NOVEL NEXT Chapter 58: Fangs of Lightning
The storm had teeth.
Not just wind, not just thunder. The Herald had shed the last of its flesh, unraveling into a tempest with fangs of lightning and jaws of shadow. The sky itself gnawed at the arena, lightning bolts snapping down like the bite of a predator intent on consuming the world.
Jemil staggered, boots sliding on slick stone as sheets of rain lashed his face. The roar of the storm drowned out thought, yet he could still hear the whisper inside his chest—the Mark.
Hunt. Devour. Tear. Rip the heart before it rips yours.
He bit back the urge to scream. His blade quivered in his hands, not with fear but with the heat of his own fire, trying to stand against the endless storm.
A sharp clang brought him back—steel biting into lightning.
The swordmaster had leapt forward, her silhouette carved in silver against the chaos. Her katana flashed once, twice, thrice, each strike carving arcs through the storm, cutting lines of stillness through the madness. For an instant, Jemil could see the Herald's shifting form within the tempest—clawed limbs, a ribcage of thunder, fangs of molten fire. Then it dissolved again, hidden inside its storm.
"It's not a beast anymore," she called out, her voice clear and cutting despite the gale. Her blade spun, scattering lightning like sparks. "It's—"
"A god pretending to be one," Jemil finished, spitting blood into the rain. His lips curved into a smirk. "And gods can bleed."
The Herald's laughter rolled across the storm, deeper than thunder, shaking the foundations of the floor.
You still resist it. That hunger clawing at your marrow. Why fight? The hunt is truth. The devourer survives. You could be me.
Jemil's grip tightened. His knuckles were white, his skin scorched from near misses. "If being predator means becoming you, then I'll pass."
The storm roared in fury. Bolts struck with relentless hunger, shattering stone pillars and tearing new craters into the arena. The floor itself seemed ready to collapse under the predator's rage.
Jemil sprinted left, his blade trailing fire and shadow. The swordmaster mirrored his movements, circling right. Together, they forced the Herald to split its focus, lightning jaws snapping between them, claws of storm reaching to drag them into its core.
The swordmaster struck first. She moved like water, her steps gliding through pools of rain, her katana gleaming like silver fire. Every cut disrupted the Herald's rhythm, forcing fragments of its true form to flash in the storm.
Jemil seized the openings. He hurled fire into each crack she made, binding it with shadows to hold the predator's body in place for heartbeats at a time. Heartbeats that mattered.
"Together!" she shouted, her voice cutting through the roar.
Their blades crossed in the air, sparks scattering. With a wordless roar, they lunged side by side, fire twining with steel precision.
The Herald shrieked as their combined strike tore through the storm's shell, revealing the truth at its center.
A heart of lightning. A ribcage of flame. A core gnashing with jagged fangs, alive with hunger.
The predator's whisper grew louder, tearing through Jemil's thoughts like claws. Take it. Consume its heart. One strike. One kill. All that power is yours. Stop pretending to be prey.
Jemil froze, just for an instant. He could feel it—if he let the Mark fully in, he could devour the Herald in a single blow. Absolute victory. But at the cost of becoming everything he swore he wasn't.
The Herald sensed his hesitation. The storm surged, its fangs snapping toward him, jaws of lightning opening wide.
"Jemil!"
Her voice pierced him.
The swordmaster's blade slammed against his, steadying his wavering strike. Her eyes burned, sharp and unyielding even as her hair whipped wildly around her face.
"Don't give in," she snapped, her tone both furious and desperate. "Win our way. Not its way."
Her faith struck deeper than any lightning. Jemil's hesitation shattered.
He roared, every ounce of his will igniting his blade. Flames surged, blackened by shadow, but no longer twisted by hunger. Not devouring, but defiance. Not predator, not prey—something else entirely.
He and the swordmaster struck together.
Their blades crossed through the Herald's core. Fire spiraled with lightning, steel carved through the gnashing heart.
The predator shrieked, its voice shaking the sky. The storm buckled, its fangs cracking, its claws dissolving, its eyes shattering into sparks of broken flame.
Impossible… you were meant… to devour…
Jemil pushed harder, forcing his blade deeper into the heart. His voice was raw, but steady: "We don't need to be predators to kill one."
The heart split.
The storm exploded outward in a blinding wave of fire and lightning. The Herald's scream tore into silence, its form unraveling into sparks that rained down in golden arcs.
Jemil crashed to his knees, his body trembling, his chest seared by the Mark's burning. The whispers had quieted—not gone, but subdued. For now.
The swordmaster landed lightly beside him, her katana sliding back into its sheath with a hiss. Her shoulders heaved, her breath ragged, but her eyes still sharp. For the first time, she let a faint smile curve her lips.
"Not bad, summoner," she said, her voice soft, almost begrudging. "You didn't slow me down."
Jemil managed a smirk through his exhaustion. "You either."
The storm's remnants twisted above them, coalescing into a single golden fang—a crystallized shard of lightning, pulsing with the predator's power. It descended slowly, humming like the beat of a primal heart.
Jemil reached out. The fang burned into his palm the instant he touched it, lightning surging through his body. His muscles locked, his vision blinding white. The Mark screamed in his chest, clawing to take control. Images of the predator's endless hunt filled his mind—prey devoured, predators devouring each other, a cycle of blood without end.
His knees buckled. For a moment, he thought he would fall.
A hand gripped his wrist. Firm. Steady.
The swordmaster.
Her gaze locked on his, fierce but unwavering. No words—just trust.
Together, they endured.
The lightning stormed through them, trying to split them apart, but neither let go. And when it finally faded, Jemil opened his eyes to see the storm gone, the arena quiet.
In his palm rested the Fang of the Predator.
The sixth floor had been cleared.
But the Mark still burned. Its whisper lingered. This is only the beginning.
🔥 End of Chapter 58: Fangs of Lightning