The desert air hung thick with ash and heat, the remnants of the ruined arena glowing faintly under Kairo's crimson eyes. Before him stood the towering figure of the Commander, obsidian armor etched with glowing runes, chains writhing behind him like serpents of darkness.
The Commander spoke first, voice echoing with the weight of centuries.
"Child of the pit… you have survived where none should. You are strong… but strength alone will not save you."
Kairo tightened his grip on his own chains. Their links rattled, alive, hungry, sensing the aura of their true counterpart. "Then let's see if you can prove that," he muttered, voice low, unwavering.
With a roar that shook the sand, the Commander lunged. His spear, forged from obsidian bone, hissed as it tore through the air. Kairo's chains snapped outward, intercepting, sparks flaring as metal struck metal. The impact rippled through the dunes, sand and shattered rock flying in every direction.
Kairo moved with calculated precision, Judgement Dance flowing through every strike. His chains lashed, coiling, snapping, blocking, and countering. Yet the Commander's movements were relentless — each swing carried the experience of countless battles, each thrust designed to exploit a moment of weakness.
The desert seemed alive with the rhythm of their fight, shockwaves cracking the dunes, the stench of scorched earth and blood rising with every collision. Phantom fangs — spectral warriors conjured from the Commander's aura — lunged at Kairo from every angle. He pivoted, chains wrapping them midair, bones snapping under the pressure of his grip.
"Impressive," the Commander growled, spinning his spear to send a wave of crushing force across the battlefield. "But do you truly understand what it means to survive the pit?"
Kairo's crimson eyes flared. He twisted, chains whipping with lethal precision, deflecting the attack. His aura pulsed outward, suffocating, oppressive — a stench of death that seemed to choke the air itself.
He spoke, voice calm yet sharp as a blade.
"I don't just survive. I dominate."
The Commander paused for a fraction of a heartbeat — the first hesitation in an otherwise unyielding assault. His hollow eyes narrowed behind the helm.
"So be it," he murmured, and lunged again, faster, harder, his chains snapping toward Kairo with a life of their own.
Kairo's chains twisted and coiled, striking back, each lash tearing through the spectral fangs summoned to attack him. Sparks and blood flew in a chaotic dance of destruction. He moved like a storm unbound, Judgement Dance flowing in perfect rhythm, bone blade edges slicing phantom and sand alike.
Yet the Commander pressed on, forcing Kairo to bend under the pressure, to anticipate, to adapt. Every strike tested his endurance, every clash threatened to break him.
Above the battlefield, Veyrith's eyes narrowed, voice low.
"The boy is learning faster than expected. He bends Hell's rhythm without breaking. Fascinating."
Hades' lips pressed into a thin line, silent, observing.
"Yes… but the pit is far from done with him."
The night air shimmered with heat and power as the battle escalated, each movement a deadly prelude to the horrors still to come. And in the center of it all, Kairo's crimson gaze burned, unblinking, unyielding, promising carnage and the birth of something far darker than the desert had ever seen.