The duel between Caspian Arcwright and Darian Vael.
The two stood facing each other, swords drawn.
Caspian's grip on Bloodmoon tightened.
Across from him, Darian cracked his knuckles.
"You're mine,"
Darian was the first to move.
Caspian also move.
A flicker—no, a blur.
His body twisted, his sword vanishing into streaks of purple aura as he launched a rapid combination of precise strikes.
The arc of his blade followed the weak points of human anatomy, each cut calculated to disable movement.
Darian responded with sheer brute force.
His greatsword, a monstrosity of steel, slammed into Caspian's blade.
Sparks flew, the impact vibrating through Caspian's arms like an electric shock.
But he adapted.
He flowed around the strength, redirecting momentum rather than meeting it head-on.
Clash. —> Parry.—>Strike. —>Step. —>Pivot. —>Counter.
Darian grunted.
He hadn't expected Caspian to meet him evenly.
