Saren's blade roared to life—Mana crawling up the metal like living fire.
He swung, a wide arc meant to cleave a man in half.
Draven was already moving—left fist snapping forward to meet the edge.
CLANG—
Steel met bone and power.
The shockwave burst outward, kicking up dirt and leaves. Both staggered half a step, hands recoiling from the collision.
Smoke curled from Draven's knuckles—black glove smoking, cracks of light running through his born shattered veins burst.
He didn't even look down. The flesh already sealed, veins knitting, skin smoothing as the pain faded into focus.
He was gone before the last spark hit the ground.
A blur—one step, then one —dagger flashing as he closed the distance.
Straight thrust.
Aiming dead through the visor.
CLANG—
Saren's sword snapped up just in time, the parry scraping sparks between them. The blade shuddered under the impact.
Draven didn't stop.
He twisted the dagger along the flat of Saren's sword, slid forward inside the guard, and drove an elbow toward the Old Wolf's throat.
Saren shifted his stance—dropped low, shoulder-checking the blow aside. His gauntlet came up like a hammer, mana pulsing around his fist, and slammed into Draven's ribs.
THUD—
The impact sent a shock through the clearing, air bursting out of Draven's lungs.
He slid back, boots grinding trenches in the dirt.
He coughed once.
Grinned, blood running from his lip.
> "Not bad… you're one tough old bastard ."
Saren straightened, sword raised in a tight, professional guard. Mana bled from his armor in waves, glowing veins crawling along the plates.
> "i could say the same for you," Saren said, voice even. "To think you've been able to held up with just your skills and strength alone — but if you holding back because you think just that alone would that'll be enough to beat me, then I'm sorry."
Draven's lips pressed together, red eyes burning.
> "Holding back? What the hell are you talking about? You think I have time for shit like that? Guess you assumed just because you haven't seen blood yet — let me show you."
He grinned forward again.
SHK—SHK—SHK—
Three strikes in less than a heartbeat.
Low—high—feint.
Each one aiming for a gap in armor, each one blocked by steel or deflected by the Old Wolf's precision.
Saren turned the last parry into a counter, twisting his wrist, letting the weight of the greatsword carry momentum. He spun once, full rotation, the blade glowing white-hot from condensed mana.
Draven ducked beneath it, felt the heat shear a line across his back, smelled his own burning skin—then he was under the blade, already stabbing upward.
The dagger tore through the lower edge of Saren's breastplate, scraping sparks from steel and flesh.
Saren grunted—anger, not pain—and slammed his knee into Draven's stomach.
CRACK—
Ribs broke.
Draven folded, breath blasting out, but his hand still clung to the dagger's hilt.
Saren swung down again—this time vertical, killing intent behind it.
Draven threw himself sideways— sliding , dirt exploding beneath him as the sword bit into the ground where he'd been.
The shockwave ripped a crater in the clearing, dust and splinters flying outward.
He came up from the slide already mid-motion—dagger reversed, eyes locked on the gap in Saren's stance.
> "Too slow."
He dashed forward—one blur of red and silver.
His blade cut across Saren's forearm, carving through armor like butter.
Blood hit the air—thick, black-red.
Saren didn't flinch.
He pivoted, seized Draven's wrist with a gauntleted hand, and twisted.
Bone snapped.
Draven snarled—then the sound turned to a sharp laugh as the bone reset mid-grip, his hand healing in Saren's grasp.
> "Told you," he hissed, eyes burning bright. "I don't stay broken."
He slammed his forehead into Saren's helmet—CRACK.
The impact dented steel.
Saren reeled back one step. Draven spun, low, sweeping the dagger for his leg—another parry, another burst of sparks.
Both stepped apart—breathing heavy, blood dripping from armor and skin alike.
The air between them trembled with mana and heat.
Around the edge of the clearing, the knights watched in silence—none daring to move, none foolish enough to step between monsters.
Saren lifted his sword, letting the mana gather—slow, controlled, the earth trembling beneath his boots.
A blue-white glow crawled up the length of the blade.
Draven stared eyes shape.
> "Guess you've finally decided to go all out."
Adjusting his stance, dagger twirling once between fingers.
> "Alright then," he muttered. "Let's make this quick."
Saren's eyes burned beneath the visor.
> "I'll make sure to grant that as your final wish — and end it quickly, just like you asked."
He swung.
The air distorted—mana warping air itself as the blade cleaved through it. A pressure wave hit first, tearing leaves from trees and whipping hair from faces. Light bent around the arc; sound caught and stretched.
Draven moved like smoke. The dagger flashed; for a heartbeat the two were nothing but motion and impact. Sparks screamed when steel kissed steel, then metal met flesh: a glancing blow to Draven's shoulder tore a deep line across muscle, black-red blood hissing into the air.
Draven staggered, grinned as the wound Instantly began closing, and vanished into motion again.
For a single, terrible second the clearing held only the sound of Saren's breathing and the dull, far-off ring of a blade striking stone.
Then everything rushed back—the world snapping to noise and color as both lunged once more.