Kalem flicked his wrist, and the metal crate beside him shuddered as its locks disengaged. The lid snapped open, and from within, several chains burst forth—thick, rune-etched links moving like living serpents, gliding through the air toward Master Rourke.
The chains twisted, angling themselves in an intricate pattern, a web of metal meant to restrict movement and force Rourke into a position where Kalem could dictate the flow of battle.
Rourke, however, moved like smoke in the wind. His footwork was impossibly fluid for a man of his size, each shift of his weight carrying him just out of reach of the grasping links. His experience shone through—he didn't dodge at random but instead made small, efficient movements, ensuring he never wasted an ounce of energy.
Kalem adjusted, his fingers twitching slightly, and the chains changed their approach—suddenly accelerating, twisting mid-air in unnatural ways to cut off possible escape routes.
For a brief second, Kalem thought he had him.
Then Rourke took a step forward, his form blurring as if he had vanished.
Kalem's eyes barely kept up as Rourke slipped past the first set of chains, his movement deceptively simple—no wasted motion, no unnecessary bursts of energy. Pure efficiency.
Too fast.
Kalem barely managed to react before the first blow came.
Rourke exploded forward, covering the ground between them in a single heartbeat. Kalem braced just in time as Rourke's palm struck his armored forearm, sending him skidding several feet backward, boots tearing across the stone. His arms rattled under the impact, the shock dispersing through the armor's internal dampeners.
Kalem gritted his teeth. His armor absorbed most of it, but it was clear—if Rourke landed a clean hit, he'd be in trouble.
Time to shift tactics.
Kalem adjusted his stance, his eyes narrowing. With a subtle motion, he sent out a second wave of weapons hidden within the chains.
This time, it wasn't just chains.
From the gaps between the links, blades emerged.
Not standard weapons—but shifting, unpredictable ones.
Flails, their spiked heads spinning erratically.
Chain scythes, curving unpredictably through the air.
Knives, each changing direction at random, guided by a secondary mechanism.
A true storm of steel.
Even a seasoned warrior would struggle to read the pattern, but Rourke… he didn't look fazed.
Instead, he smirked.
"Better."
Then he moved again.
What happened next was a blur of raw technique.
Rourke didn't retreat—he stepped forward, through the storm of weapons, weaving between the arcs of steel like he could predict every movement before it happened.
A flail came whipping down toward his head—he leaned just enough to let it graze past his ear.
A chain scythe sliced at his ribs—his arm brushed it aside at the last second.
A knife changed direction mid-air, aiming for his back—he twisted just right, letting it pass.
Kalem's mind raced.
His calculations were precise—no normal opponent should be able to maneuver through so many simultaneous threats without a scratch.
Yet Rourke was doing it.
No wasted movements. No hesitation. Like he'd seen this strategy before.
Kalem exhaled sharply, shifting his approach once more. If Rourke had memorized the attack pattern, then—
He'd just have to make it unreadable.
He tapped a switch hidden within his armor.
A faint click.
The chains shifted again, this time collapsing inward, altering their movements entirely—becoming an enclosing sphere of blades, locking Rourke inside.
A perfect kill zone.
For the first time in the fight, Rourke hesitated.
Kalem acted instantly.
With a sudden burst of movement, he lunged forward, aiming to land the first solid blow of the fight—
But Rourke wasn't finished yet.
Before Kalem could land his strike, Rourke's stance changed.
His previous fluidity vanished, replaced by something far more aggressive.
Kalem barely registered the shift before Rourke struck.
Faster than before.
His hand shot out, fingers curling around one of the chains mid-motion.
Kalem's eyes widened.
Impossible—
With a single, brutal motion, Rourke yanked.
The sheer force of the pull ripped the chains out of Kalem's control, throwing them wildly off course. The delicate pattern he had woven shattered in an instant.
And then—
Rourke closed the distance.
A fist slammed into Kalem's gut.
Armor or not, the impact was overwhelming.
His body lifted off the ground, air rushing from his lungs as the force sent him flying several meters back, crashing against the stone floor.
Silence.
Kalem coughed, his head spinning. His armor had dampened the damage, but that hit was devastating.
He pushed himself up, shaking his head to clear the daze.
Rourke stood unmoving, arms crossed, watching him with a look of mild approval.
"Not bad," the instructor mused. "But you still think too much. You read the battle well, but you react like an engineer, not a fighter."
Kalem clenched his fists, inhaling deeply.
He wasn't done yet.
With a slow, deliberate motion, he tapped another command on his armor's interface.
His core pulsed to life.
His aura surged once more.
Rourke raised an eyebrow. "Still got something left?"
Kalem exhaled, his expression calm but determined.
"Of course."