Percival and Zeraled walked toward each other.
Thirty feet became twenty. Twenty became ten. Ten became five. Their eyes never left each other one pair bleeding, dying, seeing everything; one pair wild, mad, burning with the need for speed.
Then they ran.
Not toward each other in a straight line that would be too simple. Zeraled exploded forward, his form blurring, his path shifting, his presence becoming everywhere and nowhere at once.
Percival matched him.
"BRING IT ON, ZERALED! "
His voice tore across the battlefield, raw and fierce.
Zeraled closed the distance in a heartbeat. His hands came forward both of them, straight, fingers pressed together like blades. He moved them back and forth in a blur, creating a wall of strikes.
Stab. Stab. Stab. Stab. Stab.
Percival's head moved left, right, up, down dodging each one by fractions of inches. His bleeding eyes tracked every motion, every angle, every intent.
And he counted.
One. A stab to the left eye dodged.
Two. A stab to the right temple dodged.
Three. A stab to the throat dodged.
Four. To the heart dodged.
Five. To the kidney dodged.
Six. To the liver dodged.
Seven. To the spine dodged.
Eight. To the base of the skull dodged.
Nine. To the
Percival moved.
One of his twin blades flew from his hand not thrown at Zeraled, but in front of him. His fist punched the blade's hilt, driving it forward like a projectile.
Zeraled twisted, avoiding it.
Percival bent.
Low. Lower. His body folded, one leg extending, the other coiling. And then
DROP KICK!
His foot crashed into Zeraled's chest.
The impact should have sent him flying. Should have broken ribs. Should have ended things.
But Zeraled was faster than impact.
He recovered mid-flight his body twisting, his feet finding ground, his balance returning almost before he'd left it. He smiled through his ruined jaw, through the blood, through the pain.
Then Percival's fist found his gut.
WHAM!
Zeraled doubled over, air exploding from his lungs. Before he could straighten, Percival's other hand grabbed sand from the ground and slammed it into Zeraled's remaining eye.
Grit. Dirt. Blindness.
Zeraled staggered back, clawing at his face.
Percival didn't press the advantage. He watched. His eyes those bleeding, dying, incredible eyes tracked every twitch of Zeraled's muscles. Every micro-movement of his legs. Every shift of his arms.
A barrage of attacks, Percival calculated. He's going to go faster. Launch attacks from all fronts simultaneously.
He saw the tension in Zeraled's neck.
His major target is my throat.
Percival smiled.
Yeah. I'm sure of it.
He gripped the two parts of his spear tighter one in each hand, blades gleaming. He took a step forward, as if to attack.
But he didn't.
He was waiting.
Zeraled blinked the sand from his eye just enough to see. Just enough to understand. He saw Percival's stance. Saw the readiness. Saw the trap.
And he smiled.
"You're dragging me into an attack," he rasped through his broken jaw. "Aren't you?"
Percival said nothing. Just smiled back.
Zeraled laughed a wet, broken, beautiful sound.
Then he moved.
Not straight. Not predictable. He ran in circles around Percival, faster and faster, his form becoming a blur, then a ring, then a wall of motion. He was everywhere at once north, south, east, west his speed creating the illusion of multiplicity.
Then he attacked.
CRACK!
The first strike hit Percival's ribs. One of them punched through his lung he felt it puncture, felt the breath leave him, felt the warm flood of internal bleeding.
CRACK!
The second strike hit his sternum. Bone splintered. His chest caved slightly.
CRACK!
The third struck his chest directly over his heart. His vision swam.
CRACK!
The fourth struck his kidney. Pain like fire exploded through his lower back.
CRACK!
The fifth struck his liver. His body convulsed.
CRACK!
The sixth struck his spine. His legs nearly gave out.
To any normal eyes even to Percival's enhanced vision it appeared as if Zeraled was attacking from everywhere at once. As if a dozen copies of him existed simultaneously, each landing blows that should have been fatal.
But Percival endured.
He ground his teeth. He pushed past the pain. He focused.
Push it further beyond.
His eyes contracted.
More. Harder. Deeper.
The muscles around them clenched with impossible force. Veins appeared on his sclera thin, red, bursting. Blood poured from his eyes in torrents, streaming down his cheeks like crimson tears.
Further beyond!
His vision changed.
Everything slowed.
Not gradually instantly. The world became thick, viscous, molasses. Zeraled's blur resolved into a single figure still moving impossibly fast, but visible. Trackable.
Now I can see everything.
He raised his hand.
One finger extended. The middle one. He folded the others, leaving it alone a single point aimed at empty air.
But it wasn't empty.
