Path of the Unmentioned: The Missing Piece-Chapter 106: The Manic One [3]

Reo’s body hit the floor with a sickening thud.

Kyle froze.

The world around him faded. Sounds muffled. Sights blurred.

It was like someone had stuffed cotton into his ears. Like he was underwater. His heart pounded so hard it hurt.

He couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t think.

All he could see was the blood.

It poured from Reo’s stomach, dark and heavy, soaking into the metal floor of the train.

His friend’s spear lay nearby, abandoned. Reo’s fingers twitched once... then stopped moving altogether.

The cultist stood over him, still smiling. Still licking Reo’s blood off his dagger like it was candy.

Something snapped inside Kyle.

It wasn’t panic.

It wasn’t fear.

It was rage. Raw. Unfiltered. Blinding.

His breath came out in short, ragged bursts. Every injury on his body.

His cracked ribs. The burns on his legs. The cuts on his arms. All faded into the background.

All he could feel was the heat flooding his chest and the cold, bitter hatred crawling up his spine.

His hand clenched around Zalrielle’s hilt so tight his knuckles turned white.

The tachi pulsed in his grip. Lightning sparked along the blade. Faint at first, like flickering embers.

Then it roared to life.

Blue-white arcs danced across the edge. Crackling with power, building with every heartbeat.

Kyle didn’t hesitate.

He moved.

Faster than thought.

Faster than pain.

The cultist’s grin faltered as Kyle lunged. Blade slicing through the air in a wide, vicious arc.

The tachi screamed with power. Lightning exploding from its edge like a thunderbolt.

The cultist tried to dodge. But not fast enough.

The bolt grazed his shoulder, searing through cloth and skin. Smoke rose from the blackened wound.

He hissed, eyes narrowing.

"Oh?" he said, voice rising with interest. "What’s this?"

Kyle didn’t stop.

He stepped in, swinging again. Zalrielle whistled through the air, forcing the cultist to leap back.

Sparks flew as their blades clashed. Lightning danced around Kyle’s feet. Surging with every step.

The cultist countered. His twin daggers flashing like snakes. One came low, aiming for Kyle’s thigh. The other, high, toward his neck.

Kyle twisted, barely avoiding the upper strike. The lower dagger sliced a thin line along his leg.

But he didn’t slow down.

He brought his hand to the ground.

[Frostbite]

Ice exploded outward in a jagged wave. The metal floor hissed as frost spread fast. Climbing the walls and ceiling.

Spikes of ice shot up like blades, aiming for the cultist.

He jumped back again. But one spike caught him just above the ankle. Carving a deep gash through his boot.

Blood splattered.

The cultist winced. His smile slipped for the first time.

He glanced at the frozen ground. "Not ba—"

Kyle didn’t give him a chance.

He slashed sideways with Zalrielle. Sending another bolt of lightning across the floor. The cultist blocked it, barely, staggering under the force.

Kyle raised his hand again.

"[Wind Shred]!"

A razor-thin gust burst from his palm, whirling like a blade. The wind howled as it tore through the air.

The cultist raised both daggers in a cross to block. The wind slammed into him, pushing him back several feet. His boots screeched against the floor.

His eyes widened in disbelief.

"Three?"

His voice cracked.

There was no playfulness left.

Just shock.

Kyle kept going.

His lungs burned. His vision blurred at the edges. But he pushed through.

One more.

The air around him shimmered. Moisture gathered, thick and heavy. As if the whole train had turned into a misty swamp.

Kyle pulled his hand back, focusing.

Then. Snap.

A sharp, clean sound.

A whip of condensed water lashed out from his fingers, fast and thin like a thread. It sliced cleanly across the cultist’s cheek.

A thin line of red appeared on his face. He touched it, looking at the blood on his fingers like he wasn’t sure it was real.

Then he laughed.

Not a madman’s laugh.

Not cruel or mocking.

Just stunned. Disbelieving.

Eleanora, still on her knees behind him, gasped softly. Her crimson eyes went wide.

She looked at Kyle like she was seeing him for the first time.

He stood there, panting, steam rising from his body. His clothes were torn. Blood soaked his side.

Lightning still crackled around his blade. Frost spread beneath his feet. The air swirled with wind and water.

