Rain hammered the forest—a jagged symphony of chaos, mud, and splintered wood. Lightning tore through the sky like serrated teeth. Draven's crimson eyes narrowed as Cedric's golden-white blade streaked toward him, a living bolt of fury. Instinct ruled every motion. Precision followed. But even precision had limits.
Branches trembled under the storm's weight. Mud slicked the ground, yet Draven's boots barely whispered against it as he twisted, leapt, and struck.
Cedric was a storm made flesh—lightning crawling across his armor, his blade an extension of raw, crackling rage. Every swing was calculated, every step measured. Draven's dagger countered with vicious fluidity, blood mixing with rain as steel met steel in sizzling sparks.
The first cut sliced across Draven's left forearm. Pain flared—but reflex moved faster. He caught the severed hand midair and slammed it back onto the stump. Flesh gripped flesh. Bone locked. Tendons latched like living hooks. The arm twitched once, then obeyed.
Cedric's lightning-wreathed eyes narrowed. Another strike—Draven's right arm hit the mud. Pain exploded—sharp, white-hot—but he snatched the limb and pressed it against the raw wound. Skin bubbled, muscle crawled, bone groaned back into perfect alignment. Blood streamed down both reattached arms as he flexed the fingers.
Cedric didn't pause. Cold, calculating fury burned in his gaze as he lunged, lightning bursting from his boots. His kick slammed into Draven's chest, hurling him through the mud. Draven rolled, dagger spinning in his grip, carving a shallow line across Cedric's side—but lightning raced along the cut and sealed it shut instantly.
"Still moving," Cedric hissed through thunder. "Impressive. But not enough."
Draven sprang onto a slick branch. Cedric's blade slashed through the rain—his right arm severed again. Draven caught it before it hit the ground and forced it back onto the stump with a wet, violent click of bone and sinew.
"Damn it—you've started yapping a lot…" he growled. "Keep it coming. I'll keep up—until I carve off your damn head."
Cedric answered with another merciless cut—this time taking Draven's leg. Muscle tore. Bone split. Blood soaked the mud. Draven moved before thought could catch him. His severed leg snapped tight against the stump, flesh writhing into place with a hiss.
Strike after strike drove him deeper into the storm-drowned forest. Branches shattered. Leaves spun like shrapnel. Rain hissed across metal, lightning split trunks apart, and through it all Draven moved—fluid, relentless, unkillable.
A flash to his left—the maid. She entered the storm with quiet, precise purpose, every step measured, every motion deliberate. Kaela intercepted instantly, steel ringing against steel, sparks scattering across the rain-slicked forest floor.
Every strike the maid delivered was controlled, calculated, deadly—but calm. She did not shout. She did not flinch. Flesh and bone tore under Kaela's blades, yet she advanced unbroken. When Kaela split her ribs, the maid's body reformed seamlessly, sinew knitting, bones spiraling outward, muscle reshaping itself with wet, pulsing precision. She did not hesitate. She did not falter.
Kaela's eyes narrowed. She cut the maid's arm from the shoulder. Blood sprayed the mud. Still, before the limb even hit the ground, a new arm emerged, shaped with cold efficiency. The maid gripped her axe and swung, a clean, brutal arc. Kaela barely deflected it in time.
Step by step, the maid pressed forward. Kaela severed her legs. She collapsed—then rose again, perfectly reconstructed, muscles and bones reforming silently, efficiently. Her movements were smooth, controlled, terrifyingly composed. She advanced again, each step bringing her closer to Draven.
Kaela struck, shattering her jaw, ripping flesh from her face. The maid tilted her head slightly, letting it reassemble naturally, eyes still fixed, lips a calm line. She swung again, measured, calculated, not wild.
Every time Kaela tore her apart, the maid reformed. Torso split? Organs reknit in moments. Spine cracked? Realigned instantly. Lungs stitched together as if nothing had happened. Not a scream. Not a flinch. Only calm, deliberate motion, always forward.
