The battle continued to stretch on, Steven accumulating more injuries by the second, his body weakening and so did his pacing, each step slower than the last like a man trudging through wet cement.

{Mana 2/10}

He was also on his last line, only able to use Stun one final time. But what did it matter? Either way he would still die. The wounds he had accumulated would soon take effect, and his body, already threatening to break down from sheer exhaustion was nearing its limit. His muscles screamed, his lungs burned, and even breathing felt like an unpaid debt finally being collected.

But still, Steven persevered. He blocked the attacks he could and avoided those he couldn’t, doing his best to escape any blow that looked remotely lethal, though his luck had long since abandoned him.

Drake, on the other hand, was untouched. His fine, pristine skin remained clean, unblemished, almost mockingly flawless. Not one of Steven’s attacks had grazed him, and Drake made sure of that. He could read the fate of the battle before it even occurred, and in the end, he settled for something more entertaining. Making Steven’s death painful and drawn out.

"Come on, rat, is that all you can do?" Drake boomed, jerking his head slightly backward and avoiding Steven’s desperate dagger swing by an inch. Then he shoved him away with a brutal kick to the gut.

This time Steven didn’t manage to hold his stance. Staggering backward, he crashed back-first onto the hard ground, losing his grasp on the dagger. The exhaustion of all the injuries that had piled onto his body came crashing down on him at once.

Drake locked eyes with Steven, who now simply lay on the ground, his spiteful glare fixed on him. This amused Drake greatly.

"That’s the difference between you and me, vile rat," Drake muttered as he spat down at him, his voice seeping with authority and disgust.

Still, Steven did not react. He couldn’t. His body felt heavier than iron, like metal chains had been wrapped around his entire being and nailed to the earth itself.

"You are a rat that has nothing," Drake continued. "No riches. No power. You have nothing to lose. While I have everything to lose." He scoffed, rubbing his temples as if tired of explaining the obvious. "Instead of throwing your entire life away, you could have joined me."

He laughed dryly. "What am I even saying? You have nothing waiting for you on the other side. So dying here is no different from living in the human world without purpose. I’m even doing you a favour."

Steven grunted, his lips trembling as he forced his mouth open.

"Piece... fucking piece of shit."

The words lingered in the air, processed slowly by the arrogant Marked. Drake simply glared at Steven, then all the tension vanished as his lips twisted into a dark, humorless smile.

Drake walked up to him, grabbed Steven by the collar, and with inhuman strength hauled him to his feet. Then what came next stunned him.

Shrivel!

Steven’s body convulsed as a deep, writhing agony pulsed through his entire being. His vision dropped to his gut, where Drake’s longsword had lodged itself clean through him, piercing straight out his back.

Blood ran down the transparent blade, dripping steadily, and his already ragged clothing began to turn crimson as his blood soaked through it like spilled paint.

He had been stabbed.

His weak gaze lifted once more to meet Drake’s cold, unmoved stare, an expression that made it clear Drake had grown tired of his fun and was done with the battle entirely.

"It’s just a pity," Drake muttered, pushing the blade even deeper, causing Steven to groan in agony. "You lasted this long."

From the severity of his injuries, he wouldn’t live much longer, especially with the longsword still embedded in his gut.

Still, Steven’s resolve did not break.

He frowned, teeth stained red, and in one final attempt summoned the Red Fang into his hand and thrust it toward the throat of the Glorious Marked.

Drake sneered at the predictable attack. Loosening his grip on his sword’s hilt, he swiftly grabbed a dagger from his waist, unsheathed it, and with brutal force hacked straight through Steven’s wrist before the attack could land, severing it clean off.

Drake frowned. "So predictable—"

{Stun skill activated}

His words died in his throat.

When Drake turned back, he did not see the broken young man he had been holding moments ago. Instead, he saw a red blade flying straight toward him, plunging violently into his left eye.

The impact forced his head back as he staggered, releasing Steven, who had somehow driven the blade into his eye socket.

"HAYAAAAACCCK!!!" Drake screamed at the top of his lungs, staggering not only from the pain but from sheer shock—that he, Drake, had failed to see this fate.

{Bleeding effect has taken place}

{-5 HP Bleeding effect increases since weapon is still in the vessel}

{-5 HP lost}

Steven weakly sat on the blood-soaked floor of the Cubicle, an unruly, almost mad smile on his face as he watched the arrogant clan son stagger backward, desperately gripping the hilt of the Red Fang and trying to tear it out of his ruined eye.

"You want to take the glory," Steven taunted, as loud as his failing voice allowed, "then why don’t you look the part?"

His gaze then fell to the sword still embedded in his gut, his expression turning grim.

’I’m going to die from my injuries in the end,’ he thought as his body grew weaker by the second. ’But...’

Turning back to see Drake struggling, choking on his own blood, gave him a small sense of fulfillment.

At least, if he died, he would get to see this bastard bleed to death too.

Drake staggered continuously, the thought of how he had failed to foresee the attack replaying over and over in his mind. But now was not the time for pride. His entire body was flooded with unimaginable pain, the dagger in his eye carrying some strange effect that rapidly drained him of strength.

"What the hell is this?!" Drake roared, grabbing the hilt of the blade. With a desperate battle cry, he ripped it out and hurled the crude weapon to the ground.

But the damage had already been done.

His face was deathly pale, one eye bloodshot and ruined, the other nothing more than an empty void. He tried to step forward, but swayed instead, staggering once, then twice. His breathing was erratic, each gasp wet and broken, his body shuddering violently from the blood loss.

Despite the dagger being dislodged from his socket, its effects had not ceased, only weakened. To a human, blood loss was like a glass filled with water, cracked at the bottom. No matter how strong the vessel, it would still empty.

{-2 HP lost}

The notifications appeared before Steven several times, until finally Drake collapsed to his knees. His strength, his lineage, his so-called fate all betrayed him in that single moment.

He knew then that it was over.

Lost... to some street rat. How laughable. How unfair. With all the power I possess... to die like this.

Drake glared at Steven, hatred boiling. The face of the rat, the smug expression stretched across it... it disgusted him.

Silence lingered as he surveyed the Cubicle one last time. Favour’s lifeless body. The blood everywhere. The stench of death thick in the air.

"Steeve..." he finally said, his voice weak. Only the silence allowed Steven to hear it.

"I hope we were all wrong..."

His eyes hollowed out.

The silence returned once more.

The battle had been decided by Fate, defiled by nothing more than a rat from the streets.