Laphisto's gaze burned through the veil of battle as the pistol barked its fury. The Diarchs moved with the speed of predators, their bodies bending and twisting around the slugs, yet not equally. Reign's motions were measured, evasive, precise. Rellik's, by contrast, were wild and hungry, the younger brother taking the brunt of the barrage as though daring the storm to consume him. It was what Laphisto expected Rellik's recklessness had always set him apartbut even so, the Warlord tracked every impact, every spark of molten shrapnel clawing at the man's flesh.
That was the purpose behind the gamble. The pistol was never meant to end the fight; it was a test. The rounds carried more than raw stopping power. Their Kov'dra cores whispered of another weapon entirely, one born from observation and blood. Laphisto remembered the Gravesong and the corpses that refused to answer its call. Men with Kov'dra buried in their bones, shards lodged in their hearts and lungs, had risen slower some not at all. The shrapnel seemed to wound more than flesh; it gnawed at the very tether between body and Force.
If the same truth held here, even in a lesser measure, then every spark that kissed Rellik's skin was more than pain it was suppression. The thought lingered, cold and sharp, as he pressed the assault. Perhaps Kov'dra could do more than deny the grave. Perhaps it could choke the strength of gods.
The fragments of stone were never meant to kill. They were a probe, a feint disguised as fury. Each shard that screamed through the air carried more than weight; it carried intent. Laphisto's true aim was not to wound, but to watch. To make the Diarchs reveal their hands, to force them into showing how they would answer pressure. Every counter was a lesson, every defense a note carved into his mind for later use.
And then he saw it Rellik's spear. Not just any weapon, but the relic of his people, wrenched from legend and reforged in lightning. The way it shredded his stone barrage was less an act of war and more a declaration. For a moment, amusement flickered across Laphisto's thoughts, carried on a current far older than himself. Deep in his chest, something stirred. The pride of Dra'ko swelled within him, the echo of the old God's approval resonating in his bones. The sight of one of his followers standing in such defiance was enough to kindle a glimmer of satisfaction… even in battle.
But the indulgence was brief. The Crucible did not allow distractions. Rellik's retaliation was sudden, primal a Force-borne scream that ripped through the arena like the tearing of worlds. The sound struck the air with such violence that the torches guttered, their flames bowing under the sheer force of it.
Laphisto had endured this before. His mind flickered back to the
duel with
Jonyna Si
, when a similar shriek had hammered his senses until his ear bled Were it not for the helmet sealing his head now, he might have felt his lone ear split open once more. Even so, the pressure rattled through his skull, the vibrations clawing at the edges of his concentration. There was no time to revel in pride, no time for memory. The Diarchs pressed him, and Rellik's scream was only the beginning.|
The sonic waves were another matter. The first blast cut straight through, rattling his skull inside the helm before the shield's phasing lattice recalibrated. By the second surge, the kite-shield shimmered with a new frequency, hardening against the rolling tide of sound. The howl still pressed into him, shaking teeth and bone, but it no longer threatened to burst his ear.
A low snarl slipped from his throat as Rellik came down. The Diarch was fury made flesh cloak flared wide, spear crackling like a thunderbolt. Laphisto drove the shield upward to meet him. The impact rang out like a war drum, stone cracking under their feet. For an instant, the Crucible held its breath as force met force.
Then Laphisto twisted. His weight shifted, shoulder braced, and the kite-shield's emitter screamed as he overcharged it past combat settings. The energy field spat in protest, discharging in a violent pulse that ran down the spear on contact. The surge raced along its haft like wildfire, a crackling backlash meant to jar the weapon free and upset Rellik's balance mid-strike.
The shield's glow guttered, repulsors straining under the abuse, but Laphisto didn't relent. He drove the redirected spear aside, opening the space between them, daring the Diarch to hold his footing under the sudden burst of feedback. then the clash of sabers sang it felt wrong. Laphisto knew Rellik's weight, his rhythm he'd fought the man enough times to measure his strikes in muscle memory. This one was weaker, half-hazard, almost bait. His instincts screamed it before his mind did Then he saw it.
The cloak flared wide, alive with arcs of lightning, its fabric moving as if it had hunger of its own. He remembered it all too well how it had once bound his feet, constricting like a serpent while Rellik pressed in. Now it was angling for his torso, threads of energy snapping out like fangs. They weren't trying to overpower him. They were trying to pin him.
