The castle was ripping itself apart in an attempt to fly. The wind howling in Faust's ears was deafening now. Salt and sulfur hung in the air.
When the roof of the building came off, Faust didn't even look up. He was busy deflecting Drekar's attacks. Sparks danced off their weapons, pure white in the light of the black sun.
Each time Drekar's Bittersteel turned silver and elongated, snaking around his axe to just cut Faust once.
Each time Faust barely escaped.
"You never slip up, do you?!" Drekar shouted over the rain. He was grinning now.
'Of course I can't slip up. A single cut from your blade means losing one of my abilities.'
Drekar would take his Schema if Faust had to guess. But there had to be limitations. This was just a Gold-grade Schema, after all.
They exchanged blows very quickly, figures flickering as the rain began pouring down into the room.
