The storm raged—and then, all at once, it died.

  Lightning that had moments ago carved the sky vanished like smoke. The air, once alive with power, fell heavy and still.

  Kael blinked, confusion flashing across his face as the light along his arm sputtered and went out.

  The crackle of energy that had answered his every breath… was gone.

  The clearing was silent except for the low hum—the faint vibration radiating from Eric.

  He stood in the center of it, his mask half-shattered, both eyes blazing blue like fractured ice. The glow rippled outward in a pulse that shimmered through the ground, and Kael felt it like a wave—cold, crushing, final.

  And then his lightning… died completely.

  Kael tried to summon it again—nothing. No spark. No hum in his veins.

  Even the air felt dead around him.

  “What—what did you do?” Kael demanded.

  Eric staggered forward, his hands trembling, sweat dripping from his chin. “I… don’t know,” he rasped. “But it feels… alive.”

  Then he screamed.

  The blue light burned hotter, veins beneath his skin glowing faintly as if fire ran through them. He fell to one knee, clutching his head, the scream turning into a ragged gasp. His body shook—pain tearing through him even as the aura around him grew stronger.

  The assassins hesitated. Even they could feel it—the hum of a power that killed power itself.

  Eric slowly lifted his head. The light behind his eyes steadied, sharp and cold.

  “Kill him,” he said.

  And they obeyed.

  The assassins lunged as one—steel glinting in the dim, dead air. Kael met them head-on, his sword rising just in time to parry the first strike. Without magic, every movement felt heavier, slower. The strength that had come from lightning was gone—he had only muscle, instinct, and grit left.

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  A blade scraped his shoulder. Another cut across his arm. He grunted, twisting, countering with a hard kick that sent one assassin sprawling.

  He moved like a cornered animal—fighting not with precision, but with survival.

  Steel rang. Sparks flew, but none were magical now—just iron and friction.

  Kael ducked beneath a hammer swing, slammed his pommel into an assassin’s jaw, then drove his elbow into another’s chest. The man fell back gasping.

  Eric watched, still shaking from the pain in his head, the glow of his Eye flickering as if the power itself was eating at him. Every pulse sent agony through his skull, but he gritted his teeth and forced it open wider.

  Within the fifty-meter radius, the world was hollow. Even the trees seemed dimmer. Kael’s breath came heavy; his eyes burned, but no gold light rose to answer him.

  He fought harder.

  Two assassins attacked from behind. Kael spun, blade flashing, deflecting both strikes. He kicked one away, grabbed the other’s wrist, and turned his sword to plunge it straight through the assassin’s chest. The man fell—silent.

  But three more replaced him immediately.

  Kael’s strength was slipping; blood slicked his gloves. His vision blurred. Still, he pushed forward, cutting, blocking, parrying—his entire world reduced to motion and pain.

  Eric stepped closer. “You always thought power was yours,” he hissed. “But without your magic… you’re nothing.”

  Kael raised his gaze, chest heaving, lips curling into a tired smirk. “Then come prove it.”

  Eric roared and charged.

  Their swords collided—metal screaming against metal. Sparks burst from the impact. Eric pressed forward with raw strength; Kael slid backward, boots digging furrows into the dirt. The air between them crackled—not with magic, but with fury.

  Kael swung low—Eric blocked and countered with a strike to the ribs. Pain shot through Kael’s side. He gritted his teeth, swung again.

  Eric ducked, slammed his shoulder into Kael’s chest, sending him sprawling into the mud.

  Kael rolled to his feet as another assassin came at him. He grabbed the man’s arm, twisted it, and used his body as a shield against a thrown dagger. The blade buried itself in the assassin’s back. Kael shoved him aside and raised his sword just in time to block Eric’s downward strike.

  The force rattled through his bones.

  Eric’s breathing was harsh now, each gasp edged with pain. The veins in his face pulsed with the strain of the Eye’s power; blood dripped from one nostril. But he didn’t stop. The blue glow still shimmered around him, and the dead zone held steady.

  The assassins circled again—five left, moving in perfect rhythm. Kael stood at the center, battered but unbroken, his sword steady.

  One came in from the right—Kael caught his blade, twisted, and elbowed him in the throat. Another swung from the left—Kael ducked, drove his knee into the man’s gut, then turned and sliced through a third who tried to flank him.

  Every move cost him breath; every strike brought him closer to collapse.

  And still Eric advanced.

  “You can’t win,” Eric spat. “This is my world now.”

  Kael wiped the blood from his lip, smiled faintly. “Then let’s end it.”

  He rushed forward again, ignoring the ache in his body, the bruises, the weight of exhaustion pressing on every limb. His blade clashed with Eric’s—again, again, again—until both were bleeding, staggering, half-mad with adrenaline.

  The last assassin lunged from behind. Kael spun and drove his sword backward through the man’s chest without even looking.

  And then it was just the two of them.

  Kael’s vision tunneled—his focus narrowing on Eric’s face, on those glowing blue eyes that had taken the world from him once before.

  He could barely feel his hands anymore, but his body moved anyway, driven by something deeper than strength or hate.

  He roared and charged one last time.

  Eric lifted his sword—but his hands shook. The pain from his Eye had become unbearable. He screamed, blue light searing the air around him, even as Kael’s blade cut through the distance between them.

  And then

  Kael stopped.

  Just short of the killing blow.

  His sword trembled inches from Eric’s chest, lightningless steel glinting in the pale blue light.