Rhys reached behind the small of his back, his fingers wrapping around the leather-bound hilts of his twin daggers. He drew them smoothly, the metal singing against the sheaths as he brought them forward into a low, balanced guard.
"Draw upon your noble ancestors, Praetor," Rhys said. "Let them save you from the death that awaits you."
"I will sever your head and mount it upon the gates of the capital," Theo bellowed, his voice cracking under the weight of his rage.
Theo drove his right boot into the basalt floor, his leg muscles straining as he channeled the entirety of his remaining light and wind mana through his scorched meridians.
A harsh, blinding golden radiance flared along the length of his broadsword, humming with high-frequency kinetic vibrations that kicked up clouds of black dust around his greaves.
Theo lunged forward, closing the distance in a single, explosive stride, executing the foundational high-elven martial art: Sunburst Cleave.
