Kael didn't give Xerath a second to breathe.
He stepped in hard, boots scraping stone, both hands locked on the hilt as he swung his greatsword in a tight, controlled arc instead of some flashy overhead bullshit.
CLANG—!
Flame and mana slammed together.
Sparks exploded everywhere, heat rolling off Kael's blade in waves so strong the air warped around them.
Xerath's ring-blade shrieked as it blocked, crescents grinding against burning steel.
"Demon," Kael growled through clenched teeth, muscles screaming as he pushed forward, "you'll die by my hands."
He swung again.
And again.
And again.
Each strike faster.
Each one heavier.
The fire around the blade intensified, flames climbing higher, licking up the flat of the sword, the temperature rising so fast the stone beneath them started to glow faintly red.
Xerath slid back half a step, boots carving lines in the street.
"In your dreams," Xerath snapped, voice sharp now, no amusement left.
He twisted his wrist.
