Date: February 12, 542 since the Fall of Zanra the Dishonored.
The Central Nexus shuddered with each collision, turning into an arena where bone and steel were tested to their breaking point. Kaedan, now encased in the silver monolith of his completed Armor, became the center of the Order's defense, but this role came at the cost of inhuman effort. Despite the Pillar rank, each of Mirza's blows felt to the youth like the fall of a multi-ton press.
Mirza lunged into the attack, his massive cleaver, wreathed in a crimson haze, describing a wide arc. Kaedan managed to cross his vambraces, presenting the densest part of his silver protection to the strike. A clang rang out, and visible waves of pressure radiated through the hall. Kaedan was thrown back five meters, his greaves carving furrows in the obsidian floor, and his helmet echoed with a resonance that nearly knocked the youth unconscious.
A deep dent appeared on the silvery surface of his breastplate. Kaedan coughed, tasting metal in his mouth — his internal organs couldn't withstand the inertia that even his new Spirit couldn't fully dampen.
"Your silver stone is beautiful, boy!" Mirza boomed, already preparing his next lunge. "But a Harbinger cannot be stopped by just a pretty crust!"
Iskon, whose eyes now glowed with the amber fire of the Temple, tried to distract the Orc. His sword extended, aiming for the giant's unprotected knee, but Mirza simply swatted it away with his free hand as if it were a bothersome fly. At that same moment, Grak Axe delivered a chopping strike from above, forcing the Orc to shift his attention. The axe blade and cleaver met with such a crash that the knights on the periphery fell to their knees.
The battle continued at a furious pace. Kaedan took the brunt of the attacks time and again, allowing Iskon and Grak to maneuver. But his condition rapidly worsened. After another collision, the silver plate on his left shoulder cracked and crumbled away. Regeneration, though stronger now, couldn't keep up with mending the tears in his muscles and cracks in his bones. The youth stood on pure stubbornness alone; his Armor under the Crystal's light no longer looked like a triumphant monolith, but like the battered shield of an old warrior.
Mirza, too, began to slow. His ritual scars pulsed unevenly, and his breathing became hoarse and wheezing. The triple pressure — Grak's Harbinger experience, Iskon's unpredictability, and Kaedan's stone-like tenacity — was draining the Orc dry. He saw that Kaedan was barely standing, but each time the Orc raised his cleaver for a final blow, this "silver boy" was once again in the way.
"Enough..." Mirza stepped back a few paces, lowering his cleaver. His Vessel was exhausted, and in his eyes, instead of rage, grim respect had settled.
Kaedan swayed, his helmet dissolving with a soft rustle, revealing a pale face slick with sweat and blood. He leaned on Iskon's surviving arm, gasping for air. His breastplate and greaves still gleamed with silver, but they were covered in a network of cracks, testament to the price he had paid for this parity.
Grak Axe froze beside him, his axe still glowing with white light, but the commander's hand was noticeably shaking.
"We could continue until we turn this hall into a common grave," Mirza growled, wiping blood from his chin. "But I have seen enough. You are not the pups I met in the corridor. You possess not only steel but also the right to this land."
The Orc swept his gaze over the Central Nexus. The Crystal's light, after the flash triggered by Arannis, began to slowly fade, the Temple sinking into sleep. The presence of enemies beyond the doors of the Central Axis — the Dynasty and Alvost — made all participants in the battle understand: the real war was still ahead, and squandering lives here in a pointless stalemate would be the height of folly.
Kaedan looked at Mirza through the haze of exhaustion. He understood: they had not defeated the Harbinger. They had only proven to him that the cost of their destruction would be too high, even for him. And in this world, where strength was the only law, such a draw was worth more than any random victory.