The battlefield was no longer a city.
It was a scar — a wasteland carved by force and fury.
Once-towering buildings now lie broken, half-buried under their own shadows. Flames slithered through the ruins, licking at the edges of shattered steel. The earth itself trembled, still trying to recover from the last exchange.
In the center of it all, two figures stood — motionless for only a heartbeat — before the world exploded again.
David moved first.
A crimson blur flashed through the oppressive haze, sharp and precise, as if it were a comet streaking across a stormy sky.
The twin blades he wielded glimmered with an intense heat, warping the very air around him—light twisted and danced, while swirling dust ignited into ephemeral sparks that floated upwards like fireflies.
Each movement he made was imbued with purpose; gone was the wild desperation of earlier, replaced instead by an aura of calculated violence that sent a shiver through the air.
The Rook confronted him with a thunderous roar that resonated like a low, menacing growl across the desolate wasteland.
Its massive form towered menacingly, with bone plates shifting along its armored frame, seamlessly locking into place to form an impenetrable barrier.
Each of its thunderous steps fractured the ground beneath, sending shards of earth flying. With every swing of its colossal arm, the remnants of crumbling walls shattered into dust and debris, sending echoes of destruction rippling through the remnants of a once-great civilization.
They collided, and the sound was cataclysmic.
The shockwave rippled outward, flattening a line of ruined buildings, sending fire and dust spiraling into the clouds. For a moment, the world vanished in white light.
When the haze cleared, David was already moving again — circling, cutting, never still. He struck from impossible angles, his body twisting through the Rook's reach. Sparks rained as his blades met bone, carving deep grooves into its armor.
The Rook retaliated with monstrous strength, tearing through debris and hurling slabs of stone that could crush tanks. But David was faster — impossibly so. Each near-miss came within inches, each dodge a dance on the edge of death.
This was no longer a defense.
This was control.
His blades sang through the air — one strike after another, each glowing arc leaving trails of molten red light that faded into smoke. The Rook staggered under the assault, bone armor splintering, molten lines searing across its hide.
Still, it didn't fall.
The beast adapted, just as David had. It lunged with reckless fury, slamming its massive arm down hard enough to crater the ground, the shockwave throwing David back. He hit the earth hard, rolling to his feet, his breath ragged but steady.
The fight resumed.
They clashed again and again, and the battlefield withered beneath them. Streets caved in. Flames danced across the crumbling skyline. Entire sections of the city vanished into smoke. The earth itself seemed to recoil from their struggle.
And yet — despite the destruction — none of it reached beyond the invisible boundary David had set. Every strike, every blast, every tremor stayed contained within that ruin. It was no coincidence. He was holding it there, forcing the chaos inward, ensuring that no one else would be caught in the storm.
It was power bound by will — and it was killing him.
Minutes stretched into what felt like hours. The battle raged until even the wind seemed afraid to move. Then, finally, both combatants broke apart, standing amid the haze and ruin.
The Rook was a ruin of its former self.
Deep crimson cuts marred its body — long, molten wounds that still hissed and smoked. Its bone plating, once impenetrable, now hung in fragments. Thick, tar-black blood dripped into the ash beneath its feet.
But it still stood.
And across from it, David — motionless, silent. His chest rose and fell with quiet control. His blades hung loose in his hands, edges still glowing with that angry red heat.
At a glance, he looked untouched. But up close, his pale skin betrayed the truth. His breaths came slower now, heavier. Sweat and dust clung to his face, and a faint tremor ran through his left arm each time he exhaled.
Inside, his body screamed.
Bones cracked under the strain, muscles burned with fatigue, and every nerve was raw from the backlash of his own power. But his eyes — those crimson eyes — never wavered.
The two stood there, staring at each other across a plain of ruin.
Then David took a step forward.
The ground quivered. A ripple passed through the air, subtle at first — then growing. The light dimmed, and the temperature seemed to fall. From his body, a dark aura began to bleed out, slow and heavy, like smoke rising from unseen fire.
It wasn't just darkness. It was weight — a pressure that sank into the earth, crushing the silence.
With every step, the world changed. The air twisted. The fire dimmed. The shadows stretched and deepened, moving as if alive. Even the wind refused to blow against him.
The aura clung to him like a living thing, wrapping around his arms, around the glowing blades that trembled in his grip. The heat at their edges deepened — not brighter, but darker, a red that bordered on black.
The Rook hesitated.
Its massive chest heaved. Its single remaining eye flickered between rage and something primal — fear. Every instinct it had screamed to run, to flee from the predator before it.
But pride is a cruel master.
The beast roared once more, the sound echoing across the ruins, shaking what little remained standing. A Rank Three Rook — the apex of its kind — would not retreat before a mere Rank Two human.
David's expression didn't change.
A faint smile crossed his lips. Cold. Measured. Deadly.
"You should've followed your instinct and run," he said, voice low, calm, almost pitying. Then his eyes hardened, crimson flaring like burning coals.
"But it's good you didn't."
He shifted his stance, blades humming with restrained power.
"I don't have to pursue you."
And with that, David surged forward — the ground fracturing beneath his feet as he vanished into the storm once more.