They came.
Nathan from the left, Elara from the right.
Daggers and violet steel. Sparks and silver arcs.
Merlin blocked, parried, twisted. But for the first time, their rhythm wasn't chaotic, it was sharp, precise. Nathan's recklessness wasn't wild; it was bait. Every slash he made opened a path for Elara to strike sharper, faster.
Together, they drove him back.
The ground cracked beneath their feet. Lightning sparked wild. Sweat poured down their faces.
And still, they pressed.
–––
From above, Morgana's lips curved faintly. "…They're matching his tempo."
Vivienne's eyes widened. "For how long?"
"…Not long," Morgana whispered.
–––
Because Merlin changed.
He exhaled once. Golden light burned in his eyes.
And his speed doubled.
Nathan barely saw the blade coming. His daggers caught it at the last possible instant, the shockwave nearly ripping his arms out of their sockets. He screamed, sparks bursting as his knees hit the sand.
