Malagar attacked.
His great axe came down like a falling star, a blur of obsidian and fury that carved through the air with a sound like tearing reality. The weapon was massive—easily twice the size of a man, its blade honed to an edge that could split stone. It moved with a speed that seemed impossible for something so immense, the air itself screaming in protest as it descended.
Reyes moved.
She didn't dodge—she met him head-on. Her blade rose to intercept, mana swirling around it in a corona of pale blue light. The energy coiled around the steel like living fire, crackling with contained power. She planted her feet, her boots digging into the earth, and braced for impact.
The weapons collided with a sound that shook the battlefield.
It was not the clash of steel on steel. It was the scream of two impossibly powerful forces meeting in mid-air, the shriek of mana against obsidian, the thunder of raw power unleashed. A shockwave erupted from the point of contact, rippling outward in concentric rings of force that flattened the grass and sent soldiers stumbling.
Debris was launched into the air—stones, dust, fragments of broken armor—all of it caught in the expanding wave. The ground beneath them cracked and heaved, sending fissures spiderwebbing across the battlefield like bolts of lightning frozen in stone.
Reyes held.
Her arms trembled with the force of the blow, the muscles in her shoulders screaming in protest. Her boots carved trenches in the earth as she was driven back, her heels gouging deep furrows in the stone. But she held. Her blade locked with Malagar's axe, the two weapons screaming against each other.
Sparks erupted from the point of contact—not ordinary sparks, but arcs of raw mana that sizzled and popped, leaving scorch marks on the ground around them. The air between them shimmered with heat, distorting the world beyond like a heat haze.
Malagar's helmet tilted, his empty gaze fixed on her. "You're strong," he admitted. "Stronger than I expected."
Reyes smiled—a fierce, defiant grin that showed teeth. "I've been told."
She pushed.
It was not a simple shove. It was a surge of power—a tidal wave of mana that erupted from her core and flowed through her arms, her blade, into the point of contact. The energy exploded outward, sending Malagar staggering back, his boots scraping against the stone.
Reyes pressed her advantage.
Her blade became a blur of motion, each strike precise, each one carrying the weight of everything she had. She moved like water, like wind, like something that could not be contained. Her sword found gaps in Malagar's guard, carving lines of ichor across his armor.
Mana swirled around her like a storm, crackling with contained power. It coiled around her arms, her shoulders, her blade—a living thing that responded to her will. The air around her shimmered with heat, the ground beneath her feet cracking with each step.
She was a force of nature.
Malagar blocked. Countered. Pushed.
His great axe swung in a devastating arc, the blade carving a trench in the air as it passed. The sheer force of the blow sent a shockwave rippling through the battlefield. Reyes threw herself sideways, the blade passing inches from her throat.
She rolled, came up with her blade raised. Her breath came in ragged gasps, but her eyes were still sharp.
"Persistent," Malagar observed. "I'll give you that."
Reyes attacked again.
She moved like lightning, her blade a silver flash in the dim light. She struck at his chest, his shoulder, his throat—each blow aimed at a gap in his armor. Ichor sprayed with each hit, dark and thick, splattering across the stone.
Malagar grunted—the first sound of pain he had made.
He backhanded her.
The blow caught her across the chest, sending her flying through the air. She tumbled across the debris-strewn ground, her body bouncing and rolling before she finally came to a stop. She hit hard, her armor scraping against the stone, blood trickling from a fresh gash on her forehead.
But she was already rising.
Her blade was still in her hand. Her eyes were still sharp. She wiped the blood from her face and met his gaze.
"Is that all you've got?"
Malagar laughed—a cold, hollow sound that echoed across the battlefield. "You're a fool to keep standing."
Reyes spat blood. "Maybe. But I'm still standing."
She attacked again.
The battle raged across the battlefield.
Reyes and Malagar moved like forces of nature, their blades clashing with enough force to shatter stone. The ground beneath them was scarred and cratered, littered with debris and the bodies of the fallen. The air was thick with dust and the smell of ozone.
