REALISTIC ISEKAI: I didn't read this in my novels!

Sylwen was in his well-furnished home taking a nap when he heard loud noises from the civilians outside.

"Prince Sylwen! You have to come now; Princess Lyria is in trouble!" A panicked voice reached his ears.

'Lyria? What kind of—'

Sylwen's thoughts were interrupted by a projection that abruptly appeared in the middle of his room.

"Sylwen, what are you still doing here?" An aged voice asked with disapproval in his tone. "Didn't you hear that your sister is in trouble?"

Sylwen's eyes widened. He immediately stood up from his bed, the soft rug dampening the sound of his foot. "Elder Kaelith, I apologize. I just heard of the news several seconds before you—"

"No need to explain yourself; just get to sector E—13 quickly." Kaelith spoke, his voice neutral, but the rapid tapping of his fingers on his seat betrayed his calm demeanor.

Sylwen didn't notice this and left the room, his armor materializing on his body as he jumped through a window.

"Ah! It's Prince Sylwen!" A female elf announced as she watched Sylwen's figure vanish in the direction of Lyria and Clark.

"Where is he?" Another elf asked, his expression a mix of curiosity and concern.

"He just left that way," she gestured with a smile. "That monster will get what's coming to him; he doesn't know he's courting death by fighting one of the high order!"

Sylwen's ears twitched imperceptibly as he vaulted over the trees; the moon hung proudly in the sky, and the fresh air blew strongly against his face as he increased his speed.

'That man managed to beat Lyria? I don't believe it; those civilians must have lost their minds'

A small rumble transmitted to his feet as he ran on the ground.

Sylwen's face turned sour; a large battle-axe materialized in his hands, his eyes trained on a small distortion in the space ahead.

'Look at what you've caused, Andor; now—as always—I'll be forced to bear the burden of being your elder brother.'

As Sylwen got closer, the rumbling became more intense, surrounding trees fell, and the sleeping birds awakened with shrieks.

'Is that—?!'

Sylwen tossed the battle-axe to his left hand and summoned a thick lightning bolt almost immediately.

The yellow streak of lightning bolted through a space in the barrier and slammed Clark directly in the chest.

"Sylwen, what are you doing here?!" Lyria asked as she got on her feet.

Sylwen clicked his tongue softly, his expression unpleasant as he spoke, "What do you think? It's obvious the Elders forced me here, else I wouldn't even care whether you live or die."

Finally," Clark rasped, spreading his arms wide as crimson tendrils rose from his back.

"The hero arrives."

'Get out of here, go to the manor and tell the others to get here as fast as possible. Andor included.' Sylwen ordered telepathically.

Lyria didn't bicker and hurriedly left the barrier whilst a green hue surrounded her body.

'Be careful. He managed to absorb the will of the world tree. You know what that means.' She warned as she reinforced the barrier.

Sylwen's palms gripped the handle tightly, his eyes locked with Clark's manic ones for a split second before they dissapeared from their spots.

Sylwen swung his battle axe with a loud roar, Clark's hands gripped the edges of the blade, one of the tendrils gripped Sylwen by the neck, a kick flew towards his face and smashed him into the ground with renewed intensity.

"You dare use a battle axe as an elf? You shame me" Clark spoke, the deep cut on his palm healing faster than before.

Sylwen's body flew backwards, streaks of lightning spilling from him as he crashed through a broken column and rolled to a halt. His armor sparked violently, arcs of energy dancing across his chestplate before dissipating into faint smoke.

He spat blood and rose to one knee, his eyes burning with an electric fury. 'If the world tree is truly speaking through him, then there's no way I'll be able to beat him...but I still have to do it for my honour'

Clark landed soundlessly a few meters away, his once-blue eyes now glowing with that same disturbing red-white blend. The ground beneath him cracked under the sheer density of his energy. Crimson tendrils writhed behind his back like serpents, licking the air, pulsing to the rhythm of his heart.

"Still breathing?" Clark's voice came low, distorted — half human, half the voice of something ancient. "You elves cling to life so desperately. Ironic, isn't it?"

Sylwen wiped the blood from his lip and chuckled faintly. "Ironic? Maybe. But you'll find we're stubborn too."

He slammed the butt of his axe into the ground — crack! — a surge of lightning erupted, crawling across the shattered terrain like living veins. The night lit up in jagged flashes as Sylwen launched forward again, faster this time, the air screaming with the sound of compressed thunder.

Clark met him head-on, his fist colliding with the axe in a burst of raw force. Sparks and crimson light exploded outward, sending shockwaves that split the surrounding earth like fragile glass. The barrier holding the sector together rippled dangerously.

'He's adapting to my rhythm… Damn it, I can't overpower him like this!' Sylwen thought, teeth gritted.

Clark's laughter echoed through the wreckage, low and unhinged. "You think power is balance, elf prince? Let me show you balance!"

The tendrils from his back embedded into the ground. In an instant, roots of crimson energy shot outward like a blooming inferno, turning the soil black and feeding off the nearby life essence. The air thickened, suffocating, as the trees withered one by one.

Sylwen's lightning dimmed.

His instincts screamed.

"Life Conversion…" he muttered, horror crawling into his expression. "He's absorbing everything around me to stabilize his mana flow!"

Clark smiled — or perhaps the thing wearing Clark's body did. "Not stabilize," he corrected softly, "perfect."

Before Sylwen could react, Clark vanished and reappeared behind him, a tendril whipping across his back and sending him crashing into a shattered boulder.

