The cut is obscene in its elegance. One clean diagonal of silver that cleaves the shadow. Emranth howls. His monstrous shape unravels, unpicking itself into drifting smoke. Heis gone in a single breath. A ripple runs through Daed as the shadow recoils, folding into him like a returning tide.
For a heartbeat he keels, shoulders collapsing as he sucks in air. I fear, for an instant, that the fight has left him. Then he steadies, rolls his shoulders, flings hair from his eyes and hauls Death Singer free from the stone.
“Good,” he breathes. “A challenge. I will enjoy taking your head, demon, and shoving it down your master’s throat.”
He plants his feet, shoulders squared, Death Singer held high. Around us the ruined city listens, and the grin on his face is a promise that will not be broken.
Daed launches himself upward, wings of smoke and shadow snapping wide, the night folding beneath their span. He rises with impossible speed, the force of it cracking the stone at his feet. Death Singer burns in his grip, the blade alive with the void’s hum. The armored demon tilts its head as if in mockery, unmoving and with ice-veined patience.
When Daed descends, he brings the blade down in a strike that could cleave mountains. Only then does the demon move, raising its silver weapon in a single, lazy arc.
Steel meets steel.
The sound is cataclysmic. Sparks burst like dying stars, their light scattering over the blackened temple steps. The impact drives a shockwave through the air, rippling the smoke around them in concentric waves.
They break apart, then crash together again.
The fight becomes a storm. Blades whistle and shriek as they meet, each strike a flash of light against the dark. Daed’s wings beat once, propelling him forward. The demon pivots effortlessly, its cloak swirling like liquid night. There is rhythm in the violence, an ancient, dreadful grace. Each movement echoes the other, as if they were mirror images born from the same void.
I watch, breath trapped in my chest, unable to look away. For all Daed’s ferocity, this thing meets him without strain, without fear.
Daed’s blade howls through the air again, a deadly arc of shadow. The demon sidesteps, the blow missing by a breath. Then it counters, spinning, slashing upward, and Daed blocks, the force of it sending cracks through the landing.
It’s not a battle. It’s a dance between gods.
I can feel the earth tremble with every clash, the air split with their fury. Still, Daed doesn’t call for me, but I know he needs me. His strength cannot match this creature alone.
I summon my power, a flare igniting in my palm. The flame builds and builds until it roars to life, searing green, my veins burning. I thrust my hand forward and the fire tears through the air.
But the demon doesn’t even glance my way.
It lifts its free hand, and from the air itself, a wall of smoke materializes. My flame crashes into it, shattering. The embers scatter harmlessly into the dark and still, the warrior fights Daed with its other hand, unbothered.
How?
Smoke and vine. Death and life. Both subdued by a single foe.
My stomach twists with dread, my heartbeat stuttering as the truth takes shape in my mind. This is no mere servant of Gygarth.
This is his champion.
Emranth’s successor.
And as its burning white eyes finally shift to me, I feel the weight of eternity in their gaze.
I will not be undone by this monster.
I will not fall to a servant before I’ve even set eyes on its master.
I have not come this far to fail now.
My fingers curl, power surging through my veins like wildfire. With a cry, I throw my hands forward and the earth answers. Vines burst through the stone in a thunderous crack, shards scattering as they spiral upward toward the demon.
It reacts instantly. Tendrils of smoke unravel from its armor, meeting the vines midair. They crash together, smoke and root, twisting and strangling as they fight for dominance, life and death locked in a furious embrace. But my power is older. Wilder. Some vines break through, snapping around the demon’s leg and wrenching it to one knee with a groan that echoes like thunder.
“Now!” I shout.
Daed surges forward, wings flaring, raising Death Singer high. The void hums as he brings the blade down, but the demon catches the strike, its silver weapon raised aboveits head, steel locking against steel. The impact throws sparks, and for a heartbeat they are frozen, equals in strength and fury.
