The world held its breath.
Ares's gaze flicked to the wooden swords lined neatly on the rack, but there was hesitation in his eyes. Subtle, but there.
Nephis saw it immediately.
Her grip on her own weapon tightened.
He's not a swordsman.
He had the instincts of a fighter—raw, brutal, relentless—but not the finesse. Not yet.
And still, he reached out, fingers curling around the hilt of a wooden sword as if accepting a challenge he had no intention of refusing.
The sword hung awkwardly at his side, the weight unfamiliar in his grip. But his eyes…
Those crimson eyes never wavered.
Even as he stepped onto the dojo floor, his posture easy but cautious, Ares held her gaze with the same predatory focus she remembered from their last fight.
The part of him that thrived in battle—that part was still there.
Nephis took a slow breath, steadying the fire burning in her chest.
It doesn't matter.
Swordsmanship wasn't something he could fake.
"Come on," Ares said, his voice low but taunting. "Show me how it's done."
Nephis narrowed her eyes.
If he wants to learn the hard way…
Her body moved without hesitation.
In a flash, she was on him—her wooden blade cutting through the air in a clean arc, aimed directly at his ribs.
Ares's eyes widened. His sword jerked up, awkwardly catching the blow, but the force behind it drove him back a step.
Nephis didn't stop.
Her next strike lashed toward his shoulder. He raised his weapon too late, the blade scraping harmlessly down the side of his arm.
Another opening.
Her foot slid forward, the sword flicking toward his knee in a blur.
Ares barely deflected it, the edge of his weapon shaking under the impact.
He was holding on—just barely.
Nephis pressed harder, her strikes chaining together fluidly, her footwork sharp and relentless. She could see the cracks forming already.
His grip was too high. His stance too rigid.
He won't last.
But then—
Ares shifted.
It was subtle at first, but Nephis noticed it immediately.
The way his body adjusted with every strike. How his parries grew tighter, less frantic.
His eyes locked onto hers, but she knew he wasn't just watching her face.
He was devouring every movement, memorizing the shape of her strikes, the angles of her blade.
Nephis's brows furrowed.
He's learning.
Her sword lashed toward his side again, faster this time, but Ares met it mid-swing, the wooden blades sparking in protest.
She stepped in, feinting toward his head.
He flinched.
There it is.
Her real strike swept low.
But Ares twisted.
Her blade missed by a breath.
Nephis's eyes narrowed, and for the first time, something else stirred beneath the fire burning inside her.
Excitement.
She slid back, resetting her stance, watching him carefully.
Ares's chest rose and fell, but the awkward grip he started with had shifted—his hands now lower on the hilt, his stance wider, grounded.
The faintest grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"You're slowing down," he said.
Nephis scoffed softly.
"Hardly."
Without warning, she launched forward, her sword flashing faster than before.
Ares reacted instantly, his blade jerking up to meet hers. The clash rang through the dojo, his arm trembling slightly under the force.
But he didn't break.
He leaned in, pushing back.
Nephis twisted, disengaging smoothly, and her next strike lashed across his guard like lightning.
This time, he countered—barely, but he did.
His strikes were still rough. Still wild.
But they were sharper.
Nephis's breath quickened as the fight dragged on, her sword carving the air with ruthless precision, but Ares…
He wouldn't stop.
Each missed blow, each mistake—he adapted.
He's copying me.
She stepped in, delivering a powerful downward slash aimed at his collarbone.
Ares caught it, and for the briefest second, their blades locked.
Crimson eyes bore into hers.
And she felt it again.
That pull.
Nephis's heart pounded, and she forced the thought away, twisting to break the lock.
But Ares didn't let her go.
His blade followed hers, mirroring her step, his body pressing into her space.
Nephis felt her pulse quicken.
Ares wasn't just learning her sword.
He was consuming it.
Devouring everything she threw at him.
The realization sent a surge of heat through her veins, her grip tightening as her strikes turned fiercer—more desperate.
But the more she fought, the closer he came.
Their swords clashed again, the edges biting against each other.
And this time—
Ares leaned in, his breath brushing against her ear.
"Is this the part," he whispered, voice low, "where you make me submit?"
Nephis's heart caught in her throat.
