Chapter 16 – The Black Eyes
The man's dagger descended, the point glinting cold under the pale moonlight. The forest air was still, as if holding its breath for the strike.
Then—
Clang!
The sharp ring of metal on stone cut through the silence. Sparks jumped briefly in the darkness. The man's brows furrowed in confusion. His weapon had hit nothing living. He looked down—the dagger's tip was wedged into a patch of cracked stone and dirt.
Eli was gone.
The man's eyes darted around. A faint crunch of leaves made him snap his head up.
There—standing a few meters away, Eli faced him.
But this was not the same boy who had been gasping for breath moments ago. The air around him had changed—become sharper, heavier. It pressed against the skin like an invisible blade.
The man's gaze locked on Eli's eyes. Darkness. Pure, consuming black, swallowing everything like the void between stars. But within that darkness… tiny white dots floated, scattered like distant constellations. They glimmered faintly, almost imperceptibly, yet the sight alone made the man's stomach tighten.
Eli's face was blank. His jaw relaxed, no hint of anger or fear. The rise and fall of his chest was steady, controlled.
And when he moved, it was without hesitation.
The man barely had time to wrench his dagger free before Eli blurred forward. The boy's footwork was silent yet precise, covering ground in a heartbeat. A straight palm strike came at the man's chest. He pivoted, letting it graze past, but a sharp kick immediately followed, aiming for his knee.
The man stepped back just in time. Too clean… too exact. This wasn't reckless flailing—these were practiced, refined movements.
Eli didn't pause. He flowed from one attack to the next like water slipping through cracks—low sweeps, sharp jabs, an elbow strike angled for the temple. The man blocked, deflected, and twisted away, but each time he did, Eli was already preparing the next strike.
There was no wasted motion. No testing of his opponent. Eli was fighting to end it as quickly as possible.
Steel whistled as the man slashed. The dagger cut a shallow line across Eli's forearm. The boy didn't flinch. Not even a flicker of pain crossed his face. He simply shifted his grip on his staff and retaliated with a downward smash that cracked the ground where the man had stood a moment earlier.
This is wrong, the man thought, circling. His power isn't higher… but he's using it perfectly.
The fight slowed in pace but not in intensity. Every move was deliberate now, each step calculated. Eli's staff became a blur, sweeping and striking from different angles, forcing the man to guard in ways that disrupted his stance.
He countered with footwork of his own, cutting in close for a stabbing thrust. Eli twisted, letting the dagger pass within inches of his ribs, then hooked the man's wrist with the crook of his staff and yanked. The man staggered forward, but before Eli could strike, he spun out of the trap and slashed again.
The sound of impact—wood against steel—echoed through the forest. Neither gained ground for more than a second.
Their breathing became heavier, but Eli's expression remained fixed. The darkness in his eyes did not waver.
The man began shifting tactics, using sudden bursts of speed, his dagger flashing like a streak of light. But Eli adapted instantly, weaving around the blows, answering each with precise counters. A backhand slash was caught by the staff's shaft; a low sweep was jumped over; a sudden feint was met with a staff jab to the ribs that forced the man to grunt and retreat.
The forest around them bore the signs of their battle. Bark was shredded from tree trunks. Roots were torn where feet had dug in for leverage. Dry leaves swirled in the air, disturbed by the force of their movements.
Neither spoke a word. It was a duel stripped of anything unnecessary—no threats, no shouts, only pure battle.
The man managed to land another shallow cut across Eli's side, but it did nothing to slow him down. The boy's gaze was locked, unblinking, tracking every movement with unnatural precision.
And then Eli pressed harder. His strikes became faster, the angles more unpredictable. The man's guard began to falter under the relentless rhythm.
A spinning sweep forced the man back, then Eli followed with a quick thrust toward his chest. The man parried, only for Eli to drop low and slam the staff upward toward his chin. The man jerked his head back just in time, feeling the wind of the strike pass under his jaw.
Every second felt heavier, the killing intent between them thick enough to choke on.
The moon shifted behind the clouds, plunging the forest into deeper shadow. In that dimness, Eli's black, star-speckled eyes seemed to glow faintly.
The man's dagger was steady in his grip, but his mind was racing. This kid… he's fighting like a veteran killer.
And still, Eli didn't speak. Didn't hesitate. He was simply there—attacking, defending, adapting.
A sudden clash sent them both staggering back a few steps. The man raised his dagger into guard. Eli twirled his staff, settling into a stance that promised another rush.
Blood dripped from a cut on Eli's cheek, running down to his jawline. Another trail trickled from his forearm. His shirt clung to his skin with sweat and crimson stains.
Yet he stood tall, his breathing controlled, his lithe 5'9" frame poised like a drawn bow. His build was lean, athletic—not bulky, but every muscle moved with purpose. His hair clung slightly to his forehead, damp from exertion.
Across from him, the man in black breathed heavily, blood marking his sleeve and side from where Eli's strikes had landed. His expression was cold, but his eyes betrayed irritation.
The two locked eyes again—black void with starlight versus sharp steel gray—neither willing to lower their guard.
Around them, the forest was silent save for the faint rustle of leaves, as if the world itself was holding back in anticipation.
Both fighters bled. Both were still ready.
And neither intended to leave this fight unfinished.