The heat of the burning volcanic oil twisted the air, turning the once-pristine imperial lines into a warped, shimmering hellscape. The locked tower shields that had stood as an impenetrable wall for decades were now just hot iron griddles trapping the screaming soldiers inside.
Through the thick, roiling black smoke, Prince Kenneth’s white warhorse panicked, bucking wildly as a stray arc of azure lightning hissed past its ears. Kenneth, a veteran of three northern campaigns, managed to stay in his saddle, his golden armor caked in black soot and splattered clay. He looked across the burning front ranks, his eyes locking onto Kaelen.
The youngest prince stood unmoved in the center of the inferno. The dark dragon-hide of his brigandine absorbed the heat flawlessly, the gold and azure lines across his arms pulsing with an unnatural, casual rhythm. He looked entirely at ease, his black blade resting loosely over his shoulder.
"You... you bastard!" Kenneth roared, his voice cracking with a mixture of rage and absolute disbelief. He drew his heavy broadsword—a masterpiece of forged steel bearing the royal lion crest. "You use monsters and underhanded tricks! You disgrace the royal blood!"
"Tricks?" Kaelen laughed, a sharp, mocking sound that carried effortlessly over the crackle of the flames. He took a slow, deliberate step forward, his boots leaving glowing, half-melted footprints in the red clay. "Kenneth, you brought ten thousand men in heavy metal suits to a volcanic basin and didn't expect anyone to bring a match. That's not a disgrace to royal blood. That's just bad math."
Kenneth slammed his spurs into his horse's flanks. The beast lunged forward, charging through the smoke. Kenneth raised his broadsword, channeling every ounce of his remaining earth-strengthened mana into a downward, cleaving strike meant to split Kaelen in two.
"Die, you rogue!" Kenneth bellowed.
Kaelen didn't even raise his sword to parry. He waited until the horse’s hooves were three paces away.
*Lightning Flicker.*
*CRACK.*
Kaelen vanished in a blink of blue static. Kenneth’s heavy broadsword crashed into the empty red clay, shattering the stone beneath and kicking up a cloud of dust. Before the First Prince could wheel his horse around, a heavy boot slammed violently into his back.
Kaelen had reappeared mid-air behind the saddle. The sheer kinetic force of the kick sent Kenneth flying off his mount, his heavy golden armor clattering loudly as he rolled across the dirt, crashing hard against the base of a shattered obsidian ridge.
Kenneth groaned, his vision spinning as he tried to push himself up. His gold-plated shoulder guard was warped, and blood dripped from his nose into his manicured beard. He looked up to find the tip of Kaelen's black obsidian blade resting exactly a millimeter away from his right eye.
The vein down the fuller was glowing a calm, white-hot crimson. The heat radiating from it was so intense that Kenneth's eyelashes were beginning to curl and singe.
"The duel is over, big brother," Kaelen said smoothly, his signature, cocky smirk cutting through the soot on his face. He didn't look winded; his breath was steady, his blue eyes flashing with the dual light of the storm and the void.
"Kill me then," Kenneth hissed, his pride refusing to bend even as he stared into the face of his own destruction. "My legion will still tear this place apart."
Kaelen tilted his head, looking past Kenneth at the battlefield.
It was a complete rout. Without their magic, the Royal Circle mages were fleeing like startled rabbits. The vanguard infantry had broken their lines entirely, throwing down their heavy shields and retreating toward the border checkpoints. Goran and the eight hundred soldiers of the Vanguard hadn't even needed to charge; they were simply standing on the ridges, laughing as they watched the invincible First Legion run away from a teenage boy and a shadow dragon.
"Kill you? Why would I do that?" Kaelen chuckled, lowering the blade just enough to tap Kenneth’s gold breastplate with the flat of the steel. "A dead prince is just a martyr. A captured prince, though... that's a lot of leverage."
He turned his head toward the ridge. "Jax! Bring the iron-scale chains! We’re going to need to build a very special cage in the Citadel cellars."
"On it, Captain!" Jax called back, his frantic grin returning as he scrambled down the rocks, dragging a heavy set of dark, magic-suppressing chains.
Kaelen looked down at Kenneth one last time, his smirk widening into a dangerous, terrifying promise of what was to come.
"Don't look so sour, Ken. You wanted to see my stronghold," Kaelen whispered, sheathing his sword with a satisfying *clack*. "I'm just giving you the grand tour."