Blood dripped from Aldric's fingers.
It didn't fall.
The crushed heart had painted the ground beneath him crimson—and that blood…
It **answered**.
The splatter on the stone surged upward in a violent pull, crimson streams snapping back into his grasp as if reality itself had reversed. Blood wrapped around his fingers, compressing, hardening—bone forming a dense core, mana crystallizing along its edges—
Until the blood **took shape**.
A weapon formed in his grip.
A **poleaxe**.
Long.
Brutal.
Bladed on one side, hooked on the other, its surface pulsing faintly, as though alive.
Aldric rolled his wrist once, testing the weight.
Satisfied.
Elliren did not hesitate.
He stepped forward to meet him, sword rising smoothly into guard, expression cold and absolute. No anger. No fear.
Only resolve.
He moved the instant the weapon finished forming—blade flashing as the air warped subtly around the strike. His sword came in low and fast, aimed to sever Aldric's lead leg and collapse his stance before the poleaxe could come fully into play.
Aldric met him head-on.
No retreat.
No hesitation.
The poleaxe swung up in a savage arc.
Steel met blood-forged metal—
**BOOM.**
The impact detonated like a cannon blast. A shockwave ripped outward, tearing up stone and hurling bodies aside as rain vaporized in a ring around them.
Elliren slid back three steps, boots carving deep lines into the ground, arms ringing from the force.
Aldric gave him no space.
He surged forward, wings snapping once to propel him ahead, the poleaxe crashing down in a brutal overhead chop meant to split Elliren in half.
Elliren twisted, blade sliding along the haft, redirecting just enough to avoid being crushed—then countered, sword flickering through a folded angle that should not have existed.
The cut landed.
A clean line opened across Aldric's ribs.
Blood sprayed—
—and instantly flowed back, sealing the wound mid-motion.
Aldric laughed, breathless and sharp.
"There you are," he snarled. "The annoying one."
He hooked the rear blade of the poleaxe around Elliren's sword and yanked hard, trying to tear it from his grip. Elliren released at the last instant, stepping *through* the pull, reappearing at Aldric's flank as space snapped violently back into place.
His sword reformed in his hand as he struck again—throat, shoulder, spine—
Aldric twisted impossibly, letting the blade scrape instead of bite, then drove the poleaxe's shaft forward like a spear.
Elliren barely got his guard up.
The blow slammed into him, launching him backward. Armor cracked as he skidded across the ruined courtyard, stone shattering beneath him.
Aldric advanced relentlessly, boots crushing broken ground, wings half-spread as his shadow loomed large.
"You lost one," he said, voice low, almost conversational.
"Another won't take long."
Elliren rolled to his feet, blood running down his temple, sword raised once more.
His eyes were cold.
Focused.
"Come," he said quietly.
Aldric grinned.
And the two collided again—blade and poleaxe screaming as air warped and blood roared, the rain falling harder as if the sky itself sensed what was coming.
This wasn't a clash anymore.
It was a **duel**.
And only one of them was meant to walk away.
---
Steel shrieked as Elliren and Aldric tore into each other again—blade and poleaxe colliding in savage, bone-rattling exchanges. Space warped, blood sprayed, and the ground cracked beneath their feet with every impact.
Behind them—
Lucan knelt.
Carvon lay still in his arms, rain washing crimson from the edges of the wound that had taken his heart. The hole in his chest was brutal. Final. No fire cauterized this one. No miracle waited.
Lucan's breath hitched.
"…Uncle," he whispered, voice trembling despite himself.
His jaw clenched so hard it ached.
Carefully—almost reverently—he lowered Carvon's body to the ground, easing him onto shattered stone as if roughness might still matter. For a heartbeat, Lucan stayed there, head bowed, rain streaking down his face.
Then his hand closed around his sword.
He stood.
The moment his feet set—
**holy fire erupted**.
Not explosive.
Not wild.
It poured out of him in a dense, roaring mantle, white-gold flames crawling across his armor and blade. The heat was so intense the rain **ceased to exist** within several meters of him. Steam rolled outward in violent waves, the air screaming as it was forced aside.
Lucan took one step forward.
His eyes burned—not with grief now—
But with **absolute resolve**.
Aldric felt it.
He slammed Elliren away with a brutal backhand strike from the poleaxe, sending him skidding hard across the courtyard. Stone shattered where Elliren landed—but Aldric didn't follow.
