The chamber exploded with motion.
Malkoran's blade of shadow tore through the air, shrieking like steel dragged across bone. I raised my sword to block, and the impact rattled my bones. The force behind it was wrong—too heavy, too cold. Like I was clashing against a storm made solid.
My boots slid across the stone floor. I gritted my teeth, shoved forward, and managed to twist his strike wide. My sword screamed against his conjured weapon, sparks scattering where no metal should've made them.
He didn't flinch.
His other hand rose, fingers curling. The ground trembled. From the cracks in the stone, more shades pulled themselves free, their forms unraveling and reforming like smoke caught in wind. Their empty eyes turned toward me.
"Your soul is weak," Malkoran said, voice steady, unhurried. "It will serve me well."
The words scraped like claws across my skull. I shoved them out, forcing my body to move. My blade swung, cutting the first shade clean in half. Its form scattered, but before I could draw breath another drove its weapon toward my ribs.
I twisted. The edge scraped my armor but didn't pierce. A surge of strength pulsed in my chest—the leveled health holding me steady where I should have dropped. I snarled, driving my sword through the shade's chest. Smoke exploded, leaving nothing but cold air.
"More tricks?" I spat, chest heaving. "Then keep them coming."
But my voice cracked, betraying the fear bleeding through my throat.
Malkoran moved again, gliding toward me. The shades spread wide, herding me back, forcing me closer to the Beacon's glow. My arms ached. My lungs burned. The new stamina kept me upright, kept me swinging—but each second felt stolen.
He raised his shadow blade high. I lifted mine to meet it, and when they clashed the sound thundered through the chamber. His strength pressed me down, inch by inch, my knees buckling. My teeth ground against each other, sweat dripping into my eyes.
I couldn't match him. Not like this.
Something inside me sparked. Heat flared at my fingertips. The Magicka I'd shoved points into—it roared alive without my call. Instinct ripped through me. I let my off-hand fly forward, palm open.
A burst of light seared from it. Not fire, not lightning—just light, raw and blinding.
The shades shrieked as the glow swept across them, their bodies scattering back into smoke. Even Malkoran hissed, jerking his head away. The pressure on my blade faltered for a single, precious second.
I roared and shoved forward. My sword drove close—close enough to graze the edges of his robes before he dissolved into smoke and reformed three steps back. His eyes burned black as coals.
"You dare—"
I didn't wait for the rest. I lunged. My sword cut through another shade before it fully reformed, my breath ragged, my vision blurred.
But Malkoran was already moving. His hand rose, and black tendrils whipped from his palm, faster than I could see. They wrapped around my wrist, my chest, my throat. Cold fire burned into my flesh.
I choked, knees hitting stone. The grip wasn't physical—it was deeper, sinking into my blood, pulling something out of me. My vision blurred at the edges, dark creeping in.
He was stealing me. My soul.
"No… not… yet…" I growled, forcing my legs to push, my body to fight against the invisible chains. The Beacon pulsed behind me, its hum growing louder, faster, like a drum inside my skull.
Meridia's voice stirred again, distant but sharp. Survive.
I clenched my teeth, rage rising against the cold. With every ounce of strength left in my body, I shoved back. My sword arm tore free from the tendrils, swinging upward in a desperate slash.
Steel screamed. The shadow tendrils snapped, light bursting from the wound. I staggered back, coughing, gasping for air. My vision cleared enough to see Malkoran staring at me—not furious, not afraid, but… amused.
"You have teeth after all," he said, lowering his hand. The shadows rippled around him, the shades drawing back into a tight circle. His blade of void shimmered, reshaping sharper, longer.
The fight wasn't over. It had barely begun.
I forced myself upright, sword trembling in my hands. My chest ached. My arms shook. But my feet stayed planted.
"You'll have to do better," I said, though the words tasted of blood.
Malkoran smiled, slow and cruel. "Gladly."
And then he struck.
The chamber erupted in shadow and light as we collided again, steel against void, my roar drowned beneath his laughter.