Both knights moved at once.
No warning.
No hesitation.
Lightning and holy light **collapsed inward**, a perfectly timed pincer meant to erase space itself. Cedric came from the front—direct and punishing, every strike meant to shatter Draven's guard. Kaela flowed in from the side, blade silent, angles lethal, cutting off escape before it could even form.
Draven **moved**.
Barely.
Steel screamed past his throat. Lightning tore a trench through the ground where his legs had been a heartbeat earlier. He twisted, ducked, slid—every motion compressed to its absolute limit. There was no room to breathe. No room to reset.
*Fuck—*
His body didn't stop.
It **couldn't**.
Draven's mind stayed cold even as his muscles burned.
*This is suicide,* he thought grimly, slipping beneath Cedric's downward cleave by a margin so thin the lightning singed his hair. *Fighting the two of them like this is putting a gun to my head and pulling the trigger.*
Kaela struck next.
Her blade came in low and precise, aimed not at Draven—
—but at the arm holding his mother.
Draven snarled.
He twisted hard, taking the strike on his own blade instead. Sparks and holy light detonated inches from his chest. The impact rattled straight through his bones. Pain flared—sharp, immediate, undeniable.
He staggered half a step.
Cedric was already there.
Lightning roared as Cedric drove forward, blade crashing down in a merciless arc. Draven raised both blades just in time—
**BOOM.**
The force slammed him into the ground, knees gouging into the dirt. His arms screamed in protest. Blood magic flared instinctively, reinforcing muscle and bone, barely holding the line.
Cedric leaned into the strike, teeth bared.
"Fall!" he roared. "Fall already!"
Draven grunted, boots digging in as he shoved upward, twisting at the last instant so the blade slid off instead of cleaving through. He rolled away, barely avoiding Kaela's follow-up slash that carved through the space where his spine had been.
He came up moving.
Always moving.
His breathing grew heavier now—short, controlled pulls through clenched teeth. Sweat mixed with blood along his brow.
*No shadow step.*
*One arm occupied.*
*Two coordinated opponents.*
"Damn," Draven muttered as he ducked another lightning thrust. "Just great."
Kaela didn't answer.
She didn't need to.
She pressed closer, her strikes forcing Draven inward, her presence denying space. Cedric adjusted instantly, lightning snapping to herd him exactly where Kaela wanted him.
They were **controlling** the fight.
Draven saw it.
And he hated it.
He spun, slashing wide—not to hit, but to force distance. Cedric blocked, lightning flaring—
—and Kaela slipped through the opening, blade flashing for Draven's ribs.
Draven twisted mid-step, but not enough. The blade slashed across his side, carving a deep, burning line through flesh. He hissed as pain flared white-hot—
—but his grip around his mother only tightened.
"No," he growled softly. "Not you."
He let the pain fuel him.
Blood surged, knitting flesh even as he moved—but slower than before.
Kaela's eyes sharpened.
She noticed.
Cedric noticed too.
"Your regeneration's lagging," Cedric said grimly, pressing harder. "You're running out."
Draven laughed—short, breathless, edged with madness.
"Yeah, dipshit?" he shot back, barely slipping past a killing thrust. "You gonna tell me something I don't already know?"
Another exchange—too close.
Steel rang.
Lightning cracked.
Holy light burned.
Draven felt it then—not fear, but the **weight** of it. The margin was shrinking with every second. One mistake. One misstep.
*I'm killing myself,* he thought as he ducked and countered, blades flashing. *And that holy mana—it's not just heat. It's building up, slowing my healing. Not enough to stop it… but enough to matter.*
So he kept moving.
Even as his arms burned.
Even as his legs grew heavy.
Even as every instinct screamed.
He bared his fangs, crimson eyes blazing as he forced himself through another impossible dodge.
The pressure didn't ease.
It **tightened**.
Cedric and Kaela closed in like a vice—no wasted steps, no overreach. Every strike chained into the next, denying Draven rhythm, denying him breath.
Draven twisted to evade—
Too slow.
Steel flashed.
His **hand came off**.
Clean.
Not torn.
Not mangled.
For half a heartbeat, he felt nothing.
Then pain detonated up his arm—white-hot, blinding. Blood burst outward in a violent arc, splattering the ground, the darkness, his own face.
"Tch—!"
He didn't scream.
Didn't stop.
His body reacted before thought.
He **kicked**.
The snap echoed like a gunshot—his leg slamming into Cedric's guard with bone-crushing force. Lightning flared as Cedric was hurled backward, boots tearing trenches through the earth.
But Kaela was already moving.
A golden slash carved through the space where Draven's leg had been—
—and didn't stop.
It continued upward.
Straight toward his head.
Draven saw it.
