Arkanis looked up at the two figures suspended above the molten streets, though his attention settled almost entirely on Samwell after the declaration. His eyes narrowed slightly, tension coiling behind them. "You will beat me in spells?" he asked.
He brought his hands together, and between his palms astral energy began to gather—at first a faint shimmer, then rapidly condensing into a dense, swirling sphere. Colors folded into one another within it, like fragments of a night sky compressed into something tangible, the air around it distorting as the energy stabilized under his control. "I might not be able to use my magic as well as before without my staff," Arkanis continued, his voice low and controlled, "but you still cannot beat me in magical ability."
Above him, Samwell clenched his jaw, anger sharpening his focus. "I will blast you into bloody chunks!" He thrust both arms forward, mana surging violently down his limbs as he aligned the spell. Prince Mark glanced between the two of them and let out a quiet sigh before angling his body upward, his remaining thruster flaring as he pushed himself higher to avoid the incoming clash.
"Die! Mana Blast!" Samwell roared. A beam of condensed purple mana tore free from his hands, compressing into a focused stream that ripped through the air toward Arkanis. "Too loud," Arkanis replied, releasing the sphere. The ball of astral energy shot upward to meet the beam.
The moment they collided—everything vanished. For a single instant, there was no motion, no sound—only a point where both attacks met, compressing against each other with impossible force. The air around it warped inward, space itself seeming to fold toward that center. Then it broke. Light erupted outward in a violent expansion, devouring everything in its path. The ground below disintegrated instantly, molten stone flashing into nothing as the shockwave tore across the battlefield. Structures within range ceased to exist, reduced to absence as the force expanded in all directions. The air screamed under the pressure, a deafening rupture following the initial silence as the blast carved a hollow through the city. The world became white.
And then—before the light could fade, before the ringing could settle—Samwell felt it. A hand drove straight through his torso from behind, punching clean through his chest and emerging from the front in a spray of blood. His body locked.
"Did you really think I would just fight you in a contest?" Arkanis asked from behind him.
Samwell's eyes dropped. The Demon Lord stood there, his arm buried through him. Arkanis pulled his hand free, something small and slick with blood clutched in his grip—Samwell's appendix. "Let's see how you use magic without the secondary battery," he said, crushing it in his hand as the organ ruptured.
Flames ignited across his palm in the same motion. He stepped in and drove his burning hand into Samwell's chest, the impact detonating with force as it launched him downward. Samwell hit the ground hard, the impact knocking the air from his lungs in a harsh wheeze as his body bounced once against the shattered remains of the street before settling.
*I-I have to heal…*
He tried. Mana moved—but sluggishly, unevenly. His body fought to repair itself, to restore the missing organ, to mend broken bones, to stabilize the damage to his heart—but the flow was wrong. Incomplete. Strained. His main mana generators were damaged and gone. The absence was immediate and crippling.
Arkanis dropped down beside him. He said nothing. He simply raised his foot, preparing to bring it down on Samwell's skull.
Then—a thruster roared.
"Of course," Arkanis muttered, glancing upward. "Can't forget about you."
Prince Mark descended fast, his damaged thruster screaming as it pushed beyond its limits, driving him downward like a falling projectile, his body angled straight toward the Demon Lord. Arkanis braced, gravity tightening around his fist as the air warped slightly under the pressure. He stepped forward and swung.
His fist connected with Prince Mark's head. The impact sent the prince flying, his body snapping backward and tumbling across the ground like a ragdoll. Too much like a ragdoll. Arkanis watched it for a fraction of a second. Something felt wrong. *What was that? Why did it feel off? He was lighter than he should be…*
His gaze sharpened. The body lay still. Then he noticed it. "Where is the blade?" he muttered.
"Right here."
Arkanis turned. Prince Mark was there—mid-fall, body still descending, no longer encased in his G.E.A.R., the blade already thrust forward as gravity carried him down into the strike, aimed directly at him.
Arkanis reacted—but too late. He lifted his hand to deflect—
The blade pierced through his palm.
It didn't stop. It drove past the resistance, sliding through the gap between his neck and shoulder, punching deep into his chest—into his heart.
Prince Mark's momentum carried through the strike as he continued falling past him, his grip steady despite the damage he had taken. "Even without the suit, I am still a Noble," he said.
Arkanis stared at him. Shock overtook the tension in his expression, disbelief replacing it as blood spilled from his mouth.
"And you underestimated that."
With one final critical hit.
Prince Mark had finished the long, long battle.