CLEAVER OF SIN

A sun shone down, its golden rays weaving gently through the canopy of the forest, illuminating not only the sky above but also the vast space below. The beams filtered through the leaves, scattering light that danced across the surface of a lake, bestowing brilliance upon all things and all beings that dwelled under its dominion.

And beneath this very sun, on the shimmering waters of the lake, two beings clashed with a ferocity so intense that the lake itself seemed to shudder at their collision. It was not merely a display of youthful arrogance or a test of skill; no, their lives truly depended on it.

Waves rose and crashed, rocking the lake violently. The waters, once serene and mirrorlike, exploded and rippled an uncountable number of times as these two child gods tore mercilessly across the surface.

Each strike, each step, sent shockwaves across the liquid plain, and their faces bore emotions as different as the sky and the earth.

One wore confidence, the other a frown of disbelief, and yet both blazed into one another without hesitation, as though hesitation itself were a mortal sin.

Asher Wargrave wore a smile, subtle at first, but one that he struggled to keep from blossoming into a full-blown grin. There was a light in his eyes, a glimmer that spoke of joy in the midst of chaos.

Ryaen Silvershade, by contrast, was almost expressionless. Almost. For if one looked closely, they would see the faint but undeniable furrow in her brow, the subtle downturn of her lips.

A frown. A shadow of disbelief.

At this moment, she doubted her own perception of reality. She could not comprehend what she was witnessing. She could not believe what was unfolding before her.

Previously, she had been blind to it, her inexperience masking the truth. But now, with clarity as sharp as a blade, she sensed it fully: the Tenth Sun was using her, using her, to polish his battle style, to refine his hand to hand technique.

She had once wondered if the Tenth Sun was looking down on her, belittling her worth by not drawing his weapon against her.

She had thought it arrogance, disdain, or mockery. But now she understood. The truth was far more terrifying.

During their battles, she would sometimes find a gap in his defenses, a subtle flaw in his attacks, and she would exploit it. But that gap would vanish almost instantly, corrected by him as though it had never existed.

And now, now, she found no gaps at all.

Not a single one.

She employed variations, combinations of feints, transitions, and sudden style changes. Her strikes flowed like rivers, her feints misled like shadows at dusk. But anytime it seemed the Tenth Sun had finally fallen behind, he adapted.

Within a second. Within a breath. As though it were as natural as breathing itself.

Her heartbeat quickened, her chest rising and falling in rhythm with her racing thoughts. From the tender age of five, she had trained. She had been hailed a genius, showered with resources, and guided under the best hand to hand combatants the Ducal Silvershade Household could offer.

Every strike, every movement of her body had been sculpted under the weight of pride and expectation.

She had her pride. She had her arrogance. It was the foundation of her being, the throne upon which she stood above her peers. But now, now she saw someone with that same talent, someone who eclipsed her in every conceivable way. It made her wonder if this was reality at all, or if the Tenth Sun had woven some illusion to mock and trap her.

But her thoughts never slowed her execution.

She fought with brutal precision, as efficient and deadly as a serpent's strike. But then, suddenly, her style changed.

The difference was as stark as day and night.

Before, she had fought to cripple, to subdue, to knock the Tenth Sun down as dictated by the rules of the exam.

But now, realizing that such methods could not keep him at bay, her attacks transformed. No longer the strikes of a competitor, but those of a killer. Every movement became an execution.

Every strike targeted a vital point. She did not intend to kill him, not truly, but she wanted to see how the Tenth Sun would adapt to attacks designed to end lives.

And to her astonishment, the Tenth Sun faltered only once. Only once, before recalibrating to her lethal rhythm.

Her frown deepened. There was no denying it anymore. The Tenth Sun, Asher Wargrave, was copying her style. She did not know how. She did not understand why. But what mattered was that it was happening before her very eyes.

This, she decided, was no longer merely a duel. This was a challenge to her pride, to her talent, to her very existence. Many had been crushed under her hands before, and she swore that the Tenth Sun would be no different.

With a blast that tore the air itself, the lake split apart, parting in two as though it were the river Jordan under her heel.

Instantly, both their feet impacted against the exposed lakebed, but neither blinked, neither slowed. They collapsed into one another again, their collision tearing apart the earth beneath the waters with ease too terrifying to fathom.

The parted waters surged, ready to collapse back together and swallow them whole, but Asher's Astra flowed through his Astra veins like rivers of light. With his Perfect Astra Control, his energy surged outward, holding the massive walls of water in place as though reality itself had frozen the lake in place.

Every blow became a hammer of flesh and bone, falling with the inevitability of a crashing tide. They moved like shadows amidst lightning, each strike a flash too fast for mortal eyes to follow.

Ryaen's frown only deepened. Her bloodline passively granted her bones unbreakable density, which in turn enhanced her flesh, her muscles, her very blood vessels.

Strength, speed, and durability, augmented to insane degrees. Yet even with this, she could not understand how Asher was keeping pace. Not a single wound marred him. Not a tremor shook his hands.

Yes, the Wargraves were known for their monstrous physiques, but this, this was beyond belief.

'And besides,' she thought, her gaze flicking to the suspended walls of water, 'how is he even keeping the lake at bay with his Astra Control?'

Everything seemed to fail her in this moment: her talent, her training, her bloodline.

Asher, on the other hand, sensed that he had gained all he needed from this battle. Ryaen, it seemed, had nothing more to offer. His expression remained unchanged as he moved to end it.

His palm tore forward with the weight of a falling mountain, a strike that stole both breath and balance in a single motion. Ryaen spun away with grace, her foot gliding across the lakebed like the deadly sweep of a predator's tail, dodging the strike by a hair's breadth.

But Asher was already on the move.

His knee surged upward, crashing towards her with the raw force of the earth itself. Ryaen twisted, her body bending with feline agility, as if her bones were liquid, avoiding the strike in a motion almost too fluid to be human.

And yet she knew. She knew she was losing. She could feel her formations crumbling, her rhythm shattered, her momentum dissolving.

With only two strikes, the Tenth Sun had reduced her once-proud style to rubble.

Though pride burned within her, she was no fool. She recognized reality with brutal clarity: she could not defeat him in pure hand to hand combat.

She was here for his points, not for the vanity of her ego.

Her fist shot forward, a blur of speed aimed at his gut. Asher shifted half a step backward, calm and measured, moving just beyond the reach of her knuckles. Her fist stopped mere centimeters from his body.

But then, the rhythm of battle changed in an instant.

From her knuckles, bone claws erupted, long, glinting, and sharp, tearing forward with the swiftness of lightning. They tore into Asher's gut with sickening ease, meeting no resistance of any kind.

And with that, the battle and battlefield changed.

It was no longer hand to hand combat.

It had become something far more dangerous.