Ewan swung his axe downward with all his might. The weapon cleaved through the air like a falling guillotine. It was fast, but I could predict it. I swiveled my head, letting the heavy blade slam into the snow beside me with a thud that sprayed white and shattered rock.

  He didn’t pause. With a raw grunt, he wrenched the axe back up and immediately twisted his torso, bringing it from the opposite direction in a wide, brutal arc. I leaned back, spine straining, and dodged again—just barely. The thick lightsteel edge whooshed past my chest, and I could feel the displaced air push against me.

  But I noticed something. His second swing was faster.

  He didn’t pull back this time. Instead, he transitioned smoothly, guiding the axe into a fluid crescent. The sharpened curve gleamed in motion. I dropped low, legs bending sharply, and ducked underneath the wide sweep. It passed over my head with inches to spare.

  I lunged forward. Reinforcing my fist, I chopped into his thigh. It bit deep, punching through skin and muscle until it cracked against bone. A jolt traveled up my arms from the impact. Ewan recoiled with a grimace, his body jerking from the sudden pain. Blood sprayed in an arc across the ground.

  He reeled, staggering, then threw a quick jab downward with the axe's butt to force me back. I stood my ground. I raised my head into the strike and used my forehead to tank the hit. The thick wood cracked against my skull, but I didn’t feel anything. My blood was surging. I reached for his leg, hand sliding through blood as I tried to hook behind his knee and throw him down. He reacted fast. He leapt into the air, evading my grasp entirely.

  He spun like a wheel mid-air. His right arm came around as he rotated, the axe gleaming in the light as it came down. It struck deep into my shoulder, the edge carving into nothing. He thought the force rocked my body. He thought he felt the blade crunch through to bone.

  I reinforced said shoulder, locking every muscle in place.

  "This is not it."

  It actually did no damage. His lightsteel axe, for all its flash, wasn’t enough to break through. The edge lodged in my shoulder had barely breached the outer skin layer. Ewan didn’t show his worry—if he had any. His face was unreadable, carved from stone, lips tight with either focus or denial. He gripped the haft, twisted, and yanked the blade free with a wet scrape. Then, without hesitation, he leapt back, the soles of his boots skidding across the stone.

  He bawled his left hand into a fist, steady and resolute, but kept his pointer finger raised to the sky—an old sign of invocation. In a low, solemn voice, he prayed,

  "Oh great Boreas, I cannot beat him on my own. I need your blessings."

  At his words, his axe began to glow with a deeper, more aggressive cyan hue. It wasn’t just light—it reeked of cold. A biting chill filled the air, sharp enough to sting my lungs with every breath. I could feel it from where I stood, prickling at my skin, freezing the sweat on my brow.

  Was that a trick?

  Ewan gripped his greataxe with both hands and let out a deep exhale. Then, with a fluid motion, he split it. The weapon cracked down the center, separating into two smaller axes, each humming with that same frost-laced energy. The transformation was clean—intentional.

  This one was certainly not a trick.

  How did he do that?

  Ewan dashed forward. His movement was faster now, driven by something more than just muscle. As he closed in, he spread his arms wide like wings, each axe glinting at the end of his palms.

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  I mirrored him—arms wide, forearms braced and reinforced with every ounce of internal strength.

  He brought his axes down, carving into my forearms. The edges broke through my muscle, not deep enough to maim—but enough to matter. I felt the cold spike into my tendons. My arms went stiff, and any future punches would slow like they were dragging through water. Nerve and fiber recoiled.

  Then he spoke—his voice edged with bitterness:

  "You know, we looked up to you..."

  He ripped the axes out of my arms, tearing cold trails in their wake. Then, without pause, he swung them again—this time perpendicular to each other, an X aimed right at my face. I brought both of my forearms up just in time to block, but the cold had weakened my stance. The impact rocked me. I felt my guard shatter under the force. My forearms fell away from my face, leaving it wide open.

  His voice cracked—not from weakness, but fury. "And now you're condemning us to death!"

  This was a killshot.

  I moved without thinking. I placed my palm flat against his chest and pushed.

  The sound was awful. His ribcage caved beneath the force like cracked slate. He flew backward, but managed to dig his axes into the ground mid-flight, carving icy gouges through the stone to slow his momentum.

  He hit the ground, coughing hard, red froth on his lips.

  "That's exactly what we loved about you. You could turn things around in an instant."

  I was already in front of him.

  I grasped the back of his neck, my fingers locking around the sinew and bone like shackles, and slammed him headfirst into the ground. The impact created a deafening boom, a shockwave that rolled outward in a wide ripple, kicking up snow and stone. Cracks laced through the ground beneath him. Ewan couldn’t counter—he didn’t even have time to register the move.

  He recovered fast. Too fast.

  He rolled away just as my foot came down, missing his skull by inches. The stomp shattered the frost-crusted earth where his head had been. Blood leaked from a gash on his forehead, trailing down his cheek and dripping into the white.

  Ewan is growing.

  He shouldn't have been able to dodge that. Not with his thigh in the condition it was—carved into earlier and surely on the verge of collapse. But there he was, rising again, teeth bared, breathing ragged but steady.

  He was growing. Strength, speed, endurance—rising at an alarming rate. Like a machine learning in real time. It was unnatural. Or maybe, worse—it was earned.

  I kicked up the snow with a sudden spin, creating a wide blind. A wall of white exploded around us, flurries drifting down, clouding visibility.

  Ewan was used to fighting in the snow, however.

  I launched a left hook straight for his abdomen, my fist like a piledriver aimed to cave him in. He caught it with his axe, barely managing to redirect the blow.

  I was much more powerful than him, however.

  The sheer force of my punch nearly cracked the axe in half. The lightsteel buckled under my knuckles, and his arms trembled violently from the shock. He groaned through gritted teeth, voice ragged but defiant.

  "This is nothing compared to what they went through!"

  He retaliated immediately, slicing across my stomach in a wide arc. The edge tore through flesh, splitting my abs open. Blood spilled hot against the cold air.

  I fired a quick haymaker in response, aiming to end it right there—but he punished my haste. He sliced my left forearm as I extended, the blade digging in deep. The cut was brutal, precise. My arm flared with pain.

  The blood I'm losing with reinforcement is going to outweigh the strength I gain from it. This has to end now.

  I surged forward and locked his head in place with both arms, crushing his temples between my elbows. He struggled, jamming his axes into my chest in desperation. I grunted as the blades pierced skin and muscle—but I was prepared for this. I bent down, chambering my left leg, muscles coiling like a spring. He was raising his axe, lining it up with my throat.

  He was about to decapitate me.

  I let go of his head.

  The axe missed by millimeters, slicing through strands of my hair.

  And then I kicked—a full-force, low blow to the groin. My heel connected with a sickening crunch. Ewan shot upward into the air, his body limp and out of control, limbs flailing. He didn’t have a grip on his weapons—his axes were still embedded in me. I focused in on him mid-air, body ready to follow up with another strike. My legs shifted. My fists tensed.

  I saw it—his eyelids were closed. Unconscious.

  I reached down and grasped the handle of the first axe, then the second. With one smooth pull, I tore them from my chest. Blood spurted from the wounds, painting the snow red. I needed to catch up to those two.

  Ewan finally crashed back down, the snow cushioning his fall just enough to keep him alive. He didn’t speak. He didn’t move. I wiped my chest, flicking blood from my fingers.

  "By the time you're awake, the Grillir will be freed."