Jack’s opponent swung his warhammer in a brutal sideways arc.

  He just managed to duck low, barely avoiding the crushing force as the weapon whistled past his head. The sheer wind pressure of the swing made his hair whip around his face, and the moment the hammer slammed into the ground, it cracked the stone beneath them. Jack wasted no time.

  Seizing the opening, he darted in. His spear lashed out in quick, precise strikes—not aiming to wound, but to weaken. He struck at the leather straps holding the warrior’s shoulder plates together, slicing through one before twisting his wespon and slashing across the side of the man’s breastplate. Sparks flew as metal met steel. A thin crack formed along the previously pristine armor.

  Jack smirked. “Let’s see how sturdy that tin can really is.”

  The warrior scowled, realizing what Jack was doing. He stepped back, raising his warhammer defensively. “You—”

  But he never finished his sentence.

  Jack’s spear lashed out again, striking like a viper, his movements quick and relentless. He wasn’t aiming to deal a single, decisive blow—he knew his opponent’s armor was too thick for that. Instead, he targeted the weak points, slashing at the leather straps, the joints, the exposed sections of plating where the metal had already suffered stress.

  His spearpoint flicked against the warrior’s shoulder, cutting through a strap that secured his pauldron. The heavy piece of armor slipped, no longer sitting snug against his form. Jack’s next strike came an instant later, slamming against the side of the warrior’s breastplate. Sparks erupted as steel met steel, and this time, a new crack spiderwebbed along the metal.

  Jack grinned, seeing the first signs of progress.

  The warrior growled in frustration. “You little pest.”

  He retaliated with a vicious swing of his warhammer. The massive weapon roared through the air in a deadly arc, forcing Jack to roll to the side. The ground where he had stood just moments before cracked apart from the impact, sending shards of stone flying. Jack barely managed to spring back to his feet before the warrior came at him again, hammer raised.

  He was getting desperate.

  Jack smirked. “What’s wrong? Not so confident now?”

  The warrior spat, his face contorted with rage. “I’ll crush you like an insect.”

  He lunged forward, aiming to bring his hammer down with a devastating, two-handed overhead strike. Jack didn’t let him.

  Instead of dodging, he surged forward, stepping into the warrior’s guard before the hammer could complete its arc. He pivoted, twisting his entire body into a brutal slash aimed directly at the fracture in the warrior’s breastplate.

  His spear struck true.

  The weakened metal finally buckled, splitting open with a shriek of protest. A jagged tear ran across the side of the warrior’s torso, exposing the flesh beneath. Blood welled at the edges of the sundered armor, staining the cracked metal crimson.

  Jack saw the flicker of pain in his opponent’s eyes.

  And then—

  A shadow moved behind the warrior.

  Cael had been waiting for this moment.

  Silent as death, he emerged from the swirling dust and smoke of battle. His movements were practiced, calculated—every step measured with the precision of a predator stalking its prey. He had watched the fight unfold, biding his time, waiting for the perfect opportunity. And now, with the warrior’s armor breached and his attention entirely on Jack, that opportunity had arrived.

  His grip tightened around his new dagger.

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  It was a wicked thing, its darkened edge gleaming ominously in the dim light. The blade was unnaturally sharp, honed for a single purpose—to slip through gaps in armor and find the vulnerable flesh beneath.

  Jack’s final strike had created exactly that kind of opening.

  Cael struck.

  The dagger plunged deep, sliding effortlessly into the exposed gap Jack had created in the warrior’s side. The blade pierced flesh and muscle, driving in up to the hilt. The warrior’s entire body jerked as a choked gasp escaped his lips, his warhammer slipping from his grasp as shock overtook him.

  Jack stepped back just in time to see the look of stunned realization in the man’s eyes.

  The pain registered a second later.

  The warrior let out a strangled, gurgling sound, his breath hitching as he staggered forward. Cael twisted the dagger mercilessly before wrenching it free, and blood poured from the wound, spilling down the warrior’s already damaged armor.

