Cormac thrust both palms outward, his shield ballooned, slamming into the incoming sword-light. The collision detonated with a cannon-blast boom, a shockwave rippling out in a perfect circle. Ancient oil lamps along the walls fluttered madly, their sickly green flames sputtering, ready to die at any moment.
Jared twisted mid-air, sliding past the worst of the concussion. Before the echo faded, he was already upon Cormac again, Dragonslayer stabbing forward like a serpent’s forked tongue, aimed unerringly at the hollow of the man’s throat.
Cormac’s reflexes matched the speed of his fury. He pivoted, shoulders slipping clear, and hammered a fist encased in swirling celestial energy toward Jared’s chest, the kind of strike that could turn a mountain into gravel.
Jared snapped his blade cross-wise, catching the blow. A dull crack boomed; raw force surged through the sword into his arms, numbing them to the elbow. He used that momentum to flip backward, boots skidding across the marble as he reset the distance.
Cormac’s eyes burned with fresh bloodlust.
“You’re stronger than I expected, but it changes nothing. You still die here.” he granted, voice dropping to a murderous growl.
Jared’s mouth curled into a slow, scornful grin. He shook his head. “With only you to stop me? Nowhere near enough.”
Jared sprang forward again. His body blurred, dissolving into streaks of shadow so quick and light they seemed scooped out of the air itself.
Cormac’s brows tightened. With both hands, he carved seals, loosing volley after volley of needle-thin celestial arrows. Each shaft gleamed like frosted steel and carried enough force to punch through stone.
Jared wove between them as though dancing with sparks. Whenever a dart came too near, Dragonslayer flickered in his grip, one crisp sweep, then another, and the projectiles snapped apart like brittle ice.
“Flowing Cloud Sword Art, First Form, Sundering Dragon!” Jared’s roar cracked through the hall.
He raised Dragonslayer overhead. Light bulged and stretched until a colossal sword-shadow, scaled, ridged, unmistakably draconic, arched above him, exuding a pressure that rippled the air.
At his command, the phantom dragon dived. A silver flash tore straight for Cormac, ripping a shriek out of the atmosphere.
Cormac’s face paled. He dragged every drop of celestial energy out of his core, forging a thick, radiant shield before him while his fingers knotted another seal.
A great five-colored sword materialized and rammed into the incoming shadow.
The collision boomed. The floor quaked, columns moaned, and runic pedestals tumbled end over end as a storm-wall of force ripped through the grand hall.
Cormac skidded backward. His boots plowed twin trenches through marble before he steadied himself.
“Such power…” he muttered, chest heaving. The awe lasted a heartbeat, then he lunged again.
His spectral sword whirled, spraying razor winds like a summer downpour. Jared answered with a spinning veil of steel. Dragonslayer traced a shimmering curtain that chewed every stray blade to sparks.
Timing it perfectly, Jared vanished, reappearing two paces from Cormac. Dragonslayer thrust, cold and direct, for the heart.
Cormac twisted aside. His left palm shot out, aimed squarely at Jared’s chest.
Jared aborted the stab and met the strike head-on. Flesh smacked flesh, and a brutal tremor streaked up both men’s arms, rattling shoulder to spine.