Four elements.

Four affinities.

"Four," he breathed. "Four affinities."

The words left Kyle’s lips in a rasp, his chest heaving with each breath.

The train car was a mess of blood, frost, broken steel, and burning sparks. But he stood tall in the middle of it. Surrounded by the hum of elemental power.

The cultist’s eyes widened.

Then. He grinned.

Wider than before.

Manic.

"I was supposed to kill you all," he said, head tilting slightly like he was studying something rare. "But now? Now I think I’ll take you alive."

His voice was soft, almost amused. But there was something darker underneath. Something hungry.

Kyle didn’t answer. ƒreewebɳovel.com

He didn’t care.

Not about the cultist’s words.

Not about the stabbing pain in his ribs or the blood dripping from the corner of his mouth.

Not even about the burning in his legs every time he took a step.

All he cared about was finishing this. Ending the man before him.

Kyle moved.

He struck first. Lightning.

A crackling bolt exploded from Zalrielle’s edge. Snapping forward like a whip. It lit up the entire car in a flash of blue-white.

The cultist ducked low. The bolt barely missing his head.

Kyle followed it immediately with frost. He slammed his foot down, and the metal floor beneath the cultist shimmered. Turning slick and icy.

The cultist’s foot hit the ice. But instead of slipping. He flipped into the air with impossible grace, twisting over the patch like it was a stage trick.

Kyle didn’t slow.

He sent a sharp gust of wind as the cultist descended, altering his landing just slightly.

Enough to throw him off balance.

For most fighters, that would have meant a stumble.

But not him.

The cultist twisted midair and landed low in a crouch. Skidding back slightly but never falling.

Then came water.

Kyle raised his other hand and snapped his fingers. Four pressurized streams of water whipped out like blades. Slicing across the air in perfect arcs.

The cultist’s daggers flashed.

One. Two. Three.

He deflected each stream with practiced ease. Spinning his body between them. Weaving like a dancer between raindrops.

But Kyle was relentless.

His body screamed in protest, but he kept moving, striking again and again.

Sparks danced around him. Frost clung to the ground. Wind howled with each swing, and water shimmered in the air like glass.

Still. The cultist dodged or blocked it all.

He was fast. Faster than anyone Kyle had ever fought.

Each movement was smooth. Clean. Effortless.

Like he was toying with Kyle.

And deep down, Kyle knew.

If it was just him. He’d lose.

He couldn’t keep this up forever.

His mana reserves were burning out. His limbs felt heavier with every breath. And still... still somehow, he kept casting. Kept fighting. Kept pushing forward.

Eleanora watched. Her vision still blurry from blood loss and exhaustion. She could barely lift her sword. But she forced herself up, bracing against the wall.

Her fingers tightened weakly around her estoc.

’How... how is he still fighting?’

She had seen him get torn up. Burned, cut, bleeding. His mana should have been gone long ago.

After all the spells he’d thrown. After all the power he’d poured out... He should be empty.

’How does he still have mana?’

’And four affinities? That’s... that’s impossible.’

She stared at him, breath shallow. The ice. The lightning. The wind. The water.

’How?’

Her heart pounded, and yet—

She moved.

Even if she didn’t have the strength for a real spell. She could still do something.

With trembling fingers, she extended a hand.

A thin tendril of darkness, barely held together, slithered from her palm.

It wobbled. Weak and unstable. But she gritted her teeth, focusing with everything she had left.

The tendril shot out.

It coiled around the cultist’s ankle. Just as he stepped back to dodge Kyle’s next strike.

He stumbled.

Only for a moment.

But it was enough.

Kyle’s eyes narrowed.

He lunged.

Zalrielle flashed with crackling light. Its edge burning with a final charge of lightning.

He aimed for the cultist’s heart.

The man tried to twist away. Too late.

The blade sank deep into his shoulder instead, sliding through muscle and flesh. Lightning burst from the wound, searing the inside of his arm.

Red blood sprayed across the floor.

The cultist let out a choked, broken laugh. Not in pain. But in shock.

In delight.

"Good," he rasped, his voice hoarse. "Very... good."

Then his hand snapped up.

He grabbed Kyle’s wrist.

And squeezed.

———