The scene shifted at once—darkness still thick around them, broken only by snapping arcs of lightning and the faint, cold glint of steel.
Draven's crimson eyes narrowed.
He moved fluidly, blade weaving through lightning—striking, feinting, retreating. Every motion was precise, efficient. But something was… wrong. Something didn't add up.
Cedric stood opposite him—battered, blood-soaked, armor fractured and barely holding together. And yet—
He **moved with control**.
Every strike, every dodge carried weight and intent. There were no reckless flares of mana, no desperate swings. Just **measured, disciplined attacks**, stripped down to what mattered.
Draven's thoughts raced.
*This bastard… he's slower than before. Slower than when I first fought him.*
And yet—
*He's keeping up.*
Lightning arced from Cedric's blade as he parried Draven's swing, sparks scattering into the darkness. The holy energy around him wasn't wild anymore—it was *tempered*, sharpened by standing at the edge of death.
Draven lunged, spinning into a cutting arc, shadows snapping around his legs.
Cedric anticipated it.
He slid his blade along Draven's weapon, guiding the strike aside with brutal efficiency.
"What the—" Draven muttered, a rare edge of frustration slipping through.
Cedric's breathing was ragged, chest heaving—but his stance never broke.
"I won't… fall," he growled, voice raw with pain and effort. "Not to a demon. Not now. Not ever."
Draven's jaw tightened, sharp teeth glinting faintly.
*Still standing… even like this.*
Another clash—steel shrieking against steel.
Cedric was slower, yes—but each strike landed with **far more force** than Draven expected. There was no wasted motion, no excess power. Just discipline, conviction, and an iron will that refused to bend.
The realization struck Draven like a blow to the gut.
"…So it's not just him," he thought grimly. "I've slowed too."
Draven feinted, unleashing a rapid flurry meant to force Cedric back.
He didn't.
Cedric countered instead—blade flashing with lightning, forcing Draven to step back half a pace.
A flicker of surprise crossed Draven's movements.
*This is different.*
*He's not the same knight.*
*And I can't afford to underestimate him.*
Cedric lunged again, lightning screaming as he aimed for Draven's midsection.
Draven sidestepped, blade snapping up in a brutal arc that knocked Cedric off balance. Sparks and light exploded between them—but the delay in Cedric's movements left him **a heartbeat too slow**.
Draven's jaw clenched.
*I can't keep fighting like this. Not now.*
He adjusted his grip, subtly shifting his mother higher against his side to shield her without sacrificing control. His next strikes came differently—no excess, no bravado. Each blow was a step toward dominance, not spectacle.
"I don't have the luxury of fucking around with you," Draven muttered, eyes sharp as he watched Cedric falter—just enough.
Lightning surged around Cedric in response, desperate and furious, flooding his body like a last rallying cry. He pushed forward again—
—but Draven was already **slipping through the gaps**.
Every dodge was preemptive.
Every parry exact.
Draven circled, fangs gleaming faintly, blades poised. His mind was razor-sharp now.
Then—
His eyes flicked past Cedric.
To the trees.
The shadows.
The dead space where something **didn't belong**.
His jaw tightened.
"…Tch," he muttered. Not fear. Calculation.
"Get ready."
Cedric heard him—and misunderstood.
"Don't you dare lose focus!" Cedric snarled, lightning erupting as he charged. "That hesitation will cost you!"
Draven didn't respond.
He swung.
Not to kill.
To **move**.
The blow crashed into Cedric's guard, a brutal cross that sent him skidding backward through shattered earth. His boots carved trenches as lightning flared wildly, Cedric struggling to regain balance.
And in that exact instant—
The air **split**.
Kaela emerged from nothingness, holy mana erupting around her like a blade drawn from the heavens. Her arrival was violent, precise—utterly without waste.
She struck immediately.
A golden arc tore through the space where Draven's head had been a heartbeat earlier.
Draven was already moving.
"—There you are," he growled, irritation finally bleeding through.
He twisted aside, shadows snapping around his legs just enough to redirect momentum—but without shadow step, it cost him. Holy heat scorched past his cheek, searing his skin.
Cedric's eyes widened.
"Don't let him breathe!"
Lightning **exploded** as Cedric charged back in, blade howling with power.
Draven clicked his tongue.
"…Fuck."
Now it made sense.
He was slower.
They both were.
And **together**—
They were dangerous.
Kaela didn't shout.
Didn't posture.
She moved like judgment itself—clean, relentless, perfectly synchronized with Cedric's lightning. Her blade forced Draven to block high—
—then low—
—then twist as holy light carved through the space his torso had occupied.
Steel screamed.
Draven slid backward, boots ripping through dirt, muscles burning. He adjusted his grip again, instinctively pulling his mother closer, shielding her from the violent backlash of clashing mana.
Draven's gaze moved from one knight to the other, his eyes narrowing in confirmation. His grip tightened as his attention returned to them, cold and deliberate.
The darkness around them trembled.
And the fight had just become far more dangerous.