  The warrior staggered back, breath shuddering, his grip faltering on his warhammer. He was still standing, but the damage had already been done.

  At first, the wound Cael had inflicted seemed no different from any mortal injury—a deep, puncturing stab through flesh and muscle. Blood streamed freely from the gash in his side, but the real horror had only just begun.

  A sickly green hue spread from the wound, seeping through his veins like cracks in shattered stone. His skin darkened, veins bulging grotesquely beneath the surface, pulsing as though something inside was alive, writhing. He opened his mouth to speak—perhaps to curse them, perhaps to cry out in rage—but only a wet gurgle emerged. His tongue thickened, his throat constricted as though invisible hands were crushing his windpipe.

  Jack watched with a grim sense of finality as the poison took hold. The warrior shuddered violently, his massive frame betraying him. His knees buckled, but he refused to fall, propping himself up with his hammer. His breath turned ragged, a wheezing rasp that deepened with every second.

  Then, the seizures began.

  The warrior’s body convulsed violently, his arms jerking spasmodically. He tried to lift his warhammer, but his fingers no longer obeyed him. Instead, they twitched and curled like a dying spider’s legs. His strength, once formidable, now drained from him like sand slipping through grasping fingers.

  His veins blackened.

  The poison was unrelenting. The moment the Toxic Talon had pierced him, the venom had begun its gruesome work—eating away at his insides, necrotizing tissue, burning through his bloodstream with a malice that transcended simple toxins. This was no ordinary poison. It was something far worse. Something unnatural.

  He lurched forward, half stumbling, half falling, barely catching himself on the remnants of his shattered armor. His eyes, once burning with fury, flickered in panicked realization. He had faced wounds before. He had survived battles that should have left him dead. But this—this was different. His body wasn’t just hurt. It was decaying from the inside out.

  His breathing turned into strangled gasps. His throat bulged as if something inside was trying to claw its way out.

  Then, with a sickening wet retch, he vomited a torrent of black bile.

  The sludge splattered against the ground, sizzling as though it burned the very earth. Chunks of partially dissolved flesh and tissue sloughed from his lips, remnants of his own innards liquefying under the venom’s insidious effect. His body was eating itself alive.

  Jack took a slow step back. Even after everything he had seen in battle, even after all the blood and carnage, this was something else.

  The warrior clutched at his own throat, his fingers digging into his flesh hard enough to draw blood, as if trying to claw out whatever foul essence was consuming him from within. His breath turned to desperate, ragged hitches. His entire body was failing—but the poison refused to let him die quickly.

  Cael, still cloaked in the shadows, watched in silence, his dagger gleaming wet with venom and blood. His face betrayed no emotion.

  The warrior fell to his knees. His warhammer slipped from his grasp, hitting the ground with a heavy thud. His body convulsed again, more violently this time, his bones audibly cracking beneath the sheer strain. His muscles were rotting even as he moved, his flesh dissolving at the seams. The once-imposing fighter was now a mere husk of what he had been just moments before.

  Still, he refused to go down without a fight.

  With the last dregs of his strength, he lifted his trembling hand toward Jack—whether to strike, to reach for help, or simply to defy his own end, no one could say. But the motion cost him. His shoulder snapped apart, tendons giving way, his own decaying sinew unable to support him any longer.

  His body collapsed forward, landing face-first into the pool of blackened blood and bile beneath him.

  His mouth opened in a silent scream, his final breath rattling in his ruined lungs.

  Then, he stopped moving.

  Silence settled over the battlefield, save for the distant sounds of battle raging elsewhere.

  Jack let out a slow breath, staring at the motionless corpse before him. The once-formidable warrior was gone—his body now little more than a twisted, bloated ruin, corrupted beyond recognition. The Toxic Talon had done its work well.

  Cael finally stepped out of the shadows, flicking the dagger once to rid it of excess blood. His eyes flicked to Jack, his expression unreadable.

  "Efficient," he murmured.

  Jack looked down at the rotting mess that had once been a man. Efficient wasn’t the word he would have chosen. He was going to have a long talk with Cael when this was over.