The clash began without ceremony, without words, for there was no longer any need for them.

The Hero From Another World and Lukas had spoken all they ever needed to.

Now, only strength would decide the outcome of this fight.

Lukas could feel the rush of power surging through his veins, a torrent of magical energy so immense it seemed to nearly tear at his very flesh. It was more than any mortal frame should have been able to bear and yet it was not unfamiliar to him. He had been able to reach this level of strength before and it was only through the Crest that he returned to it now. But how would that strength measure up against a figure who had carved his legend through sheer physicality, Lukas did not know.

The Hero's very body was an aberration, something born beyond logic, a vessel that could house the might of an immortal while moving with a speed and strength no ordinary being could hope to match. Ever since he was summoned to this world, there had been no one who had been able to match the Hero's strength. Rodan Drakos, one of the mightiest Dragon Lords in all of Linemall's history, had only been able to take out a single eye and for that he had paid with his life. Even against the first Conqueror of Khaitish and his Internal Arts, the Hero had prevailed.

Time and time again, the Hero had relied on this innate strength, and it had never failed him.

Why, then, should it fail him now?

With absolute confidence, the Hero lunged forward, his body a blur of motion as he closed the distance. Lukas met him with the Draconic Arts, the perfected discipline that allowed him to shift between dragon and human form in a single breath. Magic coursed through him, reshaping him in an instant; his body shrinking even as his enemy tried to reach him.

But the Hero had seen this before.

The Champion of Oceanus pressed onward, undeterred, taking yet another thunderous step to erase the space Lukas sought to create. The Hero's right fist came crashing forward in a savage arc, aimed at Lukas' face with a force that could shatter bone. Lukas barely managed to intercept it, raising his arm to block the Hero's attack and the punch struck through his guard; shock running through flesh, sinew, and bone until his entire frame screamed out in agony.

But Lukas would not simply act as a punching bag for the Hero.

Twisting with controlled precision, Lukas spun his body, his leg whipping outward with brutal force. His foot connected with the side of the Hero's face, the strike sending the man staggering backward. It was not a strike of desperation but of intent, and its weight carried more than raw power—it carried the truth of who Lukas had become.

The Hero had fought him once before. He remembered Lukas as the dragon he had stood against years ago, a foe formidable but ultimately beneath him. Yet what stood before him now was no longer that same opponent.

Lukas had changed, he had grown.

For the first time since his arrival in this world, the Hero felt something unfamiliar. The confidence that had always driven him faltered, if only for an instant, as he steadied himself from the blow. For the first time, there was someone who could match him blow for blow, someone who did not crumble beneath his overwhelming might.

At last, the Hero From Another World had found what he had never known.

The Hero had found his equal. And where that confidence faltered, excitement rose uncontrollably within the man.

The years had not been kind to the Hero's mind. Once, the man had been something greater—someone Lukas had even called father in another life. But time, war, and countless battles had eroded whatever humanity he had left. What remained now was a fractured shell, a man whose purpose had been devoured by Oceanus' will. He lived only for the fight, for the beauty of combat, for the fleeting thrill that reminded him he was still alive.

It was this hunger, not duty or honor, that burned in the Hero's eyes as he steadied himself.

Lukas had reached forward, his arms lunging as they tried to wrap around the Hero's neck; trying to take advantage of the blow he had been able to land. In a sudden burst, the Hero slammed into him, tackling him to the ground with the force of a tsunami. The impact rattled through Lukas' body, knocking the air from his lungs.

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Yet he did not resist. He let it happen.

Because here, on the ground, was where Lukas thrived.

Before the Hero's fists could descend to pummel him into oblivion, Lukas summoned his Divinity and the Seas answered his call. From nothing, water erupted around him, surging into shape with terrifying speed. It coiled and solidified, forming into an arm—an extension to replace the one Lukas had lost. The construct braced itself, palm flat against the Hero's chest, catching the momentum of his strike. In sheer strength alone, Lukas knew the Hero had him beat. But with the water's power reinforcing him, the artificial limb acted like a brace, holding him back before he could follow through with the swing of his fists.

