They fought until the sky brightened further, and until the path was scarred beyond recognition.
Zeke's movements were brutal and relentless, driven by rage sharpened by grief that had never been allowed to heal. Every strike carried years of resentment, and every blow was a question he had never dared to ask.
Zevon met him without hatred, parrying his strikes and accepting some of it. That alone infuriated Zeke more.
Shadows wrapped around Zeke's arm as he swung, attempting to bind him, but Zeke tore through them with raw force, his demon-fueled strength ripping darkness apart like cloth.
"You think this changes anything?" Zeke shouted, "You standing here alive does not undo what you did."
Zevon blocked a strike and stepped back, "I know."
That stopped Zeke again. His breathing was heavy now, chest rising and falling fast while steam curled faintly from his skin. His body hummed with power, with readiness, but his mind faltered.
