Chapter 279 Pure Aetherial

Clark spread his wings wide, the dark feathers glinting faintly under the moonlight. With a firm push, he flapped them hard and lifted himself higher. As the wind picked up around him, his eyes remained locked on Liam standing below.

"I still have the advantage of flight," Clark murmured to himself, feeling the air shift as he rose higher. "If I use it right... I can dominate this fight."

He dove.

With precision and speed, Clark zipped toward Liam, slicing through the air like a bullet. The moment he got close enough, he pulled his wings forward and clapped them together—one violent, thunderous flap that sent a sonic wave in all directions. The gust struck Liam straight in the chest.

The blast pushed Liam backward, dust and debris swirling around him as his boots slid against the dirt.

Clark narrowed his eyes as the dust settled. Liam had only moved... two steps.

"Two steps?!" Clark growled. "Are you kidding me?!"

Liam raised his head slowly, an amused look curling at the corner of his lips. His blue eyes sparkled with something dangerous, something that didn’t care for theatrics. His smile was crooked, half-taunt, half-welcome. It was the smile of a man who wanted more.

Then Liam moved.

In the blink of an eye, he vanished from his position and reappeared directly in front of Clark. His speed was unnatural, raw, explosive, and fluid all at once.

Clark barely had time to react. He instinctively tried to flap his wings to escape upward, but it was too late. Liam’s hand had already grabbed one of his wings, holding it tight with a crushing grip.

"Shit—" Clark muttered, realizing how strong Liam’s hold was.

Desperate, he tried to shake Liam off by flapping both wings, but just as he prepared the movement, Liam’s fist was already coming.

Clark had only one option. He curled his free wing around himself to shield his body and braced for impact.

The punch connected.

The shock ran through Clark’s wing like an earthquake. He felt the vibration rattle his bones, but his defense didn’t break. His wing had held, but just barely.

Then Clark spread both wings wide and started spinning in place like a drill.

Liam let go and backed off immediately. The rotation turned Clark into a spiraling weapon, his sharp feathers slicing through the air dangerously fast. Liam jumped back a few steps as the wingtip grazed his abdomen, slicing through his shirt and cutting into his skin.

Liam winced and looked down.

Blood trickled lightly from the gash across his stomach. He placed a hand over it for a second, then watched as the skin began knitting itself back together—slowly but steadily.

He shook his head.

"Careless," he muttered.

Across from him, Clark hovered midair, breathing heavily. His eyes burned with fury as he watched Liam healing from the slash like nothing happened.

And then—Ding!

[Feather Shards Activated]

Liam raised one hand.

Clark blinked in confusion as he saw small, shimmering feather-like shapes begin to form above Liam’s palm—glowing with a faint firelight hue. The moment they formed, Liam didn’t waste a second. He pointed.

The feathers shot out.

A dozen blazing shards tore through the air at ridiculous speed, shrieking as they zipped toward Clark.

Clark’s instincts screamed.

He dodged to the left, flapping wildly, but the feathers followed in erratic paths, some veering off, some hitting the ground and sending sparks flying. Others still came straight at him.

He quickly wrapped both wings tightly around his body just before they hit. For correct content, please visit

A second later, thud! thud!

Two feathers hit.

When Clark slowly unfolded his wings, his eyes widened.

Two holes.

Perfect, clean holes had been punched through his wings—one on the left, one on the right. Smoke curled from the edges of the wounds, and for a moment, he didn’t even feel the pain—just the shock.

"This is freaking impossible!" he shouted in disbelief. "What the hell are those?!"

Then it happened again—Ding!

[Feather Shards Activated]

"Again?!" Clark shouted, barely managing to flap backward to gain distance.

But Liam had already released another wave.

Clark barely had time to dive. His body twisted in the air, flipping upside down as he dodged left, but a shard grazed his thigh, slicing through his pants and nicking flesh. He winced and bit his lip to stop himself from screaming.

Each feather was like a flaming arrow—small, swift, and terrifyingly accurate.