Kaela tried to trap her, burying axes in her chest. The maid's hands sank into mud, dragging herself, rising with precise effort. Her intent was singular: reach Draven. Protect him. Save him.
A knee to her skull cracked bone. Her head tilted, snapped, then straightened. She rose again. A boot drove her back, yet she lifted herself from the mud, composed, serene, relentless.
Time burned away under Kaela's precision, yet the maid's focus never wavered. Every measured step a promise: she would reach him.
---
Draven glanced toward them for a single heartbeat—calculating, cold, desperate. The maid's controlled advance faltered, slowed by Kaela's relentless assault. He tightened his jaw.
Cedric didn't give him time to breathe.
Lightning exploded forward, blade slicing the storm apart. Draven met it, dagger intercepting the strike. Sparks burst. The shockwave hurled him into a tree, mud splashing across his face. He twisted, lunged, tried to counter—but Cedric's next slash grazed him, tearing deep. Draven caught the severed flesh, slapped it back into place. Skin tightened. Bone sealed.
Cedric grinned beneath the storm. "You're fast… but even the fastest…" Another arc of lightning carved toward him. "…cannot survive forever."
Draven charged—a blur of blood, mud, and steel. Cedric severed his right leg at the knee. Pain roared. Draven reattached it mid-fall, the limb fusing with a sickening snap. He landed hard, boots splashing, crimson eyes blazing.
Draven's entire body screamed. His limbs held, but exhaustion gnawed at him. Cedric lunged again, lightning shrieking through the forest. Draven blocked, rolled, countered—but his movements tightened. Every motion slower. Every escape closer. Every breath harsher.
Another strike carved open his shoulder, splitting bone that hadn't fully settled. Pain lanced through him, but he twisted the dagger, forcing Cedric back half a step.
The storm paused. Just for a heartbeat.
Draven staggered, soaked in blood and rain, eyes burning with refusal.
The maid tried again to break through—swinging with calm precision—but Cedric blurred past her. Her strike hit nothing. Sparks cracked as he deflected her follow-up and slammed her into the mud. She could not rise. The space she bought Draven lasted less than a breath.
Cedric moved.
Faster than pain.
Faster than thought.
Draven countered—barely. The rhythm collapsed. Cedric didn't allow rhythm. Didn't allow breath. Didn't allow survival. His strikes came like the storm's heartbeat: relentless, merciless, unending.
The maid tried one final move—swinging wide, calculated, calm—but Kaela slammed into her, driving her back step by step. Mud splashed beneath them as Kaela hammered her down, locking her in place, forcing her to her knees. She was trapped, forced to watch helplessly as Draven's defense crumbled.
Cedric lunged.
The next strike tore clean through Draven's left wrist. His hand spun away in the rain, swallowed by the mud before he could reach for it.
"Shit—!"
Another flash.
His right hand exploded from his arm—bone splintering, fingers scattering like broken claws.
Draven staggered, choking on rain.
"D—damn… too fast…"
Cedric didn't let him finish.
A brutal upward slash severed his leg above the knee. He crashed into the mud, the limb sliding away into the storm-dark earth.
He twisted, trying to crawl toward it—instinct screaming, nerves firing in frantic, broken patterns. His bleeding stumps scraped pathetic grooves into the mud.
"Too slow," Cedric murmured.
Lightning flared across his blade.
He stepped forward.
Draven froze, breath shuddering. The forest spun in a blur of rain and blood. His body trembled, failing. He tried to lift himself—without hands, without a leg—but collapsed again.
Cedric didn't hesitate.
He swung for the head.
The strike came down like judgment—merciless, final, impossible to escape. The world shrank to a single blazing arc, the hiss of metal slicing the storm in half, the brutal certainty of death closing in.
The maid could do nothing—Kaela held her firmly, unable to intervene. Her calm, deliberate advance had bought Draven only a heartbeat.
Cedric's blade fell—
And Draven could not block.
Could not dodge.
Could not reattach.
Could not rise.
All he could do was watch the blade descend.