The plains lay in ruins. The earth was torn apart, trenches carved deep into the land by the sheer force of battle. The sky, once calm, now trembled under the weight of two warriors clashing at a level beyond human comprehension.
Gramps and Vaelor stood amidst the wreckage of their own making, their breaths coming in slow, measured exhales. Their fists were bruised, their clothes slightly torn, but neither had backed down.
Their fight had been going on for what felt like an eternity. Bare hands alone. No weapons. No abilities. Just pure, raw combat.
Each strike thrown was countered. Each opening was closed before it could be exploited. Their bodies blurred, moving at speeds normal eyes couldn't comprehend.
Vaelor smirked, wiping a bit of blood from his lip.
"You're still holding back, old man."
Gramps rolled his shoulders. "And you're still talking too much."
They lunged at each other once again.
Fists clashed. Knees struck. Elbows deflected.
Their movements were brutal yet precise, exchanging blows so powerful that each impact cracked the air itself. They were fighting with everything except their weapons.
The speed intensified.
Gramps ducked under a high punch, driving his own fist into Vaelor's ribs. Vaelor absorbed the blow, twisting mid-air and retaliating with a sharp heel kick, barely missing Gramps' head.
They separated for a brief second, only to rush forward again—neither willing to yield.
This time, they didn't just attack.
---
Crimson Requiem vs. Sovereign Blitz
Gramps twisted his stance, his arms crossing into a tight formation. His fingers curled into iron-clad fists, his breathing slowing.
Then—
"Crimson Requiem - X"
A deadly cross-slash motion of his bare hands sent an invisible shockwave forward, cutting through the air itself. It was an attack that, if used with a sword, could slice mountains in half.
Vaelor's eyes gleamed. He had seen this move before.
But he was ready.
He planted his foot hard against the broken ground—
And then—
"Sovereign Blitz!"
Vaelor vanished.
A single rapid dash—so fast it shattered the air where he had stood—placed him behind Gramps in an instant. His blade-like hands struck out, aiming for Gramps' exposed back.
But Gramps had already anticipated it.
He twisted at the last moment, his arm snapping up to block the attack with his forearm, sending Vaelor skidding backward.
The ground trembled violently from the sheer force of their techniques colliding. A deep crater had formed beneath them, spreading outward in jagged lines.
Dust rose into the air, swirling around them like a storm.
For the first time in the fight, they stopped moving.
They both knew it.
This fight… wasn't going to end with bare hands.
Their breathing was steady, but the weight of the battle had begun to set in. Even for two warriors of their caliber, a prolonged fight at this level was exhausting.
Vaelor slowly reached for his waist.
A single motion.
The sound of a blade leaving its sheath echoed across the battlefield.
He held his sword high, its blade glinting under the broken sky.
Vaeloris.
A weapon passed down through the House of Vaelor for generations. A blade that had tasted the blood of thousands of enemies.
Vaelor's grip tightened around the hilt. He pointed it at Gramps, his smirk returning.
"Now, draw yours."
---
Gramps didn't move.
His right hand rested over his waist, just inches away from the hilt of his sword.
A blade wrapped in dark crimson cloth.
Scarlet
Vaelor's smirk widened. "What, still holding back?"
Silence.
Then—Vaelor laughed.
"Fine. If you won't draw it, I'll remind you why you should."
His grip tightened on Vaeloris.
"Scarlet… the sword feared even among Protectors."
His words dripped with reverence and challenge.
"The blade that turned the tides of war."
"The weapon that has never been broken."
"The sword that only you have ever wielded."
Vaelor's eyes sharpened.
"You think I'm afraid of it?" He lowered his stance. "No. I want to see it. I want to see if the legend is real."
His blade pointed at Gramps' throat.
"I want to see if the Scarlet Sword still sings when drawn."
The air around them grew heavier.
Falkren, had he been watching, would have recognized this moment for what it was.
A moment where a weapon was no longer just a weapon.
But an unseen presence in the battle itself.
Yet—
Vaelor took a step forward. "Are you afraid?"
