Draven surged through the thinning forest, breath sharp, eyes scanning—
And then he saw her.
A figure standing still on a thick branch ahead, sword in hand.
Kaela.
Commander of the Black Wing.
She stood straight on a thick branch ahead—long white hair flowing, sharp golden eyes locked on him.
Black armor hugged her like a second skin, edges glinting with cold precision.
Sword in hand. Waiting. Calm.
Draven didn't slow—but his thoughts snapped:
> "Damn it. Another one? Where the hell did sh—"
He didn't finish.
She vanished.
In a blink, Kaela appeared directly in front of him—Mana crackling around her like lightning—her sword already swinging downward.
His eyes narrowed, instincts taking over.
> "Crap."
Steel came down.
He jerked his head aside—but not far enough.
The blade bit clean through his right shoulder, slicing off the hand still gripping his dagger—and continued on, shearing through trees behind him in a single arcing stroke.
Blood sprayed in a violent burst.
The forest behind him exploded in splinters and bark.
But Draven didn't stop.
Didn't flinch.
Instantly, his left hand snapped out—grabbing his severed right arm mid-fall, fingers locking tight around the arm.
At the same time—
His leg launched upward.
He planted a foot on the flat of Kaela's sword—and pushed off, hard.
A sudden, violent counter-move—using her own weapon as a springboard.
Kaela stood rigid, eyes locked on Draven's retreating form.
She had aimed to cleave him in two—cut him clean in half.
But he hadn't just dodged.
He'd turned her attack against her, using the moment to put distance between them.
Her golden eyes narrowed, watching him land lightly on a distant branch, blood dripping from his severed arm, crimson eyes locked on her.
His right hand—still clutching the dagger—was gripped in his left.
> She's fast… too damn fast. I barely caught her movement.
If she'd gone a hair lower, right now.
If she had landed that blow fully… A flicker of doubt passed through him.
He might have died.
Draven lifted the severed hand slowly, eyes never leaving hers.
> Let's see if this actually works…
He pressed the hand back against the bleeding shoulder carefully stump—flesh meeting flesh.
instantly.
The flesh then the skin began to knit.
Veins, tendons, muscle—snapping together in perfect order.
The arm rejourning.
In moments, his hand was whole again.
He flexed his fingers once, then tightened them around his dagger.
> Good.
That worked better than I thought.
They stared at each other.
Neither moved.
No words. No warning.
Draven's crimson eyes locked with hers—sharp, unwavering.
Kaela's golden gaze didn't blink.
And in that stillness, Draven realized:
> She's way on another level. than those other two. I need to take her seriously.
If I want to get through this—
He didn't get to finish the thought.
She vanished.
In the blink of an eye, Kaela appeared in front of him again—sword already in motion, thrusting straight for his skull.
His instincts screamed.
Draven twisted his head—barely dodging.
Steel sliced past his cheek.
But he struck back instantly—dagger flashing forward, aimed dead for her throat.
SHHK—
She moved her head just slightly.
Effortless. Controlled.
The blade missed.
Then—
WHAM.
A boot collided with his ribs.
Hard. Brutal. Direct.
> "Fuck—!"
Her leg drove into him like a war hammer.
Draven felt the crack—bone splitting deep in his side.
His body went airborne, launched backward at full force.
CRASH—
He smashed through a thick tree trunk—splinters exploding in every direction.
Then another. And another.
Branches snapped. Bark split. The forest tore around him as he flew.
BOOM—
He hit the ground, rolled hard, dirt exploding beneath him.
He slid to a stop in a crater of broken earth and shattered leaves.
Blood smeared the ground. His breathing was sharp, ragged.
But he was already moving.
His body knit itself back together—slow, painful, imperfect. Muscle twitching. Bone cracking back into place. Skin pulling tight over the damage.
Draven coughed—hard. A thick spray of blood hit the dirt.
He hunched, one hand on his knee, breathing ragged. Then he straightened, eyes burning under his blood-matted hair.
> "God damn it…" he growled, voice hoarse.
"What the fuck is this…? That's the second time I've been sent flying from one goddamn hit."
He spat more blood. Wiped his mouth with the back of his hand—crimson smearing across his jaw.
> "This one wasn't as strong as the first, but still—shit. Annoying as hell."
His eyes lifted—scanning the area around him.
Knights—cloaked in black steel and cold silence—closing in from every direction. Shadows with blades. The rest of the Black Wing knights.
They moved like wolves, patient and precise, encircling their prey surrounding him on all sides now. Silent. Watching. Blades drawn
"Of course," he muttered.
Straightening to his full height, the healing nearly complete, he flexed his fingers—feeling the last threads of torn tissue reconnect.
> " You damn bastards just keep showing up uninvited "One after the other. Barging into my house like this is your damn backyard."
His dagger spun once in his hand.
His crimson gaze sharpened, locking back toward the trees where Kaela stood—calm and unreadable.
"Damn it all to hell…"
His voice dropped, steady now. Cold.
> "Let's see how many of you leave alive."