“How peculiar…” Androma murmured to himself as he stood overhead, his body practically hovered as a vague line of grey liquid acted as a platform for him to stand on. He was shocked and astonished upon seeing that Rol’an had not only survived against the mist but even seemed to maintain his form even under its immense pressure. “To think he’s reached this level of attainment. Heh, maybe he’s not a lost cause, after all.”

He extended out his grasp, allowing the Pendulum to float out of the desert, landing heavily against his hand, striking out a loud reverberation as he caught it without issue.

Rol’an stood still, his head down as his bloodthirsty sword struck into the ground directly in front of him, it’s hilt unmoving as it awaited his grasp.

Androma spoke out for all to hear, drawing Rol’an’s ire as his head slowly lifted up, “So this is the level you’ve attained? You can survive within the mist, but you can’t even move or fight? You’re struggling to keep your own body from being shattered… how pitiful.”

He did so mockingly, knowing exactly what to say in order to anger his opponent. Rol’an was the type of enemy who was more dangerous the more furious they were, so perhaps Androma’s desire was to lure out the true strength of his opponent by force before it could be used to strike at him first.

The plan was dangerous, but it didn’t come without some sense. If he could force Rol’an to use his last resorts, he’d have no more surprises to throw around.

It would be like clipping the talons of a predatory hawk before it could begin its hunt. It was common sense to dismantle an enemies greatest strength as quickly as possible, especially during a situation that benefited oneself like the field of mist.

“I may have suffered some damage at first, but don’t think that this means you’ve defeated me…” Rol’an hissed out, his voice quiet yet as sharp as ever. Even the tinge of destruction loomed with every word.

“Not only have I begun to grasp this mist, but my body has slowly regained its strength. You should’ve attacked me with everything you had when you first launched this area of effect power… unfortunately for you, there is no longer an opening to do so.”

His eyes suddenly burst open, a red fiery intent hidden within. His head rose, meeting Androma’s gaze.

“So this is the power of the master of illusions, the keeper of crows… I hadn’t expected you to wield Mir to this degree, but that’s fine. My power was created to cut off that captain’s head, so you will be good practice.”

Androma let out a faint whistle at Rol’an’s bravado. Was it an empty threat, or was there something more at play? Truth be told, neither mattered as long as he handled the next few moments correctly.

Rol’an grinned as his flesh reformed, the mist casually being pushed further and further away from him. The black flames that had slowly been seeping out from beneath his feet suddenly burst forth, unleashing a crazed amount of pressure and strength.

“Overthrow the grey mist, cast it aside until only true destruction awaits! Let true strength rise, intoxicating the very world under the horrifying blaze…” The black flames built up, climbing higher and higher as the greyscale mist dissipated, to the shock of everyone present.

Not only was Androma caught off-guard, but even his followers atop the tower seemed dazed as the impossible had happened.

Flames rose into the air as Rol’an stood in the center, acting as the epicenter to the destructive force that had burst forward. Androma was pushed back, his mist colliding against the flames as the two sides rejected the other.

Androma brought the Pendulum up toward his face, coating it in the grey liquid that radiated out from his very being. A flash of strength overtook the polearm, transforming the grey energy into a pure white light that soaked into everything.

A light had overtaken the Pendulum, bringing out a great amount of white fog, formed out of the purest of Mir energy.

“Light overtakes all darkness, and is the perfect counter for such destructive flames,” Androma stated matter-of-factly, the polearm scorching like wildfire.

Opposing him, Rol’an brought his own bloody sword up as well, letting it slowly devour flame petal after flame petal, taking in its power and strengthening itself to the extreme. This weapon, forged to devour great power and use it as a catastrophic weapon, was the perfect tool for harnessing this uncontrollable black conflagration of power.

It was as if their truest intent had been stashed within each other’s respected weapons, prepared to hand out the majority of the damage the moment they collide. This was a fight that not even Evelien could’ve lasted long in, as a single strike would deliver her to death’s door.

Rol’an stepped off, dashing out of the crater that had formed from the terrifying mist. With a firm landing, he arrived off to the side, where Androma had also lowered himself only a mere ten meters away. The grey liquid dissolving back into his flesh and forming a rougher outer skin, turning it almost to steel.

