Arconis couldn't keep pace with Vael anymore. His regeneration devoured both energy and mana, grinding his stamina down with every wound.
His only saving grace was the weapon in his grasp—an absurdly overpowered scythe.
And both of them knew it.
The clash came… only, it wasn't a clash.
The scythe shimmered, its edge turning ghostlike, insubstantial, phasing straight through Vael's rapier as though the steel weren't even there.
Blood Moon.
But Vael was ready, thanks to Oculor's 'Eye of the Wise'.
He blinked, dissolving from Arconis' sight, reappearing behind him in the same breath.
His stance flipped from defense to offense, rapier lunging straight for the spine.
Arconis grit his teeth and made his choice—take the hit. He couldn't retaliate in time, so he braced, willing to pay the price for another opening.
Only, Vael had already read him. He wasn't about to make the same mistake once again.
At the last second, his thrust curved into a slash, edge angling for Arconis' wrist instead of his back.
Steel connected.
THUD.
Arconis' severed hand hit the floor.
He growled, low and guttural.
Next would've been the leg—it was already mangled, ready to be taken—but time wasn't on Vael's side. Arconis' regeneration was almost finished, and Oculor's mana reserves were nearly dry. The fight had to end.
Golden light bled across the scythe as Arconis gripped it one-handed. Early Dawn.
The weapon hummed, weight multiplying until it radiated raw pressure.
A horizontal slash cut through the air—directly in Vael's path.
Anticipated. Blink. Vael vanished to the side.
But Arconis didn't stop. He spun with the motion, scythe carving a brutal arc that hunted Vael mid-step.
This, Vael hadn't prepared for. Oculor's borrowed sight had faded just before the strike.
The serpent surged instead. With what little mana remained, Oculor swelled to a monstrous ten meters, scales hardening into a near-impenetrable shield.
The scythe collided.
The ground shuddered under the impact, but Oculor endured, taking the blow head-on.
Seeing the final opening, Vael struck. A clean slash aimed for the neck—stopping just shy of drawing blood.
Victory. Or so he thought.
Because in the same instant, Arconis' scythe clattered to the ground. His one good hand had already found its way to Vael's throat.
A stalemate.
Both of them stood locked in place, sweat and exhaustion heavy in the air. Their ragged breaths filled the silence. And yet, despite the carnage, both were smiling. Warriors who had found satisfaction in the clash.
The battlefield dissolved around them, fading back into sterile white.
Vael let himself drop unceremoniously to the floor, mind replaying the fight over and over. Both of them had fought by leaning on the same principle: the unexpected, the unorthodox.
And that had made for a battle worth remembering.
All the blood, wounds, and ruined clothing were gone now—erased with the simulation. But the memory of the fight remained, sharp and real as ever.
Arconis dropped down across from him, resting his back against the wall. For a long moment, neither spoke, the sound of their breathing echoing in the hollow white space.
Finally, Arconis broke the silence.
"That snake of yours… he's not a normal familiar, is he?"
Oculor was already coiled neatly beside Vael, his single gleaming eye half-lidded, tongue flicking lazily in and out.
Vael exhaled, brushing a hand over his companion's scales.
"No," he said simply. "He isn't."
Arconis studied him, the usual smirk absent from his face. "Figures. Nothing about you screams 'normal,' Serpes."
"Right back at you, bastard," he replied with a serious look. "Anyways, it's getting late. I'm heading out."
With a grunt, Vael pushed himself off the floor, leaving the room and Arconis behind.
What a day.