Steel met steel again, the ring of it cracking through the trees.

  Kael pressed forward, driving Eric back a step, then another. Sparks showered between them, glinting in the faint moonlight that pierced the canopy. His lungs burned; his arm throbbed; every breath carried the taste of blood. Still, he didn’t stop.

  Eric moved like a phantom, each motion measured, efficient. His blade swept low—Kael blocked, parried high, ducked under a counterstrike. The ground trembled faintly beneath their boots.

  Then the tremor grew.

  A shout tore through the night—one of the assassins slammed his palm into the earth. The soil shuddered violently, cracks spiderwebbing outward. From the ruptures, jagged pillars of stone shot up, splitting the battlefield apart.

  Rhea leapt aside, narrowly avoiding a spear of rock that pierced the ground where she had stood. “They’re using magic!” she shouted.

  Orin swore under his breath, rolling behind a fallen trunk as a second assassin raised both hands. A wave of dust and gravel rose at his command, twisting into a cyclone before hurtling toward them.

  “Move!” Tarin yelled, dragging Joran out of its path. The vortex slammed into the trees, tearing bark and leaves from their roots.

  Kael risked a glance—just enough to see the assassins’ eyes glowing faintly beneath their masks. Dark veins crawled across their exposed skin, pulsing with sickly green light. Necromantic magic.

  The stench of decay thickened in the air.

  A corpse stirred near one assassin’s feet. Another. The bodies of their fallen began to twitch, bones cracking, hands clawing back to life. Within moments, five reanimated corpses staggered to their feet, empty eyes burning with green fire.

  Rhea cursed. “You have to be kidding—”

  “Focus!” Kael barked, blocking another of Eric’s strikes.

  Eric didn’t even flinch at the chaos around them. He fought in silence, sword weaving through Kael’s guard with fluid precision. Each time their blades met, Kael could feel the force behind it—the strength of a man who’d killed without hesitation, who’d led men to burn homes and call it duty.

  Kael pivoted and slashed low, forcing Eric to step back. The impact rang through Kael’s arm, but he didn’t care. He pushed again, his rage boiling beneath every swing.

  “You’re fighting ghosts,” Eric said, voice muffled by his mask. “You always have.”

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  Kael’s teeth clenched. “And you’re one of them.”

  Their blades locked again, pressing so close that Kael could see his own reflection in the black of Eric’s mask—sweat, blood, and fury.

  Behind them, the forest became a storm.

  Rhea met one of the necromancers head-on, her sword flaring with faint light as she cut through a rising corpse. Orin loosed an arrow that caught a mage in the chest, pinning him to a tree—but another replaced him instantly, chanting under his breath.

  The earth rippled like water. Roots burst upward, snaring Tarin’s leg. He snarled, cutting himself free, but another tendril wrapped around his arm, yanking him back.

  “Damn it—Kael!” Tarin shouted.

  Kael broke from Eric’s next swing long enough to twist his wrist, channeling the Eye. His vision sharpened; the world slowed. He hurled his sword, the blade spinning through the air like lightning. It sliced through the root holding Tarin and embedded into the ground just beside him.

  Tarin blinked, stunned. “You could’ve killed me!”

  “Then move faster,” Kael snapped, retrieving his sword as another assassin rushed him.

  Eric came at him again, fast, relentless. Each strike carried a weight that shook Kael’s arms to the bone. The masked man stepped inside his guard, elbowed him in the chest, and sent him stumbling back.

  Kael barely caught his footing.

  Pain seared through his ribs where the armor had cracked. His breathing came ragged now, but his grip only tightened.

  He lunged. Their blades collided again, ringing like a bell.

  Eric twisted, almost effortlessly, catching Kael’s weapon with the hook of his guard. With a sharp jerk, he nearly tore it from Kael’s hands. Kael rolled his wrist, breaking free just in time, and countered with a downward slash that grazed Eric’s shoulder.

  A shallow cut—but it bled.

  For the first time, Eric faltered. His head tilted slightly, as though he hadn’t expected Kael to draw blood.

  “Not bad,” he said quietly.

  Kael’s eyes narrowed. “You’ll bleed more before this ends.”

  Before Eric could respond, the ground convulsed again. A wall of stone erupted between them, thrown up by one of the remaining necromancers. Kael barely leapt back in time.

  He turned—Rhea and the others were being pushed to their limits. Two of the assassins had combined their powers, summoning skeletal arms from the soil that lashed like whips. The air glowed faintly with dark sigils, each pulse spreading corruption into the ground.

  Kael charged forward, cutting down one of the reanimated corpses that lunged for him. The stench of rot made him gag. The undead fell apart, only for another to take its place.

  Eric stepped through the rising dust on the other side of the stone wall, his silhouette backlit by flickering necrotic light.

  “You’re still trying to protect them,” Eric said, voice calm, almost pitying. “You never learn.”

  Kael’s knuckles whitened around his hilt. “And you never change.”

  He lunged.

  Their blades met again in a flurry of strikes—sharp, heavy, brutal. Each impact sent shockwaves through the clearing. The Eye burned brighter in Kael’s vision now, every motion of Eric’s sword mapped before it happened.

  He ducked one swing, caught Eric’s arm, and slammed his elbow into the man’s ribs. Eric grunted but didn’t fall—he retaliated instantly, slashing upward and grazing Kael’s cheek.

  Blood spattered onto the dirt.

  Kael pressed on, rage pushing him past exhaustion. Every strike was fueled by years of loss—the orphanage, Miss Alita, the screams, the fire.

  “You killed her,” Kael snarled, driving his blade down with all his strength.

  Eric blocked it easily. “She chose her side.”

  The words hit harder than any blow.

  Kael roared and shoved forward, their blades locked between them. Sparks cascaded across their faces.

  The air around them crackled with tension—both power and hatred drawn tight like a bowstring.

  And then, as Kael began to force Eric back, the shadows behind the masked man shifted.

  Five figures stepped out from the darkness, their armor blacker than the night, each bearing the same crimson insignia burned into their shoulders. Their eyes gleamed faintly through their masks, reflecting the same dead light as Eric’s.

  They moved without sound, forming a semicircle around Kael.

  Rhea’s voice broke through the din. “Kael—behind you!”

  He turned, panting, blood running down his arm, his sword trembling from the force of his last strike.

  Eric lowered his blade slightly, watching him. “You’ve grown stronger,” he said quietly. “But you’re still alone.”

  The five assassins drew their weapons—blades humming faintly with dark magic. The earth pulsed under their feet, runes burning faintly in a ring around them.

  Kael’s jaw tightened. “Then I’ll kill you all.”

  Eric’s mask tilted, the faintest smirk behind it.

  “Let’s see you try.”

  The wind died. The forest went still.

  Then all six of them moved at once—Eric and his assassins surging forward as Kael raised his sword to meet them.