The moment the air around them shifted, Mist's senses snapped to attention. Without hesitation, he moved with smooth, practiced precision.
His fingers brushed the hilt of his blade, "Stay close to me," he commanded, his voice steady but edged with urgency. "The guardians aren't the only ones in this forest. If they've woken this early, it means others have noticed."
Bulan swallowed hard. "Others?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Suddenly, a low chuckle echoed through the plaza, then a figure emerged, he was clad in crimson gold, form-fitting armor that seemed to meld with the shadows themselves, and his face was partially obscured by a mask that looks like an oni. His eyes—piercing, gleaming with a dangerous light—locked onto Mist with predatory intensity.
"Still as sharp as ever, Mist," the newcomer said, his voice smooth and mocking, carrying the faintest hint of amusement. He tilted his head slightly, his hand resting lazily on the hilt of his long crimson gold sword. "Though I expected you to sense me sooner. Are you slipping?"
Mist's stance didn't waver, though his grip on his weapon tightened ever so slightly. His voice was cool, almost bored, as he replied. "Or maybe you've gotten louder, Fog."
The figure—Fog—laughed softly, the sound dripping with menace. "Always quick with the quips. But tell me, what brings the infamous Mist to this cursed kingdom? Don't tell me you've grown soft, babysitting strays."
Bulan stiffened at the insult, but Mist remained unflappable. He stepped slightly forward, his blade angled subtly, ready to strike at a moment's notice. "If you've come for the same thing," he said evenly, "then you know how this ends."
Fog's grin widened beneath his mask. "Oh, I wouldn't dream of making it easy for you." He drew his blade in one fluid motion, the faint light catching its edge. "Shall we, old friend?"
The tension between them thickened, the forest seeming to shrink around the two assassins as they sized each other up.
Bulan could only watch, his breath caught in his throat. This was more than a rivalry—it was a battle of equals, each honed to perfection, each unwilling to yield. And the air between them crackled with the promise of violence.
The clearing fell into a heavy silence, the kind that demanded reverence. Bulan felt frozen in place, his every instinct screaming at him to run, yet his body refused. His eyes remained glued to the scene, a witness to a duel that could shift the very air around them.
Mist moved first, his buhawi sword, singing as it sliced through the air. The blade's silver edge glinted with a cold brilliance, its speed almost imperceptible. Fog responded instantly, his crimson blade meeting Mist's in a clash that sent a shockwave rippling through the clearing. The sound was deafening, a metallic roar that seemed to shake the forest itself.
Bulan staggered back, shielding his face from the sheer force of the impact. "What... what are they?!" he muttered, his voice trembling as he tried to comprehend the power on display.
Mist and Fog disengaged as quickly as they had collided, circling each other with measured steps. Every movement was deliberate, each step an intricate dance of strategy and precision. Their gazes remained locked, their focus unbroken.
"You've improved," Mist said coolly, his voice steady despite the energy coursing through the air.
Fog chuckled, his mask amplifying the sinister undertone. "Improved? You mean surpassed." With a sudden burst of speed, Fog lunged, his blade a blur of crimson light.
Mist sidestepped with uncanny precision, his blade deflecting the strike at an angle that sent sparks flying. The motion was fluid, effortless, like water flowing around a rock. "Still predictable," Mist countered, his voice calm yet sharp, as he followed up with a lightning-quick slash aimed at Fog's side.
Fog twisted mid-strike, using the momentum to spin away from the attack. His blade arced in retaliation, forcing Mist to parry. The clang of steel against steel resonated again, each clash a testament to their years of rivalry.
The ground beneath their feet bore the marks of their battle. Mist's strikes were precise, aimed to exploit the smallest openings, while Fog's were relentless, a storm of power and ferocity. Despite their differences, their skill was evenly matched, and their movements were so fast that to Bulan, they seemed like blurs of silver and crimson weaving through the clearing.
Bulan's chest tightened as he watched, every swing of their blades leaving afterimages in the air. How can anyone be this strong? he thought, his fists clenching involuntarily.
Then, without warning, Fog's blade flared with a crimson glow, and he slammed it into the ground. A wave of energy surged outward, the shockwave tearing through the trees and sending debris flying.
"Stay down, rookie!" Mist barked, darting toward Bulan and pulling him to the ground just as the energy wave passed over them. The ground where they had stood was scorched, the plaza now bearing the scars of Fog's overwhelming power.
Mist rose, dusting himself off and glaring at Fog, who stood casually with his blade resting on his shoulder. "Resorting to theatrics already?"
Fog smirked, his eyes gleaming behind his mask. "Just making sure you're paying attention, old friend."
The next exchange was even faster. Mist closed the distance in an instant, his sword flashing like a streak of moonlight. Fog met him head-on, their blades clashing in a flurry of strikes that seemed impossible to follow. Each impact sent shockwaves through the clearing, the sheer force cracking the ground beneath their feet.
Mist ducked low, aiming a sweeping strike at Fog's legs, but Fog leapt into the air, spinning and bringing his blade down in a powerful overhead slash. Mist sidestepped, countering with a thrust aimed at Fog's midsection, but the crimson warrior twisted midair, deflecting the strike and landing with feline grace.
"Still holding back?" Fog taunted, his voice dripping with mockery.
Mist smirked, his golden eyes narrowing. "Wouldn't want you to think this was easy."
With a sudden burst of speed, Mist unleashed a series of strikes that forced Fog onto the defensive. The silver blade of buhawi moved like a king cobra, each strike precise and unrelenting. Fog gritted his teeth, parrying and dodging with equal skill, though it was clear Mist had taken the upper hand.
But just as Bulan thought Mist had gained the advantage, Fog spun on his heel, his blade igniting with a fiery aura. He unleashed a horizontal slash that sent a wave of white flames hurtling toward Mist.
Mist's sword glowed brighter in response, and with a single swing, he split the flames in two, the halves roaring harmlessly past him. He didn't stop, closing the distance in a heartbeat and landing a kick to Fog's midsection that sent the crimson warrior skidding back.
Bulan's jaw dropped. He cut through fire like it was nothing...
Fog chuckled as he straightened, brushing off the dust. "Not bad. But let's see how long you can keep this up."
Before either could charge again, the sound of clapping echoed through the clearing. It wasn't loud, but it carried a weight that froze both warriors mid-motion.