The world fell into a profound, expectant silence.
The air hung still. The forest remained unmoving, its leaves frozen like painted glass. The sky was a vast canvas of deep, bruised blue, waiting for the sun to breach the horizon.
Eiden and Zeth stood as statues in the barren clearing before the black-stone castle. The earth between them was cracked and sterile, as if the soil itself had withered in anticipation of the coming violence.
Then, a splinter of light pierced the horizon.
The first touch of dawn arrived, draping a warm, golden velvet across their frames—soft, gentle, and deceptively peaceful.
Zeth inhaled slowly, his eyelids heavy. "The sun is particularly kind today," he murmured. Then his glowing red eyes snapped open, and his lips curled into a predatory smile. "Are you ready, Eiden?"
Eiden tightened his grip on the hilt at his waist. "Mhm."
"Splendid."
Zeth vanished.
A streak of crimson light tore across the field. Eiden barely managed to clear his blade from its sheath before Zeth's steel came crashing down. The impact shook the foundations of the clearing, sending a concussive shockwave outward that carved a jagged crater beneath their feet.
Eiden slid back, his boots churning the dry earth. He focused, channeling a thick, inky black aura around his blade—it pulsed like a living shadow, dense and hungry.
Zeth lunged again, but Eiden ignited upward into the sky, leaving a silhouette of black smoke in his wake. Hovering in the air, Eiden extended a pale palm.
"Black Swallow."
Zeth blinked. "Black wha—?"
The sky erupted.
Countless beams of obsidian energy rained down like spears of liquid ink. Each beam twisted with an unnatural, serpentine grace, bending mid-air as if hunting for blood. Zeth moved with impossible fluidity, dashing between the strikes. As he ran, he plucked a grimoire from his coat and tossed it into the air.
One of the black beams grazed the book. The grimoire vanished instantly—erased from existence without a sound—leaving only a void where it had been. The beam continued its descent, striking the ground and staining the earth pitch-black, as if the land itself had been consumed by a shadow that refused to leave.
Eiden landed lightly on the far edge of the field, well away from the spreading corruption. Zeth stopped, staring at the absolute darkness of the stained earth.
"I see," Zeth said, his voice light with morbid fascination. "Whatever that touches doesn't just die. It disappears. Like acid, but for the soul."
"Exactly," Eiden replied. "A gift from my uncle."
"Ah, yes," Zeth chuckled. "The Chief of the Blackcrest Clan. I'm quite glad it's the nephew I'm facing and not the man himself. He is a nightmare given flesh."
"I agree," a voice whispered.
But the voice didn't come from the man Zeth was looking at.
Zeth spun, but he was too slow. Eiden was already there. His blade slashed across Zeth's chest, trailing that same ravenous, inky aura. The strike hit home, and Zeth staggered back as the dark magic began to crawl across his skin like living soot.
Eiden dashed away, putting distance between them once more. Zeth looked down at the spreading void on his chest. "You little—"
He reached to brush it away, but the magic hissed, leaping toward his fingers. He pulled back, his eyes narrowing. If that had found my throat... or my side... He didn't finish the thought.
"I've decided I don't like that spell," Zeth muttered. He drove his sword into the ground and raised his free hand. A violent storm of red aura surged from his palm, swirling around him in a crimson gale. The inky magic was forcibly peeled from his body, drawn out by the sheer pressure of the red energy.
His wounds knit shut. His strength surged. His stance became an iron anchor. He pulled his sword from the earth.
"I was going to be gentle," he said calmly, "but that actually stung."
He vanished.
He reappeared at Eiden's side and delivered a kick that sounded like a thunderclap. The impact launched Eiden across the field, sending him through a line of trees in a blur of splintered timber. He tumbled through the dirt before rolling onto his back.
As he rose to one knee, five beams of red light materialized around him in a perfect pentagram.
They fired.
Eiden bolted into the treeline, weaving through the forest, but the beams were relentless hounds, curving and snapping through the trunks to find him. He burst back into the clearing, spinning to throw a wave of black ink at the pursuit.
The red beams tore through the shadow. A crimson explosion illuminated the morning sky.
Eiden hit the ground hard. As he pushed himself up, he realized with a sickening jolt that his right arm was gone. His longsword lay several yards away, useless.
"What..."
Zeth approached at a leisurely pace, his sword resting casually on his shoulder. "Now you understand the weight of an unexpected strike."
Eiden gritted his teeth, reaching awkwardly for the katana at his waist with his remaining hand. Zeth smirked. "What's the matter? Can't find the strength to draw your steel?"
Eiden's mind raced through the haze of pain. I cannot win this as I am... but Mayble's chant.
If he spoke it thirteen times, the power would be equivalent to two hundred and ninety-nine repetitions of the Third Invocation. He stood. He became an island of focus amidst the chaos. He inhaled.
He chanted "Lord's Call" thirteen times—rapid, forceful, and desperate.
The world buckled.
A tidal wave of power erupted within him—too vast, too violent, too fast for a mortal vessel. His body buckled under the atmospheric pressure of his own mana, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.
Zeth's eyes went wide. "Oh, you absolute fool—"
Zeth thrust his hand forward. A dense shroud of red aura wrapped around Eiden, acting as a stabilizing cage to prevent the overwhelming force from detonating his physical form.
Eiden's nose bled. His vision splintered into shards of light. His legs turned to water. Then, the world went black, and he collapsed.
Zeth kept the stabilizing shroud active as he knelt beside the unconscious elf, checking for a pulse. He let out a long, weary sigh.
"Who taught you to be so reckless...?" He shook his head slowly. "Your father would have my head for this."
Gently, Zeth lifted Eiden's broken form and began the long walk toward the black-stone castle.