The Transmigrated Author

SHINGGGGGG!

Aura flooded the blade and with all his technique Dominance combined with Rel's flow and poured into every molecule of the weapon with intent.

BAM!

The crescent slash erupted from the edge, a focused wave of energy that screamed across the void with black lightning crackling along its arc.

"It seems he still has that form..."

"...!"

The older Rel raised two fingers.

Aura coated them black, dense, fully mastered and he met the slash directly.

FWAKK!

The crescent of energy collided with his fingertips and stopped.

"WHAT?!"

The two forces pressed against each other for a single suspended moment, black lightning from both sides crackling and sparking against the void, before the older Rel pinched the blade of energy between his knuckles and held it in place like it was nothing more than a stiff breeze.

"You're too predictable," he said.

SWOSSH!

With a swing of his arm, he forced Rel to retreat once more.

"I'm learning." Rel gritted his teeth getting up from the attack.

"Learn faster."

"Spell Arts #45: Piercing Star."

The older Rel's hand rose and his fingers traced a pattern in the air creating three points of light.

"Try and dodge this."

FWINGG!

The stars shot forward. Not in a straight line they spiralled, spinning like shurikens, each one tracking a different angle of approach. Blindingly fast.

Rel's sword came up and deflected the first one, the impact jarring his wrist.

The second skimmed past his shoulder, close enough to singe his collar.

The third he batted aside with a backhand swing, the star spinning off into the void before dissipating.

He's casting. If he's casting, he's stationary. If he's stationary—

Rel planted his foot and launched forward. No retreat. No circle. Straight at his older self.

"You're charging me?" The older Rel's voice was almost curious.

"You're definitely the biggest threat at range," Rel said, sword already coming around for a horizontal slash.

"Right?"

The older Rel's expression didn't change.

"Good thought."

Rel's sword cut through the space where his older self had been standing.

But the older Rel wasn't there anymore.

He'd shifted, just slightly, just enough, as his body rotated around the blade's path with a simple movement that made Rel look like he was swinging underwater.

"...!"

A hand caught the flat of Rel's sword.

Not the edge but the blunt side.

Fingers pressed against the steel with precise, effortless pressure, guiding the weapon's momentum away from its intended arc.

Rel's balance shifted without his permission and his weight, committed to the swing, had nowhere to go.

"But," the older Rel said, "you completely forgot."

He stepped inside Rel's guard.

His leg swept through in a low kick that caught Rel's ankle mid-stride. The world tilted.

Rel hit the ground shoulder-first, the impact rattling through his collarbone, his sword skittering across the void beside him.

The older Rel stood over him. Not gloating. Not breathing hard.

Just looking down with those tired, knowing eyes.

"I know everything you know," he said.

"Every technique. Every instinct. Every clever little adaptation you think you're inventing on the spot. I've already had this fight. I've already made those adjustments. You're not surprising me—you're just showing me what I used to be."

He stepped back, giving Rel room to rise.

"Don't think," he said. "Move."

Rel pushed himself up. His sword was back in his grip before he'd even registered reaching for it.

His shoulder ached. His pride ached more.

"You're holding back."

Rel got to his feet. His shoulder was still ringing from the throw.]

"...?"

The older Rel tilted his head.

"I'm testing you."

"No. You're protecting me."

Rel rolled his shoulder, felt the joint pop, didn't wince.

"Every strike you've thrown has always felt like you were holding back. You're not trying to hurt me, you're trying to teach me without breaking anything. That's not a test. That's a safety net."

The older Rel didn't respond. His expression didn't change.

But Rel caught the slight tension in his jaw.

The way his fingers curled slightly at his sides.

"You're afraid to hurt me," Rel continued.

"And I get it. I'm you. If you damage me, you damage yourself. But this—" he gestured between them, at the void, at the sword in his hand, at the black lightning still flickering faintly around his older self's fingers

"—this isn't helping me. It's just making it easier for you."

"Easier."

"You get to walk away from this fight knowing you didn't leave a mark. You get to tell yourself you were gentle. But I don't need gentle." Rel met his eyes.

"If you really want to test me, stop protecting me. Show me what I'm going to become."

The older Rel went still.

"You don't know what you're asking," he said.

"I know exactly what I'm asking." Rel's grip tightened on his sword.

"I've always known everything."

The older Rel stared at him and all the exhaustion that had been carved into every line of his face had vanished like it was never there.

His shoulders squared. His hands opened, then closed and this time he wasn't going to hold back.

"You're not going to thank me for this."

"I didn't ask for gratitude." Rel raised his sword.

"I asked for the truth."

The older Rel looked at him—looked through him—and for the first time since the fight began, he wasn't seeing a memory.

He was seeing something new.

"Fine." His voice dropped.

In its place was something cold and absolute.

"You want to see what you'll become? Then watch."

[15 seconds remaining.]

"...!"

[EMERGENCY NOTIFCATIONS IN COMING.]

FWANG!

[TIME REMAINING: 12.39]

[WARNING: HOST — PRIME AURA SPIKE: CRITICAL.]

[WARNING: HOST — PRIME MANA SPIKE: CRITICAL.]

[WARNING: HOST — PRIME ELEMENTAL MASTERY: ANTI- MAGIC CRITICAL.]

[WARNING: HOST IS NOT CHANTING.]

[SPELL ARTS #99 DETECTED.]

[WARNING: HOST — PRIME MASTERY LEVEL: TRANSCENDENT. CHANT OVERRIDE: ACTIVE.]

The prompts were stacking faster than he could dismiss them.

Spell Arts #99...

Rel's mind didn't freeze. It accelerated.

Every piece of information he'd ever written, every footnote, every scrap of lore he'd buried in the margins of the novel, surfaced at once.

Spell Arts #99 was the strongest destructive spell in the Tower.

Not in theory. In recorded history.

It had been cast exactly once, by a figure whose name appeared in no registry, no archive, no living memory.

A ghost of someone who, by all accounts, didn't exist in the nature of this story.

And now his future self was casting it without chanting.