Part 1: The Friction
"Let's go help the Captain kill the King."
Valen sheathed his sword and took a step toward the Burning Keep. The ground trembled beneath his boots as a massive explosion from inside the ruins sent a plume of fire into the sky.
"He's alone in there," Valen said, his pace quickening. "If we rush now, we can flank Thorne while he's distracted. Titan, on me!"
"Hold it."
A hand grabbed Valen's shoulder. It wasn't Titan.
It was Roger.
The sniper didn't look at the fire. He looked at Valen, his eyes cold behind his goggles.
"We stay here," Roger said flatly. "That was the order."
Valen shoved Roger's hand away. "The order was to clear the army. We did that. Now the Captain is fighting a Level 45 Calamity by himself. Are you insane?"
"I'm following protocol," Roger snapped, stepping in front of the Paladin. "Elian drew him away for a reason. If we go in there, we just add variables to a fight he's already calculated."
"Variables?!" Valen's voice rose to a shout, the stress of the battle finally cracking his composure. He got in Roger's face, towering over the sniper. "That's a Warlord in there, Roger! Not a target dummy! One hit and Elian dies!"
"Do you have no trust in his skill?" Roger shouted back, shoving Valen's chest plate.
"He is my friend!" Valen roared, grabbing Roger by the collar of his leather armor. "And I am his Shield! My place is in front of him, not watching from the cheap seats!"
"Stop it!" Roger grabbed Valen's wrist.
The two men locked eyes, trembling with adrenaline and exhaustion. It looked like Valen was about to throw a punch.
WHOOSH.
SHING.
Two shadows blurred.
Jax appeared behind Roger, pinning the sniper's arms.
Isara appeared in front of Valen, kicking his knee to buckle his stance and shoving him back.
"Enough!" Isara hissed, her daggers drawn but pointed at the ground. "Look at yourselves! The Dynasty is dead and you're fighting each other?"
"Let me go!" Valen struggled, his face red. "We have to—"
Part 2: The White Witch
A soft, golden light washed over the crater.
It wasn't blinding like Valen's solar fire. It was warm. Comforting.
[Spell: Mass Recovery]
The tension in Valen's muscles melted away. The adrenaline crash hit him all at once.
He looked up.
Seraphina walked through the mud. Her white robes were stained with soot, but her expression was serene. She walked right past Roger and stopped in front of the massive Paladin.
"Valen," Seraphina said softly. "Look at me."
Valen breathed heavily, his fists slowly unclenching. He looked down at the healer.
"Roger is right," Seraphina said, her voice cutting through the noise of the burning island.
"Do you have no trust that our Captain will go out victorious?"
"It's not about trust," Valen's voice broke, losing its anger. "He's... he carries too much. He always fights the monsters alone. I just... I don't want to carry his body home again."
Valen's legs gave out.
The exhaustion, the slaughter, the fear—it all caught up to him. He slumped to the muddy ground, his armor clanking heavily. He put his head in his hands.
"I'm the Shield," Valen whispered into his palms. "I'm supposed to take the hits."
Seraphina knelt in the mud. She didn't cast a spell.
She wrapped her arms around the armored giant and hugged him.
It was an awkward hug—cloth against cold steel—but it was solid.
"You protect him by trusting him," Seraphina whispered into his ear. "He isn't fighting alone because he has to. He's fighting alone because he knows we are safe."
She pulled back, looking him in the eyes.
"So let's wait for him. Okay? Let's believe in the monster we chose to follow."
Valen looked at the burning keep. He looked at Roger, who gave him a stiff, awkward nod. He looked at Titan, who was giving him a thumbs up.
Valen let out a long, shaky breath. He nodded.
"Okay," Valen whispered. "We wait."
Part 3: The Cage Match
[Time: 10 Minutes Earlier]
[Location: The Throne Room, Burning Keep]
The massive oak doors slammed shut, cutting off the sunlight.
The only light in the Great Hall came from the fire eating the ceiling beams and the red aura exploding from Warlord Thorne.
Elian stood in the center of the hall. He rolled his neck, cracking the tension.
Opposite him, Thorne looked like a demon. His Halberd scraped the stone floor, creating sparks.
"No Phalanx," Thorne growled, his voice vibrating in Elian's chest. "No healers. No running."
