The Outergod's Avatar-Chapter 72: Twisted Fate (3)

Izikel barely had time to recover before the assault resumed—this time, fiercer and faster than ever.

Blades danced in every direction, a whirlwind of shimmering steel and slashing air. Raynoel moved like a ghost, flickering from one side to the other, never in one place for more than a blink. His strikes came from above, below, the sides, impossible angles—relentless and precise.

Izikel tried to keep up, raising his shield, tracking Raynoel’s motion with his eyes, but the attacks were too fast. Every time he aimed and fired, it was at a blur, a flicker of motion, or a fading afterimage. The real Raynoel was already gone, moving to another flank, already preparing his next blow.

Each time Izikel failed to catch him, another shallow cut appeared—thin red lines tracing his arms, his ribs, his legs. Tiny rivers of blood flowed, staining his robes with crimson streaks. Though his shield deflected the slashes, it couldn’t keep up with Raynoel’s sheer speed. Izikel was being carved apart, piece by piece.

Then came the real blow.

Raynoel vanished, only to reappear behind him in an instant. A powerful kick struck the center of Izikel’s back, cracking something within. His body lurched forward, crashing into the ground with a sickening thud. The air fled his lungs as pain erupted through every limb.

From behind, Raynoel approached, calm and smug.

"I figured out your shield," he said, spinning his blade in one hand like it weighed nothing. "It’s tied to your sight, isn’t it? That’s why you always move your eyes before raising your defense."

Izikel groaned, struggling to get air into his lungs as Raynoel continued.

"And wide-area attacks?" He scoffed, kicking dust aside as he approached. "You’re practically helpless against them. I can’t believe I wasted so much energy on you. Honestly, I’m disappointed in myself."

Blood dripped from Izikel’s lips. Every part of his body cried out in agony. His muscles screamed, his ribs felt cracked, and his arms trembled just trying to push himself upright.

Still, he rose—slowly, shakily. He wiped the blood from his mouth and glared up at his opponent.

’Even if he figured it out... I can’t let this end like this...’

"That doesn’t mean you’ve won," Izikel said, voice hoarse.

Raynoel smirked. "Oh? I think that’s exactly what it means. There are plenty of ways to keep you from seeing my blade when I strike."

Izikel’s eyes narrowed. "You can’t get in my head, Raynoel. I already know your ability too. Sophia told me—you can’t use your invisibility during the day."

Raynoel paused, then gave a low, amused chuckle.

"She told you that, did she?" He raised his blade. "Well, I hate to break it to you—but my blessing, Silver Veil, does more than just bend light. At night, I disappear. While during the day... it reflects."

His sword began to shimmer, glimmering like polished glass.

And then—light exploded from the blade.

A flash like the sun, blinding and brutal. Izikel turned away, eyes seared by the brightness, vision whiting out.

That was the moment Raynoel had waited for.

Izikel barely registered the sharp, cold pain lancing through his gut. He gasped. The sword had pierced straight through him, the hilt against his belly, the blade protruding from his lower back, glinting red.

Pain thundered through his body, unbearable and burning. He choked on blood. The blade was yanked free with a savage twist, and Izikel fell, collapsing in a heap.

Raynoel towered over him, breathing steadily.

"Goodbye, little priest," he whispered, lifting his sword for the final blow.

But just as he swung down—a green flash streaked through the air.

Thwip.

A thick vine shot out from the treeline, piercing through Raynoel’s chest just below the collarbone.

He staggered, eyes wide in disbelief.

"What—?"

The vine pulsed.

And then it exploded.

Jagged thorns burst outward like shrapnel, tearing through the entire right side of Raynoel’s body. Flesh shredded. Bone cracked. His arm was gone—ripped away in an instant. His shoulder was a gaping, bloody void.

Raynoel gasped, blood bubbling from his lips.

’Crap... I got too carried away with that little bastard... I forgot about the Druid girl...’

He dropped to his knees, then to the ground, motionless.

"Izikel!" Lyzah’s voice cut through the air.

She sprinted to his side, kneeling beside him, panic on her face. He was barely conscious, blood pooling beneath him. 𝗳𝗿𝐞𝕖𝘄𝗲𝕓𝗻𝚘𝚟𝕖𝐥.𝚌𝕠𝕞

"You... did well..." Izikel murmured, coughing blood. "That was... creative..."

"Don’t speak!" she ordered, her hands already glowing green as she pressed them against the wound. "Try not to move. I’ll heal you."

Izikel managed a weak chuckle, despite the pain. "I must be... one hell of an instructor..."

She focused, channeling everything into her healing magic. Light flared softly beneath her palms—but it wasn’t enough.

The bleeding slowed, but the wound remained deep.

"My power isn’t strong enough," she whispered, voice shaking. "It’s too much..."

Izikel looked at her with a fading gaze. "It’s fine... I was going to die anyway..."

"You’re not going to die!" Lyzah snapped, tears forming in her eyes.

That was the last thing he heard before the darkness closed in.

---

He remained in that darkness for what felt like hours. Days. Maybe even longer.

Then—voices. Muffled at first, distant echoes breaking the silence.

Gradually, sound returned. So did sensation.

He felt sheets. A mattress. Pain in his abdomen—but no longer unbearable.

His eyes blinked open slowly.

The ceiling above him was unfamiliar—wooden, curved, the kind used in traditional Druidic lodges. The bed beneath him was small, the room softly lit with natural light filtering through hanging moss and crystal lanterns.

He sat up groggily, spotting Lyzah and a man deep in conversation near the doorway.

Recognition struck him like lightning.

Markis. The chief of the Druids. Lyzah’s father.

The man looked furious, his tone sharp. Lyzah had her head bowed, taking the scolding silently.

But the moment Markis noticed Izikel stirring, he stopped mid-sentence and rushed over.

"Lord Izikel!" Markis exclaimed. "You’re awake!"

Izikel winced, raising a hand to his forehead. "My head is killing me..."

Then it hit him.

His eyes widened, snapping toward Lyzah. "Raynoel! Where—what happened to—"

"He’s gone," she said softly, walking to his side.

Markis nodded. "Yes. My daughter told me everything. I’m just glad the two of you made it back alive. She carried you all the way here after you collapsed."

Izikel glanced down at his stomach. Where there had been a brutal, gaping wound—there was only a faint, thin scar.

"You... saved me?" he asked, breathless. "Thank you."

Markis shook his head. "No. If Lyzah hadn’t brought you back in time, even I couldn’t have helped. You should thank her."

Izikel turned to her. "Lyzah, th—"

But before he could finish, she threw herself into his arms.

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she clung to him tightly.

"I’m just... glad you’re okay," she whispered, voice cracking.

He was stunned for a moment—then his arms wrapped around her slowly, gently.

"I’m glad you’re okay too," he murmured, closing his eyes.