“I AM YOUR END.”

The battlefield crackled with tension, a low hum of energy thrumming in the air as Nizara stood face-to-face with Malcorys. His presence was suffocating, his aura heavier than any of them remembered, and there was an undeniable darkness that clung to him like a shadow. Zalthor, Lucien, Commander Thorian, Commander Viktor, and Vice Commander Alda all stood behind him, their bodies still tense from barely dodging Malcorys' earlier attack. The severed arms of the dark mage lay on the ground, twitching, but Malcorys' dark energy still pulsed, seething with hatred.

Lucien's eyes widened as he processed what he was seeing. "Nizara?" His voice was filled with disbelief, his breath caught in his throat. He had thought—he and Zalthor had been convinced—that Nizara was dead. His survival seemed impossible, and yet here he was, standing before them. Lucien's heart pounded, torn between relief and confusion.

"Is it really you?" Lucien asked, his voice shaking slightly as he stared at Nizara's back.

Without turning to face him, Nizara responded, his voice low and dark, dripping with an ominous chill. "Who else would it be?"

The tone sent a shiver down everyone's spine. This wasn't the Nizara they remembered—there was something off, something far more dangerous lurking beneath his words. His presence was unsettling, casting a shadow over his companions, even those who had known him for so long.

Malcorys, clutching his bleeding stumps, gritted his teeth and snarled at the sight of his lost arms. But before he could act, Nizara didn't hesitate. He surged forward with speed that blurred the air around him, his hand igniting with flames as he yelled, "Blazing Inferno!"

A torrent of scorching fire erupted from his palm, engulfing the space around Malcorys, flames roaring with terrifying intensity. The flames were unlike any normal fire—they carried a dark red hue, and the sheer heat caused the ground beneath them to melt into molten rock.

Zalthor, watching from a distance, felt his stomach lurch. His eyes widened in shock. "Fire…? But Nizara never used fire before… How is this possible?"

Malcorys howled in agony, the fire licking at his flesh, charring his cloak and blackening the ground around him. But the dark mage wasn't finished. With a guttural snarl, he concentrated his own dark energy and regenerated his arms, the tendrils of his power weaving flesh and bone back together. "You… think fire will be enough to stop me?" Malcorys hissed, a smirk crossing his twisted face.

Nizara's eyes narrowed, his aura flaring. "That was just the beginning."

Without warning, he charged forward again, this time his sword crackling with electricity—not the familiar blue lightning of his ThunderBlade, but a darker, more intense grey bolt that radiated an oppressive energy. He raised his sword high, and as he brought it down toward Malcorys, he shouted, "Grey Tempest!"

The strike of the grey lightning was deafening, splitting the air with a crack that seemed to shake the entire battlefield. The energy coursed through the ground, creating massive fissures that radiated outward, and Malcorys was forced back, his feet sliding as he barely blocked the attack with a barrier of dark magic. The impact of the grey lightning sent shockwaves through the ground, shattering rocks and splitting the earth beneath them.

"Impossible!" Malcorys spat as he staggered, his dark barrier flickering under the weight of the lightning attack. "You've changed… What kind of power is this?"

Nizara didn't answer. His eyes burned with a dangerous light, his focus entirely on Malcorys as if no one else existed. The next moment, the air around Nizara shifted again, this time rippling with the essence of water. But the water was different—darker, more fluid, and seemed to pulse with an ominous force. Nizara raised his hand, and in an instant, streams of water began to gather, swirling around his body like a coiled serpent.

"Dark Tide Requiem!" he roared, thrusting his hand forward.

A massive wave of dark water crashed forward, surging with unnatural force. The water moved like a living entity, twisting and writhing as it bore down on Malcorys, drowning the area in its violent currents. The dark mage summoned more of his energy, trying to create a shield, but the water broke through, crashing into him with devastating force. The impact sent him sprawling, his body slamming into the ground with a bone-shaking thud.

Malcorys gasped for breath, his body trembling as he pushed himself up, his dark energy wavering. "What… what are you?"

But Nizara wasn't done. He stepped forward, his eyes cold, his voice even colder. "I am your end."

As he spoke, Nizara's aura began to shift again, this time gathering in a way that made the very air around them heavy with dread. The atmosphere darkened, as if the light itself was being swallowed by an abyss, and the shadows seemed to grow longer, creeping toward Malcorys like the grasp of death itself.

Malcorys tried to back away, but his limbs were heavy, his body broken from the relentless onslaught. His breath came in ragged gasps, his eyes wide with terror as he looked up at Nizara. "No… please…!"

Nizara's gaze was cold and unfeeling as he stood over the defeated Malcorys. His voice was low, dark, and filled with a terrifying certainty as he spoke. "You should never have touched my comrades… or this kingdom. Your existence is nothing but a stain that I will erase from this world."

Malcorys's eyes widened, true fear creeping into his gaze for the first time. "What… what are you going to do?"

Nizara's lips twisted into a grim smile, one that sent chills through everyone watching. His voice dropped even lower, filled with malice. "Eternal Death."

The name of the move sent an icy wave of terror through Malcorys, but before he could react, Nizara's hand shot forward, dark energy coiling around his fingers as he grasped Malcorys by the throat. There was no time for Malcorys to scream, no time for him to beg, as Nizara's dark energy surged through him, tearing at his very soul.

A horrifying scream echoed across the battlefield as Malcorys's body convulsed, his soul ripped from his form and trapped in an endless, eternal darkness—a fate far worse than death. His body crumbled into dust, leaving nothing behind but silence.

The battlefield was eerily quiet, the oppressive weight of Nizara's power still lingering in the air. No one spoke as Nizara turned, his eyes cold and unfeeling, no trace of the man they once knew in his expression.

He walked past his comrades, his voice dark and devoid of any warmth as he said, "Let's go. The battle isn't over. It's only getting started."

His words sent a chill down everyone's spine. There was something wrong with Nizara—something dark and dangerous, something that wasn't there before.

But no one dared question him as he walked off, his presence lingering like a shadow, leaving the others in stunned silence.

*To Be Continued…*