The ruined village square held its breath.
Smoke drifted in slow, heavy sheets between the two bare-chested figures. Blood mixed with ash beneath their feet. The corpses of five thousand guards and twenty thousand civilians lay scattered like discarded offerings, already beginning to cool under the first stars of evening.
Eryndor's grey skin glistened with sweat and black-red blood. The corruption that had started in his heart now claimed every visible inch of him—ashen flesh cracked with faint veins of pure darkness. His long black hair hung in wet strands across his face. The plain sword in his hand trembled only slightly from exhaustion.
Opposite him, the Contractor of Shadows stood equally ruined. Old scars and a torso that still carried the dense muscle of a man who had served a Divine Flame for centuries. His single shadow blade flickered, its edge unstable.
Neither spoke.
There was nothing left to say.
They moved at the same instant.
The square ceased to exist.
Eryndor's sword met the Contractor's shadow blade in a collision that sent a shockwave rolling outward, flattening the last standing walls and hurling burning debris into the night sky. The ground cracked open in a spiderweb of fissures. Residual mana from the dead ignited in secondary explosions, turning the air into a choking storm of embers and blood mist.
High above the valley, far beyond the reach of ordinary eyes, two figures watched in silence.
Jae floated beside the Divine Flame of Curses, both of them veiled by layers of divine concealment. The young man's face was pale.
"He's… completely lost it," Jae whispered. "That's not the same Eryndor."
The Divine Flame of Curses did not answer immediately. Its form flickered, eyes fixed on the grey-skinned monster tearing through the ruins below.
"…No," the Flame finally murmured. "This is what remains when a man trades everything that made him human… and still keeps walking."
Below, the fight reached a new threshold of savagery.
The Contractor dissolved into pure shadow and reformed behind Eryndor, driving his blade toward the spine. Sacred Echo screamed a warning. Eryndor twisted, letting the shadow edge carve a deep line across his ribs instead of severing his backbone. Black-red blood sprayed. Before the wound could fully close, Eryndor's elbow smashed backward with the force of a falling mountain. The Contractor blocked with a plate of solidified darkness, but the impact still launched him through three collapsing houses in a trail of splinters and fire.
Eryndor pursued without pause.
They clashed again in mid-air above what had once been the village well. Swords screamed. Shadows erupted in tidal waves. Hellfire answered in roaring columns of black-red destruction. Every exchange left deeper wounds. Every regeneration cost Eryndor a little more of whatever color still clung to his soul. The grey spread further, crawling up his neck, darkening the whites of his eyes until only burning embers remained.
The Contractor was the first to land a truly decisive strike.
He folded space, appearing inside Eryndor's guard in a way that even Sacred Echo could not fully predict. The shadow blade punched straight through Eryndor's chest, erupting from his back in a spray of black-red blood and fractured bone. The tip of the blade glowed with the concentrated essence of the Divine Flame of Shadows—the same power that had once forced the Divine Flame of Curses to abandon him thirty years ago.
Eryndor's body jerked.
For a moment, time seemed to slow.
The Contractor's face twisted in grim satisfaction. He kept the blade buried deep in Eryndor's chest, pinning him in place, and raised his free hand. Darkness gathered, swirling, condensing—
A second shadow blade formed in his empty palm with a sound like tearing silk.
The exact scene the night itself seemed to pause for.
The older man, muscular and grey-haired, stood with one purple-black blade driven clean through Eryndor's torso while the newly summoned second blade gleamed in his other hand. Eryndor's long black hair whipped around his feral, snarling face. His entire right arm ignited in violent red Hellfire, the corruption in his blood answering the near-fatal wound with pure, mindless fury.
Eryndor's voice came out as a guttural, broken roar.
"Hell's Crushing Verdict."
His glowing red fist shot forward like a meteor.
The punch connected with the Contractor's ribs at the same instant the second shadow blade came swinging toward Eryndor's neck.
The impact was cataclysmic.
A sphere of pure red-black annihilation expanded from Eryndor's fist. The Contractor's torso caved inward. Ribs shattered. Shadow-flesh tore. The force hurled the older man backward so violently that the first blade was ripped free from Eryndor's chest in a fountain of blood, leaving a gaping hole that began knitting itself closed almost immediately—though slower than before.
Both men crashed into opposite ends of the ruined valley.
The mountain itself groaned.
When the dust and smoke settled enough to see, both figures were still standing.
Barely.
Eryndor's chest wound sealed last, leaving a new, ugly scar of pure black across his grey skin. He spat a mouthful of blood that sizzled when it hit the ground. His breathing was ragged, uneven. The red glow around his fist had faded, but the corruption in his veins pulsed harder than ever, as if the Serpent deep in his soul was laughing.
Across the devastation, the Contractor of Shadows clutched his caved-in side. Dark blood—almost purple—leaked between his fingers. The second shadow blade in his hand flickered wildly, struggling to maintain form. His face, for the first time in centuries, showed something close to genuine fear mixed with stubborn, hateful resolve.
They stared at each other across the burning wasteland that had once been a village.
Neither advanced.
Neither retreated.
Their chests rose and fell in heavy, synchronized gasps. Sweat, blood, and ash covered every inch of exposed skin. The air between them still screamed with unresolved killing intent, but their bodies had reached a temporary limit.
High above, Jae's voice cracked.
"They're… both still standing. How is that possible? That punch should have ended it. That blade through the heart should have ended it."
The Divine Flame of Curses watched in heavy silence. When it finally spoke, its voice carried the weight of ages and quiet dread.
"Because neither of them is fighting for victory anymore."
Jae turned, confused.
"What do you mean?"
"Because neither of them is fighting for simple victory anymore. Eryndor is fighting because he is the brother who believes he failed Ellie and Caelan… and the only thing left for him is to avenge them, no matter the cost. The Contractor is fighting to defend his honour as a Divine Contractor — to prove that the path he chose, the betrayals he committed, and the power he serves were never wrong.Neither of them can afford to fall… because falling would mean admitting that everything they have become was for nothing."
Below, Eryndor slowly raised his sword again. The tip shook, but it rose.
The Contractor forced his second shadow blade to stabilize, purple-black light flaring defiantly.
They took one step toward each other.
Then another.
The night wind howled.
Round two had not ended.
It had only paused long enough for both monsters to remember how much they still hated the sight of the other still breathing.
And somewhere in the darkness between heartbeats, the Serpent of the Abyss coiled tighter around what remained of Eryndor's soul, whispering promises of even greater power… if he was willing to let the last pieces of the man named Eryndor die.
The stars watched in silence.
The real battle was only just beginning to show its true face.