The world shrank to the point where their skin met. Kael's hand was clamped around Kordak's wrist, and for one endless second, there was only the pressure of his grip and the cold dread in his own stomach.
Then it woke up.
It came from a place deep inside him, a hollow place made from old hunger and older fear. It was a grey, vast hunger. It uncoiled and shot up through his chest, down his arm, and into his hand. The feeling was not warm. It was a deep, invasive cold, an emptiness that needed to be filled.
Kordak's smug expression broke. His eyes, so close to Kael's, went wide. Not with pain, but with shock. He felt it. The energy that fueled his speed, his Phantom Step, was being pulled out of him. It was not a leak. It was a directed, sucking drain. The vibrant pool of his mana, which always hummed under his skin, grew thin and dim.
A visible wave of grey paleness spread from Kael's white knuckles. It crawled up Kordak's forearm like a stain, sucking the color from his skin. The flesh turned sallow, almost see through, showing the blue grey veins beneath.
In Kael, the stolen power arrived like a shock. It was a crackling, violent current that flooded his own body. It buzzed in his teeth and vibrated in his bones. He could feel the essence of it. Not just speed, but the sharp, predatory intent behind it. The grey hunger inside him held this stolen fire, and in that moment, Kael saw the raw, clear worry in Kordak's eyes. It was the look of a man watching his best weapon turn against him.
A cold smirk touched Kael's lips. It felt strange. It was a dark, terrible satisfaction.
With a rough snarl, Kordak ripped his arm back, breaking the contact. He stumbled away, clutching his arm. The greyish stain had reached past his elbow. He flexed his fingers. The movement was stiff and clumsy. He stared at Kael not as a subordinate, but as a dangerous mystery.
Kael used the moment to look at his own hand. The icy paleness was fading. Warmth and color were returning. But inside, the stolen energy churned. It was a restless, temporary storm. He felt charged. He felt dangerous.
Behind them, Garrick's battle was a loud reminder of their danger. The heavy clang of axe on sword, the hiss of hot metal, and the rush of water filled the hall. Garrick was holding, but just barely. Each movement was slower, heavier.
Seeing Kael distracted, Kordak's fear turned sharp. He lunged. His whip cut the air with a song of sharp metal, a series of vicious arcs meant to cripple.
Steel met steel in a sudden, loud crash. Kael's daggers were there, blocking each strike. The difference was instant. Before, Kordak's attacks were a blur. Now, Kael could see the spaces between. He could track the whip's path. The stolen speed hummed in his nerves, speeding up his sight, syncing his reflexes to a rhythm that was once Kordak's alone. He parried. He deflected. His feet moved in a rough copy of the fluid steps he had seen.
Kordak's face tightened. He attacked faster, his arm a blur, the whip a shining wall of blades. He pushed, trying to break through with skill alone. For a few heartbeats, it worked. Kael was forced back. A thin red line opened on his cheek. Another slash cut his forearm.
But Kael was learning. The stolen power was a blueprint. His body, trained in hard, practical fighting, adapted. He stopped just reacting. He began to anticipate. He moved within the flow of the speed. His counters grew sharper. He slid inside the whip's long reach, his own daggers moving with the borrowed speed. He pressed forward, strike for strike, forcing Kordak to step back.
A bead of sweat rolled down Kordak's temple. His breath came in sharp gasps. The grey tone on his arm seemed to darken with his growing panic. This was not part of the plan.
"How?" Kordak spat the word between the ringing of their weapons. His eyes, wide with a fury now mixed with desperation, scanned Kael's face. "This power. Where did you take it from? You are pulling from the core itself. That should not be possible." His voice held a horrible curiosity under the rage.
Kael did not answer. He was riding a wave of borrowed violence. He felt the peak of the stolen energy. He knew it would not last. He saw an opening. A small overextension as Kordak recovered from a hard strike.
Kael feinted with his left dagger, a low sweep. As he expected, Kordak's whip snapped down to block. In that split second, Kael used every bit of the fading, stolen speed. He turned on his heel, a movement so fast the world seemed to tilt, and came up inside Kordak's broken guard. He reversed his grip on his right dagger. He did not slash.
He drove the heavy pommel forward with all his strength into the side of Kordak's head.
The impact was a dull, solid sound.
All expression left Kordak's face. His whip fell from his fingers, clattering on the stone. His legs gave out, and he collapsed, unconscious.
At the same time, a deep roar of effort and a sound of breaking force echoed across the hall. Kael turned, chest heaving, to see Instructor Garrick standing over the two other fallen fighters. One axe lay far away, its fire gone. The water swordsman was motionless. Garrick leaned heavily on his greatsword, blood flowing from the wound in his side. His huge body shook with tiredness.
Then the stolen power left Kael completely. The world, which had been moving with a strange slowness, snapped back to normal speed with a sickening lurch. The buzzing energy vanished. It left behind a hollow, aching cold and a tiredness so deep it drove him to his knees. Every muscle shook. The cuts on his face and arm burned. The deeper pain from the whip wounds on his legs flared hot and fierce.
Garrick's strength failed too. He slid down his sword to sit hard on the bloody floor. His breath was a wet, ragged sound in the new quiet.
The only sounds were their struggling breaths and the far off noises of the academy's larger battle. Kael looked at his hands. They were just hands again, now dirty and bloody. He looked at the unconscious Kordak, a man who had been a living nightmare, now beaten by a power Kael did not understand. Finally, he looked at Garrick, the man who had given him a chance, now badly hurt in a fight Kael had brought to his door.
The victory felt empty and cold. He had not just beaten an enemy. He had shown a secret. And in doing so, he had managed to aweaking his power to fight kordak but he wasn't sure he could do so again.