Chapter 793 – The battle of two fierce Kings

Chapter 793: Chapter 793 – The battle of two fierce Kings

Battal lunged at Voren the instant the referee’s voice rang out, and Voren met him head-on, their bodies colliding with the force of two mountains crashing together as the long-awaited battle between the two kings finally began.

Their fists struck with brutal strength, their speed nearly identical, and neither man showed any intention of giving the other an inch of ground.

Battal dodged Voren’s punches with remarkable precision, twisting away from one blow before launching another of his own, while Voren matched every movement with equal skill, his eyes fixed on his opponent as they engaged in a deadly dance of strength, experience, and unrelenting fury.

They fought like professional assassins who had spent their entire lives studying the art of killing, each anticipating the other’s next move, countering every attack, and matching the other’s speed with frightening accuracy.

Every punch carried enough force to injure an ordinary man beyond recovery, yet neither king appeared willing to acknowledge the pain as they continued exchanging blows, their determination to emerge victorious far greater than their desire to protect their battered bodies.

The members of the Lycan army watched in disbelief, unable to comprehend what they were witnessing because, throughout their centuries of existence, few beings outside their kind had ever managed to match their physical abilities.

Their extensive training, generations of combat experience, had always given them an overwhelming advantage over ordinary werewolves, even without using the dark magic flowing through their veins making it almost unthinkable that one of their greatest kings could be challenged so fiercely by someone they considered inferior.

By this point, they had expected Voren to fall, his body finally giving in to the punishment Battal had been inflicting on him, but the werewolf king remained on his feet despite the blood covering his skin and the ragged breaths escaping his lungs.

His chest rose and fell with increasing difficulty, his muscles trembled beneath the strain, and fresh bruises marked his face, yet the fire burning in his eyes remained as fierce as ever, refusing to surrender even when his body was screaming for relief.

An hour passed, and the battle showed no sign of reaching a conclusion as both kings began displaying the effects of their prolonged fight.

Their movements had grown slower, their punches had lost some of their initial force, and their breathing had become increasingly labored, but neither man was prepared to admit defeat, especially with thousands of eyes watching them from the surrounding clearing.

Battal managed to land a powerful blow against Voren, only for Voren to return the favor with a punch that sent his head snapping sideways. Battal retaliated with a kick aimed at Voren’s jaw, and Voren answered with another kick of his own, their bodies absorbing the punishment as the sound of their impacts echoed through the clearing.

The two men continued trading blows until Voren finally targeted Battal’s knee, striking it hard enough to disrupt his balance before seizing the opportunity to bring him crashing to the ground.

Dry leaves crunched beneath their bodies as Voren pinned the Lycan king down and delivered several punches to his face, but Battal refused to remain beneath him for long, using his superior leverage to overpower Voren and reverse their positions before unleashing a relentless series of punches that rained down on the werewolf king like hail.

Neither man’s wolf was permitted to heal their injuries during the battle, which meant every blow carried consequences they would ordinarily have recovered from within moments.

Their bodies had to endure the full force of the damage, and the pain that followed each impact spread through their muscles and bones, becoming an exhausting reminder that neither of them could rely on their supernatural healing abilities to carry them through the fight.

However, everything changed when Battal noticed Corvine’s sword lying close to Voren.

His gaze settled on the weapon, and without wasting another moment, he stretched out his hand toward it, desperation creeping into his expression as his fingers struggled to reach the hilt.

Until then, Voren had not considered using the sword because they had agreed to fight as men, relying on their physical strength rather than weapons, but the moment Battal reached for it, Voren recognized an opportunity he could not afford to waste.

He allowed Battal to get hold of the sword, then used the movement to turn him over and regain control of their struggle, his body responding through instinct while his mind calculated every possible advantage.

Battal immediately attempted to drive the blade into Voren, determined to use the weapon to end the battle, but Voren trapped Battal’s midsection between his thighs and forced one of his hands away from a favorable position before reaching for the wrist holding the sword.

The tension in the clearing became almost unbearable as the two kings struggled for control of the weapon, their muscles straining and their faces contorting with effort until the blade suddenly pierced Voren’s chest.

Seraphine’s breath caught in her throat as blood spilled from the wound, running down Voren’s chest and dripping onto Battal’s skin, warm and wet against the battered bodies locked together on the ground.

She pressed a trembling hand against her own chest, the pain striking her so intensely that she almost forgot where she was standing. Through the mate bond, she felt the agony as though the sword had pierced her own flesh, and the sight of Voren bleeding made her heart twist with a fear she could barely contain.

Yet Voren refused to surrender control of the fight, and even with the sword embedded in his chest, he twisted Battal’s arm with calculated precision until the weapon’s point turned toward the Lycan king’s shoulder.

The movement was so sudden that Battal barely had time to react before the strain on his wrist became unbearable, the sound of breaking bones cutting through the commotion as Voren fractured his wrist and drove the blade deep into his shoulder.

Pain flashed across Battal’s face, but he clenched his teeth and refused to release a groan, unwilling to give Voren the satisfaction of witnessing his suffering.

During his younger years, Battal’s training had exposed him to every form of physical punishment imaginable, forcing him to endure pain until he had learned to suppress his reactions and hide his weaknesses.

After graduating from the academy with exceptional results, however, his position had changed, and for more than thirty years, he had been the one inflicting suffering on others, watching his victims struggle while remaining untouched by the kind of agony he was now experiencing.

What made the humiliation even worse was the identity of the man inflicting that pain on him.