Her grip faltered, just for a moment.
But Ares moved.
His sword swept up, the tip grazing the side of her neck—stopping just short of victory.
Silence filled the dojo.
Nephis's eyes flicked to the wooden blade, then back to his.
Ares stepped closer, his gaze never leaving hers.
"I think," he said softly, his voice trailing just above a murmur, "I'm starting to get the hang of this."
Nephis exhaled slowly, her chest rising and falling, but she refused to step back.
The fire still burned, hotter than before.
And the way he looked at her—
She wanted to see more.
"I'm not done yet," she whispered, her voice soft—dangerous—as it curled around Ares like silk laced with fire.
The air between them trembled, charged with the weight of her words, and for a fleeting second, time seemed to still.
Then—
Her aura erupted.
The dojo trembled beneath it, as though the room itself recoiled from the force of her will. The floor beneath Ares's feet felt heavier, the atmosphere dense, suffocating. Her presence alone swallowed the space between them, burning brighter than before, fierce and untamed.
Nephis's silver eyes gleamed with intensity, her stance shifting like the crackle of lightning before a storm.
Ares's hand tightened around the hilt of his sword, instincts screaming at him to brace—
But she didn't give him the chance.
Her blade descended, and the world ignited.
The first strike came down like judgment—unrelenting, absolute.
Ares barely managed to parry, the impact searing through his bones. His arms trembled under the force, feet grinding against the wooden floor as he staggered back. But Nephis's sword didn't stop.
Her movements flowed like fire, each strike blazing with the weight of something ancient—something honed through countless battles.
Ares shifted, trying to slip away from the flames, but they chased him relentlessly. Her blade slashed from the left, then the right, chaining attack after attack without pause.
She's faster.
No—she's stronger.
Ares gritted his teeth, parrying another strike that almost split through his guard. His muscles screamed in protest, but his crimson eyes stayed fixed on her, studying the rhythm of her movements.
Her strikes were brutal, yes—
But there was something else woven within them.
Pain.
Years of relentless training. Sacrifice, blood, and sweat, poured into every arc of her blade.
Her sword spoke to him.
And it demanded submission.
Ares shifted to counter, his blade aiming for the narrow opening left in her side—
But she was already there, her blade intercepting his before he could even fully move.
Her sword crashed against his in a violent clash, driving him back yet again.
There was no mercy in her gaze.
Only ruthless salvation.
Ares winced as her next strike sliced along his shoulder, shallow but precise, her blade carving away his defenses piece by piece.
Her sword feasted on him.
It drank from his hesitation, devoured his every mistake, and thrived on the widening gap between their skills.
She's not letting me breathe.
Ares's chest heaved as he barely deflected another strike aimed at his ribs. The sheer weight behind it sent a jolt up his arm, but he held firm.
Even as his body screamed, his heart pounded louder.
He should've felt anger. Frustration.
But he didn't.
The fire in Nephis's eyes mirrored the one beginning to stir within him.
The pain of losing ground only fed it further.
Her sword lashed out once more, cutting toward his throat—
Ares ducked, the tip grazing just above his skin.
Closer.
Nephis twisted, pressing the advantage, and Ares felt the faint edge of her blade tear through his defenses again, nicking his forearm.
He grimaced but didn't step back.
Instead, he pushed forward, his sword locking with hers in a deadlock that shook the dojo's walls.
For a moment, they stood close, breaths mingling in the charged space between them.
Ares's crimson gaze met her silver one, burning but unwavering.
"Still not enough?" he asked, his voice low, rough with strain, but laced with something deeper, something that lingered in the charged space between them.
Nephis leaned in slightly, her eyes gleaming like molten steel, an intensity that could sear through stone.
"No," she whispered, her voice soft but smoldering with quiet defiance.
Her blade twisted, and with it, the lock shattered.
Ares barely had time to react before her knee slammed into his side, a precise and brutal strike that drove the air from his lungs. He stumbled, gasping, his instincts screaming to recover—
But her blade was already there.
She moved with ruthless precision, her sword cutting down in a merciless arc.
Ares's weapon rose to block, but he was too slow.
The strike hit hard, wrenching the sword from his grasp.
The wooden blade spun across the dojo floor, landing with a hollow thud that echoed through the silence.
