"Tell where you got that armor, kid," Sar growled, his eyes gleaming with silver light. The half-mutated side of his face was clearer now—twisted and veined with sickly grey flesh, like corruption made visible. He charged, his sword crackling as his domain fused with the dark aura, forming a massive energy blade that roared like a beast hungry for blood.
But Cassian didn't flinch. If anything, he looked even more thrilled. His war armor pulsed with dark red energy, his killing domain glowing deeper, more vicious. It wasn't just reacting—it was rejoicing. His sword shimred as the domain clung to it more easily now, like it belonged there all along. With a fierce grin, Cassian raised his blade and stopped the enormous energy slash head-on, the ground around them cracking from the impact.
Sar snarled, his voice low and deadly. "That thing's not a toy to be played with, kid. Hand it over, and I'll make your death as painless as I can…"
Cassian didn't bother answering—he was too busy trading blows with the guy, more focused on figuring out Sar's fighting style than making small talk. He already knew brute force wouldn't win him this fight—he needed to understand how Sar fought.
It didn't take long to notice: Sar had all the finesse of a sledgehamr. There was no real sword style to speak of—no graceful arcs or clever footwork. Just raw, terrifying power. Every swing was like a wrecking ball, and if it weren't for the war armor soaking the worst of the impact, Cassian was pretty sure he'd be snapping bones like breadsticks.
Sar's swordsmanship clearly followed one principle of strength. Every swing was brute force in motion. Luckily for Cassian, the perfect counter to that kind of style was the flowing sword, and he just so happened to be damn good at it. His Gale Whispering Sword was built on that around that concept—move like the wind.
Of course, flowing like the wind was a lot harder when you were wrapped in a murder-hungry armor and drowning in your own killing intent. The bloodlust made it hard to focus, to find the calm center needed for such a style. But the mont the thought of killing Sar surfaced—sharp, clear, and focused—everything shifted.
The armor responded imdiately. It tightened in so places, loosened in others, adjusting to his movents as if reading his mind. With that, Cassian stopped blocking and started dancing—dodging, weaving, gliding around Sar's swings like wind slipping through cracks. The flow had begun.
Redirections, deflections, yielding—Cassian danced in the rhythm of soft defense. He didn't et power with power; he absorbed the force of Sar's strikes and turned it against him, like a reed bending in a storm only to snap back harder. One such redirection carved a shallow cut across Sar's side. It healed almost instantly, flesh knitting together like it had never been touched—but Cassian wasn't discouraged. Just like his own healing had limits, so too must Sar's. At least, that's what he was betting on.
Cassian flowed into counterattacks with the grace of a falling leaf—sotis drifting gently, other tis accelerating with sharp bursts of motion. Right now, he was the wind, unpredictable and precise. Sar flinched as Cassian's blade ca at him in a sudden thrust, retreating just in ti with a powerful flap of his wings. Then, with a roar, Sar slamd them forward again, sending a brutal gust of wind and following it up with a wide horizontal slash.
Cassian back stepped it with barely an inch to spare, his footwork feather-light, and in the next heartbeat, he flashed forward. His blade sang diagonally across Sar's body, cutting from shoulder to chest in one clean strike. Sar roared in pain—but once again, the wound sealed itself at an unnatural speed.
"It's hard killing you..." Cassian muttered.
Sar's grin widened as he raised his sword again. "Sa goes for you," he said, glancing to the right like he caught sothing only he could see. Then, with a smug smirk, he added, "But alas, you need to die. I was really looking forward to devouring you all year round."
He straightened, slowly rising to up with the flap of his wings. For a brief mont, his eyes closed—calm, almost serene—before snapping open with razor-sharp focus.
His sword lifted high above his head, and this ti, it wasn't just brute strength behind the swing.
His Domain surged.
All of it.
Every thread of his power rushed into the blade, followed by that strange, sinister dark aura that clung to him like a second skin. The energy condensed and warped, forming a blade of pure force, nearly ten tis the size of the actual sword. The air crackled. The ground beneath him trembled.
Cassian's breath caught in his throat. It wasn't just a sword strike anymore.
It was a force of nature.
Cassian's grip tightened around his weapon. For the first ti in their clash, he truly felt it—This wasn't just a strike. It was destruction incarnate, ant to erase him from existence.
Above him, Sar brought his massive energy-forged blade down with a roar, "Giant's Sword Style – Mountain Split!"
The swing tore through the air, and even before it landed, the pressure alone forced Cassian's feet deep into the ground. The weight of it made dodging nearly impossible. Still, he wasn't worried—his war armor had taken worse. It would absorb the impact like it always did.
But then… sothing changed.
His breath hitched. The killing intent vanished—not just his own, but his armor's too.Because the armor was gone, disappeared. Like it had never existed.
And now, Cassian was truly exposed.
Yet he didn't panic. His eyes stayed locked on the oncoming dark blade, a monstrous strike descending like a piece of the night sky itself, promising total annihilation.
No fear, only sharp, calculated focus.
Ti seed to slow.
As the massive blade reached its halfway mark, Cassian moved. In an instant, he shot upward, slicing through the air with nothing but the sword in his hands—coated in his own domain, blazing with intent.
The heat and friction from his surge burned at his clothes, fire licking at his sleeves—but he didn't flinch.
He didn't retreat.
And then, his blade t Sar's in mid-air.
The clash was deafening. Sar's smile stretched wide, triumphant—until a sudden chill swept over his neck.
A breath.A whisper.
Cassian's voice, calm and close, right at his ear:
"Gale Whisper Sword Style – Technique: Still Wind Cut…"
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