The morning light was still struggling to break through the ashen clouds, casting a muted shade of grey over the lands of Jhorfa. The thrashing sound of the waterfalls, pouring from the hearts of the towering statues, filled the air, their stone eyes seeming to gaze down upon the scene as if anticipating the inevitable clash.

Bokun’s gaze was fixed on the old man—Myrkhos. He could feel it, a sense of overwhelming power emanating from the stranger, like standing before an enormous, dense wave of water, ready to crash down and obliterate everything in its path. His instincts screamed at him to run, to put as much distance as possible between himself and this calamity waiting to happen. Yet, despite the looming threat, Bokun’s blood surged with adrenaline, and his teeth bared in a feral grin. Fear was there, yes, but so was excitement. His warrior’s heart beat wildly at the prospect of such a challenge.

This was what he lived for, facing insurmountable odds, testing the limits of his strength, and surpassing them.

Without waiting for a plan or even a word from Guhin, Bokun adjusted his grip on his greatsword. His massive frame tensed, every muscle coiling like a spring, ready to unleash his full might. And then, with a roar that shook the air, he charged.

His steps hammering the ground beneath him, sending small stones scattering as he hurtled toward Myrkhos like a runaway boulder. His focus was unyielding, his sights locked on the old man. But just as Bokun prepared to strike, something changed—a shadow fell over him, and his eyes widened in alarm.

The crystalline hammer was already descending, much faster than he had anticipated. Time seemed to slow as he watched it arc toward him, bearing down like a death sentence.

“No, you idiot!” Guhin yelled, his voice filled with urgency.

In the span of a heartbeat, Guhin was there, his form blurring as he placed himself between Bokun and the oncoming strike. Arms crossed in front of him, Guhin braced himself just as the hammer connected with his vambraces.

The impact was deafening, a thunderous clang that reverberated through the ground. Guhin’s feet dug into the earth as he absorbed the brunt of the blow, but it wasn’t enough. He's strong! He thought to himself, the realization hitting him as hard as the attack itself.

His armor cracked and buckled under the pressure, splinters of metal flying outward as the hammer dissolved into a roaring torrent of water.

The water surged forward, engulfing them both. Bokun and Guhin were swept off their feet, carried along by the sheer, unrelenting force of the stream. They tumbled through the rocky terrain, unable to fight the wild currents, until finally, the water began to seep into the ground, leaving them sprawled on the soaked earth.

The battle hadn’t even truly begun, and already, Myrkhos had shown them just a glimpse of his power, a power that felt as untamable as the sea itself.

Slowly, the rain began to fall, hesitant at first, as if it needed time to recover after being shaped into Myrkhos' hammer.

And as the first droplets began to hit the earth, both Guhin and Bokun gasped for breath, their bodies drenched and battered.

Guhin was the first to push himself upright, shaking the water from his hair as he scanned the terrain for any sign of their opponent. Bokun groaned, rolling onto his side before coughing up water and spitting it onto the sodden ground. His hand pressed against the mud, struggling to steady himself.

“Thanks,” Bokun rasped, his voice rough. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and glanced at Guhin. “Don’t think I would’ve walked away from that one.”

Guhin didn’t reply immediately. His gaze flickered to his forearms, where the cracked and dented remains of his vambraces told the story of the hammer’s immense power. Without a word, he began unfastening the leather straps, the tension in his movements revealing the toll the blow took on him. One by one, the pieces of ruined armor fell to the ground with dull, metallic thuds.

Bokun sat up, rubbing the back of his neck. “That old bastard,” he said, glancing toward Myrkhos, who stood unmoving across the battlefield. “You think he’s one of them?” He tapped the side of his head, trying to clear the lingering water from his ears.

Guhin finally spoke, his voice low. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his gaze locked on Myrkhos. “He feels... different.”

Looking at the wide, long sleeves of his robe, Guhin decided they would only hinder him now, and with a swift motion, he tore them off. The rain pelted his bare skin, the coldness of it sharp against his heated flesh, but Guhin welcomed the sensation, it reminded him that he was still in control. As the fabric fell away, the scars that marked his arms were revealed.

He traced a hand over the raised lines, a faint furrow forming in his brow. Each scar was a mystery, etched into his skin. For so long, he had hidden these marks from others, kept them covered as if they were something to be ashamed of. But now, standing here with Bokun by his side, the urge to hide everything seemed to fade.

