Forge Of Fate: A Blacksmiths Journey

The night air was thick with the scent of sweat, blood, and something far worse—the sickly sweet presence of the Macab's magic, twisting reality itself. Kalem's mind fought through the fog, instincts warring against the unseen force that sought to drown him in confusion.

The assassins closed in again, their movements disciplined and unrelenting. They weren't ordinary killers. They worked in unison, each step coordinated, their attacks meant to wear him down, to break him apart piece by piece.

Kalem had no intention of letting them.

A sword flashed toward his throat, but his twin blades moved faster, crossing in an X to catch the strike. Sparks flew as steel clashed against steel. With a twist of his wrists, Kalem redirected the force, slipping beneath the assassin's guard and driving his knee into the man's gut. The assassin doubled over, wheezing—before three floating blades impaled him from behind.

Kalem didn't pause. He spun, ducking beneath a thrown dagger, deflecting another strike while sidestepping an incoming lunge. His weapons danced around him like an extension of his will, striking with deadly precision.

But he wasn't invincible.

A chain wrapped around his ankle, yanking him off balance. He hit the ground hard, rolling just in time to avoid a downward stab. Another assassin was already upon him, curved dagger descending toward his chest.

Kalem's hand snapped up, grabbing the assassin's wrist mid-strike.

The man snarled, pressing down with all his weight, the tip of the dagger inching closer to Kalem's throat.

Kalem let go.

For a fraction of a second, the assassin's balance shifted forward. It was all Kalem needed.

He twisted his body, kicking upward and sending the man sprawling backward. At the same time, one of his floating swords shot forward, skewering the assassin through the neck before he could recover.

Kalem exhaled sharply, yanking the chain off his ankle.

But there was no time to rest. More were coming.

And Isolde—

His gaze flickered toward her, and his stomach clenched.

Isolde's mind was a battlefield.

The strike leader's words echoed in her skull, each syllable twisting under the Macab's influence. You're strong, but it doesn't matter.

His voice wasn't the only one. Other whispers slithered into her thoughts, planting doubt, feeding her aggression.

Her grip on her greatsword tightened. She could feel the ice spreading further than she intended, creeping over the ground in jagged veins. It wasn't controlled. It wasn't precise.

The masked assassin noticed.

He pressed the attack, his twin blades weaving in unpredictable arcs, testing her reactions. She blocked the first strike, but her parry was too forceful, sending her stumbling slightly off balance.

The assassin seized the moment, slipping past her guard and slashing toward her side.

The wound was shallow, but it burned.

Isolde's vision darkened at the edges. Her breathing was ragged, uneven.

Don't lose control.

The Macab whispered differently. Give in.

The strike leader twisted his blades, the curved edges catching the moonlight. "You feel it, don't you?" he said, voice almost gentle. "The weight of it all. The rage. The chaos. Stop resisting."

She snarled, swinging her sword in a wide arc. He backstepped smoothly, untouched.

"Your precision is gone," he observed, sounding almost amused. "How much longer until you lose yourself completely?"

Isolde clenched her teeth.

She could feel it.

The ice. The anger. The warping of her thoughts.

The urge to destroy.

She had to fight it.

But she didn't know how much longer she could.

Kalem saw it happening.

Isolde's movements were getting wilder, her magic growing erratic. If she fell too deep, if she lost herself—

No.

He refused to let that happen.

Kalem's focus snapped back to his own battle. He had to end this. Quickly.

His floating swords adjusted their formation, forming a ring around him. He shifted his stance, exhaling slowly.

Then he moved.

His blades shot forward like arrows, piercing through multiple enemies at once. At the same time, he lunged, cutting through the remaining assassins with precision. There was no wasted movement—every strike a calculated execution.

In seconds, the battlefield around him was silent.

Now, only one fight remained.

Isolde's.

The masked assassin saw Kalem approaching, but his focus remained on Isolde. He could see the cracks forming, the unraveling of her control.

"She's close," he murmured, watching her knuckles turn white around her sword. "Just a little more."

Then, Kalem was there.

He didn't speak. He didn't warn.

He attacked.

Their blades met in a clash that sent a sharp ringing through the air. The strike leader barely managed to shift his stance in time, the force of Kalem's strike sending him skidding backward.

The assassin clicked his tongue. "Persistent, aren't you?"

Kalem's gaze was cold. "Let her go."

A chuckle. "Oh, but she's already slipping." His eyes flickered toward Isolde. "How long do you think she can last before she turns her blade on you?"

Kalem didn't rise to the bait. He simply pressed forward, his swords flashing in the moonlight.

The strike leader blocked the first, ducked the second, and countered with a precise slice toward Kalem's ribs.

Kalem turned with the attack, the blade missing him by a hair. He retaliated instantly, twisting his wrist to drive his sword toward the assassin's shoulder.

It would have been a clean hit—

If the assassin hadn't suddenly disengaged, leaping back.

Kalem frowned.

Then he felt it.

A shift in the air.

The temperature dropped even further.

He turned—

Isolde stood frozen in place, her greatsword trembling in her grip. Ice crackled along the blade, pulsing outward like a living thing.

Her eyes were unfocused, distant.

And then—

They locked onto him.

Kalem barely had time to move before she swung.

A wall of jagged ice erupted toward him, forcing him to leap to the side as it crashed through the street, freezing everything in its path.

The assassin chuckled. "There it is."

Kalem steadied himself, heart pounding.

Isolde wasn't in control anymore.