2025-09-01 20:29:18
Previous Chapter
Latest Chapter
STORM OF STEEL
Not yet.The word rattled through Ares’s chest as he forced his legs to lock beneath him. The square had been a battlefield already - now it became a slaughterhouse waiting to happen.From the east and west gates, black-clad soldiers poured in. Boots pounded in rhythm. Rifles leveled. Their rain-slick visors reflected the storm’s lightning, faceless, endless.Victor Wu’s reinforcements had arrived.The crowd screamed and broke, scattering in waves. Mothers dragged children, old men stumbled, young men clutched whatever sticks or pipes they had. But rifles barked, sharp cracks echoing. Bullets tore the air. People fell. The ground became slicker with fresh blood.Ares’s chest burned. His ribs felt shattered. His sword arm trembled like a dying branch. He could barely keep his weapon raised.But Elijah’s face came to him again. Mira’s silence, steady as stone. That was enough. Enough to plant his boots. Enough to lift his blade.The champion still knelt, ruined arm pressed to his chest,
THE KILLING STROKE
“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 LAST PUSH
- the duel dragged on, blood-soaked, locked in stalemate.Time lost meaning. Seconds bled into minutes. Minutes stretched into an eternity.Ares’s lungs clawed for air, every breath slicing through him like broken glass. His sword arm trembled so violently he thought it might simply give out and drop the blade. But it didn’t. Somehow, it didn’t.Across from him, the champion looked no better. Blood streamed down his cheek, one eye nearly sealed shut, lips split. His chest heaved like a bellows about to burst. Yet he too held his sword, trembling, refusing to bow.The crowd had gone strangely quiet - thousands holding their breath, as if noise itself would tip the balance.And above it all, the storm churned. Thunder rolled. Rain threatened, heavy in the air, the first drops spitting against their faces like cold needles.The ground beneath them was a graveyard of blood.The champion’s laugh was hoarse, shredded by exhaustion. “You can’t win. You’ll break before I do.”Ares spat red i
BLOOD-SOAKED STALEMATE
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
BREAKING POINT
And the fractured circle screamed around them.The noise was too much. Voices clashed louder than blades. A storm of names - Kael! Ares! Kael! Ares! - slammed into the dawn.The brothers didn’t look at the crowd. Didn’t hear anything but each other.Steel met steel again. Ares’s blade heavy, Kael’s wild. Sparks flew, falling into the mud like dying stars.Kael’s leg dragged. His shoulder bled thick. But he kept grinning, blood running down his jaw. “Still think you’re stronger?”Ares’s chest heaved, ribs on fire. His shirt clung, soaked, sticky. He lifted his blade slow, steady. “I know I am.”Kael roared, swung hard. Too hard. His balance slipped. Ares caught it, shoved back.Kael stumbled. For the first time, he stumbled.The crowd gasped, half in shock, half in glee.Kael’s supporters shouted louder, desperate to drown it. But the sound was fractured. Broken.Ares pressed forward, every step pain. Every breath sharp. He swung, blade clipping Kael’s arm. Blood burst red.Kael stagge
THE FRACTUARED CIRCLE
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
