The air trembled with the force of their clash.
Dust swirled in the dim light, coiling through the shattered street like smoke from a dying fire. The walls of nearby buildings cracked, plaster crumbling, stones shifting under the strain of power that the narrow, broken streets were never meant to contain.
Kael's vision blurred at the edges, the Ashen Eye flaring behind his pupils like a second sun, its threads of light barely holding shape. Every breath was a struggle. His ribs ached, his legs trembled, blood dripped from his mouth and the split in his scalp, but he stayed on his feet.
He had to.
He could feel the weight of the multiverse pressing in, the silent, watching eyes that didn't just belong to the Tier 2—but to the city itself.
Gravewood was watching.
The woman behind him whimpered, her breath catching in her throat, but Kael couldn't turn to look.
The Tier 2 loomed ahead, breath steadying, shoulders squaring, his dark eyes sharp as obsidian shards. His aura pulsed like a storm cloud, heavy and oppressive, the weight of his power crashing in waves.
For a long moment, he just watched Kael—assessing, calculating, a predator measuring the stubborn prey that refused to die.
Then, at last, he spoke.
His voice was a low rasp, laced with a bitter edge, as if the words themselves tasted like iron and ash.
"I am Darion Voss."
The name hit the air like a stone dropped into water.
The whispers that had filled the city's shadows fell silent.
Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
Kael felt the weight of the name settle into the marrow of his bones. It wasn't just a name—it was a claim.
Darion Voss.
Kael had heard it before, though faintly—whispered in the edges of dying conversations, spoken with fear in the huddled dark. Voss—the man who ruled the rot of Gravewood. The one who had taken this crumbling carcass of a city and bent it to his will, squeezing the life out of it one Tier 1 cultivator at a time.
A predator who had feasted on the weak for years, growing fat on their fear.
Kael's breath caught, a bitter taste filling his mouth.
Darion Voss.
Tier 2 Mid.
A mountain standing before a boy barely flickering at Tier 1 Low.
But Kael's fists clenched tighter. His fingers dug into his palms, blood dripping in thin, dark lines. The Ashen Eye still burned in his vision, though it pulsed weaker now, the threads of light fraying at the edges.
He couldn't stop.
Not here.
Not when the name of Xelvor was still a brand on his back, a chain forged in blood and duty.
Darion's lips curled into a slow, cruel smile.
"You should have stayed down, boy," he said, voice low, almost a whisper, as if they were the only two people left in the world. "You should have died quietly, like the rest of your kind."
Kael's heart thundered in his chest.
The rest of his kind.
The words echoed, cutting deep, stirring the ember of rage that burned beneath the weight of the burden.
He could see them in his mind—his family's bodies, twisted and broken, the ashes of the Xelvor estate rising into the sky.
Darion didn't just want to kill him.
He wanted to erase him.
The last Xelvor.
The final flicker of a dying bloodline.
Kael's voice came rough, cracked and hoarse from the strain.
"I am Kael Xelvor."
The name burned as it left his lips, a brand seared into the world.
Darion's expression didn't change—but something in his eyes flickered.
Recognition.
A shadow of memory, dark and heavy.
"Xelvor," Darion murmured, almost to himself, as if tasting the word. "I thought you were all dead."
Kael's hands trembled at his sides, the weight of the name coiling tighter, heavier than ever.
Not all.
Not yet.
Darion's aura surged, the air crackling with raw energy.
"Then I'll finish the job."
He moved, fast and brutal, power slamming into the street like a hammer.
Kael's body screamed as he dodged, the Ashen Eye sparking behind his vision, threads of power fracturing and bending beneath the strain.
He couldn't hold it much longer.
His lungs burned, his vision swam, his bones felt like they were shattering under the weight.
But the burden—the burden—kept him moving.
He twisted under Darion's strike, felt the wind of the blow skim past his cheek, and drove his fist forward—aiming for the fracture point the Ashen Eye still showed him, dim but there.
The impact landed, sharp and precise.
Darion stumbled.
Not much. A fraction of a step.
But it was enough.
The crowd gasped—tiny, ragged sounds of disbelief.
Kael's own breath hitched, a sharp, painful inhale that scraped against cracked ribs.
He could hurt him.
He could fight.
Not win—not yet. But survive.
And survival, now, was enough.
Darion's expression twisted, a flicker of fury flashing across his features.
"You're a stubborn little ghost," he growled. "But ghosts fade. Ash crumbles. I'll scatter your bones across this city and grind your name into the dirt."
Kael's breath came shallow, ragged, each exhale tasting of blood.
But the Ashen Eye still burned.
His fists still clenched.
The burden still pressed down.
And he was still standing.
The storm hadn't broken yet.
But the storm was coming.
And Kael Xelvor would not bow.