"…I see it now," Kael thought. "You're growing stronger."
He ducked under the mace, spun past the spear, parried the curved blade.
"But you're also growing louder."
Varkazan roared, swinging all four weapons in a devastating arc meant to obliterate everything before him.
Kael jumped—high—twisting in the air, blades passing beneath his boots.
He landed lightly behind the demon.
For a while Varkazan hesitated.
Kael exhaled slowly.
"…You rely on momentum," he murmured. "And I rely on control."
He shifted his stance.
Sword angled.
Feet grounded.
Mana flowed—not exploding outward, but condensing, refining, threading itself through muscle and bone.
Varkazan turned, grinning wider than ever.
"Still standing?" the demon growled. "Then dance with me some more, mortal!"
Kael raised his sword.
Blood dripped from his arm.
Sweat traced his jaw.
But his gaze was unwavering.
Varkazan threw his head back and roared.
The sound was not merely loud but it was violent.
