Under the pale glow of the moon, two warriors stood face to face, their shadows stretching long over the battle-scarred ground.


    The fortress behind them loomed, its battered walls bearing silent witness to the bloodshed that had come before—and to the battle that was about to begin.


    The air between them was thick with tension, so suffocating that even the monsters watching dared not move.


    Neither spoke.


    Neither flinched.


    The only sound was the slow, controlled breath of Marquis Hector and the low, guttural growl rumbling in Movok’s chest.


    His reptilian eyes burned with barely restrained fury, reflecting the silver light above like molten gold.


    Then—


    A blur of motion.


    Movok’s claws tightened around the hilt of his greatsword, and with a monstrous roar, he swung.


    The sheer force of the strike howled through the air like a death knell, tearing apart the silence.


    Hector moved in an instant, bringing his spear up just in time.


    Steel met steel.


    A thunderous clang shattered the night as a shockwave rippled through the battlefield.


    Sparks erupted like dying stars.


    Hector’s arms trembled from the sheer impact, his boots digging deep into the earth as he skidded backward.


    His body strained against the monstrous strength pressing down on him, but with a sharp exhale, he twisted his spear and deflected the blow to the side.


    Seizing the opening, he lunged forward, his fist slicing through the air toward Movok’s snarling jaw.


    But just before it could land—


    A solid wall of muscle met his strike.


    Movok’s armored forearm blocked the blow effortlessly, his thick, scaled hide absorbing the force as if it were nothing.


    His lips curled back in a sneer.


    Then he retaliated.


    Without warning, his leg shot out in a brutal kick aimed straight at Hector’s ribs.


    The Marquis barely had time to react.


    He twisted his body at the last moment, avoiding a direct hit, but the air still trembled from the sheer force behind the strike.


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    And in that same breath—


    He struck.


    Hector’s spear whistled through the night, its tip gleaming as it shot toward Movok’s chest.


    The impact never came.


    Instead—


    The weapon stopped.


    Like striking solid iron.


    Movok didn’t even flinch.


    A slow, wicked grin spread across his reptilian face, his sharp teeth gleaming under the moonlight.


    Then—


    A massive clawed hand wrapped around the spear’s shaft.


    Hector’s heart pounded as he felt the overwhelming grip tighten.


    And with a merciless yank—


    Movok ripped the weapon from his grasp.


    Before Hector could even process what had happened—


    A fist, heavy and unyielding, slammed into his gut.


    A sickening crack echoed through the air.


    Pain exploded in his ribs.


    The breath was torn from his lungs as his feet left the ground.


    His body flew backward, skidding across the dirt, carving deep scars into the battlefield.


    Blood splattered from his lips, the metallic taste flooding his mouth.


    Gasps of horror rang out from the fortress walls.


    Soldiers gripped their weapons so tightly their knuckles turned white, their eyes wide with helplessness.


    But before fear could take hold—


    Hector moved.


    His foot stomped down, anchoring him.


    He didn’t fall.


    He refused to fall.


    Slowly, he straightened, one hand wiping the blood from his mouth.


    His sharp eyes never wavered from Movok.


    Then—


    The air shifted.


    A silver glow began to pulse around him, faint at first, like embers flickering in the dark.


    Then it grew, spreading over his body, illuminating the torn fabric of his cloak, the fresh wounds staining his armor.


    The energy coursed through his veins, ancient and unyielding, a presence that sent shivers down the spines of those who watched.


    Movok’s massive greatsword crashed onto the dirt with a dull, resonating clang, its blade still dripping with the blood of countless fallen warriors.


    The air around it trembled, but neither of them spared it a glance.


    Their battle no longer required steel—it would be settled with their fists.


    Marquis Hector stood his ground, his breath steady despite the throbbing pain that wracked his body.


    His silver aura pulsed like a heartbeat, flickering across his skin in waves, illuminating the night like a ghostly flame.


    His sharp gaze locked onto Movok—a silent challenge in his eyes.


    Movok grinned, revealing sharp, bloodstained fangs, his reptilian eyes gleaming with wicked amusement.


    His massive shoulders rolled, loosening, preparing.


    He accepted the challenge without hesitation.


    Then—


    They moved.


    A blur of motion.


    Movok struck first—his enormous fist hurtling toward Hector’s skull like a wrecking ball, the sheer force enough to shatter solid stone.


    But Hector saw it.


    His body twisted in a near-perfect arc, the rush of air against his skin as Movok’s fist barely missed, missing him by a breath.


    The wind from the strike whipped past his ear, but Hector was already reacting.


    He countered.


    His hand shot out, fingers locking around Movok’s thick, muscular arm in an iron grip.


    Crack!


    His elbow slammed into Movok’s throat, the impact sending a vicious shockwave rippling through the beast’s massive frame.


    Movok staggered.


    His yellow eyes widened in surprise, his body tensing against the force of the strike.


    Then—


    A brutal kick.


    Hector’s boot crashed against Movok’s side, sending the greatsword skidding across the battlefield, far from its master’s grasp.


    Now it was just them.


    Flesh against flesh.


    The watching monsters shrank back, fear thick in their eyes.


    They had seen Movok crush armored knights with a single blow, rip warriors apart as if they were made of paper.


    But now—


    Movok was bleeding.


    A thick, dark stream of crimson dripped from his split lip.


    His once-unbreakable scales bore the evidence of Hector’s blows—deep bruises forming beneath their once-impenetrable surface.


    Yet—


    Movok only grinned wider.


    He wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, his breathing slow and measured, like a predator savoring the fight.


    "You fight well, human."


    Hector didn’t answer.


    He charged.


    Movok met him head-on.


    Their fists collided with a thunderous crash, the force of the impact sending shockwaves through the air, kicking up dust and flecks of blood.


    Neither gave an inch.


    Movok’s attacks came like a raging storm—every swing, every punch carrying enough force to break bones, to crush a man’s ribs in a single hit.


    But Hector was precise.


    He weaved through the onslaught, moving with the sharp, practiced grace of a warrior who had spent a lifetime in battle.


    He struck with deadly efficiency—sharp jabs to the ribs, swift elbows to the throat, crushing blows to the jaw.


    Blood splattered onto the dirt.


    Movok’s face was battered, his once-proud snarl turning into something twisted, something wild.


    His lip was torn, his golden eyes dark with rage.


    But Hector wasn’t unscathed.


    Movok’s fists had found their mark more than once.


    His ribs ached, each breath sharp and ragged.


    His left eye had swollen, nearly shut, and blood ran down his forehead, dripping onto the ground in slow, rhythmic droplets.


    His fingers trembled from the force of his own blows, his body screaming for rest.


    But neither stopped.


    Neither yielded.


    They fought like two ancient beasts locked in an endless struggle, their battle one of dominance, of survival.


    Each blow was heavier than the last.


    Flesh tore.


    Blood painted the earth.


    And still—


    They fought.