And punishment wasn’t finished.Kael’s blade wavered, but he swung again, a desperate arc. It cut air, close enough to make Ares shift, ribs screaming.Ares answered, slow, heavy, steel grinding. His cut sliced Kael’s thigh. Blood splashed the mud.Kael hissed through teeth. “You’ll bleed out before I do.”Ares didn’t reply. Just lifted his blade again.The crowd stirred, louder now. Not whispers anymore. Shouts. Some yelled Kael’s name, voices raw, faces twisted with old loyalty. Others cried Ares’s, fists raised, clinging to the man who had become symbol, not deserter.The circle split. Lines drawn in dirt by blood and memory.Kael laughed bitter, coughing blood. “Hear them? Half yours, half mine. We break this city before we even finish.”Ares’s breath came rough, words jagged. “Maybe it needs breaking.”Their blades slammed together again. Sparks leapt. Both staggered back. Both dripping red.Mira’s stomach turned to ice. She felt Elijah shaking against her, small fists clutching

And it was here.Here - the ground that shook beneath their boots, slick with blood and dust. The place where everything Ares had carried on his back for years - the shame, the silence, the rage, the promises - came hammering down into one long, brutal clash.Steel rang again. His arm jolted numb. The weight of the blade nearly tore from his hand. He held on.The champion - broad, scarred, eyes fever-bright - snarled and lunged again. Their swords scraped like lightning against stone, sparks bursting. The crowd roared, but Ares didn’t hear them anymore. Only the pulse in his ears, loud as drums. Only the tearing pain in his ribs each time he drew breath.His knees trembled. His body was spent. He fought anyway.The champion drove him back, boots grinding through mud. Ares’s blade dipped, caught, twisted up just in time. The man’s edge whistled past his throat, so close he felt the air split. Too close.Ares staggered. His thigh burned - split open. His side leaked warm rivers down to

“This ends now.”The words came like gravel dragged through fire, broken but unshakable. Ares’s blade pressed down, keeping the champion pinned, one knee in the mud. The storm raged above them, thunder splitting the sky, rain pouring in sheets that washed blood into black rivers at their feet.The champion’s teeth gnashed. His body shook. His sword arm trembled as he tried to push back. But the truth was written in the slump of his shoulders, the sag of his breath. His strength was gone.The crowd knew it. A ripple ran through them, swelling into a roar. Some screamed for mercy. Most screamed for blood.Ares stood swaying, every muscle screaming for rest. His vision flickered, his chest burned with knives, his legs shook under him. But he would not fall. Not while the man before him still breathed.The champion spat red, lifting his chin. “Kill me, then. Do it. Show them what you are.”Ares’s blade quivered. His hand clenched tighter. For a heartbeat, he saw himself - ten years ago, F

The words hung in the night air, raw as a blade drawn from its sheath. I’m coming for you. Ares hadn’t shouted them. He hadn’t needed to. His voice was quiet, yet it struck like thunder in the bones of everyone who heard it.Reyes glanced sideways, eyes sharp under the fractured moonlight. “Then we make them bleed,” he said.Mira said nothing, but her hand brushed Elijah’s shoulder protectively. The boy’s small face was pale, lips tight. He looked between them, sensing that this vow was not just words - it was a storm about to break.Ares turned his gaze east, toward the sprawl of Lin City, lights glittering like false stars. The enemy was there. The debt of blood, betrayal, and years of silence was there. And he was finished waiting.“Victor Wu first,” Ares murmured. “Then every hand that fed on my family’s ruin.”The Resistance Hall behind them stirred. Men and women who had lost homes, brothers, children - those who had bled under the Syndicate - emerged into the night. They had ov

And in his boardroom, Victor Wu froze, because the promise in that voice was no threat - it was prophecy.For a long while, he didn’t move. His lieutenants sat stiffly around the table, eyes flicking to him, waiting for direction. The silence was unbearable.“Get out,” Victor said at last. Quiet. Dangerous.They scrambled up without a word. Shoes scuffed marble, chairs scraped, the door thudded shut. He was alone again, only the city spread beneath the window to remind him what was his. But even the skyline - his trophies of glass and steel - mocked him tonight.He poured whiskey with a shaking hand. It sloshed against crystal, some spilling onto the table. He didn’t care. He took a gulp, but it burned wrong, left his mouth tasting like ash. He set it down hard, staring at his reflection in the glass wall.Ares.The name was a scar he couldn’t rub out.“No,” Victor muttered, pressing fingers against his temple. “No. He doesn’t get to decide how this ends.”But deep down he already kne