Fated Encounter

In a landscape where beauty once thrived, only desolation remains. The area, a testament to devastation, lies buried under a heap of rubble. The forest, which once pulsed with vibrant life and diverse plant species, is now a disastrous plain, stripped of vitality. Life, in its once abundant glory, has vacated, leaving behind only the carcasses of flora, a silent witness to the catastrophe that befell this place. The air, heavy with the scent of decay, tells a tale of destruction, an echo of the vibrant life that can no longer find a foothold here.

BOOOOM! An explosion shatters the oppressive silence, its roar slicing through the air, sending shockwaves across the decimated landscape. The force of the blast vibrates through the entire forest, shaking every stone and stirring the dust of destruction within a ten-mile radius. Amidst the chaos, a voice, cold yet imbued with a calm authority, pierces the tumult, "Madman, accept your death." The command, firm and unwavering, demands obedience.

Floating mid-air, the source of the command, a man with dark blue hair and deep blue eyes, exudes an aura of controlled power. With a minimal gesture, a mere flick of his finger, he conjures 23 magic circles. From these circles, beams of pure flame burst forth, a dance of destruction aimed with precision.

On the ground stands another man, his demeanor contrasting sharply with the situation. A devious smirk plays across his lips as he pushes back his dark green hair, so dark it could easily be mistaken for black. "Hmhmhmhmhm..." His laughter, carrying an edge of mockery, fills the air as he takes a step back. In an instant, he vanishes from the ground, reappearing high in the sky, evading the relentless pursuit of the fiery beams with an ease that speaks of his confidence.

"You're just like all the others," he declares, his voice calm yet laced with a devious mirth that could unsettle even the fiercest demon. With a casual flick of his finger, he summons a massive dark magic circle. The circle, an abyss of blackness, spins slowly, exuding a sinister energy. Abruptly, it unleashes a black hue, a wave of darkness that envelopes the space in front of it. The bright orange beams of fire, once a threat, are engulfed by the dark hue, their fury contained within this newly created void. The darkness compresses, shrinking rapidly until nothing remains but the heavy silence of the aftermath.

The man with dark blue hair reappears on the ground, his demeanor unshaken by the recent display of power. He gazes upwards with a calm, cold expression, "A man who fell into darkness... How pitiful," he comments, his voice echoing a sense of detached pity.

The other man descends from the sky, his steps as assured as if treading down an invisible staircase, until he lands on the ravaged earth. Licking his lips with a devious grin, he retorts, "A chained dog who follows orders... How pitiful." Despite the sharp barb, the man with blue hair remains unaffected, his posture relaxed, his face a mask of serenity.

"You, who has fallen into darkness. As a fellow human being, I will set an example to those who walk the dark path," he states, his tone calm yet imbued with a cold resolve. His gaze, difficult to read, not cold, yet not warm. Slowly, he unsheathes his sword, the blade gleaming an ice-blue hue, a truly beautiful blade.

"My name is Haze, remember it in your next life for it shall bring you luck," he declares, his voice maintaining its calm, almost pitying tone. The man known only as Haze watches as his opponent laughs dismissively, brushing back his dark hair. "Oh, give me a break... You church bastards are persistent. Is this because I stole a sacred artifact? Or is it 'cause I killed a couple of priests? You came to play like all the others, didn't you?" he asks, smirking provocatively. "Fine, let's play, light dog."

Haze, unfazed by the provocation, responds, "Harbinger of Madness... that title suits a man like you." With a swift flick of his sword, the decimated forest begins to freeze, the ice spreading rapidly, halting only to form an array at its edge. The runes on Haze's sword glow a luminous white, activating the array to create a barrier, sealing both combatants within an inescapable arena.

"This is your end, madman Ezequiel... what an unfitting name for a man like you," Haze proclaims, his statement setting the stage for the final confrontation. Ezequiel's laughter, initially controlled, crescendos into a loud, unrestrained cackle, "HmhmHmHmHmHMHMHAHAHA."

"Hmmm~ Those old fuckers really went all out to make sure I die, huh?" Zeke muses, rubbing his chin in delight, an edge of amusement coloring his tone. He plays with his dagger, the blade glinting ominously as he licks it, a gesture that sends shivers down the spine of anyone who catches sight. "You're confident~ Being a hero candidate doesn't put you above others," he remarks, his voice calm yet carrying an unsettling undercurrent, paired with a scary smile that belies his casual demeanor.

He walks forward, each step measured and casual, as if he's strolling through a garden rather than a battlefield. "You church bastards stuck in the past will die out sooner or later. The last hero was killed by a normal human," he says, his laughter tinged with a devious delight, the sound echoing mockingly in the desolate landscape.

Haze, the embodiment of stoic resolve, doesn't let the provocation ruffle him. "Indeed... The bloody queen killed the last hero. He and the others at that time were blind and foolish, corrupted by greed and desire," he replies, his voice calm as the surface of a still lake, lifting his sword in preparation for the impending clash.

With a swift motion, Haze slashes at the air, the space itself seeming to tremble at the force. However, Zeke counters with a dark purple dagger, the simple clash sending shockwaves through the ground, fracturing it apart all the way to the edge of the barrier. Haze, his expression unreadable, inspects the dagger, his thoughts racing. 'This is strange. My sword is capable of freezing most blades. His dagger doesn't emit the energy of a high-ranked artifact.' He pushes forward with his sword, forcing Zeke to take a step back.

