Cedric's mind **snapped into overdrive**.
"No, Can't allow it need to.
*Let go.*
The thought barely formed before his body obeyed. His fingers released the hilt, lightning flaring as he tried to wrench himself backward, instincts screaming retreat.
Too late.
A gloved hand **clamped** around his wrist.
Iron.
Unyielding.
Cedric's breath hitched as the force stopped him cold, his momentum dying instantly. His head snapped up—
—and his gaze locked with Draven's.
Close.
Far too close.
Draven's single crimson eye burned in the darkness, calm and feral all at once. His voice came softly, almost conversational.
"Where the hell do you think you're going?"
The words had barely left his mouth when the world **twisted**.
Draven **turned**.
Not with brute strength—but with perfect timing.
Cedric's body was yanked forward and spun violently as shadows wrapped around his limbs, redirecting his own momentum against him. His feet left the ground, balance obliterated, vision blurring—
—and suddenly his **own sword** was beside his face.
The hilt slammed past his cheek as Draven wrenched it free, the lightning coating it sputtering beneath the grip of shadow.
Cedric's eyes widened.
Too close to react.
Too close to think.
Draven's other blade rose.
Slow.
Deliberate.
The edge hovered a breath from Cedric's throat—close enough for him to feel the cold kiss of steel against his skin, the darkness around it vibrating with restrained violence.
Draven leaned in, his voice low, carrying a crooked edge of madness.
"Pay attention now."
The shadows **tightened**.
Cedric reacted on **pure instinct**.
The instant the blade moved, his hand shot up.
Steel **punched through flesh**.
There was no resistance—no slowing—only a wet, brutal *impact* as Draven's blade pierced straight through Cedric's palm. Blood **exploded outward**, hot and dark, spraying across the shadows and splattering Draven's sleeve.
Cedric screamed.
Not loud.
Not long.
A strangled, raw sound torn from his throat as lightning convulsed violently through his body. His fingers spasmed around empty air, the blade still there—*embedded*—pinning his hand in place, bone cracked, tendons shredded.
Draven didn't flinch.
Didn't blink.
His grip tightened on Cedric's wrist, twisting just enough to make the blade **grind** deeper, metal scraping against bone.
Blood streamed down Cedric's arm in thick rivulets, dripping into the darkness below.
Cedric's face contorted, teeth bared, eyes blazing with pain and fury as he tried to summon lightning—
The shadows **smothered it**.
Draven leaned closer, near enough that Cedric could see the blood splattered across Draven's face reflected in that single crimson eye.
"…Good," Draven said quietly. "That means you're still trying."
Cedric roared.
"**Filthy demon—!**"
Lightning **erupted**.
The blade impaled through his hand blazed white-blue as electricity surged along the metal, crawling up Draven's weapon in a violent backlash. Cedric snarled through the agony and **swung his arm down**, dragging the lightning-charged blade with it in a savage, desperate arc meant to tear Draven in half.
The strike **cleaved the darkness**, a screaming crescent of lightning ripping through shadow and rain alike—
—and hit nothing.
Draven was already gone.
Not retreating.
Not fleeing.
He slid aside like smoke, the slash passing where his head had been a breath earlier. The darkness folded, then settled—
—and Draven was **still there**, close enough that Cedric could feel his breath.
Too close.
Cedric's eyes widened—
A hand **snapped** into his hair.
Iron grip.
No mercy.
Before Cedric could process it, Draven **yanked**—hard—hauling him forward as he leapt at the same time.
The knee came up.
**CRACK.**
It smashed into Cedric's face with brutal precision. Blood **sprayed** into the darkness. Bone groaned. Lightning stuttered. Cedric's roar cut off into a choked gasp as his body buckled under the impact.
Draven didn't let go.
He landed smoothly, still gripping Cedric's hair, forcing him upright—forcing his legs to hold him there.
He twisted Cedric's head slightly, making him face the darkness around them.
The blow left Cedric's vision **burning white**.
His ears rang.
His balance screamed.
Blood poured freely from his mouth and nose, splattering into the void below.
But he **didn't fall**.
With a hoarse snarl, lightning detonated again—wild and jagged—tearing outward from his body as his arm **swung on instinct alone**, a desperate arc meant to catch flesh, anything.
It hit nothing.
Draven was already gone.
The darkness **folded**.
Cedric staggered forward half a step—
—and felt it.
Presence.
Behind him.
Too late to turn.
Draven's hand snapped out—and the dagger **returned**.
It flew from the shadows as if it had always belonged there, spinning once before landing perfectly in Draven's grip without him even looking.
No pause.
No adjustment.
His wrist turned.
The dagger **launched**.
Straight.
Clean.
Merciless.
Cedric felt it before he saw it—the pressure of intent cutting through his dizziness, the whisper of steel parting air. Bleeding, vision blurred, teeth red with blood, he **twisted sharply**, lightning flaring as he brought his arm up at the last instant.
Steel met steel.
**CLANG—!**
The dagger glanced off his blade, sparks and shadow scattering as Cedric forced himself to pivot fully, boots skidding in the mud. His breathing was ragged now, chest heaving, blood dripping freely as he faced Draven again.
Barely standing.
Still fighting.
Draven didn't rush him.
Didn't press immediately.
He straightened slowly, shadows coiling lazily around his legs, crimson eye fixed on Cedric with cold, deliberate focus.
"…Good," Draven said quietly. "You're still conscious."
He took one step forward.
Then another.
"Means you'll remember this part."
The darkness tightened.
And Cedric—dizzy, bleeding, lightning flickering like a dying flame—realized the truth with brutal clarity.
He wasn't buying time.
He was **running out of it**.
Not wide.
Not reckless.
**Surgical.**
One cut severed the tendons at his knee.
The other opened the shoulder he favored for casting.
Cedric stumbled back with a snarl, lightning flaring wild and unstable now, his rhythm shattered.
Draven didn't chase.
He circled.
Shadows crawled along the ground with him, maintaining perfect distance, blades low, posture loose—predatory.
"Still standing," Draven said lightly. "Good."
Cedric straightened with effort, lightning surging again, fury burning through the pain.
"I'll tear you apart," he spat. "Even without an arm—"
Draven's grin returned.
Wide.
Crooked.
Hungry.
"Yeah," he said, shadows tightening, both blades rising as the darkness thickened around them. "That's the spirit."
Lightning and shadow **exploded** toward each other once more—
—two forces colliding again and again in a violent storm of speed, steel, and intent, the darkness itself shuddering as the execution continued.