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Pov
Kane
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The steel clashed against steel, the air was filled with the roar of men and the roar of men and whining of horses. The battle was chaos , yet Kane remained calm in the storm. As His black armored cavalry cut through the enemy's like knife through butter.
'This should be over soon: -he thought as he tore his halberd from the chest of a fallen enemy ,his grip firm despite the blood that dripped down its shaft.
Around him his Calvary moved in unison,sweeping through the battlefield with ruthless efficiency.
After a few minutes of battle, he already noticed that no one had taken command after the dead commander of the army. an army without a central figure wouldnt last long, especially against such an assault.
A soldier lunged at him from the side ,but kane was faster. With a swift motion,he spun his halberd around catching the man in the throat. The soldier gurgles stumbling back,hands clutchingat his neck as he collapsed to the ground.kane didn't stop to watch him die. His eyes were already scanning the battlefield, assessing,calculating.
"Forward" kane's voiced boomed across the field, carry over the chaos. His men pressed on , following his commands without question. They fought like demons, relentless and unstoppable,breaking through the enemy's defence with every charge.
But even as the advanced, Kane could see it-the cracks beginning to form in the enemy ranks. They were faltering,their lines breaking, their morale crumbling . Fear had taken hold and Kane could sense it in the air.
These men weren't soldiers fighting for a cause they believed in .they were peasants and commoners, conscripted to serve a rebellion they didn't truly understand . They fought because they had to not because they wanted too.
Kane could see it in their eyes as he rode past, his halberd cutting down anyone foolish energy to challenge him. Their fear was palpable,their resolve shattered. The battle was nearing its end, and soon,the rout would begin.
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Pov
Lucas Bracken
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The air between them tightened like a coiled spring, ready to snap. Lucas's mind raced, the chaos of the battlefield swirling around him. He could see his soldiers—their faces twisted in terror as they struggled against the relentless charge of the black-armored cavalry. The sight of their panic and the realization that his carefully laid plans were crumbling under the weight of their overwhelming assault filled him with dread.
With a roar, Lucas charged, sword raised high. Null's eyes narrowed, his grip on the Blackfyre sword tightening.
They met in the middle, blades clashing with a sharp ring that reverberated through the battlefield. Lucas's sword came down in a brutal overhead strike, meant to split Null in two. But Null, calm and precise, sidestepped and countered with a clean, horizontal slash aimed at Lucas's ribs.
He twisted his body just in time, deflecting the blow, but there it was again—the simplicity, the minimal effort Null seemed to expend in each strike. It wasn't that he was overpowering Lucas. No, it was as if every movement he made was perfectly timed, perfectly placed, leaving Lucas no room to breathe.
Lucas snarled, launching another furious series of attacks—overhead slashes, sweeping arcs, thrusts meant to skewer Null where he stood. But Null danced around them, his sword moving with fluid precision, each counter barely perceptible until the last possible second. Each time Lucas thought he had found an opening, Null's sword was there, waiting.
In a few minutes they had traded hundreds of blows but he still saw no path to victory.
They disengaged, and for a moment, Lucas panted, frustration and disbelief welling up inside him. "What… what is this? No flash, no flourish. You fight like a mere foot soldier!"
Null's expression remained impassive, but his eyes burned with focus. He raised his sword, the blade gleaming darkly in the afternoon light.
"Flowing Shadow Form," Null intoned, his voice calm yet commanding.
Lucas's eyes widened. Flowing Shadow. He had never heard of it before and had always dismissed the thought of such a basic sword style as unsuitable for true warriors. Yet here he was, an Iron Core stage warrior, struggling against a Peak Aura Awakening opponent using nothing more than this 'basic' style.
Lucas's shock turned into desperation as he lashed out once more, trying to force an opening. His strikes came faster, harder, but Null's sword was always there, deflecting, parrying, answering each attack with one of his own.
"How is this possible?" Lucas muttered under his breath, disbelief creeping into his voice.
Null's sword blurred, cutting through the air in arcs that seemed too simple to be effective—yet each one forced Lucas back a step. There was no wasted movement, no unnecessary flourish. Just the relentless, efficient motion of a man who had perfected the basics to an art form.
Suddenly, Null stepped forward, closing the distance in a heartbeat. His sword came up in a deceptively simple thrust, aimed directly at Lucas's heart.
Lucas barely had time to raise his blade in defense. The force of the blow jarred his arms, nearly knocking his sword from his grip. He stumbled back, eyes wide.
"How… can this be?"
Null said nothing, his calm gaze never wavering. He simply shifted his stance, preparing for the next exchange. For Lucas, it was like facing a storm that never stopped—not a hurricane of power, but a steady, unyielding force that wore him down with every strike
"Is this all you have?"-mid fight he heard these words he look into the emotionless of his opponent, although his words came in the form of a question he had a feeling that his response was irrelevant "no this won't nearly be enough"
"What do you mean" his voice came out strained he knew exactly what he meant right from the start of this battle he had never actually felt the threat of death, but he chose to ignore not wanting to believe that his life was already in the hands of an 18 year old aura awakening stage warrior
" I asked you what do you mean " at this point a hint of fear crept into his voice
But Null only gave him a measured look, his stance shifting subtly.
"Whispering Step."
For a split second, Lucas hesitated, trying to comprehend the words. It was all the opening Null needed.
In the blink of an eye—literally the moment Lucas blinked—Null vanished from sight, reappearing behind him. Lucas's sword arm froze in mid-swing, and before he could react, he felt the cold steel of Null's blade press against his neck.
The fight was over.
Or at least it should have been.
Lucas's eyes widened in disbelief, his chest heaving. "A force art... But that's impossible!" His voice quivered. "You're just Peak Aura Awakening... You shouldn't be able to—"
He staggered back, his mind racing. Force arts were supposed to be the domain of the elite—so rare because only Golden Soul Stage warriors could create them. They weren't merely advanced techniques; they were the pinnacle of martial mastery, crafted and refined by warriors who had reached near-mythical heights of cultivation.
For someone at Null's level, a Peak Aura Awakening warrior, to wield one—it defied every rule of cultivation Lucas knew.
"How could you...?" His voice was hoarse with shock. "A force art, at your level? Only a golden soul ... This—this can't be real..."
Null's eyes narrowed. Lucas had seen too much—understood too much.
Without hesitation, before Lucas could even blink again, Null's blade moved.
The steel bit cleanly through Lucas's throat, severing flesh and bone. Blood sprayed as Lucas collapsed, his hands instinctively reaching for the gaping wound as his life spilled onto the ground.
His eyes remained wide in shock, his lips moving soundlessly. Force arts were so rare, because only warriors at the Golden Soul Stage could hope to create one. And yet, he had just seen a man far beneath that stage use it with deadly precision.
But before he could process any more, darkness swallowed him.
Null watched impassively as Lucas's body crumpled,