Chapter 641: Where Is this Power Coming From?

A beam of pure white heat lanced downward and struck Benjamin dead center.

For an instant the street was illuminated brighter than noon. The beam’s energy converted flesh, cloth, and bone into superheated vapor.

Where Benjamin had been, only a shimmering column of ultra-heated gas remained, rising and dispersing into the air.

The stone pavement beneath the point of impact glowed cherry-red and began to crack.

Silence followed.

Everyone stood motionless, and every sense stretched outward. Eyes scanned rooftops, alley mouths, shattered windows. Magical perception swept the area in overlapping waves, searching for the faintest trace of life or residual power.

[I know that the incineration spell is extremely powerful,] Sekhmet sent at last, her mental voice low and wary. [But there is no way it ends this easily.]

The others offered no argument.

They had already shifted fully into silent communication, unwilling to risk spoken words that might give away position or intention.

“Geez. Where are you looking, Hawthorne?” A voice spoke from directly beneath Hawthorne’s guard.

The words were casual, yet they landed with the gravity of a blade against the spine.

Hawthorne’s eyes dropped to find that Benjamin was there — crouched low, one knee nearly touching the ground, his right fist already driving upward toward the center of Hawthorne’s chest.

There had been no footstep, no displacement of air, no warning of any kind.

Hawthorne’s arms crossed in front of his torso in a desperate, last-moment block.

Benjamin’s fist met the crossed forearms.

The collision detonated outward in a concussive shockwave.

Stone fractured under Hawthorne’s boots. The force traveled up his arms and through his shoulders, driving him backward despite the block.

Dust and debris exploded away from the point of impact in a widening ring.

The larger man was lifted clean off his feet and driven backward like a cannonball.

His massive body smashed through the front wall of the nearest building, brick and timber exploding outward in a cloud of dust and splinters.

He continued on, tearing through an interior partition, then another exterior wall, before finally slamming into the street beyond and skidding across broken cobblestones in a long, grinding trail of debris.

Zanya reacted on pure instinct.

The moment Benjamin’s form had appeared within reach, her blade was already in motion—a silver arc aimed precisely at the side of his neck.

One could say she was too fast.

The edge passed through flesh and bone without the slightest resistance, continuing onward to carve a deep furrow into the ground and then slice cleanly through the distant corner of a stone warehouse two streets away.

Dust drifted from the severed architecture, but Benjamin did not even glance in her direction. His eyes remained fixed on the fallen Hawthorne as he accelerated once more, boots hammering the fractured pavement with each powerful stride.

In seconds he closed the distance again. Hawthorne, still somewhat dazed and bleeding from his mouth, forced himself upright and met the incoming attack with a ready fist of his own.

The collision was apocalyptic.

A deafening BOOM rolled across the district.

The shockwave expanded in a visible ring of compressed air and dust. Houses with weaker foundations shuddered violently; several of them partially lifted from the earth, their lower walls cracking as the ground itself heaved.

Roof tiles rained down in scattered cascades.

Hawthorne’s teeth ground together as he locked strength against strength. Veins stood out along his neck and forearms. The smaller man’s power pressed against him like an unrelenting tide.

[Where… is this power coming from…?] the thought burned through Hawthorne’s mind even as he struggled to hold the line.

[Hawthorne! Leave his side for two seconds!] Zuri’s voice cut across the mental link, sharp with urgency.

Her multicolored hair had begun to shift, the various hues bleeding away until only a deep, uniform red remained. Her eyes matched the change, irises glowing the same fierce crimson.

Heat shimmered around her raised hands.

Hawthorne poured everything he had into a single shove, trying to force Benjamin’s arm backward far enough to create an opening for escape.

For a heartbeat it seemed he might succeed—the smaller man’s stance shifted under the pressure.

But Benjamin’s free hand snapped up and caught Hawthorne’s thick wrist.

With a sharp twist and pull, he redirected the larger man’s momentum downward. Benjamin’s knee drove hard into the torso of Hawthorne.

The impact forced the air from his lungs in a raw, involuntary gasp. His vision swam, the world tilting and blurring at the edges. For the first time in years, the towering fighter felt true disorientation.

Zuri’s hands hovered, wreathed in gathering red energy, but she could find no clear line of fire without risking Hawthorne.

She clicked her tongue in frustration, the sound sharp and irritated.

But soon, something struck Benjamin from the side with the suddenness of a lightning bolt. Sekhmet.

The force caved inward against his ribs; the sound of yielding bone was audible even over the residual ringing of the previous clash. His body was hurled sideways, tumbling end over end across the ruined street until he finally crashed through a low wall and into a private compound where a large, mature tree stood.

“Finally, a chance!” Zuri’s lips pulled back in a fierce smile, revealing jagged teeth.

She raised both hands, white energy already coalescing between her palms as she locked onto the figure slumped against the tree.

Suddenly, decades of combat instinct screamed a warning. Without conscious thought she spun left and unleashed the blast in a completely different direction—a wide, searing wave of white force that tore across the open space.

Her energy met an opposing surge of pure fire mid-air. The two powers collided with a roar, the impact creating a brief, blinding flare and a rush of superheated wind that scorched the surrounding walls.

[How did he get here?] Zuri’s thoughts raced even as she braced against the backlash. [Is he a clone?]

She swept her gaze back toward the tree and found the space empty. [And his fire attribute is nearly as powerful as mine, an elementalist?]

The moment the clashing energies dissipated, a new barrage began.

Golden darts—sharp, glowing projectiles of concentrated magic—streaked through the air toward Benjamin’s known position.

He was already moving, leaping from the ground to the slanted roof of a nearby building, then to the next, feet barely touching the tiles before he launched again.

Each dart that missed punched clean holes through chimneys and upper walls.

Saharit rose into the sky, her staff trailing luminous afterimages. From her elevated position she unleashed a continuous rain of the golden projectiles, forcing Benjamin to keep weaving and changing direction across the uneven rooftops.

On the ground, Sekhmet and Zuri sprinted toward the place where Zanya supported Hawthorne.

The large man sat with his back against an almost collapsed wall, breathing heavily but conscious. Zanya’s hand rested lightly on his head, steadying him.

“Zanya! Is Hawthorne okay?” Sekhmet called as they approached, her tail lashing with residual tension.

“He is doing fine,” Zanya answered, her voice calm despite the destruction around them.

She continued to smooth Hawthorne’s hair with slow, deliberate motions as his breathing gradually steadied. “It has been a while since he took a blow of such absurd strength.”

Sekhmet tilted her head upward, tracking the rapid exchange between Benjamin and Saharit high above the ruined street.

Her expression had lost all earlier amusement.

“I think I understand why the Old Testament have not attacked him themselves yet,” she said quietly. “He is too fast. He is too strong. And the volume of magic he commands rivals our own.”

Zanya’s gaze shifted from the sky to a small, quiet girl who stood a short distance away, watching the aerial battle with heavy, drooping eyelids.

The girl’s posture was relaxed and sleepy, but an unnatural stillness surrounded her.

“Yes,” Zanya said. “I think we should be very serious about killing him now.”

Then she addressed the small girl directly. “Frigoris. Kill him.”

The girl gave a single, small nod, then she crouched low to the ground, her small hands pressing against the broken stone, and the air around her began to grow unnaturally cold.

Thanks guys for reading this far ❤️