The two men launched themselves at each other with wild fury. Neither held back. The forest clearing lit up with the sharp clangs of steel colliding. The night air trembled with the echo of their rage.
Eamon's jaw was clenched. His breath came heavy. His eyes were locked on Arthur's face. He didn't blink. He didn't waver. His grip on the Vixterium sword tightened. The blade glowed faintly red, pulsing with energy.
Arthur's face held no emotion. Only focus. He moved swiftly, blocking, dodging, striking. His twin daggers shimmered under the moonlight. He fought like someone who had done this a thousand times. But tonight, Eamon was not the same man he had once been.
Their weapons crashed again.
Steel hit steel.
Sparks flew in every direction.
Eamon stepped forward with a powerful swing. Arthur barely managed to block it with both daggers. The blow pushed him back a few steps.
Eamon did not stop.
He swung again.
And again.
Each strike stronger than the last.
He had not trained long with the Vixterium sword. But he had practiced every day since he received it. Every night. Every spare moment. He had fought with Skarn, with training dummies, even with himself in the mirror.
Now it was paying off.
He didn't have perfect form. His footing slipped at times. But his strength was real. His fire was real.
Arthur twisted and parried, but the force of each blow made his arms tremble. He tried to counter, but Eamon's rage gave him speed. His blade whistled through the air with sharp intent.
With every strike, Arthur moved backward.
His boots slid across the dirt. His shoulders leaned. His arms absorbed the shock.
Then came the moment.
Eamon swung high. Arthur lifted his left dagger to block. Their blades met in a harsh clang.
At the same time, Arthur lunged with his right hand, trying to stab Eamon in the chest.
Eamon grabbed his wrist with his left hand.
The two men stood locked.
Face to face.
Eyes burning.
Muscles tensed.
Arthur growled, trying to force the dagger forward.
Eamon pushed back, gripping the wrist tightly.
They stayed locked like that, sweat running down their faces, breath hot and sharp.
Then Arthur jerked his knee up and kicked Eamon in the leg.
Eamon stumbled.
He dropped to one knee.
Arthur raised both daggers and slashed down, aiming for Eamon's face.
But Eamon twisted his body to the side and brought his sword up in a wide arc.
The blade caught both daggers, pushing them away from his face just in time.
Arthur staggered from the force.
Eamon, still on one knee, kicked out with his leg and hit Arthur on the side of his thigh.
Arthur lost his balance and fell onto the ground.
Eamon rose.
His breathing was loud now.
He looked at the vampire lying in the dirt.
Then he stepped forward and kicked him hard in the side.
Arthur rolled across the ground, coughing.
Eamon's voice roared across the clearing.
"How dare you hurt Skarn?!"
His shout echoed through the forest.
His fists trembled.
His eyes burned with anger.
He raised his sword high.
Then he brought it down with all his strength.
Arthur crossed both daggers to block.
But the force was too much.
The vixterium sword crashed into the daggers.
There was a sharp sound.
A snap.
Then silence.
Arthur's daggers shattered into pieces.
He was thrown back like a ragdoll.
His body rolled across the ground and hit a tree.
The impact shook the leaves.
Eamon stood tall, chest heaving, watching.
His grip on the sword did not loosen.
He shouted again.
"Get up, you bloody vampire! Get up so I can kill you!"
Arthur groaned.
He pushed himself up.
His hands were shaking.
He looked down at the broken metal scattered across the dirt.
He looked up at Eamon.
His face twisted in frustration.
He slowly stretched his arms to the sides.
He muttered something under his breath.
A red glow appeared around him.
Magic circles began to form in the air.
Red lines spun and curled like ink in water.
Then sharp daggers made of blood emerged from the circles.
Ten of them.
They hovered, dripping red.
Arthur pointed forward.
The blood daggers shot toward Eamon with speed.
Eamon raised his sword and slashed at the incoming daggers.
One. Two. Three. He cut them mid-air, but the force was strong. One dagger hit his blade at an angle and the shock made his fingers open. His sword flew out of his hand and landed behind him.
Arthur laughed. His voice was low and cruel.
"Now you've lost your weapon too. I'll show you the power of my blood-devil magic."
Eamon didn't move. He looked at Arthur with calm eyes.
Arthur's smile widened. He raised both hands again.
This time, more magic circles formed. Not just a couple. But thirty.
They hovered in the air, spinning slowly. From each circle, blood daggers began to appear. They hovered like an army of blades. Then they moved. They surged toward Eamon like a storm.
Eamon didn't flinch. He raised his right hand and whispered.
"Arcana flame barrier."
A wide circle of fire burst out in front of him. A wall of flame roared to life. It stood tall and wide, its heat pushing back the night. The blood daggers struck the flame barrier. Each dagger sizzled and vanished on contact. The heat was too much.
Arthur's attack disappeared into the fire like dry leaves into a furnace. Eamon's fire burned strong and bright.
Arthur's eyes narrowed. He gritted his teeth.
Both men stepped back. Their cloaks swayed. Their hair moved in the wind. The clearing was quiet for a moment. Then they raised their hands again. This time, both chanted at once.
Arthur's blood magic glowed red.
Eamon's fire magic burned yellow.
More circles formed in the air. They floated. They spun. Then the air exploded with magic. Flames shot forward. Blood daggers surged again. The two forces met in the middle of the clearing.
Red and yellow. Darkness and heat.
They clashed in the air, spinning, bursting, twisting.
A wave of fire cut through the daggers.
Some blades broke. Some flames faded. But neither side stopped.
The ground cracked. The trees shook. Birds flew out from the forest in fear.
Eamon took a step forward. Arthur did too.
Their magic collided again. A second wave lit the sky.
Fire met blood. Power met power.
They did not speak. They only fought. Their eyes locked and hearts steady.
And a series of powerful clashes between blood and fire began.