Chapter 269: Kneel
The dungeon quaked under the fury of gods.
Kael and Zerathis met in the center of the ruined chamber, both cloaked in blazing auras that cracked stone and twisted the air. Every strike rang like a thunderclap, every clash of fist and blade shook the floor. What had once been a prison was now a battlefield, walls torn open, ceiling fractured, the very foundation of the dungeon trembling at their fury.
Unleashing Everything
Kael drove forward with speed that defied his size, his magisteel sword glowing white-hot with chaos fire. Each swing carved molten scars into the stone, each strike laced with explosive bursts of raw voidflame. He fought not with restraint but with abandon, his years of honed technique wielded like a storm.
Zerathis answered with the brutal force of ancient daemon combat magic. With guttural words, he called down jagged spears of obsidian from the ceiling, warped gravity until Kael's body bent beneath crushing weight, and wrapped his fists in runes that burned like dying suns. His strikes were cataclysms, his movements earthquakes given form.
The two collided, again and again, in a storm of chaos and fire. Sword slashed claw. Voidflame swallowed rune-flame. Blood mixed with smoke in the air.
The Edge of Defeat
Kael staggered, a rune-scorched blow tearing across his chest. He spat blood, forcing himself upright, his legs trembling beneath the crushing gravity Zerathis had called down. The daemon stalked closer, his voice booming with satisfaction.
"Break, Kael. Even the finest blade snaps beneath enough pressure. You cannot hold forever."
Kael gritted his teeth, his grip tightening on his sword. His whole body screamed in protest, his vision blurred. But deep within his chest, something else stirred — not despair, not fear.
Resolve.
He remembered Druaka's fall. He remembered the Hollow's children laughing in the streets. He remembered Lyria's arms, Azhara's faith, Rogan's loyalty, Varik's quiet trust. He remembered every step that brought him here.
His voice came low, steady, steel beneath fire:
"I am not a blade to break. I am the hand that wields it."
Kael Ascends
With a roar, Kael exploded into motion, his chaos flame igniting in a full inferno. The crushing weight shattered under the surge of his power. His sword became an extension of himself, every strike faster, heavier, sharper than before.
Zerathis raised his arms to block, but Kael's strikes carved through his defenses. One blow split the rune shielding across his chest. Another carved a deep gash across his side. Each strike forced him back step by step.
For the first time, Zerathis faltered. His laughter cut into a grunt of effort. Kael pressed harder, chaos fire trailing his movements, his sword screaming with unleashed fury.
The onlookers in the shadows — Lyria, Azhara, Rogan, Varik — watched in stunned silence. Lyria's breath caught, her heart hammering in her chest as Kael drove Zerathis back like a force of nature.
The Decisive Moment
Zerathis lunged with a desperate, rune-empowered strike, his fist blazing like a miniature sun. Kael ducked beneath it, pivoted, and with a roar brought his sword down in a single devastating arc.
The chaos fire erupted, detonating with a sound like the world itself breaking. The shockwave blasted dust and rock across the chamber, sending fragments raining like meteors.
When the light cleared, Kael stood tall, his blade pressed against Zerathis's throat. The daemon was on his knees, chest heaving, blood dripping down his face. His eyes burned with exhaustion, fury — and admiration.
Kael's voice cut through the silence, low and commanding.
"Kneel."
For a long heartbeat, Zerathis was still. Then, slowly, a smile spread across his face — not of mockery, but of respect, of recognition. He bowed his head, letting the weight of Kael's blade rest against his neck.
"You've done it," he said, voice hoarse but strong. "You've broken me. You've won me. Together, Kael… we will flip the world on its head."
The Aftermath
Kael lowered his sword, breath heavy, and let out a harsh, ragged laugh. It grew, echoing off the broken walls until it was a full, hearty roar of triumph. Reaching down, he clasped Zerathis's arm and hauled the battered daemon to his feet.
"You'll not kneel forever," Kael said, smirking despite the blood dripping down his jaw. "Stand, Zerathis. If you'll follow me, then you'll walk beside me. Not behind."
The daemon's grin widened, blood staining his teeth. "Then let us begin, Kael."
Kael turned, still gripping his blade, his voice carrying across the chamber.
"You can come out of the shadows now. I know you've been watching."
In the gloom, four figures stirred. Lyria, Azhara, Rogan, and Varik stepped into the ruined light, their faces torn between shock, fear, and awe at what they had just witnessed.
The gauntlet had been thrown. The daemon had been broken. And Kael stood the victor.