The colossus raised his hammer high—not for cheers. Not for vanity.
For war.
The voice dipped to reverence.
"Back from the Black Fall. From the Ash of Hellscape. From death, from bone, from void. The Whisperer of Death… the Demon Blade… IAN."
Stillness. Then chaos. The Crucible wept, roared, screamed. Ian did not move. He breathed. Once. His fingers curled around air.
The daggers glinted.
And the announcer said—
"Begin."
———
The sand whispered beneath their feet.
Ian and Vorgan stood still, unmoving, not a word spoken between them as the roar of the crowd dulled into a low, pressing hum.
A sea of voices bled into white noise—meaningless compared to the weight of the stare being exchanged between two killers.
Vorgan the Breaker tilted his head.
Ian didn't react, he just stared.
From the stands, for few it looked like a match of equals.
The hammer and the dagger.
