Their blades clashed again, but this time, the weight of the blow nearly brought Liam to his knees.
His arms shook violently under the force of it, his wrists crying out in pain as he strained to hold his sword upright. The king's strength was otherworldly, his blows landing like thunder, each one threatening to split Liam in two. His dark, ancient blade—no longer ornamental but pulsing with an eerie, jagged aura—rained down with relentless power. Every strike the king made sounded like cracking bones and breaking stone.
Liam gritted his teeth and rolled aside, gasping, sweat stinging his eyes. He raised his sword just in time to parry a downward slash aimed at his head, the impact sending him sprawling onto the cold ground. He tumbled backwards, shoulder grinding against rough stone before he came to a breathless halt against a ruined column.
His chest rose and fell in shallow bursts. His fingers ached. His whole body screamed.
