The shield-bearer watched his partner fall. The body hit the stone with a wet, heavy sound, and the pool of blood beneath it spread slowly across the floor. He should have felt something. Rage. Grief. Fear for his own life.
Instead, a cold shiver ran down his spine.
It was not fear of the young man standing before him, though that should have been reason enough. It was a deeper fear, one drilled into him over years of service. The Revivers did not tolerate failure. He had seen what happened to agents who lost. The senior handlers had ways of making death look like mercy. His every instinct screamed at him to run, to flee through the vault door and disappear into the chaos above.
But he could not turn his back on a fight. That was the surest way to die. He had seen it happen to others. The moment you ran, you were already dead.
He gripped his shield tighter, the leather strap biting into his forearm. He forced his breathing to slow, forced his legs to stop trembling. He was a Reviver agent. He had survived worse. He would survive this.
Kael walked slowly to the fallen gauntlet user. The body was still, eyes open and empty. The puddle of grey metal that had been the man's weapon lay beside him, shimmering faintly in the low light. Kael knelt and touched the liquid surface with two fingers.
The metal responded instantly. It coiled around his hand, not attacking, but waiting. Kael focused, feeling the residue of the dead man's ability still clinging to the substance. He pulled.
The liquid rose, flowing up his arm and gathering in his palm. It swirled, condensed, and stretched. Within seconds, it formed a long, elegant katana. The blade was a deep, mirror grey, its edge impossibly sharp. It weighed almost nothing in his grip.
Kael tested the balance with a small flick of his wrist. The sword sang through the air. He adjusted his stance, both hands coming up to grip the hilt. The blade angled forward, point aimed at the shield-bearer's chest.
He dashed forward without warning.
The katana swept down in a diagonal arc, aimed at the large man's neck. The shield-bearer reacted on instinct, bringing his massive shield up to block. The blade screeched against the metal, leaving a shallow scratch.
But Kael had already changed the attack.
At the last moment, he pulled the katana back, letting the shield rise past him. The move left the man's side exposed for a fraction of a second. Kael lunged, driving the point of the blade into the soft flesh just below the ribs.
The shield-bearer gasped. The katana sank deep, sliding between bone and muscle. Blood welled around the steel, hot and wet. He staggered, pain lancing through his side.
He brought his shield around, not bothering to plant it on the floor. He simply pointed it at Kael and activated his ability. The pale red glow flared, and the repulsion field erupted in a wild, unfocused burst.
The force caught them both. Kael was ripped from his feet and hurled backward. He hit the stone floor hard, skidding across the rough surface. The katana flew from his grip, clattering away into the shadows.
The shield-bearer fared no better. The uncontrolled blast sent him stumbling, his own feet tangling as he fought to stay upright. He crashed against the wall, the impact driving a grunt from his chest.
Kael pushed himself up slowly. He spat blood onto the stone, the taste of copper thick on his tongue. Something inside hurt with every breath. Cracked ribs, maybe. Internal bruising. He ignored it.
The shield-bearer was in worse shape. He pushed off the wall, swaying on his feet. His side bled freely, soaking his uniform. He looked at the shield in his hand, then made a decision. With a grunt of effort, he dropped the massive barrier. It hit the floor with a deafening crash.
From his belt, he drew a gladius. The short sword was plain, unadorned, but its edge gleamed. He held it before him, and the pale red glow transferred from the discarded shield to the blade. The gladius now hummed with the repulsion field, condensed into a smaller, more lethal form.
Kael picked up the katana. The two fighters faced each other across the blood-slicked floor.
The shield-bearer attacked first. He was experienced with a blade, but not skilled. His swings were wide, predictable, relying on the repulsion field to deflect any counter. Kael danced around each strike, his lighter weapon flicking in and out.
He found the openings. A slash across the man's forearm. A shallow cut to his thigh. The shield-bearer roared in frustration, swinging wildly. Kael ducked under one blow and drove his knee into the man's wounded side.
The agent gasped, stumbling back. His parries grew slower, more desperate. Blood pooled beneath his feet, spreading across the stone in a dark, glistening sheet. He was dying on his feet, and he knew it. All he could do was wait for the end.
Kael did not make him wait long.
He feinted high, drawing the gladius up. Then he dropped low and swept the katana across the man's sword arm, just above the wrist. The blade bit deep, severing tendons. The gladius fell from nerveless fingers, clattering on the stone.
The shield-bearer stared at his ruined hand, disbelief in his eyes. Then Kael's hand was on his face.
His palm pressed against the man's forehead, fingers curling around his skull. Kael reached deep, finding the core of energy within the dying man. He pulled.
The shield-bearer convulsed. His mouth opened in a silent scream as his mana was ripped from him, drawn out through the points of contact. The pale red glow flickered around Kael's hand, then settled, becoming his to command.
For a long moment, Kael held the man's face, the stolen power thrumming in his veins. Then he released his grip.
The agent's eyes rolled back. Blood seeped from his nose, his ears, the corners of his mouth. His body went limp and fell backward, joining his partner on the floor.
Kael stood over them, breathing hard. His chest ached. His side burned. Blood from a dozen small wounds stained his clothes. He looked at the katana in his other hand, then at the two bodies at his feet.
He had won. He was through.
He let the katana melt, the liquid metal flowing back into its puddle beside the dead man. He didn't need it anymore.
He caught his breath, wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, and walked to the massive double doors. They loomed before him, dark metal etched with ancient symbols. He placed both hands on the cold surface and pushed.
The doors swung open, revealing the darkness beyond.