[Klyden & Ashborne vs Draven]
The ground cracked beneath their boots as Klyden squared off with Draven once again, his sword gleaming faintly, its surface glowing with a golden shimmer as heat radiated from it. He lunged, blade whistling through the air with a blazing arc, but Draven's spear caught it mid-swing with a loud clang! Sparks burst, the sheer pressure of the clash forcing both men back half a step.
Draven smirked, twisting his wrist, and suddenly shoved forward with brutal force. The spear's shaft rammed against Klyden's guard, sending him skidding across the dirt. Before Draven could press the advantage, a blur of shadows darted from behind—Ashborne. His twin blades glimmered with a strange aura, one black as ink, the other shimmering faintly crimson. They slashed down in a crisscrossing strike, forcing Draven to swing his spear back to parry both.
The clash rattled like steel on steel—but Ashborne melted into the shadows at the last second, disappearing from sight.
Klyden surged back into the fray, his blade humming. This time, when Draven's spear met it, the impact released a shockwave of radiant force that staggered the giant man back a step. Draven narrowed his eyes, finally sensing that Klyden was done holding back.
"You're getting serious," Draven muttered with a grin, his voice low and dangerous.
Klyden's lips curled in answer, eyes flashing with excitement. "Finally making this worth my while."
Ashborne reappeared behind Draven, blades cutting for the man's flank. Draven twisted with inhuman reflex, deflecting one blade with the butt of his spear while his elbow slammed back toward Ashborne. Ashborne barely dissolved into shadow in time, his form flickering away like smoke. The other blade left a shallow cut along Draven's side, the crimson edge drinking greedily at his blood.
Draven's grin faltered for the first time. He slammed his foot into the ground with monstrous force—crack! The earth caved inward, forcing both Klyden and Ashborne off balance. In a blur, he thrust his spear like a battering ram at Klyden.
Klyden crossed his blade before him, but instead of just defending, he unleashed a concussive flare of solar heat from the impact point. The blast of light blinded Draven for an instant, his spear shoved aside by the force. Klyden charged in, his blade glowing hotter, his next strike cutting down like a falling sun.
Draven blocked with the flat of his spear—still, the sheer heat burned into the weapon, forcing him to grit his teeth as golden sparks scattered across his armor.
Ashborne darted from the dark once again, his twin blades biting into Draven's shoulder and thigh in a flurry of slashes. Each cut leeched something intangible, strength and resolve dripping away as shadows wrapped tighter around Ashborne's body, feeding him, making him faster, deadlier.
Draven roared, slamming his spear into the earth. The shockwave blasted both back, stone shards and dust flying. His muscles swelled with exertion, veins standing out as he unleashed his full monstrous strength. He lunged forward in a blur, spear striking like a storm.
Klyden barely deflected the blows, each impact rattling his arms to the bone. Draven was faster now, every swing precise, merciless. One thrust tore across Klyden's arm, blood spattering, but Klyden only laughed, exhilarated. "More!"
From the dark, Ashborne dove again—this time aiming for Draven's throat. The giant twisted, catching the shadow blade in his bare hand, blood running down his palm as he snarled. With his other hand, he swung the spear's shaft backward, smashing into Ashborne's ribs and sending him sprawling.
Klyden dashed in, his blade flaring with a golden radiance that forced Draven to meet him head-on. Sword and spear collided in a storm of sparks, each swing threatening to tear the earth apart. Neither yielded.
[Keiya vs Vera]
Meanwhile, fire clashed with stone in a storm of fury.
Keiya's glyphs burned in the air like crimson scars, her hands carving symbols that erupted into arcs of searing flame. Each rune detonated against the ground, sending waves of fire rolling toward Vera. The blind girl, calm despite the chaos, stomped once—boom! The earth heaved upward, swallowing the flames in jagged walls of stone.
Keiya snapped her fingers, and the fire crawled around the stone like serpents, curling upward, only to shatter against another shockwave of seismic force. Vera clapped her hands—CRACK!—the ground beneath Keiya fractured into a spiderweb of collapsing earth, forcing her to leap back as molten chains of flame coiled in her grip.
The chain lashed out with a burning hiss, wrapping around the stone spikes Vera had summoned. The molten heat cracked and melted the rock, showering sparks. But Vera only tilted her head slightly, listening, and with a stomp, the shattered pieces of stone reformed, spiking outward like shrapnel.
Keiya's veil of fire ignited around her body, the shards melting before reaching her. The heat distorted the air, her black cloak snapping in the waves of pressure.
Vera twisted, slamming her foot down again. A quake rippled across the battlefield, stone lances erupting in a line toward Keiya. Keiya swept her hand across her glyphs, and fiery sigils spiraled down into the ground, detonating in a chain of explosions that clashed violently with Vera's tremors. The ground split open, rubble and flame scattering everywhere.
