Revenge: A Path of Destruction

Both warriors gave it their all, with neither giving the other any chance to dominate the battle, to the Master rank spectators who were watching the battle all they could see was a blur as the speed of their battle got more intense

After one final clash both contenders separated.

The battlefield stood eerily still. The only sound was the distant crackling of shifting stone, the remnants of their battle settling around them. Dust clung to the air, swirling in slow, lazy arcs, illuminated by the fractured sunlight filtering through the broken arena. The once-pristine battlefield was now a scarred wasteland of craters, shattered rock, and deep fissures stretching outward like veins of destruction.

Both warriors had stopped moving.

Mankhaura exhaled slowly, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing the blood that trailed from a fresh cut on his lip. His grip on his spear tightened, muscles flexing beneath sweat-slicked skin. He ignored the searing pain running through his ribs, the deep ache of bruises forming beneath his armor.

His heartbeat pounded in his ears, an unrelenting drumbeat to his fury. His eyes burned with defiance, a wildfire refusing to be extinguished.

Thutmose stood opposite him, utterly composed, his shield still held steady, his khopesh resting lightly in his grasp. His breathing remained controlled, each rise and fall of his chest measured, as if he had spent no effort.

There was no sign of fatigue, no visible wounds—only his ever-present poise. If he felt anything from their prior exchange, he did not show it.

For a moment, neither spoke. A pause stretched between them, tense as a drawn bowstring.

Then Mankhaura smirked.

"No more testing," he said, his voice carrying across the battlefield. His tone was light, almost amused, but the heat behind his words was unmistakable. "Let’s see who really deserves to rule."