Androma wielded the Pendulum polearm, the blazing light burning out of it, blinding anyone who looked upon it.

Rol’an, however, held his mysterious bloodthirsty sword. Its history was relatively new compared to the Pendulum, but surprisingly it’s strength may not lose out as a destructive and sinister aura of shadow and darkness seeped out of its edge, creating the illusion of slashing the very desert in two.

“The power of Mir isn’t an all-powerful thing, there’s a limit to how far it can be used or how it can be harnessed. My strength was built upon using the Pendulum in tandem, but your power clearly is being improvised.” Androma stated mockingly as he watched Rol’an struggle to even call forth those black flames.

“You should stop this now before you’re devoured by those malicious flames. I can see something within them, as if some primordial devil lurks behind you, acting the role of puppet-master.” Androma went on after a heavy sigh, “You could’ve become someone of stature, but instead you went this route… even accepting the aid of darkness, going against the will of our neutral world.”

“Neutral? Midnight is anything but neutral, you old fool,” Rol’an snapped out, his black flames slowly falling under his control with each passing moment. As if the pressure of the grey mist had somehow aided him in suppressing their destructive tendencies. “More than anything, I should thank you for helping me bring this flame under my grasp. Even with all of my efforts I had still failed to accomplish this feat alone.”

“Oh?” Androma pondered, surprised that his enemy had made some sort of benefit even in a situation such as this.

They may have been calmly discussing between themselves, but to the outside world, a whirlpool torrent of fatal force burst forth, swallowing the desert sand, even scarring the side of the tower.

Their very bodies were acting as catalysts to this power. Like two miniature nuclear reactors on the verge of collapse, the very space around them shook violently under their absolute pressure.

The power of Mir was ever present throughout many Ethereal worlds, even Midnight, a desolate place of death and decay possessed those who could wield this energy.

Most of these people, however, could only wield Mir under the aid of a higher authority, such as the Grandmaster or even a Territorial Lord, who receives both benefits and authority depending on their stature.

Androma was a direct subordinate to a powerful Lord, and would thus be granted both information and use over the Mir, allowing him the use of a powerful weapon to harness this near-magical power. Rol’an, on the other hand, was not an inheritor of this authority, nor had any powerful backing that allowed him direct authority.

He had to scavenge for information, finding one piece of information after another until he could slowly begin to form together a complete understanding.

Anyone could use Mir, but only the powerful and chosen could freely use it without suppression. This was an unspoken rule, a sort of well-known secret.

There was nothing that could be done, after all, the Mir, when used correctly, was overwhelmingly strong, even able to destroy battlefields without the user having to raise a finger. It was unfair and had been used cruelly in many wars in the past.

Mir, however, was but a name given to this power by a powerful being. It wasn’t all-powerful and had required a tremendous amount of effort to harness, even by those selected to wield a portion of authority. Androma’s control was no exception, as even he could only push his power to this point by fusing it together with the Pendulum, a polearm weapon designed specifically to match his own soul undulations.

The basic form of Mir could not create something from absolute nothingness, and it was absolutely not infinite in its use. One could only use it without restraint if they personally possessed both the power and understanding, unfortunately, or even fortunately, such things were incredibly difficult to come by.

Androma, a man who stood atop thousands and had made a name for himself as being a master illusionist and infiltrator, still only relied on the use of Mir as a last resort. He usually never had to use anything beyond his greyscale mist, as well, so pushing himself further was a new, dangerous experience, even for him.

A normal sword could be fused with Mir, turning it into a legendary tool of destruction. This, however, didn’t make the sword special, nor did it mean that it could be used to carve through everything. It simply meant that the one who wielded the Mir was mighty, not the Mir itself.

Many warriors forget this, becoming lost in the secrets of Mir and forgetting that to strengthen the Mir, one must first strengthen themselves from within.

The Mir was but another form of power, like a sword. How sharp the blade was would entirely depend on both the strength, understanding, and even accomplishments of the wielder. Even a monarch could unsheathe a rusty sword, being forsaken and forgotten.

It was up to each individual to continuously sharpen their power, or else it may slowly rotten and decay into nothing.