The arena fell into an unnatural darkness, shadows creeping in from every corner. The air felt heavier, colder, as if the very atmosphere bent to Cassian Nightraven’s will. Damien stood in the center, his senses heightened, every muscle in his body tense.

“Welcome to my domain,” Cassian’s voice echoed from the void, calm and unsettling.

Damien gripped his blade tightly, focusing on the faint sounds around him. His heartbeat was steady, his breathing controlled. He knew he couldn’t rely on sight alone; the battle would demand every ounce of his skill and instinct.

Without warning, Cassian appeared to Damien’s right, his dark blade slashing toward Damien’s side. Damien reacted swiftly, parrying the strike and countering with a sharp thrust. But Cassian was already gone, dissolving into the shadows before the counter could land.

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“Good reflexes,” Cassian said, his voice drifting from a different direction. “But reflexes alone won’t be enough.”

Another attack came from behind. Damien spun, his sword intercepting Cassian’s blade just in time. The force of the clash echoed through the arena, but Cassian slipped back into the shadows before Damien could press the advantage.

The crowd watched in tense silence, their eyes straining to follow the battle. Cassian’s mastery of shadow magic made him nearly impossible to track, his form flickering in and out of existence like a phantom. Damien had faced powerful opponents before, but this was different. This was a test of endurance, of patience, of will.