THE VILLAIN'S POV Chapter 862 Forced Hand (2)

An immense wave of azure fire, a sight of such magnitude it dwarfed mountains, overwhelmed the old man. For a fleeting moment, he remained frozen, utterly immobile. Yet, just as the attack was about to land, a colossal shadow erupted from the ground, surging upward like a monumental pillar, positioning itself between him and the fiery onslaught. Alexander's assault met this barrier, exploding outwards in a chaotic, violent release of power. The shadow fractured, showing signs of damage, but it held firm.

Alexander's frown was immediate as his gaze shifted to the unexpected intervenor. It was Vayne, her form completely restored, re-entering the fray. "What are you doing, you senile old fool?! Were you just going to let him kill you?!" Vayne's voice, sharp and furious – Wesker's voice speaking through her – echoed across the battlefield.

Maskith turned towards Wesker with a flicker of annoyance. "And who said that strike would have killed me, boy?" His tone was placid, almost dismissive, as his attention remained fixed on the dissipate fragments of the phantom. "All I realized… is how fragile that imitation truly was. A worthless mockery."

"What the hell are you even talking about?" Wesker retorted, his patience clearly wearing thin with Maskith's enigmatic pronouncements.

Amidst the swirling smoke and dark blue flames, Alexander Rybak's presence grew increasingly menacing. "Then just die." Dozens of incandescent orbs materialized around him. In swift succession, he struck each one, unleashing a torrent of roaring aura beams. Wesker reacted instantly, projecting the King's Shadow over a wide area to intercept the incoming barrage.

Azure flames and abyssal shadows clashed violently, consuming each other in a relentless tempest. Alexander surged forward through the maelstrom, his target Maskith, whom he recognized as the more significant threat. However, Maskith tapped the air with his staff, releasing a surge of dark aura that coalesced into a ferocious dragon. The beast lunged, its maw agape, aiming to engulf Alexander entirely.

Alexander's fist ignited, shattering the dragon's head in an instant. He tore through its form without losing momentum, only to find Maskith concealed within the dragon's dissipating body. Before Alexander could adjust, the elder placed his hand upon his chest. At that moment, dark energy erupted from within Alexander, causing black flames to burst forth from his back. The attack bypassed his defenses, striking his core directly. The agony was profound, yet Alexander endured. And countered.

Grabbing Maskith's arm, he immobilized him. "At this distance… you won't escape!" With one hand restraining the elder and the other blazing anew, Alexander prepared to crush Maskith's head. But Maskith was quicker. Without a second thought, he severed his own arm, freeing himself and retreating instantly. Then, with his remaining hand, he formed an intricate seal in the air. A colossal dark spear materialized from the void, slamming into Alexander and sending him hurtling towards the ground.

"Do not underestimate me, boy… I have lived far longer than you." In less than a second, Maskith's severed arm regenerated. Simultaneously, Wesker seized the opening, his shadowy tendrils lashing out towards Alexander's impact zone. But Alexander detonated his aura, instantly dispersing the shadows, and rocketed back into the sky.

"You say you've lived longer than me, huh? Maybe you have…" His formidable body expanded slightly as he charged forward once more. "Maybe you've lived longer… but you've never spent as much time as I have—forging this power, perfecting these martial arts!" His fist slammed forward, compelling Maskith to block with considerable effort. Wesker rejoined the assault, but Alexander deflected the shadows with practiced ease, weathering all their combined attacks.

Despite his immense physique, his movements were fluid and precise. Every strike, every punch, every kick was flawless. Not a single percentage point of deviation existed. There was no wasted motion, no wasted effort. Every decision he made was perfect, optimally calibrated for whatever situation his adversaries presented. That explosive fist was no mundane technique—Maskith recognized this.

'How long… how many years… did this man devote to forging that fist?' he mused with genuine curiosity, silently acknowledging the peerless quality of his opponent's martial mastery. He was fighting both him and Wesker simultaneously… and surviving. No, more than that—he was gaining the upper hand. The reason wasn't solely his technique, but the second anomaly that defined Alexander: his peculiar metallic body. Its resilience was extraordinary, withstanding all their assaults without sustaining even the slightest injury.

Alexander Rybak's body was forged by Nameless in eons past...

Forged for the ultimate resilience, a living bulwark impervious to all assaults.

This transformation… birthed a veritable monstrosity.

Alexander had honed his physical form to its absolute apex through epochs of unyielding martial practice,

safeguarding the hallowed resting place with naught but fierce resolve and the art of war.

