FSSHHK—
A thin, lethal sound, like silk tearing under pressure.
Valois's blade cut through the space beside my throat, a whisper away from cleaving flesh.
He wasn't warning me. He was aiming for the kill.
Straight for the neck.
Not the shoulder, not the arm—he wasn't playing RPG sparring rules. If that blade connected, I would've lost at least two orbs, if not all of them, and probably consciousness shortly after.
I didn't dodge because I'm some combat genius.
I dodged because instinct screamed in my bones, and my body folded backward on reflex, spine arching like I was ducking under a guillotine.
The blade grazed air.
A flicker of red eyes.
A glint of steel. A smile like an apology that never meant anything.
Valois was already raising his other blade—when—
"RRAAAGHHHH!"
The sound came like thunder cracking through bone. A howl, raw and primal.
The Wulfgarn boy
He flew toward Valois like a comet made of muscle and claw.
No weapons. Just rage, and the intention to tear.
Both arms stretched wide. The werewolf was trying to rip Valois's head straight off. Not metaphorically—literally.
But Valois was already gone.
A blur of motion. A smear of shadows.
The wulfgarn's claws carved through where Valois had stood, but only air answered.
Stone shattered under his feet as he landed, snarling, spinning to locate him.
I was still half-dazed, catching my breath and wondering if that blur had taken some of my soul with it.
"Fast," I muttered. "Too fast."
Valois reappeared ten paces away, crouched like a dancer mid-spin.
His blades gleamed under the blood-red lighting of the arena. He smiled—something cold and clinical.
"I thought vampires were subtle," I muttered, slowly pushing myself up to one knee.
"This one moves like a demon with flair."
Valois flicked his wrist.
Blood—not mine—drew a thin crimson line through the air. Decorative.
"The werewolf," he said, voice light, "lacks grace. The boy, however…"
His eyes pinned me. I froze.
"I like how close I came to peeling your neck open."
Before I could even think of a clever reply—
The Wulfgarn lunged again, this time from the side, claws splayed, mouth open with fangs bared.
CRACK.
He didn't miss the ground this time.
Stone cracked as his feet hit, and his claw swept wide, almost catching Valois mid-turn.
Valois ducked and slid, one foot forward, one blade raised. Steel met claw. Sparks flew.
They collided like old rivals—fur and fang against shadow and steel.
I backed away. Not cowardice. Survival.
One swipe from either of them could end me.
The wulfgarn roared and slammed both fists downward.
Valois backflipped away with impossible elegance, landing on the edge of the shattered arena floor.
Valois looked at me again.
It wasn't admiration.
It was interest. The kind a predator gives prey just before the strike.
He blurred backward, faster than the human eye could follow.
The Wulfgan charged again, and this time I joined the chaos.
My boots slammed into the ground as I propelled myself forward, aiming for the Wulfgarn's flank.
A clean shot could destabilize him—maybe open up an orb. He noticed me too late.
Crack!
My elbow buried into his ribs with every ounce of strength I had.
The force surged through my arm like a piston as his body recoiled sideways.
A low whrrrk! came from the orb on his hip—a dull glow, then a thin crack. Not broken yet. But I'd hit hard enough to damage it.
The Wulfgarn snarled, spinning with a wide backhand meant to knock me clear across the arena.
I ducked under it, slid forward, and with a palm strike to his chest, forced his already staggered frame back into Valois's range.
The vampire wasted no time.
His sword came down—
Clang! Sparks flew as he blocked it with a forearm now braced in iron gauntlets. Still, the blow pushed him to one knee.
I surged forward, leapt, twisted mid-air, and drove a spinning heel into the side of Wulfgarn's head.
CRACK!
The impact sent him sprawling. His orb—already weakened—flared bright red before a shattering pulse echoed across the arena.
The crystal fractured into shards, disappearing into motes of golden light.
One orb down. The wulfgarn roared and slammed a fist into the ground in fury.
My smart watch display glowed green, and I caught a glimpse of the updated timer: 17 minutes remaining. I had gained an extra 3 minutes for shattering one of the Wulfgarn's orbs, adding to the 14 minutes I had remaining.
"You'll regret that, runt!"
But I was already gone, flipping back and landing in a crouch just as Valois turned his attention to me.
