The silence between them shattered.
Daemon struck first — not with reckless power, but with the clean, practiced precision of a man who had fought too many wars and survived them all. His greatsword arced through the air like a falling tower, forcing Kael to leap backward.
The blade slammed into the courtyard stone, cracking it cleanly.
Kael's feet barely touched the ground before he lunged in. The Ego Knife sang in his hand — low, humming with the Hel Flame's breath. He aimed for the gap beneath Daemon's shoulder guard, fast and surgical.
But Daemon twisted with shocking speed for a man of his age and size, deflecting the strike with the flat of his blade and slamming his armored elbow into Kael's jaw.
The impact was a furnace blast — Kael staggered back, vision flashing.
"You've learned control," Daemon said between breaths. "But your anger still speaks first."
Kael wiped the blood from his mouth and didn't answer. Instead, he slit his palm again.
Blue fire spilled to the floor. It crept outward, racing across the courtyard like a tidal wave of light.
Daemon stepped back, but not far.
Kael vanished into the flame.
He came from the right — a blur of motion and daggers. One cut. Two. Three. Each strike aimed for a joint, a tendon, an unguarded throat.
Daemon blocked most. One strike scraped his thigh. Another sliced his pauldron. A third nearly took an eye — but Kael was a moment too late.
With a shout, Daemon swung wide, the greatsword burning from contact with Kael's flame. Kael ducked under it, rolled, and flung Hel-blood behind him — the fire burst like a mine.
But Daemon kept coming.
The knight's armor smoked, parts of it melted from the heat, but still he pressed forward, his greatsword striking like a hammer, forcing Kael to retreat.
A glancing blow caught Kael's left arm. Metal met flesh. Bone cracked. He gasped but didn't scream.
He ducked another strike, then surged upward — blade-first — carving across Daemon's ribs.
The knight stumbled, blood seeping from his side.
They stood opposite again.
Both bleeding. Both breathing hard.
Kael's chest heaved. "You're slowing."
Daemon smiled bitterly. "And you're bleeding faster than you know."
Kael darted in again.
And that's when it happened.
A feint. A step wrong.
Kael lunged too deep, too fast — flame roaring from his side, trying to finish it.
But Daemon's timing was perfect.
The greatsword reversed — not slashing, but thrusting.
The point punched through Kael's stomach with a sickening, wet sound.
Time froze.
Kael looked down.
The blade jutted out of him, trembling slightly as his knees gave way. The Hel Flame flickered wildly — unstable — leaking into the air like smoke from a dying star.
Daemon's eyes were filled not with triumph…
…but with regret.
Kael gasped, blood pooling at his lips.
Daemon leaned close. "You're stronger than I ever was. But strength isn't always enough."
Kael didn't fall yet.
He gripped the blade, still in him, and his voice came out hoarse.
"I'm not done."
And the fire—though dimmed—did not go out.