Kael's boots struck the stone with a hollow certainty, each step measured, deliberate. Veylan's crew faltered, and even Veylan's eyes widened at the calm aura Kael exuded. He didn't rush. He didn't shout. He simply stood, letting the silence stretch, making the wind carry a sense of imminent violence.
Eryndor finally glanced at him, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Ah… Kael. Right on time."
Kael's eyes, cold and calculating, locked on Veylan's remaining fighters. "Move, or you'll regret it," he said simply. No flourish, no show—just the promise of destruction beneath his calm tone.
Veylan tried to rally them. "Hold! Don't let him—"
But before he could finish, Kael shifted. Faster than the eye could follow, he struck. Not at Eryndor, not yet—but at Veylan's flanking lieutenant. A strike to the chest, precise and final. The man crumpled without a sound. Panic rippled through the remaining crew.
Eryndor used the moment to close in on Veylan. Every step he took pushed the others back, forcing Veylan toward the edge of the plaza. Dust and stone danced in the wake of their movement, punctuated by the occasional impact of a fist against stone or armor. Veylan swung wildly, desperation in every move. Eryndor's defense was effortless—he didn't even seem to expend energy, yet each of Veylan's attacks met immovable resistance.
Kael intercepted another lieutenant, the one attempting to flank Eryndor. A flick of his wrist, a shift in stance, and the man was sent crashing into the fountain at the plaza's center. Water splashed everywhere, the sound like a gunshot in the tense air.
"Enough," Kael said finally, stepping into the open fully. His presence alone forced Veylan to freeze. Every muscle in Veylan's body screamed at him to retreat—but pride rooted him in place.
Eryndor paused, studying Kael for a moment. The faint smirk on his face deepened. "Now it's interesting."
And with that, the dynamic shifted. No longer was Eryndor alone; no longer could Veylan rely on numbers. He was outmatched, outmaneuvered, and the weight of their failure pressed down like stone. Veylan's attacks became frantic, chaotic, his lieutenants either incapacitated or too terrified to continue.
Eryndor and Kael moved almost as one, a deadly synchrony born of mutual understanding. Veylan's flurry of strikes met not one, but two immovable forces—one calculating, one lethal, and both far beyond anything he had faced before.
The plaza echoed with the sounds of their defeat: the thud of bodies hitting stone, the rasp of gasps, the unmistakable rhythm of a fight that was already lost.
Veylan staggered backward, face pale. "This… can't be…"
Eryndor tilted his head, voice low and dangerous. "You underestimated me. And now…" His gaze swept over the remnants of Veylan's crew, broken and beaten. "…you'll learn why that was a mistake."
Kael's eyes didn't waver from Veylan. "Consider your next move carefully. One more misstep and it ends."
Veylan swallowed hard, his defiance flickering against the reality of their situation. The fight wasn't over—but it was already over in every way that mattered.