Clear.
Sharp.
Final.
*So this is it—*
No.
His jaw clenched.
Without hesitation—without even thinking—Draven **threw**.
"—Now!"
He hurled his mother toward Kaela, putting everything he had left into the motion. Blood sprayed from his severed arm as momentum tore through his shoulder.
Kaela's eyes widened—just slightly.
Too late.
Draven's mother **snapped awake mid-air**.
There was no fear on her face.
Only irritation.
"Honestly," she muttered.
Daggers appeared in her hands—already spinning, already moving. She twisted in midair with impossible grace, meeting Kaela's strike head-on.
**CLANG—!**
Holy light exploded as steel met steel. The slash meant for Draven's head was deflected sideways, tearing a glowing scar through the darkness.
Draven didn't wait.
He **moved**.
Or tried to.
His leg buckled.
Kaela's follow-through clipped it—clean and precise.
Bone snapped.
Draven hit the ground hard, dirt and blood spraying as pain finally caught up with him in full. He rolled instinctively, barely avoiding a lightning-charged thrust that cratered the earth where his torso had been.
Cedric was already back on his feet.
Eyes blazing.
Breathing heavy.
Unrelenting.
"Demon," Cedric snarled. "This ends now."
Draven pushed himself up onto one knee, blood pouring freely from his arm, regeneration struggling—failing—to keep pace. His vision swam, but his grin remained.
Crooked.
Defiant.
Unhinged.
"…Nah," he rasped. "Don't think that's happening."
Behind Cedric, steel rang again.
Kaela staggered half a step as a dagger scraped along her blade, sparks bursting outward. Draven's mother landed lightly, coat fluttering, already drawing another dagger.
Her gaze flicked to Draven.
Annoyed.
Assessing.
"…You're bleeding everywhere," she said flatly.
Draven coughed, blood flecking his lips.
"Yeah," he muttered. "Working on it."
Cedric advanced, lightning surging harder now, sensing the end.
"This is over," he declared. "You can't stand. You can't escape. You—"
Draven looked up.
Crimson eyes burning.
One arm gone.
One leg shattered.
Body wrecked.
Still smiling.
"Then come finish it," he said quietly. "Let's see if you can."
The darkness trembled.
And despite everything—
Despite the blood.
Despite the broken body.
Draven still stood **between them**.
Cedric struck.
No warning.
No shout.
Lightning screamed as the blade came down in a vicious vertical arc—clean, decisive, meant to end it.
Draven didn't retreat.
His remaining arm snapped up.
Bare hand.
Gloved fist.
He **caught the blade**.
The impact detonated. Lightning exploded outward as fist met steel, holy mana shrieking as it was forcibly displaced. Both staggered half a step—Cedric's arm jolting, Draven's bones screaming.
Draven didn't waste it.
The instant the recoil hit, he moved.
He twisted low and snatched his severed leg from the ground, slamming it against the ruined stump.
Wet.
Sickening.
Flesh **pulled**.
Bone **knit**.
Shadow-threaded veins reconnected in a violent rush.
Draven snarled through clenched teeth as pain ripped through him—but he didn't slow.
The leg **rejoined**.
He was already turning.
Cedric was suddenly there.
Too close.
Lightning flared as Cedric appeared at his side, blade cutting in a horizontal sweep meant to take his torso clean off.
Draven twisted sharply. The edge grazed his ribs instead of gutting him. Heat burned as he slipped inside the strike, boots skidding across blood-slick earth.
Cedric pressed instantly—no pause, no hesitation.
Another slash.
Then another.
Draven ducked the first, rolled his shoulder through the second, sparks snapping inches from his face. He came up inside Cedric's guard, fist already moving.
Not wide.
Not flashy.
A compact, brutal strike.
Shadows compressed around his arm as his fist snapped forward—short range, full intent—aimed straight for Cedric's ribs.
Holy mana flared as Cedric reinforced his armor—
**Boom.**
The impact sent him skidding sideways, boots carving deep lines through the ground as lightning discharged violently around him.
Draven didn't chase.
He flexed his reattached leg once.
It held.
His breathing was heavier now, blood dripping freely, his body pushed far beyond what it should have endured—but his eyes were sharp, focused, alive with cold calculation.
He bent, picked up his severed arm, and pressed it against the stump alongside his dagger.
"Tch," he muttered. "Still standing."
Cedric straightened, lightning crawling over cracked armor, jaw set hard.
"You should be dead," Cedric growled—not disbelief, but conviction. "You crossed that line ten times over. Even without mana."
Draven rolled his neck once.
"Yeah?" he replied flatly. "Then do better."
And he stepped forward again—
not reckless,
not raging—
but **dangerously composed**, even as his body screamed.