He shoved backward, talons gouging lines into the stone as he forced space between them. The maneuver saved him from the cloak's full snare, but only just. He didn't see Reign's pivot until it was too late.The elbow cracked against his cheek with the weight of a hammer, the helm's seals groaning as the visor snapped stars across his vision. A breath later, the heat came Reign's blade searing against the side of his chestplate, sliding so close that Laphisto swore he felt the metal blister. Sparks spat as the saber kissed armor.
For a heartbeat, all three warriors were locked in the same breath. Laphisto pushing free, Reign's strike carrying through, and Rellik still surging forward. The geometry of violence was so narrow that had fate been cruel, the blade might have glanced into Rellik himself.
His wings flared wide, membranes glowing faintly as they caught the torchlight, and with one brutal flap he launched himself backward across the sand. The downdraft tore through the arena, scattering dust and embers in his wake. The distance was won, but it carried a price the shield on his arm guttered like a dying flame, energy sputtering and collapsing in on itself. Warning runes flashed across his HUD, telling him what he already knew: the overcharge had burned through nearly a third of the battery's life.
He flexed the gauntlet, feeling the emitter spit heat against his arm. One more stunt like that and the shield would fail entirely. But for now, it still heldand now it was time to turn the momentum.
Drawing a steadying breath, Laphisto reached. Not for one side of the Force, but both. He dragged the light into one hand and the dark into the other, threading them together, forcing them to coexist within his chest. The effort made the air tighten around him, as though the Crucible itself were folding inward. The torches guttered, their flames bending toward him.
The first stones lifted, pebbles and fragments rising from the sand as though gravity had been forgotten. Then came the larger shards splinters from the walls, broken tiles from the floor, even rusted nails long buried in the Crucible's foundation. Each fragment spun into orbit around him, cloaked in snapping arcs of lightning that hissed and crawled like serpents. The smell of ozone burned sharp in the air.
Laphisto's chest swelled as he drew it all in. His armor vibrated from the strain, the faint hum of the Fire Tear within him syncing with the pull, threatening to split him apart. For a moment he looked less like a warrior and more like a storm given flesh, a silhouette wreathed in debris and lightning. Then he moved. The forward thrust of his arm loosed everything at once.
The blast tore across the arena like a siege engine, a wall of concussive power so dense it howled as it traveled. The ground didn't just split it detonated, cracks spiderwebbing out in jagged patterns as entire slabs of black stone buckled and lifted. The air itself screamed, warped by the sheer pressure as the wave ripped through it.
Shards of stone rode the shockwave like jagged arrows, flensing the air in its wake. Lightning leapt from fragment to fragment, snapping in manic arcs as if the debris itself had been turned into living weapons. The force of it bent the Crucible's banners back against their poles, sending the Diarchy and Order sigils thrashing in the gale.From the stands it must have looked like the earth itself had rebelled, vomiting stone and fury toward the Diarchs. The blast was no simple push it was a declaration, a storm born from balance and rage alike. the true might of balance
In the same breath that the shockwave split the arena floor, Laphisto spread both arms wide. The debris still hanging in the air answered his call. With a snarl he wrenched them into shape, jagged shards knitting together into a wall of stone spikes. His claws flexed, and with a violent shove forward he sent the barrage screaming toward the Diarchs. Shards turned into spears, tumbling end over end, each one wrapped in snapping arcs of lightning.
The Crucible howled as the storm of spikes cut the air. Some shattered against the already-broken floor, others spun straight through the smoke, but all of it carried the same message: there would be no pause, no chance to reset. A sharp huff escaped him as he lunged into the wake of his own attack. His talons carved furrows in the sand, propelling his frame forward with terrifying speed. Smoke trailed from the seams of his helm, curling from his lips in thin streams as if the fire inside him could no longer be contained.
Power gathered in his shield arm once again, the emitter whining, its edges flickering with unstable light. Lightning crawled across the battered kite-shield, feeding into the growing pulse that formed in his palm. Around his feet the ground trembled as pebbles, grit, and shards of broken stone rose to orbit him, each one crackling faintly with the storm.
Every step carried him closer, his presence swelling like a tide that could not be stopped. The air itself seemed to recoil, drawn back toward the gathering vortex on his arm.This would not be a simple strike it would be another hammer, another blast meant to sunder whatever dared stand before him.
Diarch Reign
Diarch Rellik
Laphisto