Gramps chuckled. "Afraid? Of you?"
"No." Vaelor's eyes narrowed. "Afraid of yourself."
For a moment, neither moved.
The wind carried silence.
"You talk too much, Vaelor."
Gramps didn't move.
Then—
He charged forward.
Bare hands.
Vaelor's sword swung toward him.
Gramps jumped, narrowly avoiding the blade as it sliced through the air beneath him. He twisted mid-air and came crashing down with a powerful heel drop, forcing Vaelor to sidestep just in time.
"Stubborn old bastard," Vaelor muttered. "Still refusing to use it?"
Gramps didn't answer.
Because the battle wasn't over.
---
Vaelor's True Move – The Summoning Begins
Vaelor's stance changed. His blade glowed faintly, pulsing with a deep, ancient energy.
Gramps narrowed his eyes. He could already tell—
This was something different.
Vaelor whispered under his breath.
A summoning.
The ground beneath them rumbled.
A deep crack split the earth, glowing red-hot from within.
Then—
It emerged.
A monstrous figure rose from the shattered earth, its entire body composed of writhing flames. Its molten core pulsed with unbearable heat, embers flickering from its massive fists.
Ignirion—the Fire Golem.
Vaelor smirked. "I wonder how long you'll last."
But before Gramps could respond—
Another crack.
Water exploded upward, swirling in a violent cyclone before forming a massive humanoid figure, its body shifting between liquid and solid ice.
Aquelis—the Water Golem.
Gramps exhaled.
So that's how it was going to be.
Vaelor's blade gleamed.
"You should've drawn your sword."
But Gramps—he simply smirked.
Looking at the two towering elemental creatures before him, he slowly rolled his neck, cracking his knuckles.
"Just two?"
Vaelor raised a brow. "Think that's all?"
Gramps tilted his head. "No."
His eyes scanned the battlefield.
Five elements.
Five golems.
Which meant—three more were coming.
His mind sharpened. He had to come up with a strategy.
Not just for these two.
But for all five. And also Vaelor.
As the golems roared, their massive bodies shaking the battlefield—
The First Clash – Ignirion & Aquelis
The moment Ignirion emerged from the shattered ground, the battlefield changed.
The very air distorted from the heat radiating off its molten body. Every breath Gramps took burned his lungs, every movement felt like wading through a furnace. Ignirion's molten core pulsed like a living heart of fire, its massive form dripping embers with every step.
Then— it attacked.
A wave of pure fire erupted from its core, surging toward Gramps like a living inferno. The heat alone was enough to melt the shattered earth beneath them.
Gramps moved.
A single step to the side, precise and controlled—the flames barely missed him. The moment his feet touched the ground again, his instincts flared—
Something shifted.
The fire didn't just vanish—it was sucked into the air.
Gramps' eyes flicked toward Aquelis—who stood at a distance, its liquid form shifting and twisting.
Then, he saw it—
The evaporated fire had been absorbed into the surrounding moisture. And Aquelis was shaping it.
The water golem twisted its arm, and in an instant—
A hundred jagged ice spikes materialized in mid-air.
Gramps barely had time to react.
The fire attack had been bait.
Now, the very steam that should have been his escape was turning into a death trap.
The spikes fired—razor-sharp, perfectly timed, coming from every angle.
Gramps exhaled.
Then—his entire body twisted, bending low into a sharp slide just beneath the deadly rain of ice. A few spikes grazed his coat, slicing through fabric, but none reached his skin.
As he slid, he slammed his fist into the ground, kicking up dust—momentarily blinding Aquelis.
In that instant, Gramps understood.
"They're not just brute force. They're a formation."
One creates an opening. The other delivers the killing blow.
And if two of them were this coordinated—
Then five?
Gramps' eyes sharpened.
He couldn't afford to waste time.
He had to end this—fast.
Gramps planted his feet firmly against the broken ground.
His final thought before they attacked—
"Do I really need to draw Scarlet for this?"
---
To Be Continued...
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