Wind howled through the wreckage of the tavern, carrying the scent of blood, ash, and steel.
Lan stepped forward slowly, his grip on The Devil's Lie firm but relaxed. Sparks flickered around the cursed blade like embers caught in a storm, but no flame came. Only pressure—crushing, weightless pressure—that made the stone beneath his feet groan.
Venom rolled his shoulders, the massive axe spinning once in his hand. He bled from shallow cuts across his forearm and side, but his stance was steady.
A predator at the edge of desperation.
"You've got skill," Venom grunted. "I'll give you that."
Lan's eyes narrowed. "And you've got stamina. Let's see how long it lasts."
Venom spat blood into the dirt and stamped his boot. The mana around him raged—greenish-black and thick like oil.
Then, he vanished.
[Shadow Lunge]
