The prayer **finished**.
Not with light descending from the heavens—
—but with **Cedric himself becoming the conduit**.
Lightning screamed.
No longer wild or erratic, it **aligned**—tight, refined, laced with holy authority. Pale-gold arcs wrapped around Cedric's body like burning scripture, crawling over his armor, along the length of his blade, and **into his wounds**, cauterizing torn flesh even as blood continued to pour.
Cedric stepped forward.
The ground **split** beneath his foot.
Draven felt it instantly.
Not pressure—
**Judgment**.
*…So that's how it is,* he thought, shadows tightening instinctively around him.
*You're not borrowing power like I assumed. You're letting it wear you.*
Cedric moved.
He didn't vanish.
He **erased distance**.
The first strike fell like a guillotine—steel and lightning fused into a single, merciless line. Draven barely twisted aside as the blade **sheared through his shoulder**, shadow and flesh splitting together. Blood sprayed in a dark arc, splattering across the shattered ground.
Draven hissed, teeth flashing, and **countered immediately**, one blade carving across Cedric's ribs—
—but it didn't bite deep.
Holy lightning flared, **burning the blade away**, scorching Draven's arm down to the bone. The smell of charred flesh filled the void.
Draven *laughed* through the pain.
"Yeah, bastard—" he breathed, eyes wild, feral delight bleeding through, "—that's more like it."
They crashed together again.
Steel screamed.
Lightning howled.
Shadow tore.
Cedric drove forward relentlessly now—every strike **precise**, **disciplined**, without wasted motion. Draven was forced back step by step, boots skidding through blood and shattered stone, shadows peeling from his body in tatters as lightning burned them away.
A downward slash—
Draven ducked.
Cedric reversed the swing instantly and **drove his knee into Draven's ribs**.
**CRACK.**
Bone gave way. Air blasted from Draven's lungs as he was hurled sideways, rolling through scattered corpses and debris. He came up on one knee, coughing blood—
—and Cedric was already there.
A lightning-charged fist **smashed into Draven's face**.
Teeth snapped.
Blood exploded.
Draven's head whipped sideways—but his blade was already moving.
He *let* the punch land.
And in that instant—
his other dagger slid **under Cedric's guard** and punched deep into his thigh.
Cedric roared as shadow flooded the wound, **eating lightning**, blood spraying hot and bright. Draven twisted the blade viciously before ripping it free, tearing muscle apart.
Cedric staggered—
but he didn't fall.
Instead, he grabbed Draven by the shoulder and **headbutted him**.
Bone met bone.
Both reeled.
Blood streamed freely now—Draven's face split and bleeding, Cedric's thigh gushing, his impaled hand still ruined and trembling. Steam rose from their bodies as lightning and shadow hissed against each other.
They stood a breath apart.
Panting.
Staring.
Cedric raised his blade again.
"O Goddess of Light," he growled, voice hoarse but unbroken, "bear witness—"
Draven moved.
Not fast.
**Perfect.**
He stepped *inside* the prayer.
Inside the rhythm.
Cedric's chant shattered as Draven's blade **opened his casting shoulder**, severing muscle and ligament. Blood sprayed across Cedric's face as lightning flickered violently, destabilized.
Cedric screamed—
—and Draven slammed his elbow into Cedric's throat.
The sound was wet.
Cedric collapsed to one knee, choking, lightning spasming wildly as divine power tore at his body from the inside. Blood poured from his mouth, splattering across the ground.
Draven loomed over him, chest heaving, shadows coiled tight and sharp, both blades dripping.
"You're strong," Draven admitted, voice low, almost respectful. "Fast, too. Skilled."
He leaned in, pressing one blade beneath Cedric's jaw, forcing his face upward.
"But you made one mistake."
Cedric coughed blood, eyes still burning with hatred.
"You believed that judgment lightning of yours makes you untouchable."
Draven's grin split wide—
**unhinged**.
Feral.
"But I don't give a shit about any that," he said coldly. "I was only planning to end this quickly—strike for strike."
The blade **drove in**.
Not to kill.
**To cripple**.
Cedric screamed as steel tore through his shoulder, pinning him to the ground. Blood flooded the darkness beneath him as lightning convulsed violently—then **flickered**, unstable, turning inward and tearing at his own flesh as divine power began to consume what remained of him.
Draven stepped back, watching without emotion.
Blood dripped from his chin.
From his hands.
From his blades.
His own wounds were already **knitting together**, flesh crawling back into place beneath the shadows.
"You're not dead," Draven said calmly. "Not yet."
Shadows thickened around Cedric's broken form.
"But you're done fighting."
The darkness closed in—heavy, absolute.
And somewhere within it, Cedric finally understood the truth.
This wasn't a battle for victory.
It was survival.
And he was losing.
Cedric barely had time to **register the movement**.
Draven vanished.
Not into shadow—
**through it**.
The fist came first.
No flourish.
No warning.
It **smashed** into Cedric's face with the full weight of Draven's body behind it.
**CRACK.**
Bone shattered. Teeth and blood sprayed into the darkness as Cedric's body was **launched** backward like a discarded doll, lightning exploding wildly from him as he tumbled through the air. He didn't scream—his breath was torn from his lungs before sound could form.
Before he could hit the ground—
Draven was already there.
A blur of shadow **appeared beside him mid-flight**, boots touching down a heartbeat before Cedric's body slammed into the earth.
Draven's arm was already cocked.
The second punch **drove downward**.
**BOOM.**
Cedric's head was **hammered into the ground**, stone and earth erupting outward in a violent crater. The impact sent a shockwave rippling through the corpses littering the battlefield, armor clattering as bodies bounced.
Cedric's vision went white.
Then red.
Then nothing.
For a split second, his body spasmed—lightning flaring weakly, erratically—before sputtering like a dying flame. Blood pooled rapidly beneath his head, soaking into cracked stone and mud.
Draven stood over him, fist still buried in the crater, knuckles split and bleeding.
He slowly straightened.
Breathing heavy.
Chest rising and falling hard.
"Every time," Draven muttered, voice rough, shaking faintly—not from fear, but from **held-back violence**. "Every damn time you bastards think power makes you untouchable."
He reached down, grabbing Cedric by the front of his armor, **lifting him one-handed** despite the blood and broken limbs. Cedric's body hung limp, head lolling, face ruined beyond recognition.
Lightning tried to spark again.
Draven's grip tightened.
The shadows **clamped down**.
The sparks died instantly.
Draven pulled Cedric close, their foreheads nearly touching. His crimson eye burned with cold clarity now—no madness left, only resolve.
"Don't hope for mercy. You don't get that," he said quietly. "I'm so damn pissed."
He drew his fist back once more—
Not to kill.
To **make sure**.
The darkness surged.
Cedric's body convulsed violently as Draven's final blow came down, the sound echoing like a thunderclap swallowed by shadow.
Blood splashed.
Bone crunched.
The ground split further.
When the dust settled, Cedric lay broken in the crater, breathing shallow—barely alive.
Draven stepped back, shadows peeling off him slowly.
"Stay alive. I ain't done yet," he said flatly, turning away. "You still owe me."
The darkness shifted around them, heavy and watchful.
And for the first time since the fight began—
Cedric didn't move.