The forest's silence was deafening after the chaos. Aryan lay crumpled against the cold iron gate of the Blade headquarters, his breath ragged, his body battered beyond recognition. The icy grip of exhaustion clung to him like a shroud. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, his vision blurred, but he forced himself to push up on trembling arms.
He had done it—he had defeated the three Pulse users, each fiercer than the last. The fire wielder's flames had nearly consumed him, the speed user's relentless strikes had shattered his defenses, and the hardening user's brutal punches had tested his endurance to the breaking point. Yet here he was, battered but unbeaten.
Aryan's fingers brushed the cold metal of the gate. His heart thundered painfully in his chest. He had to get inside—to reach Kale, to finish what they started. But his knees buckled, and the world tipped sideways. Darkness crept into his vision like a creeping tide, swallowing the edges of the moonlight.
"Not... now," he gasped, clutching his side where a deep bruise bloomed.
With a grunt, he collapsed fully, the weight of pain dragging him down. The battle had taken everything from him. Yet somewhere deep within, a flicker of defiance burned. He would rise again.
Inside the Blade headquarters, the cold steel walls seemed to close in around Kale. Every footstep echoed like a death knell as he pressed forward. His sword, a gleaming extension of his will, sliced through the shadows with deadly precision.
Three Blade members burst from a side corridor, their faces twisted with rage and desperation. They lunged forward, but Kale was a storm. With a swift spin, his blade cut through the first's defenses, a flash of steel ending the man's life. Another came screaming—a last desperate attack—but Kale sidestepped and drove his sword through the man's chest.
The last one barely had time to scream before Kale's blade whispered through his throat.
No hesitation. No mercy.
The corridor fell silent once more, except for the ragged breathing of the lone warrior. But the battle was far from over.
Kale's chest tightened. He felt a sudden blow to his back—a powerful kick that sent him crashing into the steel wall. Pain exploded in his ribs, and he coughed sharply, tasting blood.
He staggered, trying to steady himself.
Before him stood a man whose presence twisted the very air—a Pulse user unlike any Kale had faced before. His eyes glowed faintly, and the air around him seemed charged with raw power.
"I'm not letting you through," the man said, voice low and dangerous.
Kale's grip on his sword tightened. This was no ordinary guard. This was a wall he had to break through—or be stopped cold.
The man cracked his knuckles, and the ground trembled beneath their feet.
Kale readied himself, heart pounding with a mix of fear and determination.
The fight had begun.
The first strike came like a thunderclap. The Pulse user lunged forward with a speed that belied his size, fists glowing with energy. Kale barely raised his sword in time, blocking the blow with a clang that echoed through the hallway.
They exchanged a flurry of attacks—blows that would have shattered bone, strikes so fast they blurred. Kale fought not just for survival, but for the chance to reach Kraven, the man who was the heart of Blade's terror in Clanda City.
With every block and counter, Kale felt the weight of the mission pressing down. He could not afford to lose—not here, not now.
Sweat dripped down his forehead, mixing with blood from a cut above his eyebrow. His muscles screamed for respite, but he pushed on.
A sudden opening—a brief flash of vulnerability in his opponent's guard—gave Kale the chance he needed. With a battle cry, he swung his sword in a wide arc, aiming to end the fight.
The Pulse user twisted at the last second, deflecting the blow, and retaliated with a devastating uppercut that sent Kale sprawling backward.
Pain blossomed in his side, but he forced himself to rise.
This was a war of wills as much as strength.
Kale locked eyes with the Pulse user, silent understanding passing between them—only one would walk away.
The man charged again, and the corridor seemed to shrink, the two warriors locked in a deadly dance.
Outside, Aryan's consciousness flickered. His body ached, but he heard distant sounds—voices, footsteps. Hope sparked in his chest.
He struggled to push himself up again, ignoring the fire burning through his bruised ribs.
Somehow, he had to get inside.
The battle was far from over.