Ash gritted his teeth, his fists tightening as he fought against the crushing weight of Norman's Dominion. His body felt heavy, sluggish—like he was dragging chains through thick mud. Every movement took twice the effort, every breath felt labored.
His posion sputtered. His attacks missed by inches. No matter how hard he pushed, Norman was always just out of reach.
Ash rolled his shoulders, his breath steady despite the crushing pressure of Dominion weighing on his body. His muscles ached, but he refused to show it. Instead, he smirked, posion drips along his arms, melts the very ground it drops on every drop of poison is as potent as extremely concentrated acid.
Norman stood still, the storm curling around him like a living thing, his face unreadable. He didn't need to see—his power warped the very fabric of perception, forcing the world to bend around him.
Yet, despite the overwhelming presence he exuded, something about him pissed Ash off.
"You've got this whole 'unshakable warrior' act down," Ash said, rolling his neck. "Real intimidating. But tell me, does it ever get old?"
Norman remained silent but ash concinced he can get under his skin.
Ash scoffed. "The whole brooding, silent type—it's overdone, man. Why you stopped speaking?" He cracked his knuckles. "Or maybe… you're afraid of what I'll say."
Norman tilted his head slightly, as if analyzing him, and when he spoke, his voice was smooth, low.
"I don't need words to crush an insect or let's say a lizard."
Ash let out a sharp laugh. "That's funny. You talk big but the problem is you only talk big that's all." He twirled his fingers, posion drips from pores of his skin. "You? You're just a guy with a fancy trick and long tongue."
Ash smirked, "Your wife must be happy."
Norman exhaled slowly, unimpressed.
"You really don't understand, do you?" His voice was eerily calm. "I do not see the world as you do. I do not fight as you do. I do not waste time on weak, arrogant fools who think scales makes them strong."
Ash's smirk twitched, but he didn't let it drop. "Big words for someone who can't see shit."
Norman didn't react. Instead, the weight of his Dominion intensified.
Ash staggered, his knees almost buckling as his lungs fought for air. The world around him twisted—his sense of space, direction, even time itself felt unstable.
"You are small," Norman continued, stepping forward, his voice unwavering. "A flame flickering in a storm. You think you are strong, but you cower. Holding back. You call yourself a warrior, yet you refuse to use all that you are."
Ash clenched his jaw. "because I—"
"You are a disappointment."
His voice cut through the storm like a blade.
For the first time, Norman's words didn't feel like an attack. They felt like a verdict.
And for the first time—Norman hesitated.
It was brief, a fraction of a second. But it was there.
The pressure of Dominion weakened—barely, but noticeably.
Ash, caught in the moment, didn't realize it at first. He was still reeling, the weight of that word digging into his chest. But as the battle continued, something felt… different.
His body moved a little easier. His senses weren't as muddled. The oppressive force pressing down on him—thinning, just slightly.
Then, it clicked.
He faltered when I said that.
Ash's grin returned, slow and dangerous.
"Ohhh… now I get it." He exhaled, stretching his arms out as if shaking off the last remnants of fatigue. "You're not as unshakable as you pretend to be, are you?"
Norman's expression didn't change, but his posture stiffened.
Ash chuckled. "Your father must be cheering for me right now," he said, voice deliberately casual. "Finally, someone strong enough to end his mistake."
The reaction was immediate.
The air snapped.
The ground split.
Ash barely had time to react before Norman raised his hand, voice echoing like thunder.
"Stormcaller."
A jagged spear of blackened steel materialized in his grasp, crackling with violent energy. The moment it touched his hand, the world changed.
A storm erupted.
Lightning carved through the air, illuminating the battlefield in chaotic flashes. The ground trembled, cracks spreading like veins of molten fury. Wind howled, tearing through the arena with a force that should have been impossible in the Underpaths.
Ash planted his feet, shielding his face from the debris whipping around him. His tail lashing behind him.
Norman stood in the eye of the storm, his grip on the spear tightening.
"You talk too much," Norman murmured, his voice barely audible through the roaring wind.
Ash exhaled sharply, his skin hardening, scales rippling over his arms and torso.
"Yeah?" He grinned. "And you get mad too easily. Fetus"
From the stands, Kael's expression darkened. He swept his gaze over the crowd.
Then he saw them.
A handful of spectators—too eager, too frenzied—vaulting over the railing, dropping into the pit.
His jaw tightened. [Damn it.]
Without hesitation, he turned to Uren.
"Now."
Uren's fingers clenched around the cross pendant in his palm. A single pulse of energy surged through his body as he uttered the incantation.
A barrier erupted around the pit, sealing it off.
The crowd gasped. Some panicked, others simply watched in awe.
But Kael wasn't looking at them anymore.
His eyes were locked onto the ones who had already made it inside.
And whatever they were here for—
It wasn't just to watch the fight.