Bang. Bang. Bang.
Each shot echoed through the arena, and each one the duke blocked with effortless precision, his steps moving backward as he parried the bullets. Clint's boots scraped against the dirt as he closed the distance, his breath heavy, the fury in his chest pushing him forward.
Every step he took was a wordless accusation, every bullet a release of the storm swirling in his heart.
Clint's chest heaved as the heat pulsed in his hand, the golden glow crawling up his arm like fire.
His gun hummed and twisted in his grip, metal reshaping under the surge of energy until a sharp, radiant sword emerged from the barrel's end.
With a roar, Clint charged, feet slamming against the ground. His vision blurred, his heartbeat loud in his ears.
The duke's eyes narrowed slightly as he felt the change in the air, the power radiating from Clint unlike anything he had shown before.
For the first time, Darius stepped back, his sword rising not to attack, but to defend.
