The grand training hall, a coliseum carved into the heart of the Demon Palace, was dimly lit with crimson torches that cast dancing shadows against the obsidian walls. The air held a razor-sharp edge, thick with anticipation. At its center stood Anos, his ruby eyes gleaming with uncontained curiosity, and before him, a silver-haired woman whose very presence oozed lethality.
Selaria Nightshade, the council's most ruthless assassin and swordswoman, was the first to claim him for training. She stood poised, one hand resting on the hilt of a slender black blade while the other traced the curve of her hip. Her silver hair was tied in a loose ponytail, a few rebellious strands framing her exquisite yet deadly face. Her golden pupils were slit like a predator's, studying Anos with quiet intrigue.
"Your Majesty," she purred, tilting her head slightly, "before we begin, tell me… have you ever wielded a blade before?"
Anos smirked, arms crossed over his chest. "Once or twice," he admitted, his voice laced with amusement.
Selaria raised a brow, clearly unimpressed. "Then this will be enlightening for both of us. Your defensive skin makes you untouchable, but what happens when you're up against someone who doesn't aim for the body?"
Before Anos could respond, Selaria blurred from sight.
His instincts roared, and his body barely registered the slight shift in air pressure before something cold pressed against his throat. A blade.
Anos didn't flinch. Instead, he smirked, meeting Selaria's golden gaze. "That was fast."
"You let me get too close," she whispered against his ear before vanishing once again.
Anos barely had time to process her movement before sharp pain sliced across his cheek. His defensive skin should have nullified the attack, but Selaria had struck a place he didn't expect—a precise cut at the edge of his jaw, where his obsidian defenses were slightly thinner.
His smirk widened. "Interesting."
Selaria twirled her blade between her fingers, her movements fluid, graceful. "I'll be teaching you how to kill efficiently, Your Majesty. Strength alone is worthless if your enemies outmaneuver you. This is a battle of perception, speed, and above all—understanding the flow of death."
Anos rolled his shoulders, his curiosity piqued. "Then let's begin."
For the next hour, Selaria came at him relentlessly. She didn't just attack with her sword—her every movement was designed to mislead, feint, and create openings that weren't really there.
Anos, however, did not dodge.
He let his obsidian skin take every hit, not because he couldn't react, but because he was studying her. Every flick of her wrist, every shift in her footwork, the precise way she twisted her body to strike without wasting movement—he absorbed it all.
Selaria noticed his strategy. "You're not even fighting back," she mused, leaping backward to reset her stance. "Are you trying to memorize my patterns?"
Anos grinned. "Maybe."
Selaria's eyes gleamed with something akin to approval. "Then let's make this harder."
Without warning, her blade vanished from sight. Anos barely had time to react before something sharp pressed against his ribcage—then another at his thigh, then his wrist. Three simultaneous strikes, all aimed at vulnerable joints. Yet they all gradually healed.
Selaria was no longer just using her sword; she was employing true assassin techniques—blades hidden in her sleeves, razor-thin wires, pressure point strikes designed to disable.
Anos exhaled. "Alright," he muttered. "I think I've seen enough."
Selaria barely had time to react before he moved.
In a blur of motion, Anos dodged her next strike, his foot sweeping toward her ankle. She leapt, but his hand was already there to grab her wrist.
For the first time, Selaria was caught off guard.
Anos twisted her arm behind her back and yanked her close, their bodies pressed together. Her blade clattered to the ground.
He leaned in, whispering, "My turn."
Selaria shivered, but not from fear. The shift in his presence, the sheer dominance of his counterattack—it was exhilarating.
She barely had time to process before Anos threw her.
She landed in a crouch, panting slightly, golden eyes flashing with something dangerous. Then, to his surprise, she grinned.
"Not bad," she admitted. "For someone who was just observing, you adapted quickly."
Anos rolled his shoulders. "I prefer learning by experience."
Selaria picked up her blade, studying him. "Then let's move on to the real lesson," she murmured. "Now that you've seen how I fight, it's time to get serious."
Anos smirked. "I'm looking forward to it."
The tension in the training hall became palpable as Anos and Selaria faced off once more. The air crackled with energy, the torches casting elongated shadows across their poised forms.
