The commander's hammer came down like a falling star. Kael twisted aside, the ground where he'd stood erupting into a crater. Shards of stone tore through the air, nicking his cheek, painting his red hair darker.
Kael's blade—the Crimson Fang—screamed as it met the hammer in a violent clash. The force rippled outward, kicking up a storm of dust. Neither yielded. The commander's face was carved from stone, eyes burning with the hatred of a man who had survived a hundred wars.
"You fight well, boy," he growled, their weapons locked. "But you bleed. And I will break you."
Kael's lips curled into a cold, dangerous smile. "Then try."
He pushed forward, crimson aura surging around him like wildfire. Sparks of black lightning threaded through it, snapping violently. The commander's boots ground into the earth as Kael forced him back step by step, their strength clashing in raw defiance.
With a sudden twist, Kael spun low, his blade carving an arc that nearly split the commander in two. The hammer caught it just in time, the impact shaking Kael's arm to the bone. He did not retreat—he pressed, blow after blow, each strike faster, heavier, more vicious.
Steel rang against steel, sparks showering them both.
Finally, Kael broke through—the commander's guard slipped, and Kael's blade cut a line across his chestplate. Blood seeped through the crack.
The commander roared, shoving Kael back with a strike of raw force. His hammer swung wide, crushing stone pillars to dust. He bled, but his strength was undiminished.
"You're no ordinary whelp," the commander snarled. "Whose spawn are you?!"
Kael's eyes glowed red, his voice steady and sharp as a blade.
"I am Kael Rivenhart. Remember the name before you fall."
Their weapons clashed again, shaking the battlefield, a storm of crimson and iron threatening to consume everything around them.