Ares froze, his breath ragged, his gaze flickering between the empty space in his hands and the blade Nephis now held at his throat.
The point hovered inches from his skin, trembling slightly as if it, too, felt the crackling tension in the air.
Sweat slid down his jaw, but Ares didn't flinch.
He could feel it—the heat rolling off her in waves, her fire still alive, still burning for him.
Nephis stared down at him, her chest rising and falling with the remnants of battle. Her silver eyes were fierce but unreadable, as if waging a war of their own.
For a moment, neither spoke.
The dojo fell into silence, broken only by the sound of their ragged breathing, the weight of what they weren't saying louder than anything else.
Then—slowly—Nephis lowered the blade.
Her gaze lingered on him for a heartbeat longer, something unspoken flickering in the depths of her eyes.
Nephis stepped back, her blade lowering slowly, though her silver eyes never left him. They were molten, unwavering, yet behind the blaze, something flickered—confusion, uncertainty, a crack in her controlled exterior.
"It's over," she said, her voice cool but uneven, as if she were speaking more to herself than to him.
Ares exhaled, his chest rising and falling with the rhythm of exertion, but his smirk only deepened. His crimson gaze stayed locked on hers, glinting with something sharp and devilish.
"Over?" he murmured, the word curling from his lips like smoke. He tilted his head, his smirk widening into something almost sinister. "You say that like you've won. But you've only stepped closer to the edge."
Nephis stiffened, her grip tightening on her weapon. She took a deliberate step toward him, the fire in her silver eyes hardening into resolve, yet her pulse betrayed her—fast, erratic, like the burn in her veins refused to be contained.
"Edge of what?" she demanded, her voice sharp, though a waver lingered beneath.
Ares chuckled, a low, velvet sound, laced with mockery and something darker. His crimson eyes drank her in, every twitch of her fingers, every flicker of her gaze, as if he could see straight through the steel she tried to wield against him.
"The edge of yourself," he said, his voice deep, steady. "You fight like someone trying to keep control. But tell me, Nephis—" he leaned forward slightly, his gaze narrowing, "—what happens when you lose it?"
Her lips parted, her breath catching for a moment too long. Anger flared in her expression, quick and fierce, but behind it, something softer churned, something she didn't understand.
"You're wrong," she snapped, her tone colder, harder. She stepped closer, her blade still angled low but ready to strike. "I don't lose. Not to you, and not to myself."
Ares tilted his head, his smirk now a full, wicked grin. "Oh, but you want to, don't you?" he murmured, his voice low and smooth, each word dripping with quiet malice. "Just for a moment. To see what it's like when someone else takes the reins."
Nephis's chest rose sharply, a heat she couldn't place twisting through her. She stepped closer still, defiance sparking in her eyes, as if she were daring him to push her further.
"Tomorrow night," she said abruptly, her voice firm, cutting through the charged air. "Same time. Same place."
Ares raised a brow, his grin softening into something more deliberate, more dangerous. "You're inviting me back already? Careful, Nephis. I might think you enjoy this."
Her gaze burned, unflinching. "You'll come because you can't resist. Just like I'll come because I'll crush you again," she said, her words biting, though they carried an edge of something more—something she didn't dare name.
Ares took a slow step toward her, his presence heavy, the air around him electric. His voice dropped lower, softer, like the whisper of a devil in her ear. "Crush me? Or feed the fire between us?"
Nephis turned sharply, her steps toward the dojo door steady, even as the heat lingered in her chest. At the threshold, she paused, her hand brushing the frame as she glanced back.
"Tomorrow," she said, her silver eyes locking with his once more. "Try not to disappoint me."
Ares laughed, low and dark, his voice reverberating through the empty space. "You're not walking away unscathed, Nephis," he murmured, his crimson gaze gleaming. "Every night, I'll take a little more of you. Until there's nothing left but what I've made you."
Her breath hitched. For the briefest moment, her resolve faltered, but she quickly straightened, her expression hardening as she disappeared into the shadows beyond the doorway.
Ares stood there, his grin lingering, his body aching but alive with anticipation.
Tomorrow night.
She would return.
And when she did, he'd pull her even deeper into his hold.