Kaelen's legs trembled as he stood.
Every muscle burned, every bone ached, every cut stung like fire. His body was ruined, broken by Azrael's fists and his own desperate strikes.
But the man in the dark hood was not Azrael. He was something else.
He had walked through the slaughter like he owned it. Like the blood and the screaming were nothing but a stage for him.
This wasn't a duel.
This was an execution.
Kaelen's chest rose and fell, heavy with rage.
'No. I will not fall here. I am Kaelen Valerius. I am the hero. I am a prince. I do not lose.'
Golden light flared around his battered body. The last of his strength. His last stand.
With a raw cry, he charged. His aura burned bright, holy power coating his sword as he pushed his ruined body forward.
The hooded man only smiled. He didn't even raise a hand.
A swirling vortex of black Aether appeared before him. It spun in the air like a whirlpool, sucking at the light itself.
Kaelen's sword slammed into it.
