He barely escapes, twisting his body just in time as my blow crashes into the earth, cracking the jagged rocks beneath our feet. The sound is louder than the gasps of the crowd or the tempestuous lightning and thunder pounding in the heavens.
Jazreal lands just outside the crater that should have been his tomb. His movements remain calm, but his heart betrays him. I can hear it—pounding like war drums. His breaths come fast and ragged, the ash choking his lungs. He cannot withstand my strength forever. He knows it—I know it.
I surge forward again, my hammer a blur of lethal intent. Blow after blow, forcing him back, pushing him closer to the mountain’s edge. He’s quick, his feet dancing over the uneven ground, but he is tiring. His flowing hair, once a symbol of his skill, now clings to his sweat-slicked body.
Still, I press him.
My heart races with exhilaration. I’m forcing him to the edge—pushing him toward the abyss that waits to claim him.
Finally, a worthy opponent!
Are you watching, Father? Can you see your son dominate one of your finest? Does your heart swell with pride, knowing that I am your rightful heir?
Jazreal glances behind him, sensing the chasm calling his name to the beyond. He dances to his left—the only path for his survival. Desperation flashes in his gaze as he pivots away, trying to outmaneuver me. But I am ready. My hammer whistles like a falling bomb, seeking to end this contest.
In a last, desperate move, Jazreal raises his trident. The volcanic stone grinds against the head of my hammer, absorbing part of the impact, but still my strength drives through theweapon into his arm, forcing him crashing to his knees, a satisfying grunt escaping his lips.
He kneels before me—as is just and natural. One hand clutches his swollen arm, the other grips his trident, pressing it into the ash-covered ground. I savor this moment, imprinting the image of his heaving form into my mind, my molten Rush still burning through my veins. He should submit now, end it with dignity—but he doesn’t.
A pity.
My grip tightens around the hammer, and I raise it high, ready to send him to his ancestors.
Suddenly, his hand springs forward like a vipertail, flinging hot ash into my eyes.
The world goes dark as I reel back, my vision clouded by the stinging dust. A roar rips from my throat, my fangs bared in rage at his cowardice.
Pain explodes from my chest, then my stomach, as I leap back, struggling to clear my eyes. His spear jabs at me with brutal speed and precision, the strikes relentless.
Already my body is covered in swollen welts as he mercilessly presses his dishonorable advantage.
I will not fall. I will not yield!
Agony bursts through my mind as the triple blows continuously slam into my body with brutal accuracy. I snarl with outrage, seeing him stalk after me through hazy vision. I hear his labored breaths, feel his desperation in each strike.
“Fall!” he mutters, breathless with fury. “Fall, damn you!”
I will never submit—never again. Unquenchable hatred seethes within me. Through the hazy darkness, I catch sight of his spear as it whistles toward me once more.
Now!
My left-hand snaps out like the purple lightning tearing through the sky above, seizing his spear mid-thrust. With asavage pull and push, I jerk it toward him, the butt slamming into his stomach. A grunt of pain escapes him as he doubles over.
He stumbles back, almost falling to his knees, while I finally clear my eyes of the blinding ash. My body throbs with agony, my skin raw with bruises, but I ignore it. I stand tall, coldly watching as Jazreal straightens, spitting blood onto the ground that will soon be his tomb.
“You fight like a coward,” I sneer, my grip tightening around the hammer’s handle.
Jazreal wipes the blood from his mouth, smearing ash across his scarred and sweat-slicked chest. His green eyes, still burning with Rush, lock onto mine. Good. Let us bathe in each other’s blood as Arawnoth desires.
“Only a fool fights his opponent where he is strongest, shorthair pup!” he snaps, the calm veneer slipping from his voice. Now, there is fervor, desperation.
He reaches into his pocket, a smirk curling across his lips. “I’ll die before I let you drag us to extinction, son of Gorexius.”
With that, he pulls out a handful of green roots—bloodroot. Without hesitation, he swallows them.
“No, Jazreal!” Garzum’s shout echoes from the crowd, but Jazreal silences him with a single defiant gesture, his spear raised aloft.
My heart surges with exhilaration as I watch the transformation begin. Bloodroot—a sacrifice for the momentary strength to match me.
