Arthur's grip tightened around his daggers, his breath sharp and heavy with rage. His voice shook with fury as he pointed one blade at the monster before them.
"We will kill you today, you bastard."
Winston's smirk widened, sharp fangs glinting in the dim light. His crimson eyes shifted from Arthur to the boy standing beside him. "I see you brought a friend, wimp. Who is he exactly?"
Eamon stepped forward, his Vixterium sword gleaming as he lifted it with both hands. His stance was steady, his expression cold and unyielding. "My name is Eamon. And together, we'll make you pay for killing all those innocent people."
For a moment Winston stared at him, then burst into a cruel laugh that echoed through the trees. "Well, Eamon, I see you're just as delusional as your pathetic mixed-blood friend here. Do you really think you can defeat me? I am an Obsidian Seraph—an actual one. That means I'm beyond you. Beyond both of you."
Eamon didn't flinch, his voice as sharp as his blade. "We know exactly who you are. You're a murderer. A criminal who takes pleasure in blood and suffering. Your reign of terror ends today."
Winston licked his lips, almost hungrily. "Enough talk. Can we just start? I'm craving blood."
He stretched out one hand, chanting under his breath. "Noctis Katana Pulse!"
The ground quivered. From his palm, dark blood coiled and twisted like a serpent, solidifying into the form of a blade. A long, curved sword gleamed with a sinister red glow, dripping crimson energy as though alive.
Arthur tightened his grip on his daggers. "Eamon. Ready?"
Eamon nodded once. "Ready."
Without another word, both of them surged forward.
Arthur leapt first, daggers aimed straight at Winston's face, while Eamon swung his sword in a powerful sideways slash at Winston's chest. Their timing was perfect—fast, relentless.
But Winston was faster. Much faster.
With one smooth movement, he raised his blood-forged sword and parried Eamon's strike. Sparks hissed in the night. At the same instant, he tilted the blade upward, knocking Arthur's dagger strike aside as if it were nothing.
"Pathetic," Winston sneered.
Eamon gritted his teeth, pivoted, and swung low, his blade darting toward Winston's legs. For a heartbeat, it looked like the attack would land. But Winston twisted his body and deflected it effortlessly. Then, with a brutal counterstrike, he slashed outward.
The force sent Eamon flying backward, crashing into the dirt.
Arthur shouted, rage bubbling in his voice. He lunged again, both daggers flashing in a storm of strikes. His movements were wild yet precise, each slash fueled by anger and vengeance. The air whistled with the speed of his blades.
But Winston was unreadable. His sword moved with unnatural precision, blocking every single blow. Arthur's fury crashed against an unbreakable wall. And with one final slash, Winston batted him away, the blow grazing Arthur's chest. Blood seeped through the tear in his shirt.
Arthur staggered back, clutching the wound.
"Arthur!" Eamon scrambled to his feet, pain shooting through his body. He ignored it, charging forward again, his sword aimed directly at Winston's stomach.
But Winston side-stepped with ease. Before Eamon could recover, Winston's fist drove into his back with brutal force.
Eamon gasped as pain exploded through his body. He crashed face-first into the ground, dirt filling his mouth. His nose bled, his lips split, and a gash opened on his forehead.
"Pathetic little rat," Winston hissed.
Before Eamon could rise, Winston was already upon him. His foot slammed into Eamon's abdomen with monstrous strength, launching him across the clearing. Eamon's body slammed into the trunk of a tree, the impact rattling his bones.
"Eamon!" Arthur shouted, running toward him.
Eamon groaned, blood dripping from his nose as he struggled to breathe. His chest screamed in agony, but he forced himself upright. Arthur grabbed him, steadying him.
"Eamon… are you okay?" Arthur's voice was tight with panic.
Eamon wiped the blood from his lips with the back of his hand. His eyes hardened. "I'm okay. But this guy… he's too strong."
Arthur's face darkened. "I know. And he seems even stronger than yesterday."
Winston stood a few paces away, rolling his shoulders, stretching his arms with arrogant ease. His grin widened as he looked at them. He was flaunting his strength, savoring their struggle.
"What happened, mixed-blood?" Winston mocked, his voice sharp with cruelty. "You look surprised."
Arthur spat blood onto the ground. "How are you faster than you were yesterday?"
Winston let out a low chuckle that grew into maniacal laughter. "Because yesterday, I wasn't using my full power. Even now, I'm still holding back. Do you really think I'd need to use my full strength on a weakling like you? A half-blood freak?"
His laughter echoed, sharp and twisted.
Arthur's jaw clenched, fury simmering in his veins.
Eamon placed a hand on his arm, whispering low. "Arthur, listen. He's overconfident. That's his weakness. If we keep pressing, if we wait for the moment his guard slips… that's when we strike. That's when we kill him."
Arthur's breath came heavy, but he nodded. "Got it. Then let's go together."
Eamon gripped his sword tighter. "Together."
Both men rose to their feet once more.
Their bodies ached, blood stained their clothes, but their spirits burned hotter than ever.
They charged.
Arthur leapt high, aiming both daggers at Winston's chest. At the same time, Eamon swung his blade in a deadly arc, aiming to sever Winston's head from his shoulders.
The blood sword flashed, blocking both attacks in the same motion.
But Eamon and Arthur didn't stop.
Strike after strike, blow after blow, they rained attacks upon Winston. Every clash shook the clearing, sparks dancing in the dark. Winston blocked, parried, and deflected, his face twisted in amusement. But for the first time, he found himself stepping back, his arms moving faster to keep up with the relentless storm.
The two fighters weren't backing down. They moved in sync, reading each other's timing, striking together.
Eamon's blade came from the left. Arthur's daggers slashed from the right. Again and again, steel clashed against blood.
They knew this was no longer just a fight.
This was life and death.
And they would not stop until Winston fell.