"Efficient," he said, his blade pointed lazily at my heart. "Let's see how well you bleed."
He vanished.
My eyes widened. Where—?
Behind me.
I barely managed to raise my arm as the flat of his blade struck my side. Pain exploded through my ribs. My body skidded across the stone, dust spraying into the air as I tumbled.
My orb shimmered, the hit doing enough damage to flicker its light. Not cracked. Yet.
He was in front of me again before I could blink.
Clang! Clang! Shnnk!
Blade met fists, speed against grit. I parried with my forearms, dodged low, lunged high.
Every step was a gamble, every movement watched by hundreds of eyes.
He slashed—low. I jumped.
He kicked—mid-air. I twisted.
And If you'd asked me how I was doing all this without a proper weapon—dodging strikes, landing hits, cracking orbs—I wouldn't have had an answer for you. I didn't know.
My body moved before my brain could even string together a thought.
It was as if my muscles had been trained to respond to danger without needing my conscious input.
My body seemed to be in its element, moving with a fluidity and precision that I never knew I possessed.
It was like watching a highlight reel from a martial arts movie – except this was real life, and I was the star.
Anyways, I landed—hard. His boot met my back.
A thud echoed as I was sent crashing into one of the arena pillars.
My body screamed from the impact.
The orb on my belt buzzed. A fine crack formed across its surface.
No.
I stood—blood in my mouth, vision blurring slightly.
He waited, watching me with that same cold detachment, as if this were all some experiment to him.
"Still standing? Impressive."
The wulfgarn re-entered the fray with a beast's fury, his claws trailing wind.
I used the distraction to rush Valois again. He pivoted—too fast.
I feinted left, dodged a thrust, and shot in with a shoulder slam.
He absorbed it.
Then countered with an upward slash.
Too late—I saw it coming but couldn't stop it.
SLASH!
Pain lanced through my chest.
My first orb gave a sharp, high-pitched tone. A spiderweb crack shot across it. Then—
CRACK! It burst into shards.
My breath hitched.
Down to two.
Valois spun away, untouched, still with all three orbs. Not a single one even flickered.
He was toying with us.
The wulfgarn lunged once more, his attacks wild and savage, but Valois danced through them like smoke through fingers.
Every time The Wulfgarn came close, he missed. Every time I tried to catch him off guard, he was already three moves ahead.
The tension thickened. We all bled. We all panted. Dust choked the air. But only Valois stood untarnished—aloof, elegant, and lethal.
Valois didn't fight like a man trying to win.
He fought like he'd already won, and this was just cleanup.
His right blade came low—aimed for my side.
I stepped into it, caught the angle late, and felt the bite of steel skim my ribs.
It didn't slice me. Not deep. But I still stumbled.
My orb flared red at my waist—absorbing the brunt of it—but I felt the shock travel through my bones, saw the veins of light crack across the orb's surface.
Shit. That one counted.
I twisted, ducked the next strike, rolled under his follow-up, and rose into a tight stance.
Bare hands against steel. I wasn't winning by out-slashing him.
But maybe…
He came again—two rapid slashes.
I deflected one with my forearm, gritting my teeth as pain lanced up my shoulder. The orb at my belt buzzed. More cracks.
I dropped low. Not to retreat.
To close.
He wasn't expecting that.
I surged forward, shoulder to his chest, and drove my weight into him.
He staggered a step, and in that split second, I twisted my hips and threw a tight elbow—not at him.
At the orb on his belt.
The impact echoed in my bones—like striking stone. But I felt it: something gave.
A spiderweb of fractures spread across the surface of his orb, red light leaking through. The lines multiplied like ice blooming across glass.
Valois spun, a blur of blades and controlled rage, but I didn't stop.
I slammed a palm strike right into his waist—orb level. Again.
CRACK.
He grimaced. Not from the hit. From the feedback.
The orb at his hip shuddered, light flashing wild through its shell.
It wasn't going to hold.
He slashed. I fell back, almost slipped, rolled away just as—
Shatter.
No sound, no explosion. Just a sharp pulse of pressure in the air, like a breath being pulled out of the arena.
His orb fractured completely and crumbled, the light within flickering once before vanishing.
My smart watch display glowed green, and I caught a glimpse of the updated timer: 18 minutes remaining. I had gained an extra 3 minutes.
