Chaosbound: Elarith Chronicles

Aurel vs. Arman

The air crackled. Arman surged forward, twin short swords a blur in the dim light of the ruined street. His speed was terrifying, unlike anything Aurel had ever witnessed. The first strike, a horizontal slash, screamed toward Aurel's neck.

Aurel tilted his head, the blade's chilling whisper grazing his cheek. He instinctively recoiled, his feet dancing back as Arman pressed the attack. Metal shrieked as Aurel's own sword, a beautiful, larger blade, sprang from its sheath in a single fluid motion, deflecting a wicked blow aimed at his ribs.

"Hahaha!" Arman's laughter, wild and unhinged, cut through the clang of steel. His grin widened with every clash. "So, this is the Phantomblader! Your reputation didn't lie." His short swords were a whirlwind, striking from every conceivable angle—overhead, side, thrust—a relentless torrent of speed designed to drown Aurel.

Aurel's anomalous instinct ignited, his mind dissecting Arman's every movement with razor precision. Each strike, each feint, each shift in weight—it all became an open book. He parried a furious flurry, his blade a silver streak, intercepting attacks almost effortlessly. Sparks showered with every collision, a brutal symphony of steel.

"You're reading my every move, aren't you?" Arman's voice held a mix of impressed amusement. He twisted mid-attack, his blade arcing in a tight spin toward Aurel's torso. Aurel deflected it with a calculated strike, shifting his weight, already countering the next blow before it fully formed. "But tell me," Arman pushed, his strikes accelerating, "can you keep up with my speed?"

The Swordfight Intensifies

Aurel offered no reply, his focus absolute. Arman's onslaught was merciless, his short swords weaving a dizzying pattern of blindingly fast strikes. Aurel met him blow for blow, his larger blade moving with surprising, elegant grace. Each deflection, each parry, was deliberate, a careful conservation of energy as he unraveled Arman's patterns.

Arman feinted left, then lunged low, his blade a viper striking at Aurel's leg. Aurel shifted just enough, a whisper of movement avoiding the attack, and countered with a powerful horizontal slash that forced Arman to leap back. The respite was fleeting; Arman surged forward again, his blades a desperate blur.

"You're good," Arman admitted, a genuine note of respect in his voice. "Better than I expected. But..."

He abruptly shifted his grip, his attacks becoming wilder, chaotic, unpredictable. He struck from impossible angles, his movements erratic, yet undeniably more dangerous. Aurel found himself pressed harder, his anomalous instinct straining against the sheer unpredictability of Arman's new style. Vibrations surged up his arms with each clash, the force of Arman's blows growing with his savage confidence.

Arman Unleashes Shadow Magic

Then, in a sudden, jarring movement, Arman leaped back, his grin widening into something sinister. Shadows writhed around him, pooling at his feet, then coiling up his body like living tendrils. His blades shimmered with dark energy, and the air around them grew frigid.

"Let's turn it up a notch," Arman's voice dropped, laced with menacing glee. "This is where the fun really begins!"

He vanished—not disappeared, but dissolved into the shadows, his form melting into the flickering darkness of the ruined street. Aurel's eyes darted, his instincts screaming as he felt faint shifts in the air. Arman reappeared behind him, his blade whistling downward. Aurel twisted just in time, his sword barely intercepting the strike.

"He's a Divinant," Aurel muttered under his breath, teeth gritted, deflecting another lightning-fast attack. "An Eclipseborne."

Arman's laughter echoed again, now from multiple directions as he flickered in and out of the shadows, each appearance a new, terrifying angle, his speed escalating with every movement. "Let's see how long you can last, Shadowblade!"

Aurel's Challenge

Aurel held his ground, his mind racing. His anomalous instinct could track the attacks, but Arman's speed combined with his shadow magic made effective counters nearly impossible. He knew he couldn't maintain this defense indefinitely—not without unleashing his own chaos abilities.

But Aurel hesitated, his grip tightening on his sword hilt. He hadn't fully mastered his chaos skill, and using it now could put both him and Clyde (if Clyde was nearby) in even greater danger. For now, he remained on the defensive, meticulously studying Arman's shadow-enhanced movements, waiting for an opening.