"Let's see what a hero candidate is capable of," Zeke taunts, a grin spreading across his face. Above them, a magic circle crackles with dark mana, turning slowly, an ominous sign of the dark powers at play.

Haze, ever the strategist, notes the magic circle with a calm that belies the urgency of the situation. 'That magic circle... is he using it to corrode the barrier?' he ponders, his mind a whirlwind of tactical calculations.

Suddenly, Zeke appears behind Haze, his movement a blur. "Don't zone out now~," he whispers maliciously, striking down with precision. Haze, demonstrating his prowess, swings his sword behind himself to block, his movements fluid and assured. "You're a threat to humanity," he states firmly, his voice carrying the weight of his conviction.

With an agility that speaks of his training and power, Haze lifts one hand, casting a magic circle with breathtaking speed. A sword of light shoots towards the ominous circle above, a countermeasure to the darkness Zeke conjures. But Zeke is quick to respond, casting a magic circle in its path. A pillar of dark magic falls from it, clashing with the light sword in an explosion that illuminates the battlefield. 

Haze exhales deeply, the air crystallizing around him as his eyes illuminate with an ethereal blue hue, signaling the unleashing of his formidable power. "I won't allow you to escape," he declares, his voice a chilling blend of determination and authority. In a blink, he's before Zeke, striking down with such force that the already devastated land fractures further, the ice spreading like wildfire.

Zeke coats his dagger in dark mana, a stark contrast to the purity of Haze's attack. The clash shatters the silence, the impact resonating through the desolate landscape, dark mana greedily reaching for the sword. Haze's retort is swift, "How presumptuous. How dare you attempt to corrupt a holy artifact." The sword radiates an even colder hue, shooting ice that rapidly encases the dagger. Zeke's smirk widens, "Hmhmhmhm, that's right. Don't make it easy," his dark mana pulsating, shattering the ice in defiance as he retreats, setting the stage for their dance of destruction.

They surge forward, Haze with slashes of chilling precision, Zeke with agile dodges, leaving a trail of devastation in their wake. The landscape transforms, marked by the ferocity of their battle. Zeke, seizing a moment, claps his hands together, summoning a dark magic circle that unleashes his mana in a torrential surge, aiming to ensnare Haze. But Haze, with a slash, cleaves the attack in two, his mind racing with questions. 'How did he achieve this level of control? Dark magic is banned in all human countries, and all other races have no interest in it. Did he travel to the Far East?' His thoughts swirl as he continues his assault.

Unyielding, Haze conjures 23 magic circles, from which light swords barrage towards Zeke from every conceivable angle. Zeke weaves through the onslaught with a grin, countering with his own circles that form a protective sphere around them. "I hate light shows," he jests, his magic circles unleashing black lasers that obliterate Haze's magic circles.

Haze, drawing a deep breath, centers himself. 'Sword Chronicles, first form, Everlasting Slash,' he mentally prepares, his sword tracing a circle in the air. Despite the swift motion, it appears almost slow, deliberate, the tip of the sword leaving a visible trail. He exhales, and Zeke, anticipating the impending devastation, conjures ten layers of magical shields.

The slash is monumental, a display of Haze's mastery over his craft. It shatters Zeke's defenses, turning the menacing lasers into nothing but frozen particles that disintegrate into snow.

Zeke smirks devilishly, a visage of defiance and mockery. Blood leaks from the corner of his mouth as he laughs heartily, "Hmhmhmhahahaha... Is this all a hero candidate is capable of?" His demeanor, unyielding even in the face of defeat, embodies the chaos he thrives in.

Haze, the epitome of serene determination, advances towards Zeke with deliberate steps, his presence commanding yet composed. "Madman, you are strong despite having limited resources. In your next life, may you be blessed by the goddess," he intones, his voice imbued with a mixture of respect and finality. Lifting his sword, he continues, "You should be aware, with your current capabilities, you're no match for me. Perhaps in a decade, you would be my match, which is why I must kill you now. Do not resent me, for this is the path you chose," he declares, his calm unwavering.

The ground quivers beneath them, a prelude to Haze's next inquiry. "Tell me what you know about number 7. We got a hint you're connected to him in some way," he probes, seeking information amidst the imminent conclusion of their duel.

Zeke's laughter, unbothered and mocking, fills the air. "Hmhmhmhmhm... so it's about him," he muses, smirking through his pain, the intrigue of their conversation undiminished by his injuries. "I get it, you consider him a threat, huh?" he taunts, tasting his own blood with a twisted sense of satisfaction.

Haze, undistracted by Zeke's provocations, states, "It seems you've made up your mind," acknowledging the resolution of their encounter. The ground's trembling ceases, revealing the entirety of the battleground as a massive magic circle, a strategic play hidden in plain sight.

"Goddess, please show mercy on this poor soul," Haze prays, his voice a solemn whisper in the midst of chaos. The area succumbs to his command, rapidly ensnared by ice, transforming into a colossal block of frozen stillness. Haze navigates in the ice effortlessly, approaching Zeke's frozen form with a sense of finality. Yet, he halts abruptly, a suspicion dawning. 'Did he...' His gaze shifts upwards, then quickly back down, reaching for Zeke's body, which disintegrates into black specks of dust—a last-minute escape orchestrated with cunning foresight.

Haze's grip on his sword tightens, a rare glimpse of frustration flashing through his calm demeanor. 'A spatial transmission artifact,' he realizes, the implications of Zeke's escape settling in. Turning away, he murmurs, "He broke through the barrier," his voice laced with a mix of admiration and regret, as his remaining magic begins to wane. "He is not fated to die today..."