The air changed. It wasn't a gust or a noise — it was a shift you felt in the bones, as if the courtyard itself had decided to hold its breath. The cursed soul's careless grin folded away. No more jokes. No more taunting. What had been theatrical and cruel became precise and cold.
He adjusted his stance like a hunter tightening his grip. The blood-forged blade spun once in his hand and a low hum came off it, the kind of sound that warns prey a moment before everything ends. It wasn't just a weapon; it felt alive, like something that had been fed and was ready for more.
"You've annoyed me enough," he said, voice flat. "It's time I ended this."
He moved.
The first strike hit with an impact that made everyone feel it in their chests. Riven met it — barely. The force shoved him back so hard his boots carved lines into the stone.
