Dust swirled as Ardan turned, his instincts screaming.
From the shadows behind him, a violet light flashed—two glowing eyes piercing through the smoke like twin stars of death.
Before he could even breathe, a lance came down from above.
Clang!
The shockwave rippled through the ground, shaking nearby corpses and scattering loose stones. Ardan barely twisted aside, the lance cutting past his armour and grazing his shoulder. His body screamed in protest; he had evaded only by sheer reflex.
(So fast… that thing isn't human.)
Theo's eyes widened. "O-Onyx…?"
The armored knight landed between them, his lance humming faintly, violet lines glowing across its shaft. Shadows rippled beneath his feet like living smoke.
Onyx didn't turn to look at Theo. He simply raised one arm, holding Theo back without a word.
Theo flinched at the force of that gesture. "But I can still—"
Onyx's visor tilted slightly, the purple light within narrowing.
That single action carried enough authority to make even Theo's heart freeze.
Theo gritted his teeth, but he knew—this was beyond him now.
He stepped back, lowering his sword. "...Alright. Don't lose, Onyx."
Onyx nodded once. Then, like a spring released, he dashed forward.
Their blades met with an explosion of sparks.
Ardan swung his greatsword in a sweeping arc, but Onyx ducked low, the edge whistling inches above his horn. He countered with a rising thrust, the lance's tip grazing Ardan's chest plate.
Ardan's grin widened through the sweat and blood. "You're faster than the brat… I like that!"
He twisted his body mid-swing, using the momentum of his blade to smash into Onyx's side. The impact threw the armored knight back a few steps, but Onyx dug his heels in, dragging his lance through the dirt to steady himself.
Then he vanished.
A flash—then another. Onyx appeared behind Ardan, his lance stabbing forward like a flash of violet lightning. Ardan spun, barely catching the attack with the flat of his sword. Sparks flew, the metal screeching.
(What power… it's like fighting a phantom!)
Ardan's instincts screamed again. He roared, letting his primal side take over.
He slammed his blade into the ground, using the shockwave to break Onyx's balance, then lunged forward with terrifying speed.
The two clashed again and again—Onyx's movements fluid and inhuman, Ardan's brute force guided by battle-hardened precision.
Onyx twirled his lance mid-combat, aiming for Ardan's neck.
Ardan ducked, sliding low, and with a snarl, punched Onyx square in the chest with his free hand. The hit echoed like thunder, sending cracks across Onyx's armor.
But the knight didn't fall.
Onyx's hand shot out, grabbing Ardan's wrist. His other hand slammed the lance butt into Ardan's ribs.
The air whooshed out of Ardan's lungs.
Ardan roared, his blade igniting with crimson fury—Raging Cleave! He swung with monstrous force, each strike splitting the ground.
Onyx countered, shadows writhing around him as Black Armament forged a dozen phantom blades that danced like serpents.
Steel met darkness in a storm of sparks. Ardan's cleaves shattered three, but five more stabbed toward him. He twisted mid-air, his Iron Crete's Resilience hardening his skin like steel, deflecting the blows with sheer will.
Onyx spun, his lance whirling in a perfect arc; Ardan slid beneath, dragging his sword upward, the clash erupting in a shockwave that split the battlefield in two.
Both staggered back, glaring at each other through dust and blood.
Neither spoke. They didn't need to.
This was no longer a fight of ideals—it was instinct against instinct. Predator against predator.
Theo was breathing hard, slumped against a rock, watching the chaos unfold. His chest rose and fell like a drumbeat of exhaustion.
Then he heard it.
A sound—a grunt.
He turned sharply.
Zeven was standing.
Blood dripped from where his hand used to be, his face pale, but his eyes burned with fury. His right hand, where his sword had once been, was now empty.
Theo immediately got to his feet, twin blades ready.
"Stay down," he warned.
Zeven's gaze fell on the weapon in Theo's hand—the sword with the worn leather hilt and faint engravings.
His breath hitched. His pupils shrank.
"That sword…" he whispered, voice trembling. "That's my father's blade."
Theo blinked, confused. "Your… father's?"
Zeven's face twisted into rage. "How dare you—lay your filthy hands on his legacy! You don't deserve to even breathe near it!"
Theo froze for a second. His grip tightened.
He didn't know his father. He had no memories, no relics, no stories. For him, a sword was just a weapon. But for Zeven—this was something sacred.
Theo exhaled slowly, then tossed the blade across the dirt.
It slid to Zeven's feet.
Zeven stared at it, speechless. His remaining, trembling hand reached for it. The moment his fingers touched the hilt, something inside him cracked—the anger fading into quiet grief.
"…Why?" he asked, voice breaking.
Theo shrugged, forcing a tired smile. "You said it's your father's. I don't need it."
For a long moment, Zeven just stood there, holding the sword against his chest. Then, his expression hardened again. His eyes locked on Theo.
"So… that's how it is," he muttered. "Then let's end this properly."
Theo raised his remaining blade, nodding. "Agreed."
The two of them stood facing each other amid the chaos—the roar of Ardan and Onyx's battle echoing behind them, shaking the ground beneath their feet.
Zeven lifted his sword, the edge gleaming faintly red under the setting sun. Theo, battered and bruised, tightened his stance.
For a moment, there was no sound. Just the wind.
Then, both moved.
Steel clashed once again.
To be continued.....