Selaria's golden, slit-pupil eyes gleamed with razor-sharp focus, her blade gripped with deadly precision. In contrast, Anos stood relaxed, his ruby-red eyes alight with a flicker of amusement—yet beneath that playful exterior lurked something far more dangerous.
Selaria was fast. That much was undeniable. But Anos was chaos incarnate.
The moment the fight began, she surged forward like a phantom, her blade slicing through the air with lethal grace. Anos barely moved, letting the first strike graze his side. His Heaven Defying Resilience absorbed the blow effortlessly, his skin remaining unscathed.
Another slash. Then another. Selaria's movements were too precise, her footwork calculated to weave in and out of striking range in an instant. She didn't waste time testing him anymore—she aimed for vital points, slipping between his defenses with unnatural efficiency.
Anos, however, did not evade.
He took the blows, each one landing with pinpoint accuracy, yet none left a mark on him. Instead of defending himself, he swung wildly, his strikes unpredictable and without form. A lesser opponent would have been overwhelmed by the sheer brute force of his attacks, but Selaria remained just beyond his reach, slipping through his grasp like a shadow.
Her blade sang as it cut through the air, landing a dozen more blows against him. A normal being would have been sliced apart by now.
Yet Anos remained unscathed.
Selaria clenched her teeth. This is ridiculous. No matter how many times I cut him, he doesn't even flinch!
But she couldn't afford to stop. If this had been a real battle, if Anos had been trying—she would already be dead.
Anos, meanwhile, felt something stir within him.
I could end this.
The thought was intrusive, dark, and completely natural. His instincts screamed at him to shift his attacks, to stop playing and land a decisive, life-ending blow.
His red gaze flickered.
One clean strike to the throat.
Another intrusive thought. He imagined the warmth of her blood splattering across his skin, the sound of her final breath leaving her lips.
But his body never moved to execute it.
Because this woman was his.
Anos grinned suddenly, breaking through the dark temptation that clawed at the edges of his mind. Instead of counterattacking with lethal force, he continued his reckless assault, testing her endurance rather than aiming for a kill.
Selaria, however, had no such hesitations.
She launched herself into a whirlwind of strikes, her blade flashing faster than before. She aimed for his tendons, his joints—anywhere that would hinder movement. Her strategy was no longer just about landing hits; it was about overwhelming him.
For the first time in their fight, Anos stepped back.
Selaria seized the opportunity, pivoting behind him with inhuman speed. She drove her blade forward, aiming for the small gap between his ribs—one of the only vulnerable spots on his body.
The impact forced Anos to exhale.
It wasn't pain. Not exactly. But it was enough for his body to register something.
And in that moment, Selaria struck one final time, slashing across his chest with everything she had.
Silence fell over the training hall.
Selaria stood, panting, her body trembling from exertion. Blood dripped from her arms, her legs—she had pushed herself past her limits to land those final attacks. She felt the toll of their fight in every fiber of her being.
Yet when she looked at Anos, her stomach twisted.
He was completely unscathed.
Her blade had connected. Again and again. She had landed more strikes than she could count—yet he bore not a single wound.
Anos rolled his shoulders, tilting his head at her. "Done already?"
Selaria exhaled sharply, barely suppressing her frustration. "Tch… If this were a real battle, I would have won."
Anos smirked. "If this were a real battle, you'd be dead."
Selaria flinched, but she knew he was right. If Anos had truly fought to kill, she wouldn't have lasted a minute.
But he hadn't.
And that realization sent an unexpected shiver through her.
She collapsed onto one knee, her exhaustion catching up with her. "You're a monster," she muttered.
Anos chuckled. "That's a first."
Then, to her surprise, he extended a hand toward her. She hesitated for only a second before accepting it, letting him pull her to her feet.
Despite her injuries, despite the clear gap between their abilities, Selaria found herself smirking.
"That was… fun," she admitted, her golden eyes gleaming.
Anos's gaze darkened slightly, amusement flickering in his expression. "Fun? I'll have to try harder next time, then."
Selaria chuckled, wiping the blood from her lips. "Next time, it won't be a battle of the sword."
Anos grinned. "I better be prepared."
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