“Good! Only the truly clever know when to bow!” Esorin’s laughter rolled across the ravine. He thrust out a claw-like hand, eager to claim the legendary sword.
Before his fingertips reached the hilt, Jared’s wrist cracked sideways. Steel flashed, carving a sinister half-moon that lunged not toward the blade but straight for the elder’s core.
Terror jolted through Esorin. Thick black energy hurried into a makeshift shield. The sword light struck first. Golden, venom-swift, it pierced the barrier and drilled toward his abdomen.
“You!” The word ripped from him as the edge scored his abdomen, opening a trench that bared bone. Demonic miasma gushed out like a broken dam.
“How dare you toy with me!” he shrieked, eyes blazing while the escaped energy writhed around him.
Onneas and the others gaped, shock melting into sudden, fragile hope.
Jared withdrew in a single fluid bound, steel still singing. Cold amusement curled across his lips. “Old geezer, you think you’re worthy of owning the Dragonslayer Sword?”
Clutching the wound, Esorin glared through fingers slick with blackened blood. A rasping chuckle slithered from his throat. “Hehehe… Excellent… It has been far too long since anyone drew my blood.”
An even darker pressure burst from him. Flesh stitched together before their eyes, sealing the gash as though time itself bowed to his will.
“Pity, you wasted your one chance.” He lifted a palm.
Ink-black power coalesced into a sphere that devoured the light around it. “Today every last one of you dies here!”
“Grand Elder,” Maximilian purred, stepping forward, “No need to soil your own hands. Allow me to butcher the whelp for you.”
The Fiend-Titan Sect master all but prostrated himself. Pleasing the elder first meant reaping the richest spoils later, his greed showed in every bow.
Esorin glanced at the brawny flatterer and nodded once.
Maximilian advanced, broad shoulders blocking the sun. “Boy, after mocking the Grand Elder, you deserve a thousand cuts. Kill yourself now, and we might leave the corpse intact!”
“I’ll slit my own throat the day your father gives birth,” Jared replied, a lazy smile dimpling his cheek.
“Very well… No mercy it is!” Maximilian’s gaze sharpened as power gathered.
Onneas and the others tightened their grips on battered weapons. Slim odds or none, they would fight beside Jared rather than wait for death.
Just as Maximilian struck, a silhouette began knitting itself together in front of Jared, materializing from empty air, thread by shimmering thread. Gasps rippled across friend and foe alike.
“Mr. Chance, are you hurt?” asked the newcomer once fully formed, a composed middle-aged man who bowed with respectful grace toward Jared.
“Maxwell? How in the realms did you get here?” Stunned recognition widened Jared’s eyes.
The man standing between him and death was Maxwell, last seen in the void passage.
Jared’s breath caught. Maxwell, the wanderer who once claimed the void itself held him prisoner, now stepped from thin air as though he had never spoken those words.
Maxwell offered only a quiet, almost playful smile. “Mr. Chance, this battle has honed your sword intent again. The edge feels cleaner, purer, than ever.”
Jared let out a rueful chuckle, the sound dry and self-mocking. “Still a long way to go. I’m being pushed around out here, see?”
“Leave the rest to me. Anyone reckless enough to torment Jared Chance will spend eternity begging for a rebirth that never comes.”
The words hung like frost. Only then did Maxwell allow his eyes to slide toward Esorin and the others, gaze sharp enough to carve stone.
Maximilian stared, momentarily stunned by the newcomer’s sudden arrival. Sensing no aura, he barked, “Who are you? Get lost if you value your life…”
Maxwell tipped his head, voice mild and curious. “Are you speaking to me?”
“Of course I’m talking to you!” Maximilian roared. “Leave now, or taste my Mountain-Cleaving Axe!”
He drove the massive axe into the earth. The ground shuddered, stones skittering like frightened insects.
