Kaela met Elliana head-on.
There was no surprise on her face—only confirmation.
"So you *were* here after all," Kaela said coolly, her blade sweeping up as holy light flared along its edge. "I was wondering when you'd stop hiding behind him."
Elliana didn't answer with words.
She answered with **steel**.
Daggers crashed against Kaela's sword in a violent clash, sparks bursting as shadow and holy light tore into one another. Elliana moved with ruthless efficiency—short steps, tight angles, no wasted motion. Kaela pressed forward regardless, her strikes heavy and decisive, each one meant to **end**, not probe.
"You're slower," Kaela remarked mid-exchange, blade carving downward. "Protecting him costs you."
Elliana twisted aside, one dagger slicing across Kaela's shoulder guard in a sharp scrape of metal. "And underestimating me will cost you more."
Kaela didn't slow.
She **cut down**.
Holy mana surged as Kaela forced through Elliana's guard, her blade crashing down in a blinding arc. Elliana crossed her daggers just in time—
**CRACK—!**
The impact blasted her backward. She hit the ground hard, skidding through dirt and blood, the breath torn from her lungs. One dagger slipped from her grip and clattered away.
Draven saw it.
His vision tunneled.
"—Mom!"
Something inside him **snapped**.
He struck Cedric without finesse—pure force, pure rage. His shattered leg slammed forward anyway, blood spraying as he smashed into Cedric's guard and **drove him back**, lightning bursting wildly as Cedric stumbled.
Draven didn't follow up.
He turned.
Charged.
"NO—!"
He hurled himself forward, pain screaming through every nerve, shadow tearing after him as he crossed the distance in a heartbeat. His remaining hand snapped forward, a dagger already spinning free.
"DAMN IT—!"
Kaela sensed him and turned—
—but she didn't retreat.
Didn't flinch.
Steel met steel.
**CLANG—!**
Draven's dagger slammed into Kaela's blade, sparks and holy light exploding outward. The force shuddered up his arm, nearly tearing it from the socket—but he held.
Kaela's eyes met his.
Cold.
Unmoved.
"So you still have fangs," she said evenly. "Even like this."
Draven's breath came ragged, blood dripping from his chin, his crimson eye burning with raw hatred.
"I'll kill you," he growled.
No theatrics.
No bravado.
Just a promise carved straight from his chest.
Kaela leaned into the bind, overpowering him inch by inch. "You won't. You'll join her soon."
She blocked Draven's strike—
—and **missed the real threat**.
From behind her, from **below**, the shadows **split**.
Not erupting.
Not flaring.
They **rose**—silent, precise.
A blade of condensed darkness slid into existence beside her neck, so close it brushed skin **before** she sensed it.
Too late.
The shadow **swung**.
Steel didn't meet steel.
It met **flesh**.
Kaela felt it instantly.
A hot, tearing line carved across her neck. Her body reacted on pure instinct—training older than thought taking over. She shoved Draven away with a violent sweep of her blade and turned, continuing the motion into a razor arc behind her, holy light screaming as it cut through the air—
—but it struck **nothing**.
Empty.
Gone.
Kaela staggered half a step.
She coughed.
Blood burst from her lips.
Her hand flew to her neck, palm slamming against the wound as warm blood forced its way through her fingers, spilling down her wrist and splattering onto the ground. Her breathing hitched—not from panic, but from shock at how close it had been.
Millimeters.
Her head would have left her shoulders.
Kaela's gaze snapped forward.
Elliana stood there.
Whole.
Uninjured.
Daggers steady in her hands.
Kaela's eyes widened—just a fraction.
"…Impossible."
Her gaze flicked sideways.
To where the Elliana she had **cut down** lay.
The body was already dissolving—edges fraying, breaking apart into drifting wisps of shadow before collapsing into nothing.
A clone.
The realization struck hard.
Her jaw tightened.
She looked back at Draven.
He was smiling.
Not wide.
Not manic.
A thin, satisfied curve—sharp with vindication despite the blood soaking his clothes, despite his ruined body.
"You didn't expect that, did you?" Draven said, voice rough, amused, edged with something cruel. "I figured you wouldn't."
Elliana moved to his side without a word, shadows curling around her feet, eyes cold and alert. No wasted motion. No triumph.
Kaela straightened slowly, still pressing her hand to her neck as blood continued to seep through her fingers. Holy mana flared, fighting to seal the wound—but the cut **resisted**, shadow clinging to it like a curse.
Cedric stared, stunned. "A clone…?"
Draven didn't look at him.
"You lot love charging head-on," Draven continued, eyes locked on Kaela. "Love overwhelming force. Righteous certainty."
His smile sharpened.
"Works great—when you're not fighting idiots."
His gaze never left Kaela.
Blood ran freely down her neck, soaking into her armor, staining the holy sigils etched there. She was still standing—but barely. And Draven **noticed everything**.
"That one," he said quietly, dark satisfaction threading his voice, "was prepared **especially** for you."
His dagger shifted behind his back, grip tightening until the leather creaked.
"Tch… plan almost went to shit because of this bastard," he added, not even glancing at Cedric. "But it worked out anyway."
His eyes narrowed.
"…Still breathing, though. That needs to be corrected."
The shadows around his feet coiled, restless.
Cedric moved.
Lightning cracked as he **appeared behind Draven**, blade already in motion, holy light screaming as it came down in a killing arc.
It never reached him.
Steel **rang**.
Elliana stepped in as if she had been waiting—daggers crossing Cedric's blade with a sharp, vicious snap. Sparks and lightning sprayed outward, shadows swallowing the worst of it.
Cedric snarled. "Get out of my way!"
Elliana didn't answer.
She **pushed**.
A sharp twist of her wrists deflected his strike, her foot sliding back as she redirected the force instead of meeting it head-on. Precise. Efficient. Deadly.
Draven didn't waste the opening.
"Alright, Mom," he said calmly—almost casually. "Hold him. I'll finish this before he does something stupid."
Then he **moved**.
He lunged.
Not at Cedric.
At Kaela.
Draven burst forward, body screaming in protest, torn muscles burning, blood trailing behind him—but his momentum didn't falter. His dagger came up in a savage reverse grip, shadows snapping tight around the blade as he closed the distance.
Kaela saw him coming.
Her eyes flared with fury as she raised her sword despite the blood loss. Her stance was imperfect—slower, heavier—
—and Draven **knew it**.
He grinned, feral.
"Too slow," he muttered.
He drove in, dagger flashing, intent singular and merciless—
**end it.**