Ivar's breath came in slow, steady bursts, his crimson eyes locked onto Alaric, whose form stood in the center of the destroyed street like an unyielding statue. The once pristine pavement was cracked, chunks of stone scattered across the battlefield, the wreckage of their destructive dance. The moon above, now a pale witness to the carnage, seemed to grow dimmer with every heartbeat.
But something in Ivar's gaze had changed. The shadows around him deepened, and the air crackled with an ominous weight. For the first time, his lips curved into something less like a grin and more like a smirk. It wasn't just bloodlust. It was certainty.
Alaric felt the shift too. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, his bloodline power coursing, responding to Ivar's sudden surge of dark energy. He tensed, his muscles tightening, but there was something in the air now, something he hadn't felt before. A subtle, deadly calm.
Ivar took a step forward. And then another.
Alaric's eyes narrowed as he watched Ivar, his fists tightening in preparation. His bloodline abilities pulsed with anticipation. He was ready. He had to be.
But Ivar wasn't rushing this time. He wasn't charging at him with reckless abandon like before. No, this was different. He was moving with the fluidity of a predator, his steps deliberate, calculated. The shadows around him seemed to dance at his command, swirling around his form like the very essence of darkness itself.
"You're fast," Ivar murmured, his voice a low growl. "But even the fastest can't outrun fate."
Alaric didn't answer. He lunged instead, his form blurring with lightning speed, every muscle in his body screaming for action. His fist shot forward, a crimson blur, aiming for Ivar's chest. But before it could land, Ivar was already gone.
In the blink of an eye, Ivar disappeared into the shadows, reappearing behind Alaric. His hand shot out, fingers grazing the back of Alaric's neck. The touch was light, almost playful, but the dark energy that surged from his fingers was anything but.
Alaric whipped around, but it was too late. Ivar's palm was already pressed against his chest, and before Alaric could react, a pulse of red-black energy shot through his body, sending him flying backward. The air was knocked from his lungs as he crashed into a stone pillar, the impact leaving a deep crater in the solid rock.
Ivar appeared in front of him again, his figure emerging from the darkness like some sort of nightmare made flesh. His eyes were glowing with a dangerous intensity, his body moving with an unsettling grace. He was faster now, faster than Alaric could ever hope to be.
Alaric tried to rise, his muscles screaming, but Ivar wasn't giving him a chance. He moved again, the shadows swallowing him whole as he closed the gap between them in the blink of an eye. A slash of his hand sent a wave of shadowy tendrils spiraling toward Alaric. They wrapped around him like living chains, constricting, pulling him to the ground.
"You were strong," Ivar said softly, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. "But you're not strong enough."
Alaric's eyes flashed with rage as he struggled against the shadows, but they were tightening around him, pushing all the air from his lungs, cutting off his movements. His bloodline energy surged, but even that felt weak in the face of Ivar's unrelenting power. The shadows were absorbing it, draining him.
Ivar watched with cold amusement as Alaric fought, each attempt to break free growing weaker, more desperate. The shadows responded to his will, binding Alaric tighter, squeezing until Alaric could barely breathe.
"You know," Ivar continued, his voice low and thoughtful, "I've been holding back. I thought you might give me a challenge. But you… you're just another stepping stone."
Alaric's eyes flashed with defiance, but there was no strength left in his body to back it up. His powers were flickering, his vision blurring. He was being overwhelmed, slowly but surely. Ivar's grip on the shadows was tightening, his power suffocating.
With a sudden snap of his fingers, the shadows around Alaric constricted, lifting him off the ground. Alaric's body hung there, completely at Ivar's mercy.
Ivar's gaze turned calculating, the red light in his eyes burning brighter, as if feeding off the growing despair in Alaric. With a flick of his wrist, the shadows flared, and a blade of solid darkness materialized in his hand, shimmering with an ethereal, deadly glow. He raised it high, the blade hovering above Alaric's head like a death sentence.
Alaric's eyes widened as he realized what was coming. He could feel the weight of Ivar's power, the inevitability of the strike. He opened his mouth, but no words came. There was nothing left to say.
With a single, fluid motion, Ivar brought the blade down.
Time seemed to stretch for a moment, the world holding its breath.
The darkness split the air like a thunderclap, and then—
A sharp, searing pain erupted through Alaric's chest. His body jerked as the shadow blade impaled him, sinking deep into his flesh. The force of the strike was unimaginable, and with it, a pulse of dark energy washed over him, spreading like wildfire through his veins.
Alaric gasped, his bloodline energy sputtering, fading.
Ivar's face remained impassive, but his eyes gleamed with a chilling satisfaction. He twisted the blade, pulling it free from Alaric's chest with a sickening crunch. Blood poured from the wound, staining the pavement beneath them.
Alaric's body fell to the ground with a heavy thud, the shadows fading away as the last of his energy drained from him. His breath was shallow, each inhale a struggle.
Ivar stood over him, his figure towering, his crimson eyes glowing with cold victory. He didn't even need to say anything more. His actions spoke louder than words ever could.
"You were a challenge," Ivar said, almost as if speaking to himself. "But in the end, you were just another shadow."
He turned, walking away without a second glance, the darkness swallowing him whole as he disappeared into the night.
Alaric lay motionless, his body broken, the battle finally over. The only sound that remained was the faint whistle of the wind, carrying the remnants of a battle that had shaken the very earth.
And in the stillness, there was nothing left but silence.