Caspian forced himself to breathe through clenched teeth, each inhale a dagger to his ribs. Pain radiated through his chest—sharp, unforgiving, and all too real.
He thought he had already injured all kind of pain, and yet, Yami's attack still feels different. It feels like he's attacking directly to the soul and not just physically.
It grounded him, anchoring him in the brutal now. His grip on his sword remained ironclad, the steel slick with sweat and blood. It was the only thing he could trust in this place. His shield. His resolve.
Across, Yami stood unscathed.
The demon didn't even bother brushing off the dust that clung to his dark robes. Crimson eyes glowed like coals in the mist, dancing with unholy delight as he watched Caspian struggle to stay upright. There was no urgency in Yami's posture, no strain in his limbs. Only an unsettling stillness, like a storm waiting to consume the last light on the horizon.
