The tension in the camp was palpable. The sky above the fortress had darkened blocking the afternoon sun, storm clouds rolling in like an omen. The rest of the squad stood in the sidelines, watching as Draven and Modred faced off in the center of the sparring arena.
Draven rested his massive axe on his shoulder, his broad frame relaxed but commanding. His dark cloak billowed slightly in the wind, and his dark eyes bolded with intensity. "I've been wondering how strong you really are, Modred. Let's find out."
I unsheathed my sword, its dark energy pulsating faintly in the dim light. My crimson eyes locked onto Draven, his expression calm and cold. "You sure about this? I won't hold back."
A faint smirk tugged at Draven's lips. "I don't need you to."
Bran, standing at the edge of the field, raised a hand. "No killing each other. We can't afford to lose either of you."
Draven nodded, his gaze never leaving me. "Don't worry. I'll make sure to stop before he breaks."
The moment Bran signaled the start, Draven moved with shocking speed. Despite his size, he closed the distance in an instant, his axe slicing through the air with a fiery glow.
I sidestepped, my movement fluid, and countered with a swift slash of my blade. Dark flames erupted from the ground, surging toward Draven like serpents.
Draven swung his axe in a wide arc, flames roaring to life from its edge. The flames disappeared on contact, and the force of his swing sent a shock wave rippling through the arena.
"You've got speed," Draven said, his voice calm but firm. "But speed alone won't save you."
I smirked. "Good thing I have more than that."
I vanished in a blur, reappearing behind Draven. My blade struck with deadly precision, aiming for Draven's exposed flank.
But Draven anticipated the move. He spun, his axe meeting my sword with a deafening clang. Sparks flew as the two weapons clashed, and the ground beneath us cracked under the pressure.
Draven raised his free hand, flames erupting from his palm surging towards me. The fire roared like a living thing, its heat intense enough to sear the air.
I darted to the side, the flames narrowly missing me. I launched into the air, descending with my sword raised, aiming for Draven's shoulder.
Draven raised his axe just in time, blocking the strike. The force of the blow sent him skidding back, but he didn't falter.
"You're holding back," Draven said, his voice a mix of frustration and amusement. "Afraid of losing?"
My eyes narrowed. "Afraid of hurting you."
Draven's smirk widened. "Try me."
With a roar, Draven slammed his axe into the ground. Flames erupted in a shockwave, forcing me to leap back. Draven surged forward, closing the gap with terrifying speed.
I parried the first strike but was unprepared for the sheer force of Draven's follow-up. The axe's blunt side struck his chest, sending him sprawling across the ground.
Before I could recover, Draven was on me. He pressed his axe against my throat, the blade glowing with ambers.
"Speed isn't enough," Draven said, his voice calm but firm. "Power, precision, and experience-that's what wins battles."
My crimson eyes burned with defiance, dark mana flickering at my fingertips. But before I could strike, Bran's cut through the air.
"ENOUGH!"
Draven stepped back, resting his axe on his shoulder. He offered me a hand his expression unreadable.
"You're strong, Modred," Draven said, his tone serious. "But brute strength alone won't carry you. Learn to control it, or it'll destroy you."
I ignored the hand, rising to my feet on my own. "This isn't over."
Draven smirked. "I'll be waiting."
As the squad dispersed, Xeraniel chuckled, clapping me on the shoulder. "Tough break, dude. But hey, at least you didn't die."
I said nothing, my mind already replaying the fight. I had underestimated Draven, but I wouldn't make the same mistake again.