Chapter 303 — The Trial of Names
The training ground was silent but for the wind. The recruits had been cleared out, the practice yard sealed tight under Selina's watchful eyes. Today's lesson was not for them. Today was for the council alone.
Kael stood at the far end of the yard, his magisteel blade gleaming in the sun, shadows curling faintly at his feet. The firelight of his black flames flickered in his palms, restrained but eager.
"Selina wanted you to learn discipline," Kael said, his voice carrying. "But it's not enough to name your attacks—you need to use them when it matters, against an opponent who won't let you breathe. So today, you'll face me. All of you."
There were exchanged looks. Uneasy smirks. Quiet nerves.
"Together," Kael added, resting the blade on his shoulder. "Come at me with everything you've got."
Selina's lips curled at the edge. "Try not to die."
The council moved.
Rogan charged first, hammer raised high. "Earthshatter!" The ground convulsed as the hammer slammed down, shockwaves rippling outward. Kael slid back a step but planted his blade into the earth, anchoring himself.
He smirked. "Not bad."
The earth split—then shadows spilled from the crack like liquid night. Kael swung his sword upward, his voice steady and commanding.
"Dragoniod's Breath!"
Black fire roared from the blade, swallowing Rogan's shockwave whole and racing forward in a torrent. Rogan cursed and braced, but Lyria spun into motion, her curved blade dancing.
"Silver Tempest!"
Wind howled, slicing Kael's flames apart into fragments. Ash and fire rained harmlessly across the field. For a heartbeat, Kael's grin widened.
Then Varik was at his back. His daggers flashed, poison trailing like ghostly mist. "Viper's Kiss!"
Kael turned just in time, parrying with his blade. The impact hissed—where Varik's dagger met steel, a streak of corrosion marked the magisteel's surface.
Kael's eyes narrowed. "Clever."
But before he could counter, Thalos's voice thundered from the rear lines.
"Judgment's Dawn!"
A searing beam of light lanced across the battlefield, forcing Kael to throw himself into a roll, his shadows dragging him faster than his own body could move. The beam carved a smoking scar into the dirt where he'd been.
He landed on one knee, grinning fiercely. "Good. Now again."
They surged together this time. Rogan's hammer slammed into the ground, lifting debris into the air. Lyria's tempest swept through it, turning rock into slicing shrapnel. Kael raised his blade, shadows forming a barrier—but Varik darted in through the chaos, his daggers flashing.
Kael twisted, blocking—but then Azhara stepped forward. Her staff glowed faintly as her voice broke over the field.
"Burden of Mercy!"
The weight struck Kael like a tidal wave. His shoulders sagged, his sword arm slowed, and for the first time his footing faltered.
His eyes widened. She can do this to me?
Zerathis did not hesitate. With a roar, he leapt, violet fire crackling in his claws. "Abyssal Rend!"
The rift tore downward, slamming Kael to one knee as his shadows buckled under the daemon's strike. For an instant—just an instant—Kael was pinned.
The council stood, panting, weapons glowing, magic still humming in the air. For the first time, they looked at Kael not just as their leader, but as an opponent they had actually forced to yield ground.
Kael's chest heaved. His sword burned in his grip.
And then he laughed.
The shadows surged back, wrapping around his body like a second skin. He rose, eyes blazing with black fire.
"Good," he growled. "But if this were real, you'd all already be dead."
He swung his blade skyward. Black fire roared, shadows twisting into serpents that lashed at the air.
The council staggered back, defenses barely holding as Kael pressed forward—fast, relentless, merciless. Only when Selina raised her hand did Kael stop, halting the torrent of shadow and flame.
Smoke curled in the air. The ground was scorched, cracked, littered with debris.
Kael stood at the center, chest rising and falling, sweat streaking his brow. His hand still throbbed faintly from its earlier break, but he didn't let it show.
"You've grown," he said, voice low but proud. "I felt every one of those blows. Especially you two." His eyes flicked to Azhara and Zerathis. "If you can hold me down even for a heartbeat, you're worth twice what the Church can muster."
Zerathis smirked, though sweat glistened on his brow. Azhara clutched her staff tightly, trying to steady her breath.
Kael lowered his sword, shadows slowly receding. "We're not there yet. But we're close. Close to being more than survivors. Close to being unstoppable."
The others exchanged glances, no longer rivals but comrades who had seen their power clash, intertwine, and sharpen.
For the first time, the council of the Hollow began to feel less like scattered pieces—and more like a single weapon.