The battlefield was unrecognizable.
The plains of had become a grave of molten soil and shattered armor, an ocean of smoke illuminated by dying embers. The air was heavy with ash and the stench of burnt mana; every breath came with the taste of iron.
The Northern banners barely fluttered now, their colors blackened and torn. The Central-Southern standards hung no better, pierced by broken spears and half-buried under corpses.
And in that wasteland—two figures advanced toward each other.
---
Noah Ashbourne's coat fluttered behind him, draped loosely over his shoulders. His black spear gleamed faintly, jagged where the edge had been reforged too many times. His boots crunched over the corpses of friend and foe alike.
Across from him, Draven marched through the smoke like a knight sculpted from light and blood. His blade was broad, its edges dripping faint streaks of crimson energy that hissed as they touched the air. The Holy Knight's armor—once white—was stained a dull red. His eyes were steady, unblinking.
They didn't speak.
Words had no place here anymore.
Their armies had fallen silent, watching from the fringes. Men leaned on shattered weapons, half-dead, unable to move. The wind howled through broken banners.
And then—both of them vanished.
---
The world cracked.
Sparks burst into existence where their weapons met, spear and blade colliding in a blinding flash that ripped through the smoke. The shockwave threw dirt and bodies aside, flattening the nearest tents.
Draven twisted, forcing the clash wide, his sword dragging Noah's spear down toward the ground. Noah slid his foot back, parried with a flick of his wrist, and drove the spear's butt toward Draven's ribs.
The knight blocked it with the flat of his blade, turned his wrist, and aimed for Noah's throat.
A narrow miss.
The spear spun, cutting through the air like a serpent, grazing Draven's cheek and drawing blood.
Noah lunged.
The spear extended with a surge of mana, its edge splitting the ground as it tore forward. Draven ducked, dragging his sword across the soil in a wide arc. Sparks showered as steel met steel again, the impact sending ripples of energy through the ground.
They both leapt back, almost in sync.
Noah's blazer whipped in the wind; Draven's cape was in tatters. Between them, the air shimmered—distorted by mana so dense it made the light bend.
They charged again.
---
Draven moved first this time, sprinting forward, sword dragging behind him. The moment Noah lowered his spear to block, Draven vanished in a flash of divine energy—appearing above him, bringing his blade down like a hammer.
Noah crossed his spear overhead. The impact drove him to one knee, the earth beneath them fracturing like glass.
He gritted his teeth, pushing back, twisting the spear so the blade caught Draven's in a hook. With a sharp motion, he wrenched the sword aside and countered—thrusting upward toward Draven's chest.
But the knight twisted midair, landing lightly a few feet away.
They both blurred again.
To the soldiers watching, it was impossible to follow. Only flashes of movement, bursts of mana, and the sound of thunder each time their weapons collided.
Draven struck downward—Noah spun to the side, his spear tracing a crescent through the air. He caught Draven's sword along the shaft, slid it aside, and jabbed toward the knight's neck.
Draven leaned back, the spear grazing his jaw. He countered with a low sweep, slicing at Noah's legs.
Noah vaulted over the blade, flipped midair, and brought the spear down in a two-handed strike.
Clang!
The clash shook the ground.
---
Draven slid back several paces, boots tearing trenches into the dirt.
Noah didn't reply. He simply lowered his stance, one hand gripping the center of his spear, the other near the butt. His eyes burned faintly blue.
Then he vanished again.
Draven raised his sword to block—too late. A burst of mana exploded behind him as Noah reappeared, spear spinning in a blur. The first strike grazed his shoulder; the second slammed into his armor, denting the metal.
Draven retaliated instantly, his sword glowing red as he channeled his blood magic. A ring of crimson light expanded from his feet, slicing through the ground.
Noah was forced to leap back as crimson spikes erupted where he'd stood, spearing through corpses and rocks alike.
The knight raised his blade skyward. Blood from the fallen around him began to rise—thin threads of scarlet twisting through the air, drawn into the sword's edge.
> "For every knight you've taken…" Draven whispered. "…you'll bleed for each one."
Noah's grip tightened.
He dashed forward again, the ground exploding under his feet. Draven swung.
The world became noise.
Their strikes blurred into one endless sequence—spear thrusts meeting blade arcs, every clash shattering the air with thunderous cracks. Noah's precision was mechanical, every motion honed, deliberate, merciless. Draven's strikes were raw, divine, driven by faith and fury.
Sparks rained down. The earth broke beneath them, fissures of light spreading across the battlefield.
They circled each other—silent, breathing hard.
Noah spun his spear, flicking blood off the tip.
Draven's eyes narrowed as he spoke.
"You could've stopped this..."
Then they moved again.
Draven feinted left, then appeared behind Noah, his blade tracing a crimson arc. Noah ducked low, planted his spear, and used it to vault upward, kicking off Draven's back before landing behind him.
Without turning, Draven stabbed backward. Noah sidestepped, deflecting the strike with a twist of his weapon, and countered with a strike aimed at Draven's throat.
Draven caught the spear's shaft between his palms, blood running down his fingers as he forced it aside.
Noah's foot lashed out, slamming into Draven's chest. The knight staggered, but his grip never loosened. He yanked the spear forward, pulling Noah closer, and their foreheads collided with a dull crack.
Both stumbled back, dazed. Then both smiled.
They charged again.
The impact this time split the ground entirely, sending a ring of dirt and debris spiraling outward. Around them, soldiers were thrown off their feet—those still conscious watched in disbelief as the two figures blurred again and again, light and shadow colliding in a rhythm that seemed endless.
---
Noah's spear whirled like a storm, each motion swift, controlled, elegant.
Draven's sword carved through air, heavy, deliberate, divine.
Their movements told stories—of belief, of betrayal, of years buried beneath duty and guilt.
Draven parried a low strike, pivoted, and drove his sword downward. Noah caught the blade between the prongs of his spear, twisted, and slammed his elbow into Draven's jaw.
Blood sprayed.
Draven grunted, but retaliated instantly, slamming his armored knee into Noah's ribs.
Pain flashed white behind Noah's eyes—but he didn't falter. He stepped forward, twisting his spear around Draven's sword, locking the two weapons together in a spiral of metal.
They stood locked like that—chests heaving, faces inches apart, mana crackling between them like fire.
Then, without warning—both released their weapons, letting them fall, and threw their fists forward simultaneously.
Their punches collided with the force of an explosion.
A blinding flash erupted.
When the light cleared, they had both reclaimed their weapons, already moving again.
Steel met steel, light met shadow. Sparks rained, thunder roared, and time seemed to bend around them.
The soldiers could only watch as they both tore the battlefield apart...neither yielding.
The wind howled across the plains. The ground burned beneath them.