The air felt like it might tear apart at the seams.
Power pulsed through the ruined street, thick as smoke, heavy as stone. Every step Darion Voss took seemed to sink the ground beneath him, his aura pressing outward in jagged waves that fractured stone, twisted air, and left the world gasping in his wake.
Kael stood in the eye of that storm.
Barely standing.
Barely breathing.
The Ashen Eye burned in his vision, threads of power flickering like lightning across a dying sky, but his body felt like a cracked shell—held together only by sheer will and the weight of his name.
Blood dripped down his face, mixing with the dust that clung to his skin. His arms hung heavy at his sides, trembling with exhaustion. His legs felt hollow, like they could collapse at any moment.
And yet—he did not fall.
Because the burden would not let him.
The name Xelvor was a brand in his bones, a forge in his blood. It seared him, broke him, burned him alive—but it held him upright.
Darion's gaze sharpened, narrowing as he watched Kael stand, swaying but unbroken.
The Tier 2's voice came low, almost a growl, like the rumble of distant thunder.
"You should be dead."
Kael's breath rasped, sharp and ragged. His heart pounded so hard he could feel it in his teeth. The Ashen Eye flared again—weak, pulsing, but still there. It showed him the threads of Darion's aura, fraying and mending, fractures widening and tightening like the flex of a hunting cat's muscles.
"You bleed like a man," Kael rasped, voice hoarse, raw from the force of each breath. "You're not invincible."
Darion's lips curled into a thin, humorless smile.
"And you think that makes us equals?"
Kael didn't answer.
He couldn't.
His breath was a shallow, wheezing thing, and every nerve in his body screamed with exhaustion.
But the Ashen Eye glowed in his vision, whispering with a force deeper than thought, older than fear.
Find the weakness. Strike the fracture. End it.
Darion moved.
The ground shook.
Kael barely saw the attack coming—a blur of motion, the air splitting as Darion's fist carved toward his ribs.
Kael twisted, body screaming in protest. The Ashen Eye flared, threads aligning, and he felt the blow skim past, a near miss that left a hollow gust of air in its wake.
He struck back—a weak, desperate punch aimed at the same fracture he'd found before.
His fist connected.
A spark flared in Darion's aura.
The bigger man grunted, his stance shifting, the threads in his aura shivering for a heartbeat before they realigned.
Kael's breath caught.
It wasn't enough.
Not yet.
But the crack was growing.
Darion's snarl cut through the air, sharp as a blade.
"You're nothing," he hissed. His hands flexed, and Kael could see the hunger in his eyes, the raw, consuming rage of a predator denied its kill.
He lunged, fists blazing with raw energy, each strike heavy enough to crater stone.
Kael danced between them, barely dodging, the Ashen Eye showing him the threads, the fractures—but his body couldn't keep up.
One blow clipped his shoulder, sending him staggering back.
Another glanced across his ribs, and Kael felt something give—a sharp, twisting pain that stole the breath from his lungs.
His vision swam.
The burden felt heavier than ever, like an iron yoke pressing into his spine, grinding him into the dirt.
But he would not fall.
He couldn't.
The woman—her name still unknown—watched from the shadows, her breath sharp, her hands clenched tight against the wall. Her eyes flickered between Kael and Darion, wide with something like disbelief, like horror.
Kael didn't have the strength to look at her.
Didn't have the strength to think.
All he could do was see.
The Ashen Eye burned in his skull, the threads of Darion's aura glowing like veins of molten metal. He saw the shifts—the moment before a strike, the falter in balance, the hairline cracks that spiderwebbed through power too long unchecked.
And Kael moved.
Every step was pain.
Every breath was fire.
But he moved.
He twisted under a blow, darted in close, and struck—fingers driving into the fracture at Darion's side.
The bigger man stumbled.
It wasn't much.
A half-step.
But in this fight, in this moment, a half-step was a world.
Kael surged forward, desperation sharpening into something colder—focus.
He struck again—once, twice, a third time—each blow driving into the same fracture, the same thread of weakness that the Ashen Eye showed him.
Darion grunted, his aura flaring in sudden defense, but Kael's fists were like chisels, each strike widening the crack, splintering the web of power.
The world blurred around them.
Kael's body felt like it might shatter. His heart hammered in his chest, a wild, desperate drumbeat. His lungs burned, his ribs ached, his fists bled—but he moved.
Darion roared, lashing out, fists like hammers. Kael slipped between them, weaving through the storm.
He wasn't faster.
He wasn't stronger.
But the Ashen Eye guided him, a map etched in light and pain.
Their breaths mingled—Kael's ragged and sharp, Darion's heavy and enraged.
The crowd was silent, the air thick with tension.
And then Kael saw it.
The final fracture.
A thread buried deep, hidden beneath layers of power, but now—after all the hits, all the pressure, all the cracks—it was exposed.
Kael's breath caught.
His vision sharpened, the Ashen Eye burning brighter than it had ever burned before, threads aligning, the world snapping into focus.
He moved.
Darion's fist lashed out—Kael slipped beneath it.
He drove his palm forward—into the fracture.
A shockwave rippled outward, a low, deep sound that seemed to shake the marrow of the world.
Darion's eyes widened.
His aura shivered.
And for the first time—he broke.
Darion staggered back, coughing, blood speckling his lips.
Kael swayed, barely standing, the Ashen Eye flickering weakly—but it was enough.
He had done it.
He had broken the predator's shield.
But the fight wasn't over.
Darion's eyes burned with fury, his aura dimming—but not gone.
Not yet.
Kael's own body was at its limit, every muscle trembling, his vision tunneling.
One final push.
One last strike.
And either he would die here…
Or Darion Voss would fall.
The storm hadn't passed.
Not yet.
But the cracks had spread.
And the name of Xelvor still burned.