Chapter 16: Old Grudge
The air in the town had turned thick with tension, like the calm before a storm. The marketplace, once eerily quiet, now seemed to hum with an energy that made the hairs on the back of Solace's neck stand up. He couldn't quite place it, but something was wrong. His instincts screamed that they were being watched—by something that had no intention of hiding.
Lyra was walking beside him, her eyes scanning the shadows, ever-alert. Night, nestled comfortably on his shoulder, was unusually still, but there was a faint, almost imperceptible glow beneath its scales—a warning, a foreboding aura. Solace was accustomed to it by now. Whatever power the dragon was channeling, he had learned to read the signs.
They were nearing the town's western edge when it happened. The feeling intensified—a heaviness, a presence that made everything around them feel smaller, more fragile. Solace froze mid-step, and Lyra's hand instinctively fell to the hilt of her weapon.
And then, from the shadows of a dilapidated building, a figure stepped forward. A tall man with a weathered, cold expression. His features were familiar—too familiar—and the sight of him dredged up memories Solace had hoped would remain buried forever.
Dravik.
The name tasted like ash in his mouth.
The man's face was grim, scarred—one long, jagged line cutting through his left cheek, a reminder of their previous encounter. That scar had been earned by another hand—an enemy they had both faced in a bitter battle. A battle in which Dravik had come close to ending them both. It had never been Solace who had scarred him, but the marks he bore were a reminder of their shared history. And it was this history that now brought them back to the same path.
Lyra's breath caught beside him, and Solace could feel her muscles tense, the same memories rising to the surface for her. The battle. The blood. The near-death.
Dravik's eyes locked onto theirs with that same cold, calculating intensity that had once made them both question if they'd survive the fight. And now, here he was again, standing in front of them like a ghost from their past, his mere presence stirring something dangerous within them both.
Night stirred on Solace's shoulder, its body tightening as its obsidian eyes flashed with a dangerous light. The dragon's energy pulsed, a dark aura creeping from its form, wrapping around Solace like smoke.
Solace clenched his fists. His artifact ring, still hidden beneath his sleeve, vibrated with power. It shifted in response to his intent, reshaping itself until it was no longer a ring, but a gleaming katana. He grasped the hilt firmly, feeling the dark energy flowing through him, through the blade.
Lyra's aura flared around her like a visible shield, the air vibrating with the intensity of it. The shadows around her stirred, bending to her will as she prepared for what was to come. They didn't need words. The old grudge between them and Dravik was enough to ignite their fury. They had been here before—on the edge of death—and they would not let him claim victory this time.
Lieutenant Jane, standing a few paces behind them, tensed, her hand hovering near her sidearm. Orion, on her other side, was stiff with confusion, his eyes darting between Solace, Lyra, and Dravik. They could see the tension crackling in the air. They could feel the growing power radiating from the two of them.
"You two are looking for trouble," Dravik said, his voice low and laced with the same arrogance that had marked their previous encounter.
Solace's grip on the katana tightened. The darkness around him seemed to pulse in response, the air thick with the weight of it. The blade glowed faintly with a purple aura, mist-like and deadly. He raised it slightly, and with the movement, the darkness swirled around him like rising steam, ready to strike.
Lyra's shadow aura flared as she stepped forward, her hands weaving in the air, creating a flurry of energy. With a flick of her wrist, an array of shadow aura blades shot toward Dravik. The blades moved as one, a hundred sharp-edged strikes aimed directly at him.
But Dravik was quick. In a blur of motion, he moved to the side, his jagged sword slashing out to deflect the aura blades. They shattered upon contact, but some of them still managed to graze his skin, leaving deep, sizzling burns.
Without warning, Lyra leapt into action, moving like a shadow in the mist. Her body twisted and turned with the precision of a martial artist—each movement fluid and controlled. She dashed toward Dravik, her fists surrounded by a halo of energy. Her attack was a series of quick, powerful strikes, a combination of precision and strength. Her legs swept low in a spinning kick aimed at Dravik's midsection, and when he blocked with his sword, she pivoted, using his momentary imbalance to launch herself into the air.
