Isolde’s fury blazed in her pale eyes, her hands already rising, blood answering her call. But before she could strike, Croft’s soldiers moved.

They formed a wall between her and Caelum, spears lowered, shields raised. Croft stepped forward, his weathered face set in lines of cold authority.

"Patience, vampire." His voice was calm, almost bored. "Do not interfere with the duel between Sin artifact wielders." He glanced at the Lance of Pride gleaming in Caelum’s grip, then at the Crown of the Hollow Glutton pulsing on Adam’s brow. "This is a rare spectacle. One I have waited a long time to witness."

Kurt stepped to Croft’s side, his dark eyes fixed on the clash of auras.

"Indeed, Master. Two of the Seven, face to face. I never thought I’d see the day." His voice was soft, almost reverent. "Pride and Gluttony... which will prevail?"

Lilith’s crimson eyes swept over them, her smile thin and cold.

"Tch." The sound was dismissive, sharp. "You speak as if you’re merely spectators at a theater. But we are not actors in your little play." Her threads stirred around her fingers, silver and white. "And you are not the audience."

Ignis’s flames flared, her golden eyes blazing with fury.

"All of you!" She cracked her knuckles, the sound sharp in the tense air. "You think you can just stand there and watch? I’ll burn this whole place to the ground!"

Derrick’s sword swept toward Ignis’s throat.

Lilith’s threads caught it mid-swing, wrapping around the blade, holding it suspended inches from its target. Derrick’s eyes widened.

"What—"

Ignis’s fist slammed into his chest.

CRACK.

The sound of breaking bone echoed through the street. Derrick flew backward, crashing into a stack of crates that splintered on impact. He lay there, gasping, his armor dented, his face pale.

Ignis lowered her fist, her flames crackling.

"Don’t underestimate me." Her voice was cold, dangerous.

Lilith’s gaze shifted to Isolde, who stood frozen, her hands still raised, her blood magic crackling at her fingertips. But her eyes were wide, lost.

"Vampire." Lilith’s voice was sharp, cutting through Isolde’s daze. "This is life or death. We cannot afford hesitation."

Isolde’s throat bobbed. Her voice came out strained.

"I... I led you here. This is my fault."

Lilith’s expression softened, just a fraction. "Perhaps. But blaming yourself will not save us. Save your guilt for later—when we are all still alive." Her crimson eyes met Isolde’s pale ones. "I believe we will survive this."

She glanced toward Adam, who stood facing Caelum, the Crown blazing on his brow, his daggers ready.

"Now fight."

Isolde’s jaw tightened. Her hands, still raised, steadied. The blood swirling around her fingers solidified into blades.

"...Fine."

She turned to face the soldiers advancing on them.

Lilith’s smile returned, sharp and satisfied.

"Good."

Adam and Caelum circled each other, the rain falling between them like a curtain of glass. The Crown of the Hollow Glutton blazed on Adam’s brow, its hungry light pushing back against the oppressive weight of the Lance of Pride.

Caelum’s golden eyes gleamed.

"So. You’re the one who carries Gluttony." He tilted his head, studying Adam with cold curiosity. "I expected someone... more imposing."

Adam’s lips curved into a thin, sharp smile.

"And I expected the first prince of Solaria to be less of a coward, hiding behind his soldiers and his contracts with slavers." He spun the daggers in his hands. "But here we are."

Caelum’s expression flickered. His grip tightened on the spear.

"You dare—"

"I dare a lot of things." Adam’s voice was calm, almost conversational. "Including killing you."

Caelum lunged.

The Lance of Pride swept toward Adam’s chest, its golden light blazing.

Adam’s daggers rose to meet it.

They struck at the same moment.

Adam’s daggers carved a silver arc toward Caelum’s throat. Caelum’s spear swept in from the side, golden light blazing, forcing Adam to twist mid-lunge. The blade of the lance passed close enough to ruffle his hair, and Adam felt the weight of its presence—the arrogance imbued in every inch of the legendary weapon.

’My regeneration is slowly recovering,’ Adam thought, his internal voice sharp and focused. ’My left hand... it’s starting to come back.’

A flicker of gold caught his eye.

The prince’s foot, already in motion, aiming for Adam’s head.

Adam’s instincts screamed. He threw himself sideways—too late. The kick caught him on the temple, sending him tumbling across the rain-slicked stone. He rolled, came up in a crouch, spat blood onto the ground.

Caelum lowered his foot, his golden eyes gleaming.

"Heh." The prince’s lips curled into a condescending smile. "This will be entertaining."

Adam straightened, wiping blood from his mouth. The wound on his temple was already closing, but the ache remained.

"So arrogant," Adam muttered. "Even though I’m not at full strength."

Caelum’s smile widened. "That’s part of the strategy." He raised his spear, golden light blazing along its length. "Wear down the enemy. Exploit their weaknesses. Let them exhaust themselves trying to keep up."

He lunged.

The lance swept in a dazzling arc, forcing Adam back. Each strike was faster than the last, the golden light trailing afterimages that made it impossible to track. Adam dodged, weaved, his daggers deflecting what he couldn’t avoid.

But Caelum pressed closer.

"Stop dodging like a coward!" The prince’s voice rang out, sharp with contempt. "Face me properly!"

Adam’s lips curved into a thin, cold smile.

He didn’t face Caelum.

Instead, he spun toward the soldiers who had been watching from the edge of the street, their weapons ready, their eyes fixed on the duel.

His hand shot out, grabbing a startled soldier by the collar and yanking him forward. Before the man could react, Adam’s fangs sank into his throat.

[Crimson Siphon]

Dark energy pulsed through Adam’s fangs, sinking into the soldier’s flesh. The man convulsed, his mouth opening in a silent scream. His skin paled, his flesh withered, his eyes once bright with fear—dimmed, then went dark.

[Crimson Siphon: Life force absorbed. HP restored. Stamina restored.]

Adam dropped the husk. It crumbled to the stone, dry as parchment, hollow as a discarded shell. Blood still dripped from his fangs.

Caelum’s eyes narrowed. His voice was cold, incredulous.

"What are you doing?"

Adam didn’t answer. He was already moving, weaving through the ranks of soldiers, his jaws finding throats, his fangs draining life.

Another soldier fell. Then another. Then another.

’Still not enough,’ Adam thought, his internal voice sharp. ’I need more.’

Caelum’s composure cracked. His golden eyes swept the chaos, watching his men crumble to dust beneath the monster’s fangs.

’What is he doing?’ The thought surfaced unbidden, sharp with dawning horror. ’Is he... is he trying to recover?’

His voice rose, sharp and commanding.

"All of you! Fall back! Don’t let that monster bite you!"

But it was too late.

Adam straightened, dropping the last withered soldier. His left hand, which had been a stump of half-formed flesh, was whole again. The fingers flexed, strong and steady. The scales along his forearm gleamed in the fading light.

He examined his hand, turning it over, watching the light catch the edges of his claws. His tongue darted out, licking the last traces of blood from his lips.

"Good as new," he murmured.

Caelum stared.

His golden eyes tracked the movement of those newly formed fingers, the way the scales rippled across the pale skin, the absolute confidence in Adam’s stance.

’Impossible...’ The thought was ice in his veins. ’He regenerated his entire hand in minutes... how...?’

His grip tightened on the Lance of Pride. The golden light along its edge pulsed, responding to his agitation.

Adam’s crimson eyes met his.

"Now," Adam said, his voice calm, almost pleasant. "Let’s try that again."