He twisted his body, breaking the clash and slamming his elbow into Baldur's jaw. The Ox King barely flinched—but Cain followed it up with a vicious upward slash, catching his chest plate and tearing a gash through the reinforced metal.
Baldur stumbled back, looked down at the wound, and laughed. The sound was thunder itself—raw and deranged. "Finally! That's it, little godling! More!"
Cain's wings flared again, the storm swirling with them. His pulse thundered in his ears, drowning out the world. He'd forgotten the pain. He'd forgotten the exhaustion. All that mattered now was the man in front of him—and the fact that one of them wouldn't be walking away.
Rain battered the shattered landscape as Cain stood amidst the wreckage, chest heaving. The clash with Baldur had scorched the ground, splitting the plaza in half, but neither warrior seemed satisfied. The storm above only mirrored the violence that churned beneath their skin.
