The Breaking Point

The usually harmonious training ground of the Duskcrowned Family appeared chaotic today. Snow-white hair tousled by the wind, and deep blue eyes filled with determination, a lone boy stood facing a group of Fallen Angels, his peers.

He donned an outfit that harmonized elegance, comfort, and power into a unique equilibrium. His white shirt neatly tucked into black pants, an unbuttoned dark blue jacket draped over it, and leather boots completed the ensemble.

Others nearby wore equally exquisite outfits, adorned with golden and silver buttons and patterns. The one facing him sported a silver jacket over a royal blue shirt, signifying noble birth.

Hushed conversations filled the air as the crowd started chattering. The human boy clenched his fists, unyielding in the face of multiple opponents. It was they who had dragged his mother into their feud.

The training field buzzed with anticipation. Observers who had been preoccupied with their own training gathered around, forming a circle around Amon and his opponent. Whispers and muted laughter rippled through the air in anticipation of the impending showdown.

Amon stood at the center, his chest heaving with a mixture of anger and anxiety. He could feel the weight of the crowd's judgmental eyes upon him; it was suffocating. The constant taunts had struck deep, cutting through his firm resolve like a blade.

For a fleeting moment, he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as his mother had taught him. It was a moment to collect his thoughts, to regain his composure. His tightened body loosened, and so did his fists. He made a decision, suppressing the initial raging storm within.

He had to remain composed and hide his feelings; he couldn't let them see through his facade and notice his vulnerability. Everything he had done in the past months would be a waste if he lost his composure now; he wasn't willing to create any more trouble for his mother.

While he knew he had to solve this matter peacefully, He had to make them apologize. Not to satisfy his Ego but to regain his mother's honor, 'Defiled Angel' was slang used to show Fallen Angels that have relationships with lower Races in a negative light.

He looked his opponent in the eyes briefly before saying, "Apologize," through his gritted teeth. His voice was surprisingly steady despite the turmoil in his heart.

"Apologize? ..For what?" asked the opponent with a confused expression on his face as if he had no idea what the Amon was talking about.

Amon looked at him, The storm raging inside his heart growing every moment. His patience was at its limit if it was not for the final warning from his mother this time to not cause any trouble. He would have already attacked him.

"For bringing my mother into our feud; if you have a problem with me, you can abuse me however you want. Leave my mother out of it." He decided to try one last time to solve it peacefully.

If this jerk remained unapologetic, he would need to teach him a lesson and create an example. Next time, they should know the final line they should never cross. It didn't matter how hurt he got; he would make his opponent bleed and regret provoking him.

A sneer etched on the face of the Dark Angel, he shrugged dismissively. "Why should I apologize? I spoke the truth." He mocked Amon.

"As for bringing your mother into our feud, I don't remember doing it. Maybe it's you who is misinterpreting my joke," he added, his lips curling into a smirk. The onlookers supported him with another wave of laughter.

These words were like salt in Amon's wounds, and the torrent he had suppressed until now burst apart like a volcano eruption. The next moment, his body shot toward his opponent with a naked sword in his right hand.

The crowd gasped in surprise and backed off as they witnessed Amon's Assault; the fingers curled around the handle of his Sword tightened as his Sword tore through the air, approaching the fallen Angel.

A glint of blue appeared in the opponent's eyes. He dodged the attack, displaying his superhuman reflexes. Using his superior Agility, he tried to create distance between himself and his opponent, but Amon kept charging.

His eyes scanned through Amon's movements, making it easy for him to dodge all his attacks effortlessly. Despite it, no hint of joy could be seen on his face; he had never thought Amon would be this fast.

He would have gotten hurt without his Special Eyes, an ability awakened mostly by Fallen Angels with pure Bloodline. It allowed him to pay attention to every moment of his opponent, even while moving around at a fast speed with clarity.

Noticing them, other Fallen Angels reacted swiftly and moved back, making the circle surrounding Amon and his opponent wider to avoid getting in their way.

Amon's moved around with different trajectories. Facing the constant barrage of Sword Swings, his opponent was forced to pay attention to his attacks, giving him no time to cast Magic.

With each passing moment, the Nephilim boy improved, His strikes becoming more lethal and unpredictable. He was constantly improving at a speedy rate. Unfortunately, his opponent could see through his attacks and dodge them with his fast reaction time and speed.

Amon studied his opponent and changed his strategy, closing the gap repeatedly, giving the opponent no time to focus and cast Magic. He was constantly pushing him back toward the wall.

While Fallen Angels were multiple times physically stronger, their main strength usually lay in their ability to cast Elemental Magic. The crowd was cheering for the Fallen Angel; they had full confidence in his capabilities.

"Why is Damien not using magic?" asked one guy in the crowd; he looked younger than others.

"His opponent is giving him no chance to focus; his full attention is on dodging his attacks, giving him little to no time to cast it," replied the other beside him.

"Don't defend that idiot." said the taller Fallen Angel, "It's because he is too slow; if that was me, I only need a second to cast a spell, and the battle would have ended in one attack."

"Look, Amon has cornered Damien; he is in trouble now," appeared a voice from the front, which made everyone focus on the fight again.

Amon's Sword curved from his right side and slashed at the opponent; Damien kicked the ground and pushed himself to the left direction, dodging the attack again before it even landed.

A spring green glow appeared in his eyes; he opened his mouth and chanted his spell "Aerial Push," Whirlwind started gathering on his right palm. His lips curled up in a cocky grin; he had finally got the chance to cast his spell.

Something unexpected happened the next moment; Amon swiftly shifted his lower limbs, pivoting his body, and lunged forward—his sword thrust towards Damien's right wing with unrelenting determination.