The training floor of Carmilla's private estate was a stark contrast to the velvet luxury of the Overlord meeting. Here, the air was cool and smelled of sharpened steel and floor wax. High vaulted ceilings echoed with the rhythmic clack-clack-clack of Vane's boots as he paced, waiting for his partner.
Vane adjusted the wraps on his hands. He wasn't wearing his usual regal coat; instead, he wore a simple black sleeveless shirt that showed the shifting, ink-like tattoos of chaotic energy swirling beneath his skin.
"You're thinking too much again, Vane," Carmilla's voice rang out.
She stepped from the shadows, dressed in her sleek combat gear, her hair tied back tightly. In her hands, she held two practice sabers. She tossed one to him. Vane caught it out of the air, the weight familiar and grounding.
"I'm not thinking," Vane countered with a smirk. "I'm calculating."
"In a real fight, calculation is a slow death," Carmilla said, moving into a low, predatory stance. "You have the raw power. Your chaos is a flood. But a flood is wasted energy. You need to be a spear."
The Dance of Steel
She moved like a flash of silver. Vane barely brought his blade up in time to parry her first strike. The impact sent a vibration up his arm that made his teeth ache. He didn't just use his muscles; he tapped into his core. As Carmilla swung again, Vane activated one of his new skills: Entropy Blur.
To Carmilla's eyes, Vane's form suddenly flickered, like a bad television signal. She swung through the space where his shoulder had been, but he was already inches to the left.
"Better," she grunted, spinning on her heel to deliver a kick that Vane blocked with his forearm. "But your feet are heavy. You rely on your magic to fix your bad positioning."
Vane laughed, his eyes glowing with a faint, flickering purple light. "That's the point of being an Overlord, isn't it? Breaking the rules of physics."
"The rules of physics don't care about your title," she snapped, lunging forward with a series of strikes so fast they looked like a blur of light.
Vane pushed himself. He began to weave his chaos into the blade. Every time their swords met, a small spark of purple static exploded, pushing Carmilla back just an inch. He was learning to focus his energy into tiny, concentrated points rather than letting it explode all at once. It was the "spear" she had talked about.
They moved across the floor in a deadly dance. Vane was sweating now, his breath coming in sharp hitches. He took a gamble, dropping his sword and thrusting his palm forward. "Shatter Point," he whispered.
A wave of distorted air hit Carmilla's saber. The steel didn't break—it was Carmine-grade, after all—but the vibration was so intense she had to let go of the weapon.
Vane stood over her, breathing hard, his hand glowing. Carmilla looked down at her empty hand, then up at him. Slowly, she smiled. It wasn't the cold mask she wore for Vox. it was a look of genuine pride.
"You've been practicing," she admitted, taking the hand he offered and pulling herself up.
They walked over to the edge of the sparring mat, grabbing towels and water. The intensity of the fight faded, replaced by the quiet intimacy of the late hour. They sat on a bench overlooking the glowing red skyline of Pentagram City.
"Why do you do it, Carmilla?" Vane asked, looking out at the city. "You have the weapons, the money, the respect. Why keep pushing? Why teach a 'messy' guy like me?"
Carmilla leaned her head back against the wall, looking uncharacteristically tired. "Because in Hell, 'enough' is a lie. The moment you stop rising, you start falling. I have daughters to protect, Vane. I built this empire so they would never have to crawl for anyone. My motivation is survival—not just mine, but theirs."
She turned to look at him. "But you... you're different. You don't have a family to feed. What drives the King of Chaos?"
Vane looked at his hands, where the purple energy was still humming. "I spent my first few years here watching people like Vox and Alastor treat the world like a game. I hated it. I didn't want to just be a piece on the board. I wanted to be the one who changes the game."
He leaned closer to her. "I believe that Hell is stagnant. Everyone is stuck in their old ways. I want to build something that actually lasts. Not just a house of glass, like Zestial said, but a kingdom where chaos is the fuel, not the enemy. I want to be so powerful that no one—not the Angels, not the Morningstars—can tell me 'no' ever."
"It's a lonely peak you're trying to climb," Carmilla warned softly.
"It doesn't have to be," Vane replied. He reached out, taking her hand. This time, there were no metal gloves, no cameras, and no rivals watching. Just skin against skin. "We both want the same thing, Carmilla. We want to be at the top because we're the only ones who know how to stay there without losing our minds."
