Primordial Heir: Nine Stars

Silence fell.

Only the relentless rain continued to pour, soaking the ruined battlefield, each droplet tapping against charred stone and splintered earth like a slow, ticking clock.

Nero stood tall—or rather, as tall as his battered body could manage. His flame-licked sword crackled faintly at his side, flickering like a candle on the verge of being snuffed out.

His body trembled, a bruised and bloodied canvas of resilience, more crimson than skin, scorched and torn from head to toe. His breath came in slow, shallow gasps. His legs were barely holding him upright, and his aura had faded to a flickering ember.

He should have felt victorious. He should have been relieved.

But instead, his expression was grim, his eyes heavy with suspicion.

The fight had reached its crescendo, its brutal peak—

Yet the curtain hadn't fallen.

"Sigh… Stop pretending. I know you're fine," Nero said, voice hoarse but steady, cutting through the rain like a blade.

His words were cold, direct. He didn't even raise his sword again—

He didn't need to. His intuition spoke louder than any stance.

Lying in the cracked ground, the demonized mage began to laugh—low at first, then rising, sharp and mocking.

"Hehehehe… You almost got me," the mage replied, sitting up slowly as if rising from a nap.

"Fortunately… my regenerative ability is top-notch."

In an instant, before Nero's eyes, his wounds vanished.

The torn skin resealed, bones cracked back into place with a sickening crunch, and his corrupted aura surged again, more refined, tighter than before.

But Nero saw through it—this wasn't without cost.

The demonized mage winced for a half-second before masking it behind a smug grin. His prana reserves were low—drastically so. Maintaining regeneration at this level had drained him.

'Still… Nero's condition is worse.

One last attack. That's all I need.'

'He's on the verge of collapse.

Victory is within reach.

But I must go all out.

I will give everything to erase him.'

Nero remained still, drenched in blood and rain, unmoving.

Internally, however, his thoughts raced. His body was screaming, his flame wings had long vanished, and his prana pool was nearly dry—only faint embers remained.

'I don't have much time left. If I can't stop his next move…

It's over.'

He tried to calm his racing heart, eyes narrowing beneath rain-soaked lashes.

'I could try using my eyes again to cancel his next spell…

But I'm mentally exhausted… If I push it now, I'll collapse before I can even react.'

A bead of blood ran down his temple, mixing with the rainwater.

' That only leaves… the second option.'

His gaze flickered—not outward, but inward.

Deep within his inner burned a star—

The Red Star.

A blazing, chaotic core of pure elemental fire, the legacy of the one known as Ighneel—the Fire Dragon King.

Nero had inherited the Law of Fire from Ighneel. But inheritance didn't mean mastery. He'd barely scratched the surface of its true potential. Until now, he hadn't even accessed 1% of the Law's essence.

'I don't need all of it, he thought, eyes distant. Just a spark… A fraction… Even a second of its power could be enough.'

But it was a gamble. A desperate one.

Still—what choice did he have?

With gritted teeth and heart pounding, Nero closed his eyes, tuning out the rain, the pain, the world around him.

And then—Nero closed his eyes, shutting the world out. His battered frame stood unmoving, soaked in rain, blood trailing from his jaw. And yet—he wasn't surrendering.

He was descending inward—entering his inner world, seeking the ember of divine flame that lay buried within him.

On the other side, the demonized mage narrowed his eyes, sensing the sudden stillness in his opponent.

Nero's breathing slowed. His sword lowered. His eyes unfocused, staring into the void as if he had abandoned the fight entirely.

But the mage didn't move.

"Hmph… This isn't right."

He gripped his massive trident tighter, its shaft glinting beneath the flashes of lightning that split the sky.

"It may be a ploy," he thought, heart pounding. "A final trap to make me drop my guard… and then strike when I least expect it."

But no matter how much he waited, Nero didn't move.

Still… the mage chose caution over pride. He couldn't risk it.

He plunged his trident into the cracked earth, summoning what remained of his prana. His veins bulged, his skin shimmered with water sigils, and the very air around him trembled under the weight of the spell he was about to unleash.

This would be his final move. His ultimate technique.

"Crush everything in your wake…"

His voice thundered like a god's decree, laced with raw malice and divine intent.

"—Water Deluge!!"

The reaction was instantaneous.

The gentle, rhythmic downpour overhead suddenly paused—as if the rain itself had taken a breath.

Then—

WHOOM—!!

The sky ruptured.

From the heavens above and the cracked earth below, water surged—no, erupted—in all directions.

The battlefield became a cataclysmic sea. The air was torn asunder by a crushing, elemental force—not a wave, but a titanic wall of water, rising and converging from every angle like a living fortress of annihilation.

It wasn't just rain anymore.

The droplets became razor-thin sheets, weaving together into monstrous waves tall as buildings, rolling with a weight that warped gravity. The earth cracked beneath their approach, boulders were hurled into the air like pebbles, and trees were shredded to splinters before the deluge even touched them.

From the east, west, above, and even the ground below—the water came.

It roared like ten thousand tidal beasts, churning with unstoppable momentum, a crushing aquatic storm summoned from the deepest abyss.

The sheer pressure distorted space itself—sound was muffled, time seemed to slow, and the mage's surroundings bent beneath the weight of the spell. His robe flared in the backdraft, and even he had to brace himself to keep from being swept into his own maelstrom.

The spell didn't just aim to drown.

It aimed to erase.

It sought to crush, to pulverize, to smother the battlefield into nothing but silence and sea.

The once-scorched battlefield disappeared under a mountainous spiral of water—moving faster, growing thicker, gaining weight with every heartbeat.

In the center of it all stood Nero—motionless, as though caught in a dream.

The waves curled around him, like jaws ready to devour.

The pressure of the deluge crushed the air around him; even from afar, the sheer force was enough to pulverize rocks into dust, warping the very terrain into a cratered, flooded wasteland.

The atmosphere collapsed into itself, imploding under the spell's density.

Even the clouds were being sucked downward, drawn into the vortex that spiraled above the field. The sky wept rivers. Thunder cracked.

If this hits… not even ashes will remain.

The demonized mage's lips curled into a grim smile.

"Let's see you get out of that."

And still…

Nero didn't move.