Thorne stepped forward. The sheer pressure of his Level 45 aura cracked the floor tiles.
"Do you know why they call me the Warlord, boy?"
Elian drew Winter's Eclipse. The blade hummed, a note of pure ice cutting through the heat.
"Because you talk too much?" Elian asked.
Thorne roared.
He didn't charge. He exploded.
[Skill: Cataclysmic Lunge]
Thorne crossed the fifty feet between them in a single heartbeat. The Halberd came down like a guillotine.
It was too fast to dodge.
Elian didn't try.
He raised his sword, not to block, but to guide.
[Parry: Glancing Flow]
CLANG.
Metal screamed.
Elian angled his blade perfectly. Thorne's Halberd slid down the length of Winter's Eclipse, sparks showering Elian's face. The force of the blow was redirected into the floor beside Elian.
BOOM.
The stone exploded. Elian was thrown sideways by the shockwave, skidding across the hall.
"Heavy," Elian grinned, blood trickling from his nose. "I like it."
Part 4: The Orchestra of Violence
"Die!"
Thorne spun the Halberd.
Whirlwind.
The weapon became a blur of red steel. Thorne advanced, turning the room into a meat grinder.
Elian moved like smoke.
He ducked under a horizontal slash that decapitated a stone statue behind him.
He jumped over a low sweep that shattered a pillar.
He wall-ran up the side of the room, dodging a vertical smash that obliterated a table.
It was a symphony of destruction.
Thrum. Smash. Crack.
Thorne was the percussion—heavy, relentless, overwhelming.
Elian was the strings—fast, sharp, frantic.
"Stand still!" Thorne screamed, tearing a burning tapestry from the wall as he swung.
Elian landed on a chandelier. Thorne smashed the chain holding it.
As the chandelier fell, Elian kicked off it mid-air.
[Skill: Aerial Ace]
He dove at Thorne.
Thorne raised his arm to block.
Slash.
Elian's sword bit into Thorne's vambrace, carving a deep gash in the metal.
[-150 HP]
"You are annoying!" Thorne backhanded the air.
Elian twisted, but the wind pressure alone knocked him back.
He landed on his feet, sliding backwards, his boots carving grooves in the stone.
Part 5: The King's Rage
Thorne looked at the scratch on his arm.
He stopped swinging. He stood still.
The red aura around him condensed. It turned darker. Denser.
"I am done playing tag," Thorne whispered.
He stabbed the Halberd into the ground.
[Domain Expansion: The Iron Maiden]
Spikes of red iron erupted from the floor, walls, and ceiling.
The room became a deadly obstacle course. The space to dodge vanished.
Elian was trapped in a forest of blades.
Thorne grinned. He ripped his Halberd from the floor.
"Now," Thorne said, walking forward, ignoring the spikes that parted for him. "Where will you run?"
Elian looked around. He was boxed in.
Thorne charged.
This time, there was no room to backflip. No room to wall-run.
It was a stat check. Power vs. Power.
Thorne swung. A massive overhead smash meant to split Elian in two.
Elian didn't move. He closed his eyes.
He took a breath.
[Awakened Skill: Monarch of Seconds]
[Activation.]
The world turned grey.
Thorne's roar slowed to a deep drone. The fire stopped flickering. The Halberd hung in the air, inching downward.
Elian opened his eyes. They were silver.
He saw the trajectory. He saw the flaw. He saw the path through the spikes.
"I don't need to run," Elian whispered in the frozen time.
He stepped into the swing.
Inside the guard.
Inside the danger zone.
Time snapped back.
CRASH.
The Halberd hit the floor where Elian had been standing a millisecond ago.
But Elian was already inside Thorne's personal space.
Chest to chest.
Elian reversed his grip on Winter's Eclipse.
[Sword Saint Art: Point Blank]
SHINK.
He drove the sword directly into the gap of Thorne's neck armor.
Blood sprayed against the firelight.
"Argh!" Thorne staggered back, dropping his weapon to clutch his throat.
[-4,500 HP (Critical)]
Elian landed in a crouch, his silver eyes fading back to hazel. He was panting, sweat dripping from his chin.
"That," Elian said, pointing his sword at the staggering Warlord, "Is why I'm the Captain."