The outcome… was a terrifying spectacle that left all in its wake, even his confederates, utterly aghast.

Even the formidable Gehrman had marveled at his astonishing progression.

Enduring the suffocating darkness of Maskith and the insidious shadows of Wesker, Alexander withstood every onslaught.

His hardened fist pulverized a high-ranking fiend and breached the formidable ramparts of a mighty Hell Duke.

He battered them into submission, hurled them into oblivion, and sculpted the very landscape of battle with their fallen forms.

He was an unceasing engine of destruction...

a martial marvel that neither the infernal legions nor the aged adversary could devise a countermeasure against.

Unrivaled fortitude. Devastating offensive power.

He embodied the perfect combatant.

Wesker contemplated the deployment of the King's Eye… but swiftly dismissed the notion.

Even if temporal stasis were enacted, even if he could strike without consequence—

that indomitable physique would remain unyielding.

Even the King's Shadow had failed to inflict even a scratch.

Even Maskith himself found his efforts waning, and the specter of defeat began to cast its grim shadow.

'Could it be… we are destined to fall… to a mere Lieutenant of the Shadow Sect?!'

Wesker's very sanity frayed at the chilling revelation...

that the Shadow Sect had harbored such a colossal power in secret all this time.

Yet, in stark contrast to Wesker's turmoil, Maskith maintained an unwavering composure until the bitter end…

and it was this stoicism, more than anything, that unnerved Alexander.

After their prolonged and punishing engagement, Alexander came to a stark realization...

the venerable figure facing him was a true titan, existing at the zenith of SSS rank, much like himself.

And despite the overwhelming display of power thus far… his innermost senses screamed that the old man still held potent reserves.

And that prescient intuition… proved to be entirely accurate.

"I must concede, warrior of the Shadow Sect… your martial prowess is truly exceptional."

Maskith's voice resonated unexpectedly, even as he absorbed another punishing blow from the relentlessly aggressive combatant.

"To surpass my own mastery over aura… that is an accomplishment of no small measure."

"As one would expect from the material plane… its inhabitants are the most formidable across all the myriad worlds within the Writers' domain."

His pronouncements were enigmatic, unsettlingly so…

compelling Alexander to heighten his defensive vigilance.

He held the upper hand.

He was even dominating the engagement.

And precisely because of this dominant position… Maskith found himself in a dire predicament.

"You have left me no alternative."

With deliberate slowness, the aged combatant raised his arm once more.

Alexander instantly retreated, bolstering the protective aura enveloping his form in anticipation.

Wesker was presently incapacitated, having sustained grievous injuries from their prior exchange…

rendering Maskith the sole remaining adversary.

Once he successfully repelled the forthcoming assault…

Alexander planned to unleash the full extent of his power in a conclusive, decisive strike—to bring this conflict to its ultimate end.

And he possessed the absolute capability to achieve this objective.

He could vanquish Maskith.

However, Maskith harbored no intention of permitting such an outcome.

The very fabric of time seemed to decelerate.

Alexander perceived it…

a peculiar energy coalescing around the elder's outstretched hand.

A subtle, ashen luminescence… enveloped by a somber, shadowy aura.

It emanated no palpable force. No discernible weight. Nothing that hinted at peril.

And yet…

this seemingly innocuous power accomplished what no prior offensive maneuver had managed.

"Aether: Negative Energy."

From Maskith's palm, a simple, unadorned beam of gray light erupted…

lancing towards Alexander's supposedly inviolable physique… and traversing its entirety with effortless grace.

A gaping aperture materialized in his chest.

And subsequently… another formed directly through his back.

Under the bewildered gazes of both Alexander and Wesker… Maskith had achieved the impossible.

He had circumvented Alexander's absolute bastion of defense.

"Aether is comprised of two fundamental aspects…

the positive energy, which fosters life and bestows unimaginable might…

And the negative energy… which heralds oblivion—annihilating all existence, granting destructive potential beyond all comprehension."

With eyes devoid of warmth, Maskith elucidated as Alexander clutched the monstrous wound that marred his chest, straining to maintain his footing.

"As one of the esteemed Servants… I possess the capacity to command negative energy.

Albeit to a restricted extent… it is more than sufficient to neutralize an individual such as yourself."

"You have already been defeated, warrior of the Shadow Sect…

your defeat was sealed the very instant you chose me as your adversary."

As the profound power of Aether fully manifested its terrifying presence…

Maskith had decisively reversed the tide of the conflict.

And Alexander Rybak… found himself ensnared in a predicament that none would ever covet.