The winds howled across the dead plain, carrying the scent of scorched stone and shattered dreams.
At one end stood Khaal beside Mira — one wielding a sword, the other with restrained magic crackling faintly in her hands.
Across from them hovered the Archwarden, radiating divine light — the unquestioned master of this lifeless land. His voice was calm, unwavering.
"For so many years, I have stayed here… guarding this scorched battlefield. Not a soul crossed it. Not a whisper of rebellion. But now—" His golden eyes locked onto Khaal. "A human dares disturb the silence. I do not know how you came here... but perhaps this prison, this vigil… ends today."
He raised his hand and pointed at them both.
"By ending both of you — something I've longed to do."
The Archwarden's fingers twisted, and the world responded — not like magic, but like obedience. The red sky turned black, as though night had swallowed it whole. Silent lightning cracked above, jagged and white, illuminating the scorched earth in brief flashes.
The ground trembled beneath Khaal's boots. He rolled his shoulders, cracked his neck, and muttered,"You hear that? That's the sound of a god trying too hard."
Mira kept her eyes fixed on the Archwarden. "He's channeling realms we don't even know the names of."
Khaal stepped forward, planting the tip of his sword into the earth with a dull thunk. Then, lifting it high, he slashed through the air.
And suddenly — everything returned to normal. The sky turned red again, the ground stopped trembling, and the air settled.
The Archwarden raised an eyebrow, ever so slightly.
"I never thought that useless creation would ever be wielded again. But since you hold that cursed blade… let's make this a proper duel."
He extended a hand, and in a blink of golden light, a sword appeared — divine, radiant.
"Now come, you idiot human. Let me twist your bones."
"You talk a lot," Khaal said, meeting his eyes, "for someone clinging to ancient duty."
And then — they clashed.
Blades met in a cascade of sparks. The battlefield echoed with the sharp rhythm of war.
The ground beneath Khaal began to quake. He lost balance for a moment — the Archwarden lunged, but Khaal leapt backward just in time.
In retaliation, the Archwarden launched light arrows. Khaal dodged each one, slicing through the final projectile just as the Archwarden blurred toward him. The Archwarden brought his glowing sword down.
Khaal met it head-on — and instantly, the Archwarden's blade vanished.
Khaal surged forward to end it — blade flashing — but the Archwarden punched him hard in the gut, then grabbed his throat and lifted him into the air.
"You puny mortal," the Archwarden hissed. "You dare meet me head-on? Magic can't touch you while you hold that blade… but what about after?"
He squeezed tighter, then struck the arm that held the sword.
Khaal's grip faltered. Something cracked in his arm — bone, tendon — pain shot through him like fire. The blade slipped from his fingers.
The air thickened.
Divine pressure returned — tenfold.
It felt like drowning in light.
Mira, from behind, unleashed a small pulse of magic. It struck the Archwarden's back and shoved him forward, just enough.
Snarling, he turned."You dare interrupt me, you bloody witch?"
Seeing the opening, Khaal dove, seized the sword, and slashed at the Archwarden's legs.
The blade clipped him — not deeply, but enough to stagger, enough to draw blood.
Golden light seeped from the wound.
The Archwarden screamed — not in pain, but in rage.
The sky fractured.
A jagged crack of light tore the heavens apart. Energy surged outward, throwing Khaal backward like a ragdoll. The sword flew from his grip again.
"You dare draw my blood?" the Archwarden roared, his voice shaking the world. "A mortal… a cursed sword… and a half-bred witch?!"
He turned to Mira, hand outstretched, divine light spiraling like a coiled serpent.
She barely raised a shield before the blast collapsed the air around her.
It wasn't a beam — it was a void.
The force sent her flying. She crashed into a scorched pillar with a sickening crack.
"Mira!" Khaal shouted, coughing, crawling through dust and burning air toward her.
But he didn't stop moving.
He charged.
Sword in hand. Blood in his mouth. Fury in his heart.
He swung — again and again — a tempest of steel. The Archwarden weaved between each strike, then caught Khaal's wrist and twisted it with ease, hurling him across the battlefield.
Khaal's body hit the stone with a shattering thud.
The Archwarden raised his hands.
And the sky obeyed.
Lightning screamed across the heavens. Then, with a roar like the death of stars, the Archwarden brought his arms down — calling down the fury of gods.
A bolt struck.
The world became white.
Dust exploded. The shockwave shattered the silence.
And for a moment — there was nothing.
Then — a gleam in the smoke.
Khaal stood.
Smoke curled from his skin. His eyes locked forward. His sword still glowed faintly, humming — it had drunk the lightning.
Before the Archwarden could move, Khaal struck.
Steel met flesh.
The blade tore into the Archwarden's shoulder — golden blood sprayed across the ash and stone.
The Archwarden screamed — a sound not meant for mortal ears.
Khaal leaned in, grinning.
"That's the scream I wanted to hear," he snarled. "The helpless angel begging for mercy."
And with a savage yank, he ripped the blade free.
The Archwarden staggered. His knees hit the ground. Wings — once radiant — sagged behind him, twitching.
Khaal didn't pause.
With one precise swing, he cleaved through both wings.
White and red feathers burst into the air like burning snow.
The Archwarden howled — grace torn from him.
Feathers burned as they fell.
He collapsed on his knees, golden blood pooling. His glow dimmed. His breath came shallow.
Khaal towered over him, blade humming.
"This is how your eternity ends?" he spat. "On your knees, bleeding like a man?"
But the battlefield shifted again.
Not the sky. Not the earth.
The air.
It thickened.
It screamed.
The Archwarden lifted his head. A twisted smile broke through the pain.
"You think this is defeat… mortal?"
Light exploded from his body — not divine.
Ancient.
Khaal shielded his eyes — too late.
The Archwarden rose, wingless, floating on raw force. His eyes burned white-gold. The earth split open beneath him.
"You took my wings," he whispered, voice echoing like judgment."I'll take your life."
He surged forward — faster than sight.
One strike — to the gut.
Another — to the face. Blood sprayed from Khaal's mouth.
A final blow — to the chest.
Khaal flew backward, slammed into the earth, and didn't move.
The Archwarden hovered, golden blood dripping, power radiating like a second sun.
He looked down, voice cold.
"Pathetic."
Khaal lay broken — bleeding, his sword far from reach.
But for now… the Archwarden had won.