The black tendrils emanating from the cloaked man coiled and uncoiled like living shadows, pulsating with raw energy. The oppressive force in the air pressed against Loren's chest, making it hard to breathe. The wooden counter had already been reduced to splinters, and the trader was backing away, his eyes wide with a mix of shock and fear.
Loren couldn't move. His legs felt glued to the floor as the confrontation unfolded. This wasn't the kind of danger he was used to—scavenging among beasts and fighting for scraps in the slums was nothing compared to the sheer power radiating from the cloaked figure.
The trader's face shifted from disbelief to something more calculated. Slowly, his hands clenched into fists, and his stance widened as he planted his feet firmly on the ground. Loren noticed a faint shimmer rippling around the trader's body—a telltale sign that he wasn't entirely defenseless.
What is this guy doing? Loren thought, his heart racing. The trader was just an old man—or so he had assumed. But as bronze-hued tendrils began to crawl over the trader's hands, forming a glove-like shield around his palms, Loren's assumptions crumbled.
The First Clash
"Damn my luck," the trader muttered under his breath, though his voice carried in the silence that had overtaken the market. "Thought I'd make a fortune today, but it seems trouble's all I've found."
His tone betrayed no fear, only irritation. Loren could barely process the words before the trader lunged forward.
Brown tendrils shot out from the trader's palms, intertwining and hardening as his hand turned a faint bronze hue. His palm met the cloaked man's incoming fist with a resounding impact.
BOOM!
The shockwave ripped through the cramped space, shaking the stalls and sending wooden debris flying. Loren stumbled back, clutching a support beam as he watched the collision of energies. Where the black tendrils and bronze met, faint wisps of energy sizzled and clashed, each vying for dominance.
The cloaked man's clothes fluttered violently from the blast, though he barely moved. The trader, on the other hand, stood his ground, his feet firmly planted.
But Loren noticed something else: the trader's body trembled ever so slightly.
The cloaked man chuckled, his voice carrying a sinister edge. "Let's see how long those old bones of yours can hold out before they break."
The words were barely out of his mouth before he struck again. His fists, still shrouded in writhing black energy, came in quick succession, each blow aimed to overwhelm the trader's defenses.
The trader met every strike with his bronze-coated palms, his movements fluid despite his age. The sound of their clashes echoed through the market like thunder, drawing the attention of nearby merchants and customers. People whispered in hushed tones, watching the fight from a safe distance.
Loren's Desperation
Loren's knuckles whitened as he gripped the beam tighter. His chest burned with frustration and helplessness. He had come to the black market with a plan—a shaky one, but a plan nonetheless.
Now, that plan lay in ruins.
His gaze darted to the Catalyst, still clutched in the trader's pocket. It was so close, yet impossibly out of reach. The fight unfolding before him wasn't something he could interfere with. If the cloaked man's display of power wasn't enough to deter him, the trader's unexpected combat prowess certainly was.
But Loren couldn't stop thinking about the blood orb fragment in his pack. Without the Catalyst, it was useless—a death sentence waiting to happen.
If I don't get it now... I'll never get another chance.
His fists clenched at his sides as he struggled with the weight of that thought.
The Fight Shifts
The cloaked man's strikes came faster now, his movements a blur. Though the trader managed to block most of them, the strain was beginning to show. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead, and his breathing grew heavier.
The cloaked man's laughter echoed through the room. "You're not bad for a relic. But you should've stayed behind the counter where you belong."
The trader didn't reply. His focus was entirely on maintaining his defense, but Loren could see the cracks beginning to form. The bronze glow around the trader's hands flickered slightly, and his footwork became less precise.
The cloaked man noticed too.
In a fluid motion, he redirected the dark energy from his fists to his legs. The black tendrils wrapped around his boots, surging with power as he shifted his stance. With a sharp twist of his hips, he lashed out with a kick aimed directly at the trader's knees.
The attack was fast—too fast.
The trader's eyes widened as he tried to will his bronze energy toward his legs. But he was too slow.
Pa!
The kick connected with a muffled thud, and the trader staggered backward. His balance faltered, and his stance broke.
The cloaked man didn't hesitate. He surged forward, his fists flying in a relentless barrage. Each strike forced the trader further back, his defenses crumbling with every blow. Loren watched in stunned silence as the once-confident merchant was reduced to a desperate, retreating figure.
A Cunning Strategy
The trader's back hit the wall of the shop, and for a moment, it seemed the fight was over. But Loren noticed something strange—despite his precarious position, the trader's expression had changed.
He wasn't panicked. He was thinking.
"Don't push me too far, boy!" the trader growled, his voice a mix of anger and desperation. "You have no idea who you're dealing with."
The cloaked man smirked. "Save your breath, old man. I'm only here to teach you a lesson about honesty. Once I break one of your limbs, I'll take the Catalyst and leave."
Loren's stomach churned at the cold indifference in the man's voice. He wasn't bluffing.
But the trader's eyes flashed with something dangerous.
"If you push me past my breaking point," the trader said slowly, "I'll make sure neither of us leaves this place alive."
The cloaked man's smirk faltered slightly. His attacks slowed, his movements becoming more cautious. Loren could see the hesitation creeping into his body language.
For all his power, the cloaked man wasn't reckless. He knew better than to underestimate someone as cunning as the trader.
With a sigh, the cloaked man stepped back, allowing the trader a moment to catch his breath. The tension in the room didn't lessen—it simply shifted, a dangerous calm before the next storm.
The trader gulped down air, his hands trembling as he lowered them. Loren could see the faint glow of his bronze energy beginning to stabilize again.
"Smart choice," the trader muttered, though his voice was laced with bitterness.
Loren's Inner Resolve
As the confrontation eased, Loren's thoughts raced. He knew this wasn't over—not for him. The cloaked man might leave, the trader might survive, but none of that changed the fact that the Catalyst was slipping further out of his grasp.
He glanced at the shattered counter, the debris scattered across the floor. The black market's onlookers were retreating, their interest waning now that the fight was over.
No one will hand me power, Loren thought, his fists trembling at his sides. If I want it, I'll have to take it.
The pause
The cloaked man stepped back, his fists lowering slightly as he studied the trader's trembling but still defiant figure. The tension between them hung thick in the air, suffocating and electric.
"You talk a big game, old man," the cloaked man said, his voice steady but colder now. "But even the best walls crumble when struck enough times. Remember that."
The trader let out a shaky breath, his bronze tendrils flickering faintly around his hands. Though he stood upright, Loren could tell the man was on the brink of collapse.
Yet even in his battered state, the trader didn't lower his guard. "I'm not going to repeat myself, boy," he said, his voice sharper now, like a blade honed by desperation. "You push me any further, and I'll show you just how far a cornered man can go. This isn't a game."
For a moment, the two stood still, their energies crackling faintly in the air between them. Loren watched from the shadows, his heart pounding in his chest.
The cloaked man tilted his head slightly, his black tendrils beginning to swirl lazily around his body. "You're stubborn. I'll give you that."
Then, with a sharp breath, the cloaked man tensed his muscles, his tendrils snapping to attention. Loren's eyes widened as he realized the man wasn't finished.
"You think this is the end?" the cloaked man said softly, taking a step forward. "Let's see how much fight those old bones of yours have left."
The trader's face darkened, his stance shifting. Loren could feel the shift in the air—a storm about to break.
And just like that, the fight erupted again, with a thunderous clash of energy and raw force that shook the marketplace to its core.