There was something about Bokun’s straightforward nature, that made Guhin feel like he didn’t need to conceal his past anymore...

Across the trail of destruction, Myrkhos remained motionless, watching them with an unsettling calm. He had not moved since the initial strike, as if content to observe, to wait. Guhin could feel the intensity of his stare, a silent challenge that dared him to make the next move.

The rain fell harder now, drumming against the ground, against the stone statues that loomed over them like forgotten guardians.

Guhin’s fists clenched, the resolve within him hardening. He knew this was far from over. The old man wasn’t just powerful—he was calculating, a tactician. He could have followed up his first strike with another, could have pressed the advantage, but he hadn’t. He was waiting, testing them, seeing what they were capable of.

I can’t let him get away… Guhin thought, a fierce determination igniting within him. He knows something… he has to!

Bokun glared at the stranger, his defiant grin never wavering. “Tsk. That old shit. For someone who's ‘running out of time,’ he’s sure taking his damn time,” Bokun barked, his voice carrying across the battlefield. He turned to Guhin, his mouth opening to suggest a plan, but the words froze on his tongue. Bokun watched, wide-eyed, as the air around Guhin began to change.

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The atmosphere trembled under the pressure of Guhin’s aura, the very air growing heavy and thick. Bokun’s breath hitched, it was harder to breathe now, though not nearly as suffocating as the time Guhin had completely lost control.

He watched as Guhin bent his knees, his body coiling in preparation. Then, in an instant, he dashed forward. He disappeared in a blur, tearing leaves from trees and stripping bark from their trunks. The shockwave that followed sent a gust of wind hurtling toward Bokun, stinging his eyes with dirt and grit.

“Damn show-off!” Bokun yelled, as he wiped the mud from his eyes.

Guhin appeared before Myrkhos in an instant. The space between them crackled with intensity, shattering the ground beneath them, creating a crater at their feet. Guhin loaded up his arm behind his back, channeling all his strength into a single, devastating punch aimed at the stranger's upper body. He launched his fist forward, the air around it whistling with the speed of his strike.

But to Guhin's surprise, Myrkhos caught his balled fist mid-flight. The impact reverberated through the ground, sending cracks scattering outward from within the crater, yet Myrkhos didn't flinch. Guhin’s eyes widened in disbelief as he felt his arm trembling, not from exertion, but from the unshakable grasp of the stranger.

For a moment, they locked eyes, the world around them fading into the background. Guhin noticed something strange—raindrops that had been falling around them were now spiraling, drawn toward Myrkhos. They twirled around his arms, weaving together to form a kind of armor made entirely out of water. The more the liquid condensed, the more detailed the armor became, until it shimmered with brilliance.

"Good," Myrkhos' spoke, his voice steady and unfazed, "but not nearly good enough."

With a sudden surge of power, Myrkhos threw Guhin's fist to the side, disrupting his balance. Before Guhin could recover, he unleashed an onslaught of heavy strikes, each blow delivered with precision. Myrkhos was overwhelming, and Guhin struggled to defend himself, his arms barely keeping up with the barrage of fists.

Every punch landed with a bone-jarring impact, as Myrkhos accelerated with each passing strike, the speed and power behind his fists increasing exponentially. His blows became a blur, as he finished his flurry with a devastating punch, driving deep into Guhin's ribs.

Blood spattered from his lips as he was sent hurtling backward, his body flailing through the air until he crashed into the trunk of a massive tree. The collision shattered the tree all the way up to its tip, leaving Guhim embedded deep within its bark.

Bokun, who had been watching the battle unfold, looked at Guhin, now half-buried in the tree’s trunk, and a booming laugh erupted from his chest. "That's what you get for hogging all the fun you asshole!" he yelled, his voice echoing across the battlefield.

He cracked his knuckles, rolling his neck with a satisfying pop. "Guess it's my turn now." He continued. Then, without hesitation, and without waiting on Guhin to recover, Bokun sprang into action. He launched himself forward, propelled by an explosive push from his legs. The ground cracked and caved beneath his feet, clumps of earth and stone flew in his wake as he barreled toward Myrkhos once more.

Myrkhos frowned as he watched this 'smiling fool' charge straight at him. He had thought that overwhelming Bokun earlier would have crushed his fighting spirit, robbed him of any will to continue. Yet, as Bokun closed the distance, his grin only grew wider with every step. It was clear that the opposite was true. Bokun’s spirit had only grown stronger, his resolve now unbreakable.

