Lennix—if he still had the ability to sweat—would have been drenched. "Wait, wait, wait," he stammered, panic bleeding into every word as he flailed his arms in front of him. Velastra never broke stride, her steps unhurried and almost playful in how casual they were. "Why me? I'm not even strong! Or brave! Or anything that would make a Demon Lord want to fight me! I swear I'm weak—we're weak—so you don't even have to be here! Just let your demons handle us!" His voice cracked into frantic rambling, the kind born from pure desperation.
Velastra's body began to radiate a faint, warm glow. "You're adorable," she said, tone smooth as glass, "but no, I won't be leaving."
Then she vanished—simply gone from his sight—only to snap into existence directly in front of him. Her heel shot forward in a clean, ruthless side kick that slammed square into his stomach. The impact knocked the breath out of him and launched him backward.
"And I picked you at random, as you saw," she added almost cheerfully.
He didn't travel far. Lennix's back hit something solid, a blunt thud cutting off his grunt of pain. He twisted his head and blinked at the shimmering surface he'd crashed into. "Light magic…?" he coughed.
"Yes. Light magic," her voice answered.
He snapped his gaze forward—Velastra was already standing over him, her right leg chambered, weight curled into her hips. Lennix barely had the presence of mind to bring his forearms up. Her kick connected a heartbeat later. Two sharp snaps rang out, loud and sickening, as both forearms broke cleanly under the force.
He tore through the light barrier this time, skidding across the ground with nothing to slow him—his arms limp, useless, and blazing with pain as he tumbled to a stop.
Meanwhile, the black knight braced his shadow greatsword across his body, squaring up against the demon knight. "Can I just say," he began, voice tight, "that I'm not actually a knight?" The demon knight advanced without a word, each step measured and disciplined, his longsword rising into a ready guard while his kite shield angled forward like a steel wall.
"I mean, I look like one, I talk like one, I even fight like one, but I was never knighted. Never went to the academy, never learned the whole proper knight thing," the black knight added with a strained chuckle. "So maybe you could… I don't know… find a real knight to duel instead of me?"
No reaction. No pause. The demon knight just stopped a few feet away, posture steady, presence crushing.
"Focus on the duel," he said simply.
The black knight swallowed hard and exhaled, narrowing his eyes behind the visor. The chaos around them faded into background noise—the screaming guards, the crash of demons hitting the dirt, Lennix currently getting punted across the battlefield—and yet the two knights stood absolutely still, locked onto each other with complete discipline. Greatsword. Longsword. Shield. Shadow. Steel. Waiting.
The black knight moved first.
He lunged forward, sweeping his shadow greatsword in a wide horizontal arc. The demon knight slipped back in a controlled half-step, letting the blade kiss along the face of his kite shield—testing its weight, measuring its speed—before snapping forward with a precise jab of his longsword.
A small shield of condensed shadow flickered into existence along the black knight's forearm, catching the thrust. He counter-swung immediately, aiming to sever the demon knight's arm at the elbow.
The demon knight rammed his kite shield forward in a brutal, efficient jab. The black knight barely got his armored forearm in the way, the impact rattling up to his shoulder. Both fighters disengaged a heartbeat later, boots grinding against the dirt as they reset.
One exchange. Clean, sharp, controlled.
And the black knight already felt cold dread settling in his gut. The demon knight wasn't pushing. He wasn't even trying. He was reading him, dissecting his form, judging his level like an instructor watching a student swing for the first time.
*I can't win this,* the black knight thought, stomach dropping. *I can already feel it. I'll just hold this guy for as long as I can.*
Darek in the meanwhile, let out a long, theatrical sigh. "Feeling real left out here," he muttered, slouched on the rooftop as chaos churned beneath him. "Those two get to fight the special ones, and I'm stuck up here like a decorative gargoyle."
A sharp scream cut through the air. Darek's head snapped toward it. With the Demon Lord and the demon knight now locked into their duels, the lesser demons had surged back into motion, swarming the guards. The already-tired, already-terrified men were losing ground fast without Lennix and the black knight shielding them.
One guard had fallen onto his back, scrambling away from a drakorath looming over him. The creature's blades gleamed, ready to strike. The man held up his sword with trembling hands—more instinct than strategy.
Darek raised a single finger. A neat, precise bolt of mana cracked outward, exploding the drakorath's torso into shards of scales and smoke.
"Helping these guys forever really isn't going to accomplish anything," he sighed, rubbing at his temple as another guard staggered under the weight of a cherub's attack. He flicked another bolt, shattering it.
His gaze drifted back toward the black knight, locked in a tense standoff, and Lennix, currently being punted around like a ragdoll by Velastra. A slow, sly smile spread across Darek's face.
"Well…" he murmured, stretching out his hand as mana began to curl faintly around his fingers, "I can be subtle about it. And not interfere in their duels directly."