Supreme Spouse System.

Chapter 459: Leon VS Aden [Part-4]

Leon VS Aden [Part-4]

Aden’s smile sharpened, teeth barely visible beneath the shadowed mask of his face. The air around him pulsed like a living thing, famished, expectant. "Now," he snarled, his voice booming through the air like far-off thunder, "let’s get this done."

They fought again, harder, faster, more ferocious than the last time. The air itself howled with the impact of their meeting, each blow slashing through it like a knife. Sparks and energy flew with every strike, tearing the ground into splintered cracks, showering up shards of earth and dust. Leon’s flame struck Aden’s wind, scorching and whipping about, and the mass of earth crashed against shadow in a fierce, wild dance. Light and darkness whirled around each other, swirling upward, as if the very heavens themselves were being rent in two.

Aden bellowed, sweeping his sword downwards in a killing arc. "Dark Slash!" The dark edge ripped through the air towards Leon. He spun violently, avoiding, but the energy brushed against his shoulder. It felt sharp and searing and left him with an agonizing pain as blood hissed when it hit the blackened ground.

Leon flinched, copper bitter on his lips, but a low laugh pushed its way past his gritted teeth, raw but full of rebellion. "You’re smarter than I expected," he told her, voice ringing over the tempest of elements.

"And you’re brasser than you have any right to be!" Aden roared, his words slicing through the maelstrom like a blade themselves.

Leon’s smile grew wider, raw and unrepentant. "Perhaps. But that makes me lethal."

Without hesitation, he pressed forward once more. Purple runes flared around him, moving like living flames across his skin. His fists flew out, one after the next, quick and merciless, each strike warping the air, each blow booming like faraway thunder. Aden countered him with stubborn exactitude, his sword flashing in defensive sweeps, parrying strike after strike. Sparks flared where magic met metal, the noise a cacophonous symphony of warring forces.

Then, something changed in Leon. The gold of his eyes darkened, smoldering molten and fierce, like the core of a sun. In an instant, he disappeared, leaving behind a slight ripple of air, and reappeared behind Aden. His fist burned dark violet, a maelstrom of light and darkness swirling around it, ravenous and unrelenting.

"Voidbreaker Strike!" he bellowed, and the energy of the blow cut through the battlefield, a crash of strength that offered nothing but devastation.

The punch landed Aden square in the chest, a harsh crack of impact that sent shockwaves resonating through the courtyard. Dust and shards of stone erupted outward, filling half the area with a constricting cloud of smoke and rubble. The ferocity of the strike hung heavy in the air, a pungent burn that lingered on, leaving behind a path of shaking echoes.

As the haze lifted, Aden was on a knee, armor dented, blackened, and shredded, twisted metal shining in the pale moonlight. His chest thrust laboriously, each breath a struggle, but his eyes flared hotter than ever, ablaze with defiance, unyielding in their rage. "You think... that’s enough to stop me?

His voice cracked, raw and harsh, but there was steel in the words — a challenge, a warning, and a confession rolled together.".

Leon said nothing. He moved forward, purposeful, every step weighted with intent, his presence oppressive in its power. The wind of night swirled about him, bringing the smell of smoke and the soft whisper of dying fire. He looked down at Aden, serene but unyielding, and his voice broke the electric silence finally, low and controlled. "I don’t need to stop you," he said, every word chosen, calculated. "I just need you to know."

Aden’s brow furrowed, pain and frustration twisting his features. "Understand what?" His voice was brittle now, but his glare remained fierce, refusing to bend.

Leon’s gaze was unwavering, unblinking. "That the throne you fight for," he spoke softly, the words thick as lead, "is already rightfully mine. And whether you live to behold it or no." His chest contracted, expanded, slowly, steadily, each breath a deliberate calm before the tempest. ".Vellore will bend.

Aden’s hand tightened around his sword, knuckles growing white. His mind reeled with a maelstrom of thoughts — obligation, rage, uncertainty, and underlying all, a faint, aching spark of faith he wouldn’t allow himself. The pressure bore down upon him, heavy as stone, nearly insupportable, and still, he refused to turn away.

Before he could call upon a reaction, the ground beneath them shook with a convulsive violence, the earth itself seeming to tremble with fear of what they had unleashed. A frayed spout of raw mana erupted from where their abilities met, wild and beyond control, ripping through the air like some living thing. The shockwave crashed outward, sending soldiers flying, dousing the few scattered flames that still danced.

Both men’s eyes rose simultaneously as a huge piece of the adjacent castle wall creaked and collapsed, hurtling toward them with unstemmable momentum. Aden hardly raised his sword, metal ringing against air, as Leon’s aura burst forth in reaction, a blinding clash of light and darkness that tore the night asunder like a rent in the heavens.

The effect was total, a crescendo of noise and fury, resonating through every bone, every nerve. For one agonizing, timeless moment, the world seemed to resolve into a single, universal roar — a roar that was pain and power, fury and helplessness, all rolled together.

And then... quiet. The courtyard, which had been alive with the sounds of footsteps and faraway conversation, was gone as though swallowed up by the ground itself. In its stead yawned a crater, jagged and smoking, the stone splintered like splintered glass. Charred walls and broken tiles littered the blackened ground, speaking of a power that had taken no mercy with it.

The air reeked of the metallic taste of blood and the sharp smell of fire, curling in smoky tendrils toward the pale moon above.

From the peripheries of the ruin, shadowy figures appeared, silhouettes elongating abnormally as they made their way through the destruction. They were indistinct, nearly ghostly, yet every motion was charged — with fear, wonder, perhaps even defiance. The stillness bore down on them like a pressure, pushing them to advance slowly, yet driving them to bear witness to the consequence of something no one had ever dared to envision. In the very center of everything, two stood dominant. One was on their knees, shoulders slumped, chest heaving and contracting with harsh gasps, the energy surrounding them flaring like a candle burning against the breeze. Facing them, a single figure stood unmoving, solid as the mountain itself, golden light glinting dimly from within their eyes, showing both power and fatigue.

Between them the air was charged, quivering with the residue of energy that had broken stone and flesh both.

The moonlight flared on battered armor and rents in clothing, highlighting scars and bruises, but also the hint of defiance in the stooped posture of the kneeling figure. No words were needed; each strained gasp, each quiver in their aura gave voice louder than any scream. The night was still not finished, and even the silence held a threat — this was not yet done.

In the distance, a faint gust disturbed dust and ash, they writhing into specter-like shapes that danced along the rim of the crater. Vellore’s world, indifferent to mortal struggles as it normally was, quivered now, feeling the ripples from the center of devastation. And even as the night endured, bitter and unforgiving, it was certain: there would never be the same again.

The night wasn’t finished.

But the world of Vellore had only just started to shake.