Blades flashed and roared, sparks painting the broken street as the two combatants danced. Aurel's breath came in ragged gasps, every muscle straining to keep pace with Arman's unrelenting speed. The shadow Divinant was a blur, his attacks a savage flurry of slashes and thrusts that seemed to originate from everywhere at once.

"Come on, Phantomblader!" Arman taunted, his voice a dark, mocking melody. "Show me what you're really made of!"

The Turning Point: Aurel Unleashes

Arman darted forward again, his blades slicing through the air like thunderclaps, his shadow magic crackling with raw intensity. Aurel shifted, his instincts guiding every movement as he narrowly deflected another unpredictable slash. The crushing weight of the fight pressed down on him, his grip on his sword tightening as he recognized this pivotal moment.

And then, everything changed.

Aurel's expression darkened, a glint of cold determination sparking in his eyes as he exhaled slowly. His stance subtly shifted, his feet planting firmly as the chaos energy within him began to stir, almost imperceptibly at first. He closed his eyes for a brief, pregnant moment, feeling the pulse of malice energy around him, allowing it to feed into his burgeoning strength.

Arman lunged again, but this time Aurel didn't just deflect—he retaliated. A blur of motion followed as Aurel twisted and spun, his beautifully crafted sword arcing like liquid fire. Sparks erupted where their blades collided, the sound ringing through the broken street like a battle hymn.

Then, as Arman pressed in for another strike, Aurel extended his free hand—and chaos swirled into terrifying life.

Around him, daggers formed from shimmering energy, appearing in a defensive ring. Their sharp points glinted outward, a lethal halo. They hovered just at the edge of his reach, circling slowly, deliberately, an imposing visual barrier. Aurel's lips curled faintly, his voice carrying a subtle menace as he finally looked directly at Arman.

"I think we're done warming up."

Arman froze for a beat, his eyes narrowing as he took in the unfamiliar formation. "Oh... that's new," he said, a hint of genuine surprise in his voice. "I've never seen a style like that before. Is this how you earned the name Phantomblader?"

Without waiting for an answer, Arman snarled and surged forward again, his confidence still blinding him to the profound shift in the fight. "Show me more!" he roared, shadows pooling around his feet as he activated another technique. "Come on—don't hold back!"

The Fight Intensifies

Arman's shadow magic blurred the boundaries between him and the surrounding darkness. He flickered in and out of view, moving faster than before, aiming strikes at Aurel from every direction. Each attack carried both brutal physical force and shadow-enhanced precision, the tendrils of dark energy snapping toward Aurel's defenses like whips.

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

But Aurel was ready.

The daggers encircling him rotated faster, a shimmering shield deflecting each strike before it could land. Their movement was fluid, almost hypnotic, the blades seemingly responding to Aurel's slightest intention. He began countering more aggressively now, his sword weaving through the chaos like a venomous viper. Each strike cut closer to Arman, the gaps in his defense growing more apparent with every exchange.

Aurel smirked faintly, his gaze sharpening. It was as though he had finally pieced together the puzzle of Arman's techniques—the unpredictable patterns, the overwhelming speed, the reliance on shadow magic. It all made perfect sense now. And with that understanding came absolute control.

Aurel Takes Control

Arman lunged for an overhead strike, his blades aimed directly at Aurel's shoulders. But Aurel didn't deflect this time—he sidestepped smoothly, and in the same motion, the defensive daggers pivoted outward, forcing Arman to leap back.

The instant Arman landed, Aurel was already in motion. His sword swung low, catching Arman's ankle with just enough force to unbalance him. Arman staggered, his footing momentarily faltering—a mistake Aurel wouldn't let pass.

Another dagger shot forward, clipping the edge of Arman's blade and throwing off his next attack. Aurel stepped forward then, his movements precise and cold, his eyes gleaming with a mix of confidence and something darker—almost devious. The fight had shifted entirely.

Arman paused, breathing heavily now as the malice energy began swirling visibly around Aurel. His earlier arrogance was rapidly fading, replaced by frustrated desperation—and beneath that, fear. Aurel noticed it instantly, his instincts picking up on the subtle change in Arman's movements and aura.