"And what do you desire, Vane? Beyond the power?"
Vane looked at her, his gaze softening. "I desire a world where I don't have to wear a mask. A world where I can stand next to you at a meeting and tell Vox to go to Hell because you're mine, and I'm yours. I'm tired of the performance."
Carmilla squeezed his hand, her thumb tracing his knuckles. "Then we rise," she whispered. "We make ourselves so essential, so dangerous, that the masks won't matter. We'll be the ones holding the strings."
They sat in silence for a long time, two of the most dangerous people in Hell, finding a rare moment of peace in the middle of a war zone. They knew the next day would bring more lies, more deals, and more threats. But for tonight, the training was over. The plan was clear.
They didn't just want to survive Hell. They wanted to own it.
The cool air of the training hall vanished, replaced by the heat of Vane's aura. He didn't just want to spar anymore; he wanted to test the limits of his evolution.
"Again," Vane said, his voice dropping an octave as a low hum of static filled the room.
Carmilla didn't waste breath on words. She blurred into motion. She launched herself off a training pillar, her silver-tipped boots flashing. She came at him with a spinning kick meant to take his head off, but Vane didn't move his feet.
The Clash of Elements
Vane snapped his fingers. "Chaotic Displacement."
Space seemed to fold. Carmilla's boot passed through a ghost-image of Vane as he reappeared three feet behind her. Without missing a beat, he thrust his hand forward, releasing a bolt of Violet Kinetic Energy.
Carmilla sensed the pressure change behind her. She flipped mid-air, her back arching with impossible grace, and sliced her saber through the air. The blade didn't just cut—it absorbed. The Carmine-steel glowed hot as it dispersed his blast. She landed in a crouch and immediately propelled herself forward like a railgun shot.
Clang!
The sound was deafening. Vane summoned a jagged blade of pure, solidified chaos to meet her steel. The two stood locked, chest to chest, their eyes inches apart.
"You're relying on the flicker," Carmilla hissed, her muscles straining against his. "If I timing your blink, you're dead."
"Then don't let me blink," Vane retorted.
Rising Intensity
He surged with power. A shockwave erupted from his feet, cracking the reinforced floor. The force threw Carmilla back, but she used the momentum to wall-run, circling him at high speed. She began throwing small, throwing-knives—specially weighted to disrupt magic.
Vane didn't block them. He closed his eyes.
"Event Horizon."
A swirling vortex of purple and black energy erupted around him, acting like a gravity well. The knives didn't hit him; they began to orbit him, caught in his pull. Vane swung his arms outward, and the knives flew back at Carmilla twice as fast.
She danced through the hail of steel, her movements a masterclass in agility. She batted two knives away with her hilt and caught the third in her teeth before spitting it aside. She was closing the distance again, knowing Vane's long-range game was getting too dangerous.
She dropped her saber and went for hand-to-hand. Her strikes were surgical—aiming for the nerves in his neck, the soft spot under his ribs. Vane countered with brutal, heavy blows. Every time his fist moved, it left a trail of "after-images" that confused the eye.
Carmilla caught his wrist, twisted, and drove her knee into his stomach. Vane gasped, but he used the contact to grab her waist.
"Absolute Entropy," he growled.
The ground beneath them turned to liquid shadow. They both plummeted through the floor into the lower level of the gym. As they fell, Vane gathered all his energy into his palms. He wasn't just throwing a punch; he was throwing a localized explosion.
Carmilla saw the buildup. She wrapped her legs around his waist and used his momentum to swing them both around. Just as they hit the lower floor, she slammed him into a support beam. Vane released the blast, but Carmilla had already pushed off, the explosion shattering the beam into splinters instead of her ribs.
Vane stood up from the debris, his shirt torn, purple energy bleeding from his fingertips like smoke. Carmilla stood ten feet away, breathing hard, a single strand of hair falling across her face.
The room went silent, the only sound the crackle of dying sparks.
"That," Carmilla breathed, a predatory grin finally touching her lips, "was not a calculation. That was a fight."
Vane wiped a smudge of dust from his jaw and smirked. "I told you. I'm learning."
3 chapters on Jan 12 or 13 also check out my other stories