Kael's crimson lightning seared the air, striking with a fury that cracked mountains and split rivers below. The Sovereign answered with torrents of white fire, each blast a sun in miniature, scorching the world until valleys turned to glass and forests ignited in silence.
Every clash carved scars into reality.
Kael lunged forward, his blade humming like a heart possessed, its edge bleeding with the storm that lived inside him. The Sovereign raised a single palm and caught the strike, the collision birthing a shockwave that ripped clouds into ribbons.
"Your will is strong," the Sovereign said, his tone calm, detached, as if Kael were nothing more than a trial to be endured. His white robes did not stain, his eyes did not flicker. "But strength without dominion is wasted. Lightning without a storm is only noise."
Kael's teeth gritted, sparks spraying from his mouth with each word.
"Then watch how noise tears down your crown."
The ground beneath them fractured, molten light gushing upward. Kael pushed harder, the storm swelling behind him like an army answering its commander. His aura flared, red arcs lashing out in all directions, slicing towers in half, collapsing ridges, driving shock into the Sovereign's defenses.
For the first time, the king's arm shuddered.
The Sovereign's eyes narrowed. His other hand rose, summoning a cascade of white fire that spiraled around him like a barrier, swallowing Kael's lightning in a cocoon of light. Then, with a twist of his wrist, he redirected the storm—Kael's own crimson bolts turned against him, crashing into his chest, searing his armor, burning his flesh.
Kael staggered, crimson blood steaming in the inferno.
"Rise again," the Sovereign commanded, his voice breaking across the battlefield like a law of nature. "Rise, so that I may crush you until nothing remains but obedience."
Kael's knees trembled. His vision blurred. And yet—he stood. His fingers dug into his blade, his red hair whipping violently in the storm. Every breath he drew was agony, but his voice thundered, louder than the lightning itself:
"I don't… obey."
The storm ignited anew, more violent, more merciless than before—black streaks weaving into the crimson, the shadow of something ancient clawing through.