Myrkhos' eyes narrowed, his frown deepening as he braced for the incoming attack. And in that moment, his miscalculation became clear—this man wasn’t intimidated by defeat; he thrived on it.

Bokun's battle cry echoed across the clearing as he swung his blade. The steel sliced through the drops of rain, as their cut halves spiraled toward Myrkhos. As Bokun's sword neared, the droplets gathered and formed a translucent shield around Myrkhos' hands.

Each slash and strike thrown by Bokun was effortlessly shrugged off or redirected with a graceful flick of the wrist. Myrkhos' movements were fluid, his hands flowing in harmony with thin waves of water that elegantly brushed aside the wild and brute swings of Bokun’s greatsword, as if they were nothing more than a light breeze.

“Tch. Slippery bastard,” Bokun muttered through gritted teeth, adjusting his stance as sweat mixed with the rain dripping from his brow.

Myrkhos’ expression remained calm, unbothered, not even the slightest hint of strain marring his composed demeanor. “Not bad, human,” he remarked, almost amused.

Bokun flinched, his grip on his sword tightening as he repeated the word in his mind. Human? But before he could dwell on it, the stranger deflected another powerful slash with ease, guiding the blade off course with the same fluid grace.

“Your fighting spirit is commendable,” Myrkhos continued, his tone respectful but tinged with an air of superiority. Slowly, he brought his leg up and with a swift kick, he struck Bokun square in the chest. The force of the blow was immense, launching Bokun off his feet and sending him hurtling back through the air, the breath knocked from his lungs.

Bokun crashed into a thinly spread forest, snapping branches and splintering trunks along the way, as he tore through the sparse trees. He finally came to a halt, his body slamming into the ground with a heavy thud, the forest around him trembling from his landing.

But as Myrkhos' leg was still extended in the air from the kick, his eyes suddenly sprang open in surprise. Guhin was already beside him, his body a blur of motion, with a loaded fist drawn back and ready to strike.

He’s gotten faster... Myrkhos thought, as he turned his head.

The speed at which Guhin had closed the distance was astonishing—too fast for Myrkhos to dodge in time. Realizing he had no other choice, he crossed his arms in front of him, bracing himself to absorb as much of the impact as he could.

Guhin’s voice, cold and demanding, cut through the tension. “You're going to tell me... everything.”

The moment the word 'everything' left his lips, Guhin’s fist collided with the stranger's forearms. The impact was thunderous, sending shockwaves through the ground and cracking the air around them. Myrkhos slid back, his feet digging deep trenches into the earth, his armor of water dispersed under the blow.

Having blocked the attack, Myrkhos lowered his arms until his emerald gaze locked onto Guhin's. “You fight with rage, boy. That will never be enough. Strength without control, is a burden."

Myrkhos words only fueled Guhin's anger. He pushed forward, his relentless assault leaving the stranger no room to maneuver, no chance to catch his breath. Guhin's fists and feet blurred into a whirlwind of strikes, an onslaught that seemed to come from every direction at once. Myrkhos gritted his teeth. He's improving. He's even faster now... is this, the Behemoth...

Each strike Guhin threw was met with the stranger's defenses—barely. Myrkhos braced himself, forced to take every blow head-on, blocking with his knees, fists, or forearms. Each impact sent tremors through his body, rattling him to his core. But still, he endured. Despite the ferocity of the attack, Myrkhos’ sharp eyes began to trace a pattern. His movements shifted, his defenses tightening as he started to anticipate Guhin’s strikes, finding slivers of opportunity to launch brutal counters of his own.

Their battle tore through the landscape. With every clash of their power, trees snapped and bent from the pressure, sending wildlife fleeing in terror as their world was ripped apart in a matter of seconds.

Far from the battlefield, Bokun lay sprawled on his stomach. His fingers clawed into the dirt as he pushed himself up slightly, spitting out a mouthful of blood and mud. His body ached with every breath, but his spirit burned brighter than ever.

“That wrinkled piece of shit...” he rasped, his voice hoarse but loud enough to cut through the rain. “He thinks a kick like that can stop me... Thah! I’ve had hangovers worse than this...”

He groaned, letting his head drop back onto the dirt as he tried to laugh away the pain, though it came out more as a strained chuckle.

GUHIN!