+3 MINUTES glowed faintly on my smartwatch.
Valois stood there, breathing hard.
Still composed, but… less inhuman now. Real.
Then he stepped in and kicked me across the arena.
It wasn't even graceful. Just a heel to the gut.
I slammed into the dirt. My ribs screamed.
Breath burned in my chest.
Every inhale scraped like sandpaper across my ribs.
My limbs were heavy—slow, like I was moving through syrup.
Cuts stung across my arms and shoulders, clothes torn and soaked with sweat and something darker.
The orb at my belt pulsed. Few heartbeats away from shattering. Couple of hits. One mistake.
Across from me, the wulfgarn looked worse—his left eye was swollen shut, one ear half-torn, fur matted with blood and dirt.
His claws twitched, but even his monstrous frame sagged slightly.
And then there was Valois.
Of course he still looked beautiful.
Pale skin flushed only slightly, hair windswept in that infuriating way nobles make look accidental. But even he was breathing hard now.
His twin blades hung at his sides, streaked with red, and one of his remaining orbs flickered—a single, thin crack glowing beneath the surface.
We circled each other.
No alliances. No talking.
Just the last round of a war none of us had expected to survive.
And then Valois did something strange.
He… straightened.
Back to perfect posture.
Like he was stepping onto a ballroom floor, not into a kill zone.
His eyes flicked to me. Then to The Wulfgarn.
Then he spoke.
Voice calm. Regal.
"You should consider yourselves honored. No opponent has ever lasted long enough to see this."
He drew one blade across his palm—blood hissed against the steel—and whispered a word I which I never knew:
"Pyropex."
Oh, come on.
The air changed.
Heat rippled outward like a detonation of silence. The wind died.
The shadows crawled away. A crimson corona ignited across his shoulders, flames licking the edges of his cloak like hungry spirits.
His swords ignited—not with flickers, but with solid blades of living fire, wrapping around the steel like it was being reforged mid-swing.
The cracked orb on his belt gleamed, healed, reinforced by his class activation.
Seriously? Fire? Of all the classes?
I'm screwed.
He blurred forward.
No windup. No warning.
I twisted to dodge, but heat seared the edge of my vision—his blade missed me by inches and melted a scar into the ground where I stood.
I dove, rolled, came up just in time to parry a backhanded kick from Wulfgarn.
The wolf-boy wasn't out yet.
He roared, lunged at Valois—but the vampire spun in place, kicked off the ground with impossible force, and slashed both swords in an X across Wulfgarn's chest.
Flames blasted outward in the shape of the strike—the wulfgarn was thrown back, smoking, howling, his orbs flickering wildly at his belt.
One of them cracked visibly, even from across the sand.
I charged.
Not toward Valois.
Toward the fire trail his sword left behind.
I kicked through it, let the smoke obscure me, and closed the distance under the cover of his own heat.
He turned just in time to see me.
I feinted left, threw a knee toward his midsection, and slammed a bare elbow toward the orb at his waist.
He twisted—but I clipped it.
The orb shuddered. Not broken. Not yet.
His hand caught my wrist—burning hot—and I screamed through my teeth as he twisted my arm and launched me bodily across the arena.
I skidded in the dirt, every nerve in my body screaming.
My orb shrieked a high, terrible sound—and the cracks along it deepened like lightning bolts.
I couldn't take another hit.
I rose. Barely.
The Wulfgarn boy was already sprinting toward Valois again, limping but furious.
He leapt—claws extended—and this time, Valois didn't dodge.
He stepped into the attack and detonated.
A column of fire erupted from his body in all directions—pure white-hot rage compressed into a sphere of explosive force.
Wulfgarn hit him, yes—but was blown off before he could land a proper strike.
He tumbled across the dirt in a blackened blur.
His orb—one of them—shattered.
A crackle. A pop. A burst of light.
+3 MINUTES flared on Valois's smart watch display.
He turned back toward me.
Both blades burning.
2 orbs remaining.
Me?
No weapons. One breath from collapse. My orbs? One was Spiderwebbed to hell and humming like a dying star.
I cracked my neck.
"Alright then."
"You might be fire…"
I spat blood and smiled.
"…but I've been burning all day."
And I ran straight at him.