The prince coughed, electricity crackling weakly along his arms. 'He's overwhelming the natural mana field. I can't draw on the currents like before…'

Clark advanced slowly, each step heavy with murderous intent. "You look just like him, you know," he said, voice trembling with equal parts rage and despair. "Same eyes. Same arrogance. Kaelith thought he could seal me — but you? You'll join him in failure."

Sylwen froze, eyes narrowing. "Elder Kaelith? What do you mean by—"

He didn't finish.

Clark was already in front of him.

A hand pierced through his lightning armor and closed around his chestplate, lifting him effortlessly into the air. "Tell me, prince," Clark whispered, his voice breaking into two tones again. "How much does a hero's life cost?"

Then came the strike.

A pulse of crimson energy exploded from Clark's palm, launching Sylwen through several trees, the ground cratering where his body finally stopped. His armor flickered, then shattered like glass, scattering pieces of glowing silver across the dirt.

Blood dripped from Sylwen's mouth as he pushed himself up with shaking arms. The glow in his eyes dimmed, but his resolve did not. He pressed a palm to his chest, muttering something ancient — a language of thunder and storm.

Dark clouds rolled over the moon.

Lightning struck the ground beside him, then another, and another — forming a blazing circle around his body. His hair lifted, his veins glowed with golden light.

Clark tilted his head slightly, expression unreadable. "So you can bleed," he said softly.

Sylwen's lips curled into a small, defiant grin.

"You think I'm bleeding? You haven't seen what it looks like when lightning decides to fight back."

The storm responded.

A thousand bolts of light descended in unison, converging on Sylwen's raised axe. The blast that followed drowned the forest in blinding gold, and even the corrupted crimson glow faltered under its brilliance.

The blinding light swallowed everything. For a heartbeat, the forest was nothing but thunder. The air itself screamed.

Sylwen stood at the center of the storm, his armor reforged in light, his hair turning near white under the surge of divine current. Lightning flowed through his veins like molten gold. His eyes blazed the color of stormfire.

Across from him, Clark's body smoldered, smoke rising from deep burns that refused to heal. The crimson tendrils writhed violently, their ends splitting and reattaching, as if the corruption was fighting to hold him together.

But Clark… was grinning.

"You really think light can burn away life itself?" he rasped, stepping forward. His voice echoed through the storm, not shouted — but carried, felt. "You can't purify me, elf. You're just feeding me more energy to consume."

Sylwen didn't reply. He lifted his axe, spinning it once as arcs of golden lightning formed a halo behind him. "Then I'll burn the entire field dry."

The two vanished.

BOOM!

They reappeared midair, lightning and crimson light colliding. The sheer impact tore through the clouds, sending shockwaves rippling through the city below. Trees vaporized. Rocks turned molten. The barrier surrounding the sector screamed under the pressure and began to crack like fragile ice.

Clark's fist met Sylwen's axe in another explosion of light. Sparks and blood painted the air.

Clark caught the axe head mid-swing, blood pouring from his hands, and snarled as he pushed forward. His other hand glowed deep red — life energy condensed into a raw spear of matter — and he rammed it into Sylwen's ribs.

Sylwen coughed, lightning bursting from the wound. But instead of falling back, he grabbed Clark's wrist and channeled his storm inward.

"Let's see how well your body digests this!"

A surge of divine lightning raced through Clark's veins, illuminating the corruption under his skin — red and white mana twisting violently, fighting for control.

Clark screamed, his voice breaking into two tones again — one human, one monstrous. "You… don't… understand!"

The crimson veins burst outward, spraying blood that hissed as it touched the ground. The air reeked of ozone and decay.

"You're right," Sylwen said, his tone low, lightning gathering once again in his palm. "I don't understand. I just end it."

He brought his axe down in a single, devastating arc — a cleaving blow meant to end gods.

Clark caught it.

With one arm.

The entire world seemed to pause. The force of Sylwen's divine strike met something denser, deeper — not physical resistance, but a wall of pure, unfiltered life force.

The crimson aura flared to blinding intensity, spiraling into a vortex that swallowed both of them.

When it cleared, Sylwen was kneeling, his armor shattered again, lightning fading like dying stars.

Clark stood over him, one arm missing entirely, but his eyes… were calm. The red was gone. Only pale blue remained.

Sylwen's mind barely registered it. 'The aura—it's… stabilizing?'

Clark looked down at him, breathing hard, and said quietly, almost sadly, "You shouldn't have tried to save me. None of you should have."

The ground beneath them exploded.

A column of red-white light erupted skyward, tearing through the clouds and splitting the moonlight. The shockwave rolled across miles, flattening trees, scattering the mana currents, sending shock through every elven formation in the region.

Far away, in the Elder Hall, alarms screamed.

Back near the battlefield, Lyria turned just in time to see the pillar of energy erupt. Her blood ran cold. 'That's… Sylwen's divine seal. He wouldn't activate it unless—'

Her thought was cut short by a deafening thunderclap.

Inside the blast, Sylwen and Clark were both gone — swallowed by the storm of opposing energies that consumed the sector.

A moment later, silence.

The pillar of light dimmed. The forest lay in ruins. Nothing moved.

Then — a shadow.

From the ashes, a figure rose slowly, covered in soot and glowing faintly with a pulsing red-blue light. His one remaining eye flickered between colors, as though struggling to decide which soul would command his body.

Clark exhaled, smoke rising from his mouth. His voice was barely a whisper.

"…Not yet."

Lightning cracked far above him, faint and distant — and the night fell utterly still.