Karlon retreated.
He twisted away sharply, boots sliding in the deepening mud as he tried to pull Kavisli clear before the relentless grind could shatter it. The wet earth sucked at his heels, forcing him to shift his weight mid-step to keep his balance.
Arion refused to let the momentum die.
He hurled the disc again—maintaining pressure with a sharp twist of his torso, the edge bouncing off the curved blade and forcing it out of rhythm, then snapping back into his grip mid-arc, the rain evaporating from his palm as the disc hovered above it.
Each rotation pulled at the torn muscles in his shoulder, sending fresh sparks of pain up his arm, but he kept the disc spinning, using the rain-slicked ground to slide forward and close the gap before Karlon could reset.
Strike after strike followed. A merciless barrage. Each collision bit deeper, chips flaking from Kavisli's edge like sparks from a whetstone.
His shoulders burned with the repeated effort, the vibration travelling up into his already injured arm and making his teeth grind together.
Karlon faltered for a moment. He didn't know why, but the roaring disc felt different this time—hotter, heavier, its spin dragging at everything around it.
Keep the angle tight. One slip in this mud and he'll close the distance for good.
Karlon's exhilaration had curdled into raw fury.
He lunged backward—mud sucking at his steps—then exploded forward again, rage propelling a vicious overhead swing that came down with all his remaining mass.
Arion converted the spinning disc into a shield an instant before—
CLANG—KTZZ!
His arm howled. Bone jarred, muscle tore, pain lancing white-hot up to his shoulder and making his teeth grind. Fresh blood pumped from the earlier wounds with the impact, warm against the cold rain running down his skin. The disc pushed into his fingers, grinding through their top layer.
The blade ricocheted off the disc's spin, flung wide. Arion seized the opening—driving the disc along Karlon's chest. Scales ground and split, fracturing in a wet crunch as the edge tore through.
A guttural roar ripped from Karlon—half agony, half adrenaline-fueled defiance.
He slammed a foot into the mud, earth cracking under the force, then launched himself forward. Kavisli's tip met the rotating disc, sparks erupting as he angled it just enough to punch through Arion's guard and pierce his shoulder.
Arion's teeth locked together. Pain screamed through him, white-hot and immediate. The hot metal drove in deep, tearing muscle and sending blood pouring down his arm instantly, the warmth mixing with the cold rain that hammered his face.
He staggered back. They both did—breath ragged, blood mixing with rain in dark rivulets running down their bodies and pooling at their feet.
For one heartbeat, two dying men faced each other in the rain.
Arion's arm hung limp, useless, blood soaking his sleeve in seconds and dripping from his fingertips, each drop splashing into the mud and turning it darker.
Karlon lifted Kavisli to his mouth. Tongue dragged across the edge—tasting Arion's blood.
His scales purred, red hues flaring brighter. "Your blood… I've never tasted anything like it."
Arion drew ragged breaths, watching the Drakin laugh—low, sinister, the laugh of a predator toying with prey already bleeding out. His own breathing came shallow as blood loss made his head light.
His vision flickered at the edges—exhaustion, blood loss, something colder threading through his chest like frost in his veins. Rain hammered down harder, each drop stinging open wounds, soaking through torn cloth, turning the mud into a sucking mire around his boots.
He tightened his grip on Recall. Fingers slipped on blood-slick wood before he forced them still. He had almost nothing left—and Karlon could smell it.
"Now, let's move to the main course—" Karlon's words choked off. Blood bubbled up instead.
He raised a hand to his mouth, coughing twice. Crimson coated his palm—his own.
Arion let out a raw chuckle, the sound wet and ragged.
The Heat Coil…
His eyes narrowed.
The disc's friction had flash-heated Karlon's scales. Splinters of superheated material had driven inward, shredding organs from the inside.
Karlon exhaled a trembling breath. "You've done me more damage than I expected. Far more. You've exceeded every expectation I had—and then some."
His teeth flashed in a blood-smeared grin. "But no matter. When our dance ends, I'll find that local healer bitch."
He licked his lips. "The blonde siren. She'll refuse at first… but the kids will be reason enough. She'll heal me back to my prime, murderous shape. Fuck—even better. She can join us."
Something dangerous flickered behind his eyes. "She won't have a choice."
At the mention of the children, something old and poisonous cut clean through the exhaustion.
At the thought of Karlon reaching them, fresh strength tore through his shaking limbs.
Arion barked a laugh—raw and disbelieving. "Talk about a ladies' man. They must fight for the privilege."
Karlon stroked Kavisli's edge. "They never needed to." A deep, wet chortle escaped him.