She followed up with an shadow aura-infused flying elbow, aimed directly at Dravik's chest. He staggered back, grunting from the force of the hit, but he wasn't done yet. He brought his sword up, swinging it with lethal intent.
Lyra, however, was already moving again, her body shifting through the air with the grace of someone who had mastered the art of movement. As Dravik's sword came down, she twisted to the side, avoiding the deadly arc. She planted her feet firmly on the ground and pivoted, her hands working in perfect unison to channel the flow of energy around her.
With a fierce cry, she formed another barrage of aura blades—this time hundreds of them. They exploded from her hands like a swarm of projectiles, cutting through the air toward Dravik. He tried to block, his sword moving in frantic arcs, but the sheer number of the blades overwhelmed him. Some of them landed, tearing through his armor and skin, leaving behind smoking trails.
Solace wasn't far behind. His katana shimmered in the air as he closed the distance between them, his blade glowing brighter with each step. He swung, the katana slicing through the air in a smooth arc, aiming to cut Dravik down.
The force of his strike caused a shockwave, sending Dravik stumbling back. But Dravik was no amateur. He gritted his teeth and, with a roar, surged forward once more. His sword met Solace's katana with a deafening clash. Sparks flew as the two blades collided, sending shockwaves of energy through the ground beneath them.
Dravik's jagged sword was powerful, but Solace's katana was far more precise. He pressed forward, his strikes relentless. The darkness around him seemed to respond to his fury, curling up like smoke to wrap around his blade and form a deadly mist. His every strike left a trail of dark energy, cutting into Dravik's defenses.
The two were a whirlwind of strikes and counters, each blow sending ripples through the air, shaking the very earth beneath them. But Dravik was no slouch. He matched them with skill and fury, his every movement calculated and precise. Despite the damage he was taking, he held his ground, his bloodied form showing little sign of yielding.
Lyra, too, pressed her advantage, her movements a blend of martial arts and shadow manipulation. She struck with precision, using her ability to enhance her strikes and create waves of energy that pushed Dravik back. Her fists, elbows, and legs moved with brutal efficiency, a deadly dance of combat honed over years of training.
The battle raged on. Dravik was clearly being overwhelmed, but he still fought fiercely, his sword a blur of deadly arcs. The ground around them was torn asunder, craters and scars marking the battlefield where their weapons had struck. The force of their blows left the air vibrating with raw energy.
Solace was inches away from slicing Dravik's head off with a swift blow when a sharp voice cut through the chaos.
"Stop!"
It was General Francis, his voice cutting through the noise like a command from a higher authority. His figure was flanked by a dozen soldiers, all with weapons drawn but not aimed directly at them—not yet.
Dravik, on his knees, was barely able to hold himself upright, his body trembling from exhaustion and the sheer toll of the battle. His blood seeped into the earth beneath him, but his expression remained defiant, a twisted smile playing on his lips even in defeat.
"Enough," General Francis repeated, his tone firm. "Look at what you've done."
Solace and Lyra paused, their weapons still raised, eyes fixed on the fallen man. They could feel the heat of their rage dissipating, but it wasn't gone—not yet.
The destruction they had caused was clear now. The town lay in ruin, buildings shattered, the streets marked with deep slashes from their battle. Craters formed where Dravik's strikes had hit, and the ground was scorched from the energy that had been unleashed.
The general motioned for his men to step forward, and Dravik was quickly apprehended. His injuries were grave—one leg at death's door—but he still had the will to smirk, as though daring anyone to finish him off.
Lyra's shadow flared one last time, and Night jumped back onto Solace's shoulder, its dangerous energy making everyone around them flinch. It was a reminder of the creature's raw power, and its growing strength was something none dared to ignore.
With Dravik restrained, General Francis ordered them all to follow. Jane and Orion trailed behind, sweat on their brows, tension still heavy in the air as they walked away. Despite the battle's end, there was a silence that lingered, a weight none of them could shake.
The damage had been done—but the battle was far from over.