Canna stepped out of the clan base, his eyes scanning the impressive structure before him. The barrier, designed and implented by the researchers, shimred faintly in the light, giving the entire base an ethereal glow. The buildings, crafted by the dwarves, stood tall and proud, each one serving a specific purpose vital to the success of the clan. The craftsmanship was impeccable—solid stonework reinforced with enchanted tals, all of it sourced from the sanctuary's vast resources. The clan base looked more like a fortress, a testant to the combined efforts of his people.
As Canna floated above the clan base, taking it all in, he noticed Abaddon standing at the edge, gazing out at the horizon. The archdemon's imnse form was both intimidating and regal, his very presence exuding strength. When Canna approached, Abaddon turned and bowed deeply in respect.
"Master," Abaddon's voice rumbled, low but clear, "Aena has inford of your goals. I wish to be your sword and see them fulfilled by your side. However, before we begin, there are two matters on which I would like to offer my opinion."
Canna raised an eyebrow, curious. "Go ahead."
Abaddon continued, his tone serious. "First, master, you have recently undergone a significant change in your race. I believe it would be wise to test your new body's capabilities—to understand its limits and strengths. This is crucial, especially before we embark on our next mission."
Canna nodded thoughtfully. "That's a good suggestion. Can I use any weapon?"
"You may use whatever you see fit, Master," Abaddon replied. "Do not hold back."
Summoning his Bloodfang Scythe, Canna assud a ready stance. Above him, Milo flitted about, excited to witness the sparring match but choosing to stay out of the fray. Abaddon, still standing motionless, regarded Canna with an unreadable expression.
"Master," Abaddon asked, his voice taking on a contemplative tone, "before we begin, I'd like to ask you sothing. On a battlefield, what do you believe is the most important thing?"
Canna paused, relaxing his stance as he thought about it. "Knowing your full capabilities, timing, and execution," he answered after a mont.
Abaddon nodded, though his expression shifted slightly. "Those are important, yes. But in Hell, none of that matters as much as this—how to kill your opponent."
Canna furrowed his brow slightly as Abaddon's tone darkened.
"You see, I am not a warrior," Abaddon continued. "Warriors fight for glory, for honor. They have this absurd notion of a fair fight, or dying with dignity." He began pacing slowly, his movents deliberate, almost predatory. "I don't fight. I kill. I don't care about honor, glory, or even a satisfying death. My only goal is to eliminate my opponent—quickly, efficiently, and without rcy."
Abaddon's words carried a heavy weight, the gravity of his experience clear. "In Hell, there's no room for the luxury of fighting with rules or ideals. We kill to survive, and if you don't, you die. The rules of battle are different there. I've learned that in order to live another day, you have to abandon everything you think you know about fighting and learn the art of killing."
He took a few more steps toward Canna, his massive form almost too silent for sothing of his size. "Master," Abaddon said, his voice steady and cold, "I am not here to teach you how to fight. I'm here to impart the lesson of killing. I'll spar with you, but I will limit myself to your rank. Consider this a lesson in survival."
Without warning, Abaddon vanished. In the blink of an eye, he reappeared directly in front of Canna, his speed unnerving. Canna barely had ti to react before four shadowy forms of Abaddon materialized around him, each moving with deadly precision. Instinctively, Canna swung his scythe in a wide arc, slicing through the shadows with ease, but sothing was wrong. Just as the shadow figures dissipated, Canna felt a cold, sharp blade press lightly against his throat.
"You panicked," Abaddon's voice whispered from behind him. "Just because I didn't show you my killing intent doesn't an I won't kill you. Be alert, Master. Always."
Canna gritted his teeth, shaking off the surprise. Abaddon's approach was brutal and direct, unlike anything Canna had faced before. This was more than a fight; this was survival. The demon's thods were relentless, designed to break his enemy down with no room for hesitation or rcy.
The battle resud, with Abaddon coming at Canna in the dirtiest, most unpredictable ways possible. He used feints, distractions, and the environnt to his advantage, appearing and disappearing with unnerving speed. Canna soon realized that Abaddon fought with one goal—to kill. There were no flourishes, no room for mistakes. Every strike was ant to end a life.
Realizing that his normal approach wouldn't work, Canna made a split-second decision and transford into his demon dragonkin form. Imdiately, he noticed the changes. His scales, once red, had now turned a deep, obsidian black. Horns had grown from his head, sharp and gleaming, while his wings had expanded—no longer just dragon wings but a mix of dragon and bat wings, larger and more powerful. His dragon tail was gone, replaced by a more humanoid structure, but the scales still covered half of his body.
He felt the surge of new power coursing through him, and with it, a darker edge. His demon transformation wasn't just physical—it was a lding of his draconic nature with sothing much more ruthless, sothing far more dangerous.
Abaddon watched with a slight grin. "Ah, now that's more like it, Master. Let's see what your new body can do."
Canna moved with newfound speed, his obsidian scales shimring as he launched himself at Abaddon. The demon t his charge head-on, and for the first ti in the fight, Canna felt like he was starting to gain the upper hand. His scythe swung with terrifying force, each strike carrying both the power of his dragon and his demon forms.
But Abaddon was still a master of death. He countered every move with ruthless efficiency, turning Canna's newfound strength against him, exploiting even the smallest misstep. Canna was forced to push his new form to its limits, adapting to the demon's brutal tactics. The clash of scythe and sword echoed across the battlefield as they fought, each testing the limits of the other.
The battle raged on, neither giving an inch, but Canna began to realize sothing. This wasn't just a test of power; it was a test of control. Abaddon wasn't just teaching him to fight—he was teaching him to kill without hesitation, to adapt to any situation, no matter how dire.
As the fight dragged on, Canna's obsidian scales began to crackle with dark energy, the fusion of his demon and dragon forms growing stronger. He could feel the raw power coursing through him, and with it, a new sense of purpose.
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