"What happened to you?" Aurel asked, his voice low and cutting as he advanced with deliberate slowness. "Why are you silent now?"

Arman's grip on his blades tightened, his breathing growing uneven. His earlier taunts and laughter had vanished, replaced by a grim determination that Aurel recognized all too well.

Aurel's smirk widened into something colder, sharper, an expression that could almost be described as devilish. The malice energy flowing through him amplified his presence, and for the first time, Arman visibly faltered. It was as though the predator and prey had switched places.

"Go on," Aurel continued, his tone dripping with condescension. "You wanted me to show you what I'm capable of. So—what's stopping you now?"

Arman lunged again, his movements desperate now, but Aurel countered effortlessly, his defensive daggers rotating in perfect synchronization with his blade. The fight was no longer a contest—it was a dismantling.

The Final Struggle: Aurel vs. Arman

Arman's heart hammered in his chest as he adjusted his grip on his short swords, his breathing growing heavier with each passing moment. The tide of battle had shifted completely, and the man before him—this supposed Phantomblader—had transformed into a living nightmare. Aurel's movements were calculated, effortless; each strike and counter landing with surgical precision, as though he were dissecting Arman's techniques piece by agonizing piece.

The ring of daggers circling Aurel glinted menacingly, their shifting points ensuring no angle was safe for Arman. Every time he tried to close the distance, the spinning blades forced him back with an almost mocking efficiency. Arman tried to outpace them, tried to feint and weave, but it was like running into an invisible wall. No matter how fast he moved, Aurel was faster, sharper—always two steps ahead.

What is this skill? Arman thought desperately, his eyes darting to the daggers. I don't even know what he's doing. The damn blades control my every move! I can't escape. I can't attack. This guy... he's not normal. He's a monster.

Arman clenched his teeth, shadows flickering around his feet as he prepared another attempt to vanish into the darkness. If he couldn't overpower Aurel, he could retreat—regroup, rethink his approach. He'd fought monsters during the Bloom, faced horrors that would paralyze most men with fear, but this... this was different. The man in front of him wasn't just fighting—he was playing. And that realization sank into Arman's chest like ice.

He shifted his weight, preparing his escape. But before he could make his move, Aurel's voice cut through the tense air, sharp and biting.

"Planning to leave?" Aurel asked, his lips curling into a faint, devious smirk. "Didn't you come here for my head? Don't tell me you're running away already."

The words hit like a hammer, and Arman froze. His grip tightened on his blades as his mind raced, but he couldn't ignore the malice energy radiating from Aurel now—a subtle, suffocating aura that made clear thought impossible. He glanced at Aurel's face and felt the blood drain from his own. Aurel's smirk had widened, his sharp gaze locking onto Arman like a predator stalking its prey. His expression wasn't just confident—it was cruel, as though he'd already won and was merely enjoying the inevitable conclusion.

Arman's confidence shattered further as he realized the truth. This guy... he's not just strong. He's reading me. He knows exactly what I'm thinking. He knows I want to retreat—and he's already blocked every way out.

Aurel's Final Steps

Aurel stepped forward slowly, his sword held loosely in one hand while the daggers circled faster, their points glinting ominously in the dim light. "What happened to all that excitement?" he asked, his tone dripping with mockery. "You were so confident before. So eager to take me down. What's stopping you now?"

Arman swallowed hard, his lips pressing into a thin line as he fought the trembling in his hands. This guy... this is how strong the Shadowblades are? His thoughts spiraled in panic. If he's the Phantomblader, then I've made a huge mistake. No wonder they're so feared.

Aurel's movements were deliberate, almost leisurely, as he closed the gap between them. Each step forced Arman to retreat slightly, the spinning daggers keeping him boxed in, their edges flickering like taunting flames. The tension was unbearable, and Arman felt his resolve crumbling under the weight of Aurel's relentless gaze.

"Are we done already?" Aurel asked, his voice low and cutting. "What happened to your big plans? You know, when you said you'd take my life? You came here for me—and now you're quiet. Don't disappoint me."

