seemed to dwindle under Foster’s repeated assault. The battlefield was transformed into a theater of light and shadow, where every blow, every flash of intent, rewrote the course of destiny.

- You can’t escape your fate, General!" said Foster in a voice that resounded with the clarity of a death knell,

- It’s a pity I can’t inflict a more painful death on you, but time is running out!

The general of Hell, though still on his feet, was now racked by fatigue and pain. Each new Tempestive Fulgurance seemed to bring him inexorably closer to his last breath, while Foster, like an indomitable torrent, continued his relentless assault, spraying his skill in a macabre ballet of steel and will.

Foster, transcended by the fusion of his soul and his blade, advanced towards victory.