The battlefield was chaos—stone and fire consuming everything between them, neither willing to yield.
———
Ashborne and Klyden pressed harder, their attacks weaving like hammer and blade. Draven's defense was crumbling—every swing he blocked left another opening, every dodge cost him more blood.
Then Klyden saw it.
In the chaos, he pivoted low, boots grinding against the dirt. His sword feinted high, deliberately drawing Draven's guard up. In the same breath, Klyden's knee shot forward with brutal force—slamming straight into Draven's ribs. The impact cracked bone, stealing his air in a violent cough.
Before Draven could recover, Klyden twisted on his heel and delivered a swift, rising kick that struck just under Draven's jaw. The sheer force lifted him off balance, his body stumbling backward, defenses shattered.
That was the opening.
Ashborne's shadows surged, his twin blades striking like fangs in the dark. One curved in from the side to parry Draven's weakened guard, the other stabbed mercilessly into his back. The steel sank deep, tearing flesh and drawing a guttural groan from Draven as blood spilled hot down his side.
Staggering, he collapsed to his knees, his hand pressing desperately against the wound. His breaths came ragged, chest rising and falling like a broken bellows.
And when his gaze lifted through the haze of pain, he saw Klyden—rolling his shoulders, stretching his arms, his neck cracking. He walked toward him slowly, a boyish grin stretched wide across his face, like this was all a game.
That grin burned into Draven's mind—then came the memory.
One night, their hideout was discovered. Draven tried to fight off the soldiers to protect Caelith, but they were captured. They were separated in captivity.
Draven was sold to a brutal gladiatorial pit, forced to fight to the death against older men and dangerous beasts. Every "win" was soaked in the blood of friends and strangers alike. He survived only through sheer physical dominance, every kill chipping away at his humanity.
Caelith was sent to a dark academy run by cruel mentors, trained in deception, magic, and assassination. They deliberately tortured him psychologically—forcing him to betray classmates, watch others die, and choose between killing or being killed.
Draven's chest tightened—not from pain, but from memory. He could not let Caelith be taken away from him again.
With shaking hands, he reached into his belt and drew a vial. It didn't glow green or violet like the earlier forms of tres. This one was different. Its contents were a heavy, viscous black, and the sharp, pungent smell that wafted from the cracked seal burned the throat.
And without hesitation, he popped the cork and drank it down.
The liquid slid thickly, almost fighting against his throat, burning him from the inside out. His veins lit black beneath his skin, crawling like roots of poison. His jaw unhinged with a scream—not of pain, but of something breaking free. The sound rattled the cavern walls, sharp enough to make Keiya and Vera's duel falter for a heartbeat.
Draven clutched his skull, throwing his head back. His scream tore the air apart, echoing like thunder. His muscles swelled, veins bulging black, blood dripping from his nose and eyes as the vial's essence consumed him.
Klyden froze mid-step, the lazy grin gone, replaced by an almost childlike seriousness. His hand instinctively reached for his sword.
Ashborne's twin blades tightened in his grip, his shadow curling at his feet like it wanted to drag him backward.
Because in front of them, Draven was no longer just a man. He was becoming something far, far worse.
...
The Forsaken Forest was alive with chaos. The night's silence had long since been broken—roots tore from the earth, shadows lashed out like serpents, and the crushing pull of unseen forces warped the very ground beneath their feet.
Wads and Caelith moved like blurs among the twisted trees, each clash of their powers echoing like thunder in the gloom.
Caelith's shadow magic darted through the darkness like living blades, tendrils lashing out from every direction, clawing for Wads's throat and ankles. Each one slithered along the forest floor, sharp with lethal precision. Wads countered with a casual flick of his wrist, warping gravity itself. The air seemed to pulse around him; trees bent and cracked under the invisible pressure, roots groaning as their weight multiplied tenfold. Shadow spears shattered mid-flight, crumpling under the crushing pull before they could reach him.
But Caelith wasn't slowing down. His figure seemed to melt in and out of the shadows, a phantom weaving between the trees. From one moment to the next, he was at Wads's flank, shadows blooming into curved blades. Wads tilted his body sideways, the faintest pressure in the air bending his path mid-step, and the blade swept past him, cleaving only a whisper of his coat.
Their battlefield stretched deeper into the forest, each step tearing the landscape apart. Bark split open, leaves whipped violently through the air, and the earth itself cratered under invisible force.
"You're annoyingly calm," Caelith hissed, eyes gleaming with sadistic joy as shadows writhed around him. "As if you've already won."
Wads's lips curved faintly, his voice low, almost bored.
