Chapter 330. The Clash of Titans
"A battle-mage, eh? I like the sound of that!" Gilgamesh let out a low, appreciative chuckle, his stance widening as he rooted himself into the desert floor like an ancient oak. "Your Kamar-Taj is starting to sound like a place after my own heart."
The giant beckoned with one glowing, golden gauntlet, a silent invitation for Noah to test his mettle. He would give the youth the first move, a courtesy born of seven millennia of combat experience.
Noah didn't hesitate. He swung his blade in a sweeping arc, the azure energy carving a trail of cerulean light through the dusty air. Unlike the orange, spark-like mandalas of the orthodox sorcerers, Noah's magic ran cold and deep, a reflection of his own unique wellspring of power.
For a heartbeat, the world seemed to hold its breath. Then, Noah exploded.
He moved with the suddenness of a lightning strike. His first step sent a geyser of sand erupting behind him, and as he accelerated, the very air began to scream. A localized gale formed around him, a cloak of howling wind that blurred his silhouette into a streak of silver and blue.
Gilgamesh's eyes widened. The speed was greater than he had anticipated. He sucked in a massive lungful of air, bracing his entire frame. Golden cosmic energy didn't just coat his hands now; it surged across his skin in intricate, glowing circuitries, reinforcing his legendary durability. He roared, a sound of pure defiance, as the blue-white blur reached him.
Clang!
The sound of the collision was deafening, a metallic shriek that echoed off the distant mesas.
Clang-clang-clang!
In the span of a single second, a dozen strikes rained down. Gilgamesh, moving with a deceptive, liquid grace that belied his massive bulk, threw up his gauntlets to intercept the assault. Each time the azure blade met the cosmic gold, a shower of brilliant sparks erupted, lighting up the desert like a festival of fire.
Gilgamesh felt the jarring vibration of every impact travel up his arms. A flicker of doubt crossed his mind—was this truly a 'mage'? The sheer, crushing physical force behind the blade suggested a warrior of the highest order. His feet, planted deep in the earth, began to slide backward, carving two deep furrows in the hard-packed clay.
Noah didn't give him a moment to breathe. As the giant blocked a heavy downward cleave, Noah twisted his body mid-air, using the momentum to transition into a whirlwind of stabs and slashes.
Gilgamesh saw only a chaotic blur of steel and wind. He relied on pure, instinctual combat reflex, batting away the strikes with his heavy palms. But the wind was alive; even when the blade was parried, thin ribbons of pressurized air bypassed his guard. They found the gaps in his cosmic armor, slicing through his tunic and drawing thin, red lines across his chest.
Sensing a microscopic opening, Gilgamesh growled and threw a massive, straight right hand. It wasn't a jab; it was a wrecking ball fueled by the power of the stars.
BOOM!
The air detonated. The fist collided with the flat of Noah's blade, releasing a shockwave that flattened the scrub for fifty yards in every direction. Noah, anticipating the counter-stroke, didn't try to absorb the force. Instead, he angled his blade and allowed the explosive energy to catapult him backward. He flipped through the air with cat-like grace, his boots skidding across the sand as he created distance.
But he wasn't finished. Even as he retreated, Noah swept his sword forward in a violent, whipping motion. Steel Tempest!
A terrifying funnel of wind erupted from the tip of his sword—a miniature hurricane infused with invisible, razor-sharp vacuum blades. It tore across the ground, grinding stones into powder and shrieking like a choir of banshees as it bore down on the giant.
Gilgamesh didn't flinch. He planted his feet, pulled back a fist that glowed with the intensity of a dying sun, and punched the air itself. The resulting kinetic blast collided with the cyclone, shattering the wind-wall in a chaotic explosion of air pressure.
The hurricane broke, scattering its lethal shards in every direction. Gilgamesh crossed his massive forearms in front of his face, grunting as the stray wind-blades bit into his skin. He stood his ground, a golden monolith amidst the swirling dust.
When the air finally cleared, the two combatants stood poised, the silence of the desert returning like a heavy shroud. But the marks of the struggle were evident.
Noah landed softly, his toes barely indenting the sand. The wind still coiled around him, whispering through his hair, making him look less like a man and more like a phantom of the storm.
Gilgamesh, however, was bleeding. Gold-tinged blood—the life-fluid of the Eternals—seeped from a dozen shallow cuts across his chest and arms. While none were deep enough to truly slow him down, the sight of the mighty Gilgamesh wounded was a testament to the boy's ferocity.
"Gilgamesh!"
Thena and Ajak, watching from the safety of the ridge, reacted instantly. Ajak remained stoic, her eyes narrow and calculating; she had known Noah was holding back his true "god-slaying" techniques, yet his skill with the blade was a revelation.
Thena, however, felt her heart hammer against her ribs. The sight of her protector's blood triggered a dormant instinct. Had the Mahd Wy'ry still held her in its grip, she would have turned the desert into a graveyard. Even now, her hand instinctively shimmered, manifesting a golden, crystalline spear as she took a half-step forward.
"Thena, stay your hand," Ajak said firmly, catching the warrior by the wrist. "It is a sparring match between men, nothing more. Remember who we are dealing with—and remember my gifts. Gilgamesh is in no real danger."
Thena forced a slow, shuddering breath, the spear dissolving back into light. Ajak was right. These were scratches, mere love-taps in the grand scheme of their immortal lives.
Back in the clearing, Noah raised his azure blade. A spiderweb of cracks had formed near the hilt where Gilgamesh's fist had connected, a grim reminder of the giant's raw power. With a thought, Noah channeled a fresh surge of mana into the weapon, and the cracks vanished instantly, the magical lines knitting back together.
The wind around the sword was no longer whispering; it was roaring, building into a crescendo. Noah's eyes glowed with a faint, stormy light. The next strike wouldn't be a mere gale—it would be the final, crushing breath of the storm.
--------
You can read up to 200+ advanced chapters and support me at patreon.com/raaaaven
Daily +2 chapters updates