He finally regained altitude, flapping hard, but the damage was done. His wings weren’t as stable anymore, especially with holes weakening their structure.

On the ground, Liam didn’t even look out of breath. His posture was steady, his breathing normal. He stared at Clark like a hawk waiting for its prey to make one wrong move.

Clark gritted his teeth. His mind raced.

Who the hell is this guy?

Clark stared at Liam, chest heaving, his breath unsteady. Then he finally muttered, "There’s no beating you..."

Liam didn’t reply. He stood where he was, eyes cold, body relaxed—but every inch of him radiated deadly focus.

Clark turned around midair and launched himself into the sky. He didn’t care if it looked like cowardice anymore. Pride didn’t matter—not if it got him killed. He came here full of arrogance, with a blade and power he thought were unmatched. Now, he was flying away like a disgraced soldier—beaten, outmatched, humiliated.

His wings flapped furiously, desperation in every motion. Then, like a whisper on his skin, he felt it—wind pressure shifting. He looked back.

His heart stopped.

He caught the sight of Liam’s body glowing faintly beneath the night sky. Then, in one breathtaking moment, two white wings exploded from Liam’s back like something from legend.

Clark froze midair, the panic in his chest giving way to disbelief. His eyes widened as his voice cracked:"Pure... A-Aetherial?!"

The words spilled out of his mouth before he could think. This wasn’t some fake powerup. This was the real thing. Pure Aetherial... that class wasn’t just rare—it was damn near myth.

He’d seen the Crimson Hand’s strongest... but he had never, not once, seen wings like that.

Liam didn’t hear him. He didn’t care why Clark stopped flying. His focus was locked, his target was in range.

With a simple movement, Liam pushed off the ground and lifted into the air. His wings sliced through the sky like blades. In seconds, he was high above the city skyline, closing in fast.

Clark cursed. "Shit! Shit! Shit!"

Panic gripped him as he turned around and flapped harder, faster. His body screamed under the pressure of pushing his limits. But it was useless. He could feel Liam behind him. The distance wasn’t just closing—it was already gone.

Ten seconds. That’s all it took.

Clark looked back.

Liam was right there—within arm’s reach. Floating like a ghost. Smiling like a devil.

Then he felt it—Liam’s hand wrapped around his ankle.

"No—!" Clark tried to twist, to kick, to break free.

It was useless.

Liam’s hand tightened like a clamp, then his other hand pulled back. Clark saw it coming—a fist, drawn and ready.

He barely had time to brace.

Bang!

The punch slammed into his jaw. His head snapped back. His vision exploded with light and static. His body went limp as the pain swallowed him. His grip on reality slipped like sand through fingers.

Then, silence.

His body began to fall.

Up at nearly 2,000 meters—more than a kilometer and a half above the ground—Clark dropped like a ragdoll.

Wind howled past his ears.

His wings twitched, but he couldn’t control them.

Air pressure slammed against his face as gravity dragged him faster, harder.

Ten seconds in—still falling.

Fifteen seconds—unconscious, helpless.

Boom!

He hit the ground like a missile, the impact sending a shockwave through the clearing. Dirt exploded outward. A crater formed instantly, wide and deep, cracked like a spider web under him.

Clark’s body was buried in the center of the crater. Debris and dust lifted into the sky like smoke from a bomb.

Liam landed seconds later—silent, smooth, controlled. He touched down beside the crater’s edge without a scratch on him.

His boots crunched against the gravel as he walked toward the center. The moonlight reflected off his wings, casting long shadows behind him.

Clark groaned.

He wasn’t dead.

But only because, somehow, even unconscious, his wings had instinctively wrapped around him during the fall. The feathers were charred, torn, and pierced in places—but they’d absorbed the worst of the impact.

He coughed out blood.

His chest burned with every breath.

Liam stood over him and stared.

Clark lifted his head weakly and locked eyes with him. Pain burned in his gaze, but behind it was something else—confusion. Shock.

And fear.