Karlon retreated.
He twisted away, desperate to save Kavisli before the relentless grind shattered it.
Arion refused to let the momentum die.
He hurled the disc again—maintaining pressure, the edge bouncing off the curved blade and forcing it out of rhythm, then snapping back into his grip mid-arc.
Strike after strike followed. A merciless barrage. Each collision bit deeper, chips flaking from Kavisli’s edge like sparks from a whetstone.
He wasn’t sure why, but the roaring disc was somehow much more dangerous and powerful this time—its heat amplified, its spin carrying a vicious pull of its own
Karlon’s exhilaration had curdled into raw fury.
He lunged backward—then exploded forward again, rage propelling a vicious overhead swing.
Arion converted the spinning disc into a shield an instant before—
CLANG—KTZZ!
His arm howled. Bone jarred, muscle tore, pain lancing white-hot up to his shoulder.
The blade ricocheted off the disc’s spin, flung wide. Arion seized the opening—driving the disc along Karlon’s chest. Scales ground and split, fracturing in a wet crunch.
A guttural roar ripped from Karlon—half agony, half adrenaline-fueled defiance.
He slammed a foot into the mud, earth cracking under the force, then launched himself forward. Kavisli’s tip met the rotating disc, sparks erupting as he angled it just enough to punch through Arion’s guard and pierce his shoulder.
Arion’s teeth locked together. Pain receptors screamed, flooding his mind like an accusation.
He staggered back. They both did—breath ragged, blood mixing with rain in dark rivulets. A heartbeat of terrible stillness between two dying men.
Arion’s arm hung limp, useless, blood soaking his sleeve in seconds.
Karlon lifted Kavisli to his mouth. Tongue dragged across the edge—tasting Arion’s blood.
His scales purred, red hues flaring brighter. “Your blood… I’ve never tasted anything like it.”
Arion drew ragged breaths, watching the Drakin laugh—low, sinister, the laugh of a predator toying with prey already bleeding out.
His vision flickered at the edges—exhaustion, blood loss, something colder threading through his chest like frost in his veins.
Rain hammered down harder, each drop stinging open wounds, soaking through torn cloth, turning the mud into a sucking mire.
He had almost nothing left—and Karlon could smell it, the way sharks scent blood in the water.
“Now, let’s move to the main course—” Karlon’s words choked off. Blood bubbled up instead.
He raised a hand to his mouth, coughing twice. Crimson coated his palm—his own.
Arion let out a raw chuckle, the sound wet and ragged.
The Heat Coil…
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His eyes narrowed.
The disc’s friction had flash-heated Karlon’s scales. Splinters of superheated material had driven inward, shredding organs from the inside.
Karlon exhaled a trembling breath. “You’ve done me more damage than I expected. Far more. You’ve exceeded every expectation I had—and then some.”
His teeth flashed in a blood-smeared grin. “But no matter. When our dance ends, I’ll find that local healer bitch.”
He licked his lips. “The blonde siren. She’ll refuse at first… but the kids will be reason enough. She’ll heal me back to my prime, murderous shape. Fuck—even better. She can join us.”
Something dangerous flickered behind his eyes. “She won’t have a choice.”
Arion barked a laugh—painful, disbelieving. “Talk about a ladies’ man. They must love you.”
Karlon stroked Kavisli’s edge. “They never needed to.” A deep, wet chortle escaped him.
Arion’s expression hardened. “I seem to have lost my motivation. And my appetite. Let’s finish this and send you to join your friends.”
“Ah~ I’ll miss our short-lived friendship. But don’t worry—I’ll give you a proper cremation. And I’ll make sure your remains go to whoever you disappointed today.”
They locked eyes.
Rain poured in sheets. Each drop landed like a drumbeat on taut nerves.
Thunder rolled overhead, a low, crawling growl that vibrated through the mud and up their spines.
The ground sucked at Arion’s boots. His fingers twitched—cold, overburned, Vitalis flickering like a candle in wind.
For a single heartbeat, neither moved.
Then lightning split the sky.
Arion surged forward.
The Heat Coil spun faster, devouring raindrops as it went.
Karlon’s head dipped—feigning pain.
Except he was grinning.
His hidden hand pulsed with Vitalis.
The instant Arion entered range—
“SURPRISE!”
Karlon’s arm snapped up. Flames roared to life in his palm.
“Fire—”
TWANG!
A crossbow bolt punched through his shoulder from behind. He lurched forward, shock widening his eyes.
“GRA! Bastard!—” He spun, spotting the children.
Three small figures clutched a bandit’s crossbow. Hands shaking as they fumbled to reload.
No…
Karlon’s blade rose.
Something arose, coming deep within Arion.
The only thing that came to him at that moment was Oline, the last time he’d seen her.
“Run!” Arion roared, charging recklessly straight at the Drakin.
Without hesitation he hurled the disc.
KTZZ!
It carved through mud and water, curving viciously toward Karlon.
Karlon snapped his focus back. A scaled arm rose to shield—scales grinding as the Heat Coil bit in, shoving him backward through the mire.
In his peripheral vision he saw Arion closing.
“Suicide!” he snarled.
Kavisli lifted in his other hand—then slammed down with killing force.
THONK!
Recall flew back into Arion’s palm at the last instant. Barely caught the descending edge.
His body shuddered. Pain lanced through every nerve.
Breath hitched.
Ribs felt like cracked stone.
Vitalis burn was creeping in—muscles seizing, vision tunnelling.
No more options.
He seized the spinning disc bare-handed. Blood slicked the rim, slicing his palm open as he forced it deeper. With a snarl he shoved—grinding through scale and muscle.
Karlon roared in agony. He reversed Kavisli, serrated edge flashing, then brought it down with all his remaining strength.
Recall intercepted—barely.
The teeth carved from shoulder toward spine, locking them together in a grotesque weld of flesh and steel.
“Gahhhh—!”
Arion screamed. Refused to release.
Pure adrenaline-fueled rage drove him. He forced the disc further—grinding through arm, biting into chest. Blood sprayed in hot arcs as it tore through defences, straight into vital meat.
The disc spun its final rotation. Heat evaporated the mist of blood it flung outward.
Silence engulfed the clash.
Only the patter of rain on ruined flesh and the faint crackle of cooling metal rang out.
Karlon’s chest rose once—shallow—then stilled. Arion felt the warmth of that last breath along his soaked, heat-sapped body.
Stillness.
Then nothing. Not even a grunt. Just the hiss of rain on hot blood and cooling steel.
Karlon’s grip slackened. His body gave. He slumped backward—limp—splashing into mud and pooling crimson. Chest shattered. Carved open.
Arion remained upright.
A moment longer.
Then adrenaline ebbed. Pain returned like a tidal wave.
His body screamed.
Hand torn.
Chest sliced open. Shoulder dead.
Kavisli still bit deep into his back and shoulder.
Legs buckled. Strength bled out as fast as warmth from his veins. Rain swallowed his silhouette, washing blood from his face as darkness crept in from every edge.
Barely conscious, Arion collapsed.
Half his body numb, raindrops glided down skin, crawling into wounds that pulsed with raw ache—nerves sparking like live wires in water.
He lay there.
The last thing he saw was the blur of small figures running toward him through the rain.
Their voices reached him as static.
He couldn’t even smile.
Just rain.
Quiet.
And finally… rest.
…
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