Alistair's aura thickened.
The air grew heavier—denser—like the moment before a storm finally breaks.
Caelen felt it.
Instinct moved before thought.
A swarm of iron blades materialized around him without warning—no summoning circle, no visible source. They simply existed. And in the next heartbeat, they fell.
A metallic downpour.
Not chaotic.
Directed.
Each blade descended with terrifying sublight velocity, slicing through the air faster than the eye could properly follow.
Alistair reacted immediately.
One step.
Then another.
His body blurred through the storm, wooden blade spinning in tight, efficient arcs. Steel rang against wood in rapid succession. Some blades shattered. Others were deflected aside. A few gouged the earth where he had just stood.
He found rhythm within the rain.
And then—an opening.
His muscles tightened. Aura condensed around his legs like coiled pressure.
He vanished.
In a single explosive step, he closed the distance toward Caelen.
Caelen barely reacted in time.
Several oversized blades surged up from the earth before him, thicker and broader than ordinary swords, their edges forming a makeshift wall.
Wood struck iron.
Impact thundered outward.
Alistair quick-stepped again, afterimages trailing behind him as he shifted to Caelen's right side—the boy's blind weakness, the side harder to guard with only one arm.
Blades clashed again.
Harder this time.
Faster.
Alistair's thoughts sharpened mid-exchange.
The boy was telling the truth.
His stance—flawed. His transitions—stiff. His shoulders—telegraphing every strike.
Predictable.
Painfully so.
Even a novice could identify the gaps.
And yet—
When their blades met, something felt wrong.
The weight behind Caelen's swings was perfect.
Not refined.
Perfect.
The timing of impact. The angle of force. The confidence in follow-through.
It did not match the body wielding it.
It felt... guided.
As though the blade recognized its maker—bending instinctively to the will of the one who had authority over all forged steel.
Alistair narrowed his eyes.
Is it instinct?
Or something else?
Another exchange.
Alistair twisted sharply, parrying upward with controlled precision.
Caelen's iron blade tore free from his grip and launched skyward, spinning until it disappeared beyond the glare of the sun.
YOU ARE READING
The Superior Rebirth: A Hero's Awakening
FantasyHe was stolen before he could be named. Experimented on before he could walk. And somewhere in the shadows - an enemy has been watching him ever since. Xavier didn't choose this life. He didn't choose the prophecy, the power, or the war closing in a...