Arion's expression hardened. "I seem to have lost my motivation. And my appetite. Let's finish this and send you to join your friends."
"Ah~ I'll miss our short-lived friendship. But don't worry—I'll give you a proper cremation. And I'll make sure your remains go to whoever you disappointed today."
They held each other's gaze through the downpour.
Rain poured in sheets. Each drop landed like a drumbeat on taut nerves.
Thunder rolled overhead, a low, crawling growl that vibrated through the mud and up their spines.
The ground sucked at Arion's boots. His fingers twitched—cold, burnt through, Vitalis flickering like a candle in wind.
For a single heartbeat, neither moved.
Then lightning split the sky.
Arion surged forward, legs pushing through the thick mud with effort, each step pulling at the wounds in his shoulder and chest. The Heat Coil spun faster, devouring raindrops as it went, his good arm straining with the motion.
Karlon's head dipped—feigning pain.
Except he was grinning.
His hidden hand pulsed with Vitalis.
The instant Arion entered range—
"SURPRISE!"
Karlon's arm snapped up. Flames roared to life in his palm.
"Fire—"
TWANG!
A crossbow bolt punched through his shoulder from behind. He lurched forward, eyes widening in shock.
"GRA! Bastard!—" He spun, spotting the children.
Three small figures clutched a bandit's crossbow. Hands shaking as they fumbled to reload.
No…
Karlon's blade rose.
Something rose deep within Arion.
In that instant, all he saw was Oline—the last time she'd looked at him, trusting him without question.
The memory hit with brutal clarity.
"Run!" Arion roared, charging recklessly straight at the Drakin.
Without hesitation he hurled the disc, shoulder rotating fully to drive power through it despite the pain tearing through his wounds.
KTZZ!
It carved through mud and water, curving viciously toward Karlon.
Karlon snapped his focus back. A scaled arm rose to shield. Scales ground as the Heat Coil bit in, shoving him backward through the mire, his feet dragging furrows in the mud.
In his peripheral vision he saw Arion closing.
"Suicide!" he snarled.
Kavisli lifted in his other hand—then slammed down with killing force.
THONK!
Recall flew back into Arion's palm at the last instant—barely catching the descending edge.
His body convulsed. Pain lanced through every nerve as the impact jarred his injured shoulder and cracked ribs. Breath hitched. Ribs felt like cracked stone. Vitalis burn was creeping in—muscles seizing, vision tunnelling.
No more options.
He seized the spinning disc bare-handed. Blood slicked the rim, slicing his palm open deeper as the edge bit into flesh. Pain flared white-hot up his arm as he forced it deeper into the Drakin.
With a snarl he shoved—grinding through scale and muscle, feeling the resistance slowly give under the pressure.
Karlon roared in agony. He reversed Kavisli, serrated edge flashing, then brought it down with all his remaining strength.
Recall intercepted—barely.
The teeth carved from shoulder toward spine, locking them together in a grotesque weld of flesh and steel as metal ground against bone.
"Gahhhh—!"
Arion screamed.
Yet he refused to release.
Adrenaline and rage drove him forward.
He forced the disc further—grinding through arm, biting into chest. Blood sprayed in hot arcs as it tore through defences, straight into the vital mass beneath, the liquid mixing with rain and splattering across both of them and the mud.
The disc spun its final rotation. Heat evaporated the mist of blood it flung outward.
Silence swallowed the clash.
Only the patter of rain on ruined flesh and the faint crackle of cooling metal rang out.
Karlon's chest rose once—shallow—then stilled. Arion felt the warmth of that last breath along his soaked, heat-sapped body.
Stillness.
Then nothing. Not even a grunt. Just the hiss of rain on hot blood and cooling steel.
Karlon's grip slackened. His body gave. He slumped backward—limp—splashing into mud and pooling crimson. Chest shattered. Carved open.
Arion remained upright.
A moment longer.
Then adrenaline ebbed.
Every wound lit up at once.
Hand torn.
Chest sliced open. Shoulder dead.
Kavisli still bit deep into his back and shoulder, the weight pulling at torn muscle.
Legs buckled. Strength bled out as fast as warmth from his veins. Rain slid directly into the open gashes, stinging sharply with cold.
His knees hit the mud first with a heavy splash, then his side as he went down.
Barely conscious, Arion collapsed.
Half his body had gone dead. Rain slid down his skin and into wounds that still pulsed with raw ache, washing blood in steady streams across his face and neck.
He lay there, chest heaving with shallow breaths that pulled painfully at the wounds.
The last thing he saw was the blur of small figures running toward him through the rain.
Their voices reached him as static.
He couldn't even smile.
Just rain.
Quiet.
And finally… rest.