Chapter 112: Left to burn.
Kenneth’s breath came slower now. Not ragged. Not panicked. Just... deliberate. As if each inhale had to be weighed against what it cost to take.
His gauntlets pulsed dimmer than before. The usual crimson glow had retreated behind thick plating, like embers cooling under ash. A faint hiss leaked from the seams—steam from the pressure that hadn’t fully discharged.
His opponent wasn’t faring any better.
The brute’s left gauntlet—jagged, home-forged, lined with crude Unco channels—shook as he flexed his hand. The glow along his biceps had faded, replaced by the dull throb of strained mana veins. He spat blood into the dirt and grinned through cracked lips.
"Running out?" the man asked.
Kenneth didn’t answer. Just rolled his shoulders and lifted his fists.
They clashed again, and this time it wasn’t beautiful.
No grace.
Just weight.
The brute drove a punch into Kenneth’s ribs—half power, less precision. Kenneth caught it against his forearm and twisted, dragging the man forward into a headbutt that snapped cartilage. The world reeled around them. Mana sparked on contact but faded quickly—just residue, not function.
They were too deep into the draw now. Their Uncos still responded, but slowly. Hungrier than before. Every use had a cost now, and both were close to overdraft.
The brute tried again—forcing his Unco one more time, pushing for a kinetic burst through his boot—but the soil crackled with a half-fizz and collapsed under him.