Destroy yet Not Helpless

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The air thinned the moment Cain stepped forward, his foot pressing against the moss-covered ground with practiced balance. But Staval didn't flinch. He stood still, arms behind his back, as if Cain's stance wasn't worth reacting to.

Cain struck first.

A blur of movement—his fist surged forward, crackling with freshly refined Vint energy. His body blurred, momentum sharp, focused. The hit would have rattled the bones of any beast.

But not Staval.

With minimal motion, Staval tilted his head just enough for Cain's punch to whistle past his cheek, the gust of it ruffling the edge of his high-collared coat. Before Cain could retract, Staval's palm met his exposed ribs in a sharp, coiled strike.

Crack!!!!

The sound was muffled under Cain's own breath escaping him in a grunt.

He stumbled back, posture buckling, arm dragging behind for recovery—but it was a miscalculation. Too wide. Too exposed.