Reyes's mana swirled around her like a storm, feeding her strength, accelerating her movements. She was faster than she had ever been, stronger than she had ever been. Every strike was precise, every movement deliberate. She flowed through combat like water through stone, finding gaps in Malagar's guard, exploiting every weakness.
But Malagar matched her blow for blow.
His great axe was a blur of death, each swing powerful enough to cleave through armor and bone. The weapon moved with a grace that belied its size, its obsidian blade carving arcs of destruction through the air. His armor was cracked, dented, streaked with ichor—but he was still standing. Still fighting.
They circled each other, their blades raised, their eyes locked.
"You're better than most," Malagar admitted. "Better than anyone I've faced in centuries."
Reyes raised her blade. "I'm better than you."
She attacked.
Her blade found his shoulder, driving deep into the obsidian armor. The impact sent a shockwave through his body, cracking the plates further. Ichor sprayed across the ground. Malagar's great axe swung wildly, forcing Reyes to retreat.
She ducked under the blow, the blade passing inches from her face. The wind from its passage tore at her hair, her armor, her skin.
They clashed again.
And again.
And again.
The battle was a symphony of violence, a dance of death that left the battlefield scarred and broken. Soldiers and hunters watched from the perimeter, their weapons ready, their eyes fixed on the combatants.
Aurelion watched from the medical tent.
His body was broken, his strength spent. The medics worked on him, sealing wounds, setting bones. But his eyes never left the battle.
Ami appeared beside him. "She's holding her own."
"She's not holding. She's surviving."
He pushed himself up, his body screaming. The shards beneath his skin blazed with light.
Ami grabbed his arm. "You can't fight. You're barely alive."
He looked at her. Then at the battlefield. Then back at her.
"She asked for this fight," he said quietly. "She called him out. This is hers."
He settled back against the cot.
"I'll watch."
Ami stared at him. "You're... you're not going to fight?"
"No." He shook his head. "It's a duel. She earned it."
Ami was silent for a moment. Then she nodded slowly.
"I'll get you a better view."
From the medical tent, Aurelion watched.
Reyes was relentless, her blade a blur of motion. She drove Malagar back, her strikes finding gaps in his armor, drawing ichor with each blow. But Malagar was relentless too, his great axe swinging with devastating precision.
They were evenly matched.
Aurelion could see it in the way they moved—the exhaustion in their bodies, the determination in their eyes. Neither was willing to give ground. Neither was willing to fall.
Reyes's mana flickered, dimmed, surged back to life. She was pushing herself past her limits, burning through every reserve she had.
Malagar's armor was cracked, his body covered in wounds. Ichor dripped from a dozen gashes. But he was still standing.
"You can't keep this up," he said. "Your mana is fading."
Reyes smiled—a bloody, defiant smile.
"I don't need to keep this up. I just need to outlast you."
She attacked.
The battle reached its peak.
Reyes and Malagar clashed in the center of the battlefield, their blades locked, their power colliding. The air around them shimmered with heat. The ground beneath them cracked and heaved.
Reyes pushed with everything she had.
Mana swirled around her like a storm, crackling with contained power. Her eyes blazed with pale blue light. Every muscle in her body screamed, but she didn't stop.
Malagar pushed back.
His great axe screamed against her blade, the obsidian cracking under the strain. His armor was shattered, his body covered in wounds. But he was still standing.
They were evenly matched.
Neither could gain the upper hand. Neither could land the decisive blow.
Malagar's great axe swung in a wide arc, forcing Reyes to retreat. She rolled, came up with her blade raised. He lunged, his axe carving a trench in the ground where she had been.
They circled each other, both exhausted, both wounded.
"Impressive," Malagar admitted. "I haven't had a fight like this in centuries."
Reyes raised her blade. "I'm just getting started."
She attacked.
He met her head-on.
The battle continued.
But neither could gain the upper hand.
Aurelion watched from the medical tent, his fists clenched, his body aching. He wanted to fight. He wanted to help. But he understood.
This was Reyes's fight.
She had earned it.
Ami stood beside him, her eyes fixed on the battlefield. "She's going to die if this keeps up."
"Maybe," Aurelion said. "But it's her choice."
They watched as Reyes and Malagar clashed again.
The stalemate held.