Aden moved first—a blur of desperate motion, his sword flashing in a silver arc aimed for Egmund's throat.
Egmund laughed and twisted, his body bending at impossible angles, the blade passing through empty air where his neck had been.
Before Aden could recover, Egmund's knee slammed into his ribs with the force of a battering ram. Bone cracked. Air exploded from Aden's lungs.
He staggered, but didn't fall.
Egmund's grin widened. "Too slow."
Aden bared his teeth, blood flecking his lips. "Try again."
They clashed.
Steel met shadow. Every strike was a thunderclap, every parry a tremor through the bleeding earth beneath them. Aden fought with the precision of a master—each step calculated, each slash deliberate, his body honed by years of war.
Egmund fought like a predator.
He didn't block—he flowed, his form dissolving into smoke at the last second, only to reform behind Aden with claws raking toward his spine. Aden barely pivoted in time, the talons shredding his cloak instead of his flesh. He retaliated with a downward slash—
—Egmund caught the blade in his bare hand.
Blood, black and thick, oozed between his fingers. He didn't flinch.
"You still think steel can kill me?"
Aden wrenched the sword free with a snarl. "I'll find what does."
Egmund's next attack wasn't a strike—it was an onslaught.
He moved faster than Aden could track, a whirlwind of claws and teeth and laughter. A fist buried itself in Aden's gut, lifting him off his feet. Before he could hit the ground, a kick snapped his head to the side. He tasted iron. His vision swam.
He barely raised his sword in time to block the next blow—a sweeping slash that would have taken his head. The impact sent him skidding backward, his boots carving furrows into the field of blades.
Egmund didn't let up.
He lunged, his form shifting mid-step—one moment a man, the next a monstrous thing with too many limbs, each ending in hooked talons.
Aden ducked the first swipe, rolled under the second, but the third caught him across the chest, splitting flesh like wet parchment.
Blood sprayed.
Aden didn't scream. He countered.
His sword carved a burning line through Egmund's side, parting shadow and flesh alike. For the first time, Egmund hissed, stumbling back.
Aden pressed the advantage.
He feinted left, then pivoted into a spinning slash aimed for Egmund's neck. Egmund leaned back—too slow. The blade bit deep, shearing through muscle and tendon.
Egmund's head lolled, hanging by a thread of sinew.
Then he laughed.
Aden's sword flashed—a streak of silver cutting through the bleeding sky—but Egmund wasn't there. He melted into the shadows, reforming behind Aden with a grin that split his face too wide.
"You thought that if you stuck up to me, praised me for my war crimes, I'd bend down and serve you for life?" Egmund's voice was a serpent's hiss, slithering into Aden's ears. "Naive bastard."
Aden spun, blade singing as it carved through the air—but Egmund caught it between his palms, black blood oozing between his fingers.
"I knew what you were doing," Egmund sneered. "Studying me. Learning my techniques. You think a demon like me would ever bow to the likes of you?"
With a wrench of his hands, he shattered the steel.
Shards rained down like jagged teeth.
Aden didn't hesitate. He lunged forward, driving a fist into Egmund's throat—but the demon dissolved into smoke, reforming inches away with a clawed hand raking toward Aden's face.
Aden barely dodged. The talons grazed his cheek, leaving burning furrows in their wake. Blood dripped into his eye, staining his vision red.
Egmund laughed—a sound like breaking glass. "Look at you. Pathetic. You thought you could control me?"
He struck like a viper.
Aden blocked the first blow, but the second came too fast—a hammering fist to his ribs that sent him skidding backward. His boots dug trenches into the field of swords beneath them.
"I am wrath incarnate," Egmund snarled, advancing. "I am the fire that burns kings to ash. And you? You're just a man who thought he could leash hell."
Aden spat blood. "And yet here you are. My hell."
He surged forward, feinting left before driving his elbow into Egmund's jaw. Bone crunched. The demon's head snapped back—but he didn't stagger.
He grinned.
"Good," he purred. "But not good enough."
His form blurred, limbs elongating into whip-like tendrils of shadow and flesh. One lashed around Aden's wrist, twisting until the bone snapped. Another coiled around his throat, lifting him off the ground.
Aden gagged, his vision darkening at the edges.
Egmund leaned in, his breath hot against Aden's ear. "You wanted power? This is power."
Then his free hand plunged into Aden's chest.
Fingers curled around ribs. Sinew ripped.
With a wet crunch, Egmund yanked—
—and Aden's guts spilled outward in a glistening, crimson torrent.
The pain was beyond screaming. Beyond thought.
Egmund held him there, suspended in agony, his innards exposed to the hellish air.
"Stay down," Egmund whispered, his voice almost tender. "It's over."
Then he let go.
Aden hit the ground with a sound like wet meat.
Above him, Egmund turned away, his silhouette bleeding into the smoke.
Just then a thought came flowing into Aden's mind.
Maybe some Wars are never meant to be Won.