Forge Of Fate: A Blacksmiths Journey

A deep, unnatural cold settled over the battlefield. The ice that erupted from Isolde's blade didn't merely freeze—it consumed. Jagged formations spread like a creeping infection, encasing the ground, the remains of assassins, and even the air itself in an eerie, crystalline stillness.

Kalem felt it in his bones—the shift, the loss of control. Isolde was no longer fighting against the Macab's influence.

She was succumbing to it.

Her greatsword trembled in her grip, encased in thick frost, the weight of her power pressing down on the street like an avalanche about to break loose. Her breathing was ragged, but her eyes—those piercing, ice-blue eyes—had lost focus.

No recognition. No restraint.

Just raw, untamed power.

And she was looking at him.

The masked assassin observed with satisfaction, adjusting his grip on his twin curved blades.

"This is what true power looks like," he mused. "You struggle, you fight against it, but in the end—" He gestured toward Isolde with one of his weapons. "This is what you become."

Kalem ignored him.

His focus was entirely on Isolde.

He had seen her wield ice before. He had sparred with her countless times, studied her footwork, her patterns, the way she controlled the battlefield with precision and discipline.

But this?

This was different.

Her movements were not measured—they were erratic. The ice spread without purpose, unshaped by technique or restraint. It was chaos, and she was at its center.

Kalem tensed, bracing himself.

Then she attacked.

The air cracked as she swung her greatsword in a wide arc, unleashing a wave of freezing force. Kalem barely had time to react—he dove to the side, rolling as the ground behind him was instantly encased in thick, jagged ice.

A fraction of a second slower, and he would've been frozen solid.

But she wasn't done.

With unnatural speed, she pivoted, her sword cleaving downward in a devastating overhead strike. Kalem crossed his twin blades just in time, catching the blow. The impact sent a numbing shock through his arms, his boots skidding against the frozen street as the sheer force threatened to overwhelm him.

She's stronger like this.

Stronger, but not in control.

Kalem gritted his teeth. He couldn't afford to hurt her, but if he hesitated too long—

She lunged again, relentless.

The masked assassin watched with amusement, idly spinning one of his curved blades between his fingers.

"Fascinating, isn't it?" he mused aloud. "The way people break. Give them just the right push, and everything they've built—all their discipline, their control—comes crumbling down."

Kalem didn't respond. He was too busy not dying.

Isolde's strikes were wild, yet overwhelmingly powerful. With each swing of her blade, frost trailed in its wake, the cold seeping into the air and forcing Kalem to move faster, to keep ahead of her strikes before the battlefield became his grave.

But this wasn't just about avoiding.

He needed to bring her back.

Kalem ducked under another horizontal slash, then twisted his body, stepping past her guard. Instead of striking, he reached out—

His hand barely grazed her arm before she reacted violently, slamming the pommel of her sword into his gut.

Pain exploded through his ribs as he was launched backward, skidding across the ice before crashing into a half-frozen stall.

Kalem coughed, struggling to catch his breath. That… hurt.

The assassin chuckled. "Ah, but you're persistent. Admirable. Futile, but admirable."

Kalem ignored him, forcing himself to his feet.

He watched Isolde carefully.

There had to be something left—some part of her resisting.

Because if there wasn't—

No.

Somewhere, deep within the storm of her mind, Isolde knew this wasn't right.

The Macab's whispers urged her forward, feeding her aggression, twisting her instincts. Strike. Attack. Destroy.

And yet—

Kalem's voice.

Distant. Muffled.

But there.

A tether.

She didn't want to hurt him.

She didn't—

Kalem noticed it.

A flicker. A hesitation. A moment where the relentless assault wavered, where her breathing hitched, where the ice creeping across her sword faltered for just a second.

That was enough.

Kalem took the risk.

He lowered his weapons.

"Isolde." His voice was calm, firm, cutting through the chaos like a blade of its own. "This isn't you."

She didn't move.

The assassin scoffed. "Foolish gamble."

Kalem ignored him.

"Listen to me." He took a slow step forward. His breath misted in the freezing air, but he didn't stop. "You're fighting it. I know you are."

A flicker.

She clenched her teeth, grip tightening on her sword—but she didn't attack.

Kalem pressed on.

"Look at me."

Another step.

She hesitated. Her body trembled—not from the cold, but from the battle raging inside her.

The assassin's amusement turned into a scowl, his patience running thin.

"…Enough of this." He moved in, his blade flashing toward Kalem's exposed side, aiming for a clean kill.

Kalem reacted instantly. One of his floating swords snapped into place, intercepting the strike. Sparks flew as steel met steel, the force of the impact reverberating through the air.

The assassin sneered. "Oh, but I'm enjoying this—"

"THEN FUCK YOU."

Kalem's patience shattered. With a single, fluid motion, he drew his resonance blade, the air humming as the weapon vibrated at a deadly frequency. Before the assassin could react, Kalem slashed.

A clean cut.

The assassin's smirk didn't even have time to fade before his body split in two, severed by the brutal efficiency of the strike. Blood sprayed in the cold air, staining the frozen ground as the two halves collapsed unceremoniously.

Silence followed.

The only sound was the crackling of ice as Isolde's magic surged outward, spreading over the corpse and freezing what remained.

Kalem exhaled, lowering his weapon.

"You back?" he asked, glancing at Isolde.

She blinked, still catching her breath, before giving a small, almost incredulous smile.

"I didn't know you cursed."

Kalem sighed, sheathing his resonance blade. "I don't. But it seems he was trying to use the same trick he did on you."

Isolde nudged the frozen remains of the assassin with her boot. "Looks like it backfired."

Kalem gave a short nod. Good.

Before they could relax, however, a surge of unnatural energy rippled through the air.

The Macab's presence remained, its influence weakened but not gone.

From the distance, Xel'thar, Valdris, and Gregor arrived, already preparing a counterspell. Arcane energy flared as they launched their assault against the malignant force, layers of magic unraveling in a violent clash.

But the Macab resisted.

Whatever it was—whoever had set it loose—it refused to fade quietly.

If they wanted to end this, they would have to face it directly.

Kalem tightened his grip on his sword.

"Looks like we're not done yet."