Vaelin charged, boots pounding over blood-slick stone, sword gleaming with his aura. Ash and smoke swirled around him as the firelight danced off his armor. His gaze locked on the two figures ahead—one wiping his blades with unsettling calmness, the other grinning like a devil beneath the ember-lit sky.
Ivan didn't look up at first. He spoke quietly, like commenting on the weather.
"I'll handle this one," he said, sheathing one dagger with a soft click. "You take the others."
Abaddon arched a brow. "Normally, I'm not one to take suggestions from just anyone," he mused, stretching lazily, wings rustling. "But you abuse me, Ivan. So… I'll humor you."
"Shut up," Ivan said coldly.
Abaddon laughed, loud and mischievous, and with a flap of his wings, leapt into the air, vanishing into the haze above.
Vaelin met Ivan with a roar, sword arcing in a clean, brutal stroke.
Steel clashed—sparks flew in a massive BOOM.
… …