Just like that the Hero's endless momentum was brought to an abrupt halt for the first time in this exchange.

That single instant was all Lukas needed.

The Divinity of the Seas flowed again, swirling beneath him, reshaping into another construct. The waters solidified into the form of a lower body, its legs snapping upward with surgical precision. They coiled around the Hero's neck, twisting and locking into place—a triangle choke wrought from living water.

The Hero reacted at once, refusing to be subdued. Muscles bunched and veins bulged as he surged upward, rising from the ground, the legs of water wrapped tightly around his neck. The construct squeezed tighter, pressing against his throat, one of his arms pinned uselessly in the construct's embrace while the other clawed and tore at limbs with little to no effect. Each second, the pressure mounted. It became harder to breathe for the Hero, his movements slowing with each passing second.

At the same, Lukas used the opportunity to drive his heel up into the Hero's gut with a vicious kick from where he lay. The blow struck true, forcing even more air out of the man's lungs. Yet even as the strike landed, Lukas knew the truth.

This battle would not end so easily.

The Hero was not like other foes Lukas had bested in this life and especially not the last. He was the strongest being in all of Hiraeth, a man who had stood unchallenged since the day he had stepped into this world.

He was not fighting an enemy that could be conquered with technique or brute strength alone.

Lukas was fighting the Hero From Another World.

"OCEANUS!" The Hero's voice was ragged, forced through the narrowing breath left in his lungs. "Grant me your strength so that I may do your bidding!"

The words tore through the air like a prayer and a command all at once.

For a heartbeat, the seas themselves obeyed—frozen in perfect stillness, waves turned static as if the world had been caught between seconds. Then, the waters shuddered. They trembled as though the very ocean bowed its head in reverence, recognizing the invocation of a will higher than dragon or man, higher than any mortal that walked the face of Hiraeth.

Lukas' constructs unraveled at once, the solidified waters falling away from the Hero's form as though commanded by something greater. The dragon felt it then—an oppressive weight descending upon the battlefield. A divine pressure that pressed down against his chest and mind, reminding him of what it meant to be in the presence of true immortality. The void of the abyss seemed to yawn wide before him, dark and endless, swallowing everything with its sheer immensity.

All of it came from the Hero From Another World.

Light erupted from the man, not like fire but like the tearing of reality itself. Radiance burst from his veins, from his chest, from the very core of his being. His body swelled—not with mere muscle, but with raw, unrestrained mana in such an intensity that even Rosalia could not hope to call upon. His skin cracked, splitting under the strain, and from the fissures spilled golden light, liquid and blinding. His eyes ignited, glowing brighter than a thousand suns, brighter than mortal sight was meant to endure.

He was no longer man. He was a Titan in human form.

Lukas had seen this before.

Once, the sheer sight of such transcendence had nearly broken his mind, had splintered his sanity until he was left quivering in awe and fear.

But not now.

His will had grown into something unshakable, a mind tempered in struggle and loss, reforged by time where it had broken the Hero's, one that could look upon the incomprehensible and not bend beneath it.

The Hero did not move with speed, nor with strength in any measurable sense. He simply was. He manifested in front of Lukas, his form ethereal and perfect, as though reality itself bent to place him there. No momentum, no build-up—only presence, instantaneous and undeniable. He raised his hand, the gesture carrying with it the intent to strike Lukas down, to end it once and for all.

But Lukas moved first.

His fist cracked across the Hero's face with a force that shattered the silence of the world itself. The impact let loose a thunderous boom. For the briefest moment, time seemed to fracture and then the Hero was sent careening backward. The man's body smashed into the ocean with such violence that the seas erupted upward in a towering explosion of water, a geyser that rose to the heavens.

The waves crashed down around them but they no longer obeyed the Titan of Hiraeth alone.

For the first time, the seas did not bow solely to Oceanus' Champion.

They bowed to another. The waters roared in reverence, answering the will of another.

The Seas bowed to Lukas Drakos—the one and only Lord of the Seas.

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