Saren couldn't move.
The words hit him like echoes underwater—distant, distorted, unreal. See every drop. He wanted to snarl, to curse, to swing his blade one last time—but his hands wouldn't listen. They trembled weakly, fingers twitching against the mud, armor grinding faintly as his own weight dragged him down.
Air came in shallow, wet bursts. Each breath was a drowning gasp.
He tried to speak. Tried to answer. To spit defiance back at the monster standing over him.
Only a gurgle came out—thick, wet, and bubbling through the ruin of his throat. The sound disgusted him. Pathetic, he thought, his mind stumbling through haze and pain. I sound… pathetic.
Blood filled his mouth again. He couldn't tell if it was his or the rain.
The world around him blurred—gray sky, black mud, the faint red reflection of Draven's eyes. Every detail flickered like the edge of a fading memory. The smell of iron and smoke coated his tongue. His helm felt heavy—broken. His vision tunneled.
He could still see Draven, though. The monster in the from of a boy's silhouette loomed against the storm, crimson eyes burning like coals through rain.
Monster, he thought.
Not with hatred. Not anymore. Just… acknowledgment.
That's what it takes, isn't it? To survive?
The gurgling sound rose again as he tried to breathe. His jaw twitched. He wanted to laugh, or scream—he wasn't sure which. Instead, a weak, bubbling hiss escaped his cracked lips.
If I had been able to heal my wounds… maybe I'd have lived.
Another thought flickered—faint, like an ember refusing to die.
Did i fight… like a Knight Or did i forgot what that means.
The world dimmed around him. Or maybe his hearing was fading.
Saren could barely feel his body — a wreck of steel and torn flesh half-buried in mud. But somewhere, deep inside, something still stirred. The faint hum of mana, desperate and furious, clawed its way up through the cracks of his dying form.
The commander… trusted me…
The thought came faint, slurred by pain, but it burned hotter than the blood spilling from his throat. He remembered that moment — the command tent, the heavy air before battle, his commander's gaze steady and grim.
> " I had promised to deal with this monster, Saren. if I die here now that would mean I failed her–and that's something I'm not willing to do ."
He had believed it. He wanted to believe it. Every swing, every risk, every drop of blood — all for that single promise.
I can't fall here, At least not with out killing it first .
His gauntlet twitched. Blue-white veins of mana crawled across the shattered plates of his armor, flickering weakly beneath the rain. He forced his arm to move, muscles tearing, joints grinding like broken gears. A low, wet hiss escaped his ruined throat — not speech, not anymore, just the sound of resistance.
He refused to die like this.
Mana surged again, violent and unstable. His vision flared white-blue, the world bending at the edges as raw power coursed through what was left of him. He could almost feel the weight of his greatsword again, even though it lay half-buried somewhere behind him.
If he could just—
A shadow fell over him.
Draven.
The red-eyed monster stood still, rain cascading down his bloodstained face, his expression unreadable — cold, calm, inevitable.
Saren's body trembled, mana surging violently now, heat flooding his shattered veins. His hand rose another inch, shaking, reaching for a weapon no longer there.
Draven's gaze shifted downward — not pity, not respect. Just… knowing.
For a heartbeat, Saren saw his reflection in those crimson eyes: broken armor, blood, flickering mana — a man still trying to fight when the battle was already over.
The power inside him faltered. The light began to fade.
Then Draven moved.
His expression didn't change, but his body did — a blur of motion as he lifted one leg high, the rain sheeting off his armor. His shadow loomed over Saren like the weight of judgment itself.
When he spoke, his voice was cold enough to freeze the storm.
> "The hell you think you're trying to do?"
The words hit harder than the thunder — and then his boot came down.
Steel met skull.
The impact cracked the ground like a hammer striking stone. Mud and blood exploded outward as Saren's head was driven deep into the earth, his helm twisting, contorting under the force until the metal screamed. The ground itself split, water rushing into the fractures.
For a moment, only the rain spoke.
Draven's breath came slow and steady — until something in the mud shifted.
His eyes widened sharply.
A glint of blue-white light cut through the storm as a massive blade tore upward through the muck, spinning, rising — Saren's greatsword, dragged back to life by the last violent pulse of mana.