He had calculated. In the split-second before Zeraled's next attack, he had traced the trajectory, predicted the angle, known where his opponent would be.
His finger inserted itself into the air.
And into Zeraled's left eye.
SHLIK!
The sound was wet. Final. Perfect.
Zeraled screamed.
His eye his remaining eye was gone. Percival's finger had pierced it completely, destroying the orb, ending any hope of sight.
But Percival wasn't finished.
His other hand swung the spear blade cutting across Zeraled's abdomen. Deep. Wider. Final. A gash that spilled intestines, that ended fights, that should have killed any normal man.
Zeraled flew backward, carried by the force of the blow. He tumbled across the ground, fetching up against a rock several yards away.
He lay there, bleeding from a dozen wounds, his missing ear, his ruined eye, his split abdomen. Blood pooled beneath him, spreading across the sand like dark water.
He laughed.
"How nice," he rasped, his voice barely a whisper. "We continue to adapt to each other's attacks."
Percival stood across from him, breathing hard, his eyes still bleeding, his body broken in ways that would kill a lesser man.
"Let's finish this," Percival said quietly. "With the next few moves. Shall we?"
Zeraled pushed himself up.
His body screamed in protest. His wounds howled. The blood loss was catastrophic he could feel his strength draining with every heartbeat. He looked at his abdomen, at the gash that showed his insides, and knew.
I can't sustain my speed anymore. Not at full power. Not with this much blood loss.
He looked at Percival at the knight who had taken everything he had and still stood.
And he felt something strange.
Cold on his back. A shiver down his spine. A tightness in his chest.
What's this?
He laughed a soft, wondering sound.
Is this... fear?
"Hahaha. Hahahaha. HAHAHAHAHA!"
The laugh built, growing louder, more manic, more beautiful. It echoed across the battlefield, drawing eyes from distant fights.
"I am the fastest!" Zeraled shouted, his voice cracking with joy. "And here HERE I shall prove it!"
He straightened. His ruined body tensed.
"I am a star!" His remaining eye burned with light. "It is time for my prime!"
He planted his feet. Took a deep breath. Coiled every muscle, every fiber, every cell of his being.
Across from him, Percival closed his eyes.
Just for a second.
If my calculations are correct, he thought, his next move is his last.
He opened his eyes.
And it's not one I can react to. Not one I can dodge. Not one I can defend against.
He looked at Zeraled at the man who had pushed him further than anyone ever had.
I would have died. Against anyone else, I would have died. But against him
Zeraled moved.
But not toward Percival.
He blurred faster than he had ever moved, faster than any human had ever moved, faster than physics should allow. His form became a streak of light, a shooting star, a miracle.
He shot past Percival.
Past the battlefield.
Past the rocks.
Past the desert.
Past everything.
He kept going. Faster. Further. Beyond.
And then
His body disintegrated.
The speed was too much. The human frame even his, even his could not contain it. Flesh tore apart. Bones shattered. Blood evaporated.
He became a trail of light, a dying star, a memory.
And then he was gone.
Percival fell to his knees.
The sound of his body hitting the ground was soft, almost gentle. His hands released the spear parts. They clattered beside him, useless now.
He relaxed his eyes.
The muscles that had been clenched so tight, pushed so far, destroyed themselves finally, mercifully, released. The pain that flooded him was indescribable. He gasped, choked, screamed silently into the void.
And then
Darkness.
Not the darkness of night. Not the darkness of shadow. The darkness of nothing.
He couldn't see.
"Huuh?" His voice was small. Confused. Scared.
He blinked. Blinked again. Rubbed his eyes with blood-covered hands.
Nothing.
"I've..." His breath caught. "I've gone blind."
He looked forward or tried to. Tried to see the battlefield, the bodies, the victory he had just achieved.
Nothing. Just black.
I need to relax my eyes, he thought desperately. As fast as possible. Maybe maybe if I rest them, maybe if I
But even as he thought it, he knew.
Some damage couldn't be undone.
He knelt there, in the blood-soaked sand, surrounded by the bodies of his enemies, and wept. Not from the pain though that was agony. Not from the loss though that was real.
He wept because he had won.
And winning had cost him everything.
Above him, Darlington watched in silence.
He had seen the entire battle every move, every counter, every sacrifice. He had witnessed Zeraled's final, glorious disintegration. He had watched Percival fall to his knees and lose the very thing that made him who he was.
And for once, he had nothing to say.
No analysis. No plan. No manipulation.
Just silence.
Behind Percival, the black orb pulsed once, twice, three times. Something was happening inside it. Something was changing.
But that was a story for another time.
For now, there was only a blind knight, kneeling in the sand, and the invisible god who watched him.