The sand rose thick enough to swallow shape and direction.
Kael's throw carried weight. Nixxin cut through the air like a stone pulled by intent. The old man's outline blurred behind the storm of grit.
Good. Let him lose sight.
Nixxin twisted mid air. He did not strike the old man. He reached past him.
His hand locked around a random miner standing behind the armored frame.
The old man reacted on instinct.
A punch drove forward.
Impact.
The world snapped white for a breath.
Both Nixxin and the miner shot across the sand.
Pain ran through his ribs, but his mind stayed cold.
He will think I lost control in the dust.
Mid flight, Nixxin kicked the miner away. The force shifted his angle. He turned his body in air and launched himself toward the ship.
He landed hard on the deck.
The magic user stood there, red light faint around his arms.
"Wait," the man said quickly. "I am only here to deliver weapons."
His voice trembled.
Nixxin stepped forward, eyes steady.
"I don't remember asking."
He drove a punch into the man's side.
A red shield flashed into existence and absorbed it.
Nixxin clicked his tongue. "Right. Blood forger. Close combat trained too."
The man said nothing. His breathing grew shallow.
Nixxin kicked him across the deck.
For a split second, Ardent's voice echoed in memory.
Repeater.
Your inner shadow mirrors your pattern.
Every strike you throw, it repeats.
Movement echoes movement.
An arrow cut through the air and skimmed past Nixxin's cheek.
Then another.
Shuriken followed.
Light weapons rained toward him from the shore.
He moved through them, stepping aside with sharp control.
The magic user retreated into the ship.
Nixxin followed.
Inside, red covered everything.
Blades lined the walls. Spears leaned in rows. Armor pieces rested like sleeping animals. Every surface carried the scent of iron.
Useless.
He never trained with weapons. They felt foreign. Heavy in the wrong way.
The man moved first this time.
A red blade formed in his grip. He lunged.
The slice ran from Nixxin's right hand across his chest.
Heat tore through him.
His inner shadow absorbed part of the force. The cut still opened. Pain stayed real.
So it takes some of it. Not all.
Blood slid down his arm.
If Kael were here, he would stand still and let regeneration handle it.
I don't get that comfort.
He stepped forward instead of back.
He grabbed the man by the throat.
The magic user gasped.
Nixxin slammed his head against the ship's wall. Wood cracked. He followed with a punch that broke the panel behind him.
The man tore free and ran deeper into the ship.
Nixxin did not chase at once.
He turned.
With deliberate motion, he grabbed the blood crafted weapons and hurled them across the room. Blades clattered. Armor shattered. He scattered everything the man could draw from.
"You rely on tools," Nixxin muttered. "Let's see you without them."
Then he followed.
Miners filled the exit ahead. Most held pickaxes. Some gripped dynamite with shaking hands.
They were not warriors. They were afraid.
Nixxin stepped forward.
His foot pressed into the wooden floor. The planks sank under his weight like softened clay. Cracks spread from the pressure.
He picked up one fallen blood sword. The grip felt wrong. The balance felt unfamiliar.
Doesn't matter.
He moved.
One clean arc.
The front line dropped.
Red spread across the deck.
Behind them, the magic user stiffened.
Nixxin saw it clearly now.
The more blood spilled, the steadier the man became.
So that is your anchor.
He moved faster.
Each strike ended a threat. Each motion repeated through his inner shadow, doubling rhythm, doubling force.
When the deck finally stilled, he grabbed the magic user and dragged him back onto the sand.
The man formed another sword with shaking hands.
Nixxin caught the wrist.
"Too slow."
He tore the blade away and flung it aside.
A punch landed across the man's face.
The second punch met a shield.
The shield cracked.
Nixxin grinned, teeth red at the edge.
"What happened to all that confidence?"
The man stumbled back, breath uneven. "S stay back."
"Make me."
Another strike.
The shield shattered.
They traded movement across the sand. The man tried to shape more blood, but his control thinned. His skin lost color.
Nixxin felt his own wounds burning. Each breath dragged against the cut across his chest.
Stay upright.
Stay sharper than him.
He laughed, low and unsteady.
"You're running out," he said. "I can see it."
The man's legs buckled.
Red light flickered.
Then it died.
He collapsed onto the sand.
Nixxin stood over him, chest rising hard, blood still trailing down his arm.
The waves rolled in behind him.