His head turned slowly.
He stared at Lucan.
"…You can still use that?" Aldric muttered, irritation threading through his voice.
"I thought you'd run out of juice."
His grip tightened on the poleaxe.
"Tch. Bastard."
Lucan didn't answer.
He **vanished**.
The holy fire didn't trail behind him.
It collapsed inward—
And then **reappeared directly in front of Aldric**, blade already descending in a vertical arc of blinding white-gold judgment.
The strike fell like a collapsing sun.
Aldric reacted on instinct alone.
He twisted and swung—
The poleaxe met the flaming blade at an angle, knocking it violently aside as sparks, blood, and holy fire detonated outward in a deafening blast. The impact drove Aldric half a step back, boots carving trenches into stone.
Lucan was already moving.
He pivoted with the deflection, fire surging higher as he pressed in, sword flashing again—low, then high, then straight for Aldric's throat—each strike carrying **condensed, merciless heat** meant to burn through regeneration itself.
Aldric snarled as he backpedaled, blood boiling off his weapon where it touched the flames.
"So you really want to die," Aldric growled.
Lucan's reply was cold and steady, eyes never leaving him.
"No," he said.
"I want you to pay with your life."
Holy fire roared louder.
And the battlefield answered—because this wasn't grief anymore.
This was **retribution**.
---
Their weapons clashed in a blinding storm.
Lucan came at Aldric without pause—every strike wreathed in roaring holy fire, each one aimed to burn, sever, and **end**. Aldric met them all, poleaxe moving in tight, brutal arcs as he blocked and deflected with ruthless precision, sparks and blood spraying with every impact.
Aldric struck back just as viciously.
The hooked blade ripped toward Lucan's neck—deflected.
A sweeping cut aimed at his legs—evaded in a burst of steam.
A thrust meant to pierce his chest—caught on Lucan's sword and forced aside.
Then Lucan stepped in.
He put everything into a single blow.
The holy fire **compressed**.
The blade came down—
—and when Aldric blocked, the force was catastrophic.
**BOOM.**
The impact detonated like a thunderclap. The ground beneath Aldric shattered outward as he was **hurled backward**, body rocketing through the air and vanishing into the dark treeline at the forest's edge.
But—
There was no crash.
No splintering wood.
No snapping branches.
Just—
Silence.
The air itself seemed to **pause**.
Elliren's eyes went wide.
"…No," he breathed.
He turned sharply toward the forest, dread coiling in his gut.
"He didn't—"
Lucan felt it too.
That sudden absence.
That wrong, empty stillness where a body *should* have torn through trees and stone.
Aldric hadn't been thrown.
He'd **allowed it**.
Elliren shouted, already moving.
"DON'T LET HIM—!"
Too late.
It was already over.
The forest remained still.
The darkness beyond the trees stirred—not with movement, but with **intent**.
Aldric hadn't crashed.
He'd slipped away.
No ripple of mana.
No echo of blood.
No pressure to chase.
Just rain falling through empty branches.
Elliren stood frozen for a heartbeat longer, sword half-raised, eyes searching the treeline for something—*anything*—to lock onto.
There was nothing.
"…Damn it," he breathed.
Lucan stepped to his side, holy fire finally beginning to gutter, thinning as exhaustion caught up with him. His gaze stayed fixed on the darkness where Aldric had vanished.
"He's gone," Lucan said quietly.
Not anger.
Not disbelief.
Acceptance.
The kind that sat heavy in the chest.
The courtyard felt wrong without Aldric's pressure—too quiet, too open, as if something vast had slipped its leash. Rain soaked into scorched stone, washing blood into cracks and carrying away what little remained of the battle.
Elliren lowered his sword slowly.
"He let himself be thrown," he said grimly. "Used the momentum to disengage."
Lucan nodded once.
"And he'll remember this," he added, jaw tightening. "Every strike. Every weakness."
They both looked back toward the crater—toward the burned remnant now reduced to cooling stone and dying light.
Carvon's body lay where Lucan had left it.
Still.
Silent.
Elliren exhaled sharply and turned away.
"Get the wounded out," he ordered, voice hardening. "We regroup. We fortify."
Lucan didn't move right away.
His eyes lingered on the forest.
Somewhere far beyond it—
Aldric was still alive.
And the war hadn't ended.
It had only **changed shape**.