SSS Talent: From Trash to Tyrant

Chapter 418: Chapter 418: The Fall of the Thal’zar [XXXII]

The cut along Icarus’ flank did not close.

It remained open. Mana around the wound flickered unevenly, refusing to knit cleanly where [Morgain’s Verdict] residue still lingered beneath layered damage. Blood traced downward in thin lines, dark against maroon fabric.

For the first time since the duel began, something fractured in his composure.

Frustration.

His core pulsed harder.

The violet light intensified abruptly as he forced additional output through already strained channels. The air thickened around him as he cast [Miasma Collapse] repeatedly, not in clean sequence but in irregular detonations. Compressed spheres formed at uneven intervals, some above Valttair, others along the ground, others mid-air at oblique angles. They imploded inward and burst outward in layered grey shockwaves that overlapped chaotically, turning the chamber into a trembling pressure field.

The torn ceiling vibrated.

Stone fragments dislodged and fell through moonlight as the structure absorbed the uneven blasts. The open sky above flickered with dust and displaced air.

Valttair walked towards him. Each step placed with measured intent through expanding pressure.

[Morgain’s Riftstep].

His form blurred and reappeared beyond a collapsing detonation, the implosion folding inward behind him like a lung exhaling. Another sphere ruptured to his left. He shifted again, a brief distortion marking his previous location as the blast tore through empty air.

The floating swords responded with precision. They did not merely intercept; they pierced the forming spheres before full compression completed, splitting the distortion at its core. Each rupture weakened the chain reaction before it could build.

One blade descended without warning.

It entered through Icarus’ shoulder and exited cleanly through the back, the penetration straight and uncompromising.

His breath caught.

Another sword adjusted and drove through his thigh, pinning him momentarily against fractured stone before withdrawing in a smooth arc.

Icarus’ leg failed.

He dropped to one knee.

Still, he forced mana inward.

A final [Organ Decay Pulse] condensed, narrower than the previous attempts, focused entirely on Valttair’s heart. No scatter. No flourish. A direct internal strike.

Valttair raised his blade.

[Morgain’s Coreguard].

A thin plane of dark mana formed at the exact vector of internal intrusion. The pulse struck and dispersed outward along controlled angles, redirected like water meeting stone. The internal shock fractured before reaching tissue.

Silence settled.

Icarus remained kneeling.

Moonlight cut across both figures.

The ten swords adjusted in unison, abandoning their previous spacing and forming a converging pattern around Icarus. Each blade angled inward from a distinct vector, creating a tightening geometry that reduced his remaining space with quiet certainty. There was no haste in the movement, only calculation.

Valttair advanced at a measured pace.

[Morgain’s Last Dusk].

Mana condensed along the length of his blade, drawn inward until the air around it began to vibrate with a fine metallic resonance. The space between them grew taut, tension gathering along the edge like pressure accumulating before a fracture. He allowed the channeling to build, the hum sharpening as the moonlight reflected faintly across the darkened steel.

”You wanted to understand them,” Valttair said, his voice even.

A floating sword drove forward and pierced Icarus’ abdomen again, entering with perfect alignment and exiting cleanly through his back. The impact did not throw him off balance; it fixed him in place. A second blade followed through the opposite shoulder, crossing through muscle and bone before halting just enough to anchor his frame upright against the fractured stone behind him.

Blood fell in steady drops.

Valttair stepped within striking distance, the vibration along his blade intensifying.

”You misunderstood the variable.”

Icarus forced mana inward in one last surge and activated [Apex Contagion] again. His core flared violently in violet light, brighter and harsher than before, attempting to amplify every lingering infection, every prior anchor embedded within Valttair’s mana flow. The corruption pulsed outward in uneven waves, but the structure beneath it had already been damaged. The channels misaligned under strain. The amplification lacked cohesion and bled power instead of multiplying it.

Valttair observed the instability without comment.

Then he released the strike.

The ascending arc of [Morgain’s Last Dusk] cut upward in a single, decisive motion. The blade split the air with a sharp, resonant hum, traveling diagonally through Icarus’ torso and intersecting the wounds that held him in place. The cut passed through flesh, through core alignment, through the remaining lattice of mana that sustained him.

There was no spectacle to it.

Only precision.

The converging swords remained steady as the arc completed its path, severing the final coherence within Icarus’ core. The violet light flickered once, then thinned.

The vibration in the chamber faded, leaving only moonlight and the sound of blood touching stone.

[Morgain’s Last Dusk] completed its ascent.

The diagonal arc had already passed through Icarus’ torso, carving through flesh and splitting the alignment of his core with ruthless accuracy. The damage did not erupt outward. It fractured inward. Beneath torn fabric and blood-darkened skin, the violet structure sustaining him splintered along invisible seams, like crystal stressed beyond tolerance.

The light inside him flickered.

Once.

Twice.

Then it began to dim.

The corruptive field that had saturated the chamber thinned in response. The grey sheen across the fractured floor dissolved gradually, retreating from stone as if drawn back into a source that no longer held. [Plague Dominion] collapsed without resistance. The oppressive weight in the air lifted by degrees. The subtle drain on mana ceased.

Icarus’ knees touched the ground.

He remained upright only because the blades that had fixed him still held him in place. His breathing was shallow now, unstable. The glow behind his lilac eyes weakened, though awareness lingered.

Above him, the ten swords shifted.

They did not return to idle orbit.

They rose.

Each blade ascended and repositioned until they formed a wide ring overhead, suspended against the open sky where moonlight poured through the torn ceiling. The silver light caught along their edges, outlining them in pale clarity as they angled downward in perfect symmetry.

All ten pointed at him.

Valttair stood before him, unmoved, expression unchanged.

Icarus looked up.

For a moment, a faint smile curved at the edge of his blood-marked lips.

”Then let history repeat,” he said quietly.

Valttair did not answer.

His hand lowered by a fraction.

The swords descended as one.

Ten streaks of dark steel cut through moonlit air in synchronized precision, converging from every vector. They pierced through shoulders, ribs, lungs, abdomen, and spine, driving cleanly through and anchoring him to the shattered stone beneath.

This was the final impact.

The violet remnants within his core shattered completely, their light extinguishing without flare or protest. The last trace of contamination in the chamber evaporated with it.

The swords remained embedded for a breath.

Then, one by one, they withdrew in smooth arcs and returned to slow orbit around Valttair.

Icarus’ body lost what little tension remained and collapsed forward, lifeless, beneath the open sky.

Moonlight washed over the ruin of the chamber.

Valttair stood untouched.

Ten legendary blades floated around him in silent rotation.

The House of Valtaron ended in that chamber.

The pillar of disease had fallen.

The monster who sought understanding had found judgment instead.