Kinzawi lunged forward, his feet carving deep furrows in the earth as his twin swords whirled like a hurricane.
His upper right arm led the assault—the blade curved at its apex before descending in a semicircular slash aimed at the neck, fast enough to decapitate a lesser foe before they realized they'd been attacked.
But Dabmos didn't flinch. With precision, he leaned his shoulders back, letting the razor edge pass millimeters from his face, leaving only a thin scratch above his left eyebrow. A trickle of blood, but no blink.
In the next heartbeat, Dabmos pivoted, his body coiling as his lava-wreathed right fist arced toward Kinzawi's ribs.
This was no ordinary strike.
Dabmos's flaming punch didn't just target flesh—it sought to incinerate the very air around them.
On impact, fire expanded in a perfect circle, a silent detonation whose shockwave alone sent observing soldiers stumbling backward.
Yet Kinzawi wasn't one to retreat easily.
His lower left arm twisted the shorter sword upward, meeting the fiery fist with a metallic shriek like melting tin.
Instantly exploiting the contact, his upper left arm thrust toward Dabmos's chest—but the volcano warrior clamped his burning hand around the blade, heedless of the flames licking his fingers.
*"Fool,"* Kinzawi snarled darkly, then crossed both hidden arms, each bearing a sword, aiming a scissoring slash at Dabmos's skull.
Dabmos released the trapped blade with glacial calm, crossing his molten forearms in defense.
Steel met lava directly.
The explosion shattered the air itself, sending ash and scorched debris flying.
When the smoke cleared, both stood unmoved.
Dabmos's face remained impassive, blood streaking his brow, his breaths hissing with steam from cracking skin.
Kinzawi, though less composed, wore no smile—just razor-focused eyes dissecting his opponent.
*"Hmm."* A cold murmur. Then, with lethal amusement: *"Better than I expected."*
Dabmos didn't answer. Instead, he suddenly slammed both palms to the ground.
Instantly, spears of solidified lava erupted beneath Kinzawi's feet—jagged pillars shooting up to impale him.
But Kinzawi was already moving, his steps impossibly fluid, weaving between the spikes like a dancer. Each motion left faint afterimages as his swords shattered the pillars mid-formation.
As the last pillar collapsed, Dabmos materialized behind him, emerging from the inferno itself.
A flaming fist aimed for Kinzawi's spine.
Yet Kinzawi was faster.
He pivoted at the last instant, blocking with his darkened forearm, then kicked Dabmos square in the chest.
*"Predictable!"* he roared as Dabmos hurtled backward.
Dabmos skidded across the battlefield, his heels gouging trenches in the earth, but didn't fall.
Kinzawi gave no quarter. He attacked anew, all four blades striking simultaneously—head, chest, flank, leg—each slash a petal of a lethal, blooming flower.
Dabmos barely parried, his arms weaving temporary shields of molten rock, but with each strike, he was forced back.
*"Watch your defenses crumble!"* Kinzawi taunted, eyes alight with bloodlust.
Then he froze.
The flames around Dabmos... were changing.
From crimson to cobalt, then to deathly white. The volcano itself was losing control.
With a sudden motion, Dabmos opened his mouth and whispered in a voice like grinding tectonic plates:
*"Final Lament of Magma... World's Dissolution."*
A ring of white-hot lava detonated outward, swallowing the entire battlefield.
Heat capable of melting steel. The very earth trembling in anticipation.
Yet... Kinzawi didn't retreat.
He smiled madly and thought:
*(My chance!)*
Piercing the inferno like a black specter, all four swords aimed at Dabmos's heart, ignoring the burns searing his flesh.
No hesitation in his eyes.
Everything... converged toward resolution.
But in the instant before impact—
A blur. A flash.
Kinzawi's blades carved deathly circles, each step fracturing the earth as if chased by quakes, his assault an unrelenting tsunami of steel.
Dabmos met him with mountain-like stoicism.
His lava-gloved hands wove through flames like a dancer in a pyric rite, deflecting and countering even as blood dripped from his lips and exhaustion half-shut his eyes.
The air itself trembled with their clashes, the battle's glow drowning all else—a sun born between them.
Overhead slash.
Upward fireburst.
Savage horizontal strike.
Counter-shove scattering magma.
Every move meant survival or demise. No room for feints now.
Their speeds birthed fissures in the earth, the air splitting with silent ruptures.
Kinzawi fought like a demon drunk on impending victory, laughter echoing with each blow:
*"Not much left... I'll strangle it with these hands."*
His lower blades scissored toward Dabmos's ribs while the upper pair descended for the kill.
But Dabmos wouldn't fall so easily.
Raising his colossal sword, he spoke slowly, his voice erupting from the volcano's depths:
*"Engulf them, O Apocalypse's Inferno."*
The ground beneath him exploded.
Pillars of fire geysered skyward, swirling into a maelstrom that consumed Kinzawi entirely, incinerating the charred ruins around them, painting the world in blood-red light.
Kinzawi vanished in the flames—
—only for his laughter to pierce the storm:
*"Good burn... but too late."*
He emerged, body half-charred yet still standing, swords burning with dark crimson light.
*"Now... farewell."*
With his final lunge, Kinzawi leapt skyward, all four blades intersecting—a strike that would dice Dabmos beyond recognition.
Dabmos had no defense left... his legs barely obeyed.
The blades descended. Time itself seemed to freeze.
Then—
A shadow pierced the silence.
Slender. Trembling. Barely standing.
But its eyes gleamed cold as glacial ice.
**Zain.**