THE TRANSMIGRATION BEFORE DEATH

The clash did not stop.

The air trembled, dense with the weight of mana and the scent of iron. Sparks still hissed between their locked blades, the sound of grinding steel biting into the silence left by their clash.

Avin stared into the guard's bloodshot eyes, the red glow within them throbbing in sync with his pulse. Their weapons shuddered in the grip of both men, vibrating with energy that neither would let go of first.

For a moment, the world felt frozen. Then, a pulse — faint, distant, like the ticking of a cosmic clock.

The red silhouettes flickered again.Just for a second.The afterimages of future movement blurred and vanished before Avin could read them. Chrono's presence was still there, but faint now — observing, not aiding.

Avin could feel it. He was on his own.

The guard twisted his wrist suddenly, forcing Avin's blade downward. The move broke their balance. Avin staggered, boots screeching against the cracked tiles as the sword arm of his enemy came arcing across his chest.

He ducked, barely missing the edge. A lock of his hair fluttered down, severed mid-motion.

He planted his foot, using the recoil to counter, swinging his sword upward with both hands. The blow cut through air, carving a trail of light that hummed as it passed. The guard stepped back in time, the blade missing him by an inch but slicing the air hard enough to whip his cloak.

CLANG!

The guard retaliated with a spinning strike. Avin caught it on his flat, the impact rattling through his forearms. The vibrations bit into his wrists — the man's strength wasn't human.

"Persistent bastard…" Avin hissed under his breath, forcing the lock away and stepping back.

The man's aura flared again — angry, distorted, like flame turning to blood.

He came down on Avin with a fury that shook the air. Each blow screamed with intent to kill, the strikes wild yet filled with enough force to shatter bone on contact.

Avin blocked one, two, three—on the fourth, he spun sideways, letting the blade graze his shoulder. A shallow cut opened, blood beading and hissing on his heated skin.

He gritted his teeth and drove his knee forward, hitting the guard's side. It barely moved him. The man grabbed his wrist mid-swing and twisted, forcing Avin to drop one hand from his hilt.

Avin used the other to punch him straight in the jaw.The man's head snapped to the side — but he only smiled, blood spilling from his lip.

Then he slammed his forehead into Avin's.

CRACK!

Stars burst behind Avin's eyes. The world tilted. The guard seized the moment, driving his shoulder forward, forcing Avin back across the courtyard tiles. His boots skidded, stone cracking beneath him.

And then—

The focus shifted.

Sylas's fight raged on only a few meters away. The shockwave of Avin's last clash had split the ground between them, dust rising like a curtain.

The other guard—his spear now shortened to a single glowing half—charged through that haze. Sylas stood waiting, his green aura flickering faintly, the remnant of the magic that had redirected the thrown spear. His breathing was rough but steady, measured.

The guard lunged, thrusting the spear toward his chest.

Sylas parried, the clang sharp enough to sting the ear. The force pushed him back a step, but his eyes glowed brighter.

The moment the man pulled back to stab again, Sylas moved first — his blade sliding up, catching the shaft mid-motion and twisting it from the guard's grip.

The spear spun once in the air.

Sylas's hand rose, palm open.

The weapon stopped mid-fall, hovering in place, wrapped in the same green light as before. His lips curled.

With a thought, he snapped his hand downward.

The spear obeyed — slamming into the ground at the man's feet with a heavy THUNK. The impact cracked the stone, shaking him off balance.

Sylas darted forward, sword flashing horizontally, catching the man's armor plate. Sparks burst. The guard jumped back, dragging his weapon free again, his face twisting in frustration.

"Stay still, damn you!" he roared.

Sylas's grin widened. "Make me."

The spear shot forward again, this time without him touching it. The green glow pulsed like a heartbeat, the weapon dancing through the air on invisible threads. The guard was forced on the defensive, spinning and blocking with his spear, each hit coming faster, sharper, unpredictable.

For the first time in the battle, Sylas had momentum.For the first time, he looked like he was enjoying it.

Avin felt the same shift in the air — the rhythm of the fight changing, one tempo feeding another. But his own opponent wasn't slowing down.

The man's aura pulsed, and before Avin could catch his breath, he felt the edge of the enemy's sword slam against his guard again.

The impact threw him back this time, boots dragging a line through dust and debris. His lungs burned.

The man laughed—a dry, cruel sound."What's wrong? Can't keep up now?"

Avin straightened, eyes half-lidded, breathing steady. The red silhouettes were gone now. Chrono had left him.Only the raw, immediate moment remained.

He shifted his stance, sword raised horizontally. "You talk too much."

The man charged.

Their blades collided again, steel screaming. Avin ducked under one swing, countered another with his elbow, but his opponent was relentless. Every parry turned into another strike, every dodge met by a faster follow-up.

The sounds of Sylas's fight crashed through the air — metal, wind, the hum of magic — until the two battles blurred together, sound and fury dancing in rhythm.

Avin caught the next swing mid-arc and shoved it away, twisting to strike back. The move landed—a cut across the guard's forearm—but not deep enough.

The man didn't even flinch. He stepped in close, grabbed Avin's collar, and kneed him in the stomach. The breath was knocked out of him.

Avin stumbled back, clutching his side, his sword still gripped tight. The guard's eyes glowed brighter.

"Let's end this," the man growled.

He raised his weapon overhead, both hands gripping it. Energy flared crimson, spilling from the blade like smoke. The aura shimmered violently, resonating with the air around them.

Avin tried to move — but his knee buckled, still reeling from the hit.

The blade came down.

He blocked it, barely, catching the edge inches from his face. The force drove him to the ground, one knee digging into shattered stone. His arms trembled under the pressure, the sound of metal straining filling his ears.

"Not yet," he whispered through clenched teeth, pushing back.

But the guard's power was overwhelming.

The man's sword pressed closer, closer still. The gleam of the blade reflected in Avin's crimson eyes, the air around it shimmering with the heat of mana.

He gritted his teeth, every muscle burning—but the edge only inched nearer.

Then, a voice cut faintly through the chaos—Sylas shouting something, a flash of green light beyond the dust—

But Avin couldn't look. Couldn't move.

The sword came down one final inch.

The blade stopped just at his neck.

The cold metal kissed his skin, a single drop of blood rolling down as silence devoured the courtyard.