"I don't need to rush."
Caelith's grin sharpened. His shadow split into dozens of copies, black silhouettes of himself darting out, each with jagged arms outstretched. They converged like a swarm of wolves, their screeches cutting through the air.
Wads exhaled and snapped his fingers.
The weight around them shifted in an instant. The clones staggered mid-leap, their bodies flattened to the ground, pinned under crushing force. The forest floor cracked, branches snapped as gravity itself grew unbearable. But even then, Caelith's real body stepped forward, unbothered, as his shadows collapsed. His footfall echoed unnaturally, as though reality bent to welcome him.
He appeared behind Wads in a blink, dagger forged of pure darkness driving toward his ribs.
Wads pivoted, raising his forearm. The blade scraped against a shimmering distortion in the air—an invisible wall of pressure—and slid off with a hiss. Caelith's grin widened.
"I like you," he said, slashing again, and again, each strike faster than the last. "You'll make a fun corpse."
The forest exploded with their duel. Shadow blades slashed, invisible walls bent them away, the ground buckled beneath crushing bursts of force. Wads advanced step by step, unhurried but relentless, while Caelith danced around him like a predator, shadows writhing at his command.
But then, Wads's expression shifted. His gaze sharpened, his posture straightened.
And in that moment—his world slowed.
The rustle of leaves became drawn-out whispers. Caelith's motions, once blinding, now stretched like ink dispersing in water. Every flick of his wrist, every twitch of his muscles, played out in Wads's vision as if rehearsed in advance. The forest was no longer chaos—it was a chessboard, every piece laid bare.
Caelith lunged again, his shadow blades aiming at the throat. Wads stepped forward, gravity pulling the dagger off course, and his hand rose—fist clenched, ready to crush. The strike would have ended it.
But Caelith reacted faster than expected. His instincts screamed, his shadow surged in defense. He twisted his body at the last second, interposing his shoulder.
Wads's blow connected.
The crack echoed like a thunderclap. Caelith's body jerked violently to the side, his shoulder straining under the sheer weight pressing into it. He stumbled, teeth gritted, shadows fraying for a moment.
He caught himself on a tree, breathing sharp through the pain. For the first time, the manic grin slipped from his face.
And then—
A sound tore through the forest.
A roar.
It was no animal's cry, no ordinary scream. It was a raw, guttural sound that shook the trees, rattled the earth, and sent flocks of crows shrieking into the sky. It was Draven. His voice carried through the entire Forsaken Forest, echoing with pain, fury, and something monstrous.
Wads's brows furrowed slightly, but his expression remained calm.
Caelith, however, froze. His lips parted, his breaths steadying. Then he exhaled long, slow, as if confirming something. His gaze lowered, then flicked back to Wads with a wicked gleam.
He raised a hand, pressing his palm against the black spider tattoo etched along his neck. The mark pulsed faintly as his fingers lingered there. His lips curled into a smile, one far too satisfied for someone with a nearly broken shoulder.
Wads tilted his head, his stance unchanging, eyes cool and unreadable. "What are you smiling at?"
Caelith chuckled darkly. "You'll see."
From within his cloak, he pulled a vial. But not like the others—not the green, not the violet. This one was darker than ink, liquid black swirling sluggishly inside. Even from where Wads stood, the stench hit him. Acrid, pungent, suffocating—something alive writhed in that smell.
For the first time, Wads's hand twitched. A faint crease appeared between his brows. His body tensed, as though his instincts screamed danger.
"That's…" His voice trailed, unreadable as ever, but his eyes tracked the vial intently.
Caelith's smile widened, his teeth flashing under the moonlight as he brought the vial to his lips. His voice lowered to a near whisper, each word drawn out with venomous delight.
"All glory for the…"
Wads's gravity surged in a violent burst. The air thickened, the ground cracked as he tried to crush Caelith in an instant, to stop him before the vial reached his lips.
But he was too late.
The shadows around Caelith thickened, shielding him for the precious second he needed. His lips moved again, but Wads couldn't hear the middle word, only the end as it rang clear in the night.
"…Empire."
And then Caelith drank.
The black liquid slid down his throat, vile and heavy.
For a heartbeat, silence fell.
Caelith stood still, head bowed, arms limp at his sides. The vial slipped from his fingers, clattering to the forest floor with a dull ring. His hands dangled open, shoulders slack, chest unmoving.
The forest itself seemed to wait, holding its breath.
Wads watched, eyes narrowed, his body poised to react—yet he did not move. He only observed, quiet, calm, and unflinching, though his hand remained half-curled at his side, ready to strike.
Caelith's lips twitched faintly, almost a smile, almost a grimace.
And then his body shuddered.