Arman's Last Attempt

Arman gritted his teeth and roared, letting out one final, desperate burst of shadow magic. The darkness exploded around him like a shroud, engulfing the battlefield and plunging the space into near-complete blackness. Tendrils of shadow whipped outward, snapping at Aurel's spinning daggers in a futile attempt to disrupt their motion. Arman lunged, aiming for Aurel's chest in a desperate, last-ditch effort to break through his defenses.

But Aurel was unfazed.

Even in the blinding darkness, his anomalous instinct guided him, every movement of the shadows as clear as daylight in his mind. He sidestepped Arman's lunge with an almost casual grace, allowing the spinning daggers to strike back. One dagger shot forward, grazing Arman's shoulder and forcing him off balance. Another slashed at his leg, forcing him to stumble.

Arman snarled, his panic mounting as the oppressive darkness flickered and began to wane. Aurel stepped forward again, his voice sharp and unwavering. "The shadows are impressive," he said. "But they won't save you."

The malice energy radiating from Aurel grew thicker, more oppressive, and Arman felt it pressing down on him like a physical force. His movements faltered, his grip weakened, and for the first time, he hesitated mid-attack.

The Endgame

Aurel tilted his head slightly, his smirk twisting into something darker. The daggers circled faster now, their points glowing faintly with chaos energy as they boxed Arman in completely. Aurel's gaze burned into him, and the predator's expression was unmistakable.

"Go on," Aurel said quietly, his tone dripping with condescension. "Try something else. You're still fighting like you have a chance."

Arman's breathing grew ragged as the realization settled in completely. I can't win. He'd fought countless battles, survived horrors during the Bloom—but this... this was beyond him. The spinning blades controlled his movements, the malice energy suffocated him, and Aurel's gaze broke him. The man wasn't just fighting—he was dismantling him piece by piece, as though Arman were nothing more than a game to him.

Aurel raised his sword slowly, his smirk widening as he looked down at his trembling opponent. "What's the matter?" he asked softly, his voice deceptively calm. "Are you afraid? I thought you came here for my head."

The Battle's Climax: Aurel's Power Revealed

Aurel's stance shifted as he studied Arman, his sharp gaze dissecting every movement. With the anomalous instinct humming within him, he didn't just see the strikes—the arcs of the blades, the angles of attack—he felt them. Each flash of malice energy radiating off Arman spoke volumes, and Aurel realized something profound.

This isn't just about fighting, Aurel thought, his mind piecing everything together. It's about control. The more malice he feels—the more desperation—the stronger I become. That fear, that rage, it's feeding me.

Arman lunged again, his blades flickering like lightning, but Aurel's defense tightened. The circling daggers spun faster, their edges glinting as they shifted to intercept every strike. Aurel stepped forward confidently, letting his sword clash against Arman's, his movements growing sharper and faster with every exchange.

"You're slipping," Aurel said, his voice steady and low. "Why so reckless all of a sudden?"

Arman snarled, shadows whipping around him as he tried to regain control. "Don't think you've won yet!" he spat, his desperation bleeding into his movements.

But Aurel smirked faintly, his devious expression unsettling as he let the daggers shift once more, cutting off Arman's every avenue of retreat. It wasn't just calculation anymore—Aurel was shaping the battlefield. Every step, every swing, every rotation of the daggers was carefully orchestrated, boxing Arman in completely.

Malice as a Weapon

Aurel's mind raced as he tapped deeper into his chaos power, pulling at the malice energy that emanated from Arman like smoke. It wasn't fully intentional, but the connection was undeniable—the malice fed him, sharpening his senses, quickening his reflexes. The swirling energy of fear and anger made him faster, stronger, as though it were fueling his very core.

Arman hesitated, his shadow-enhanced speed faltering as Aurel's grin widened. Aurel stepped forward, letting his aura press against his opponent like a heavy weight. He tilted his head, his sharp gaze locking onto Arman's trembling form.

"What happened?" Aurel asked, his voice quiet yet piercing. "What happened to all that confidence? Weren't you going to take my head?"