Eiden's eyes snapped open, his pupils tightening as they locked onto the sky above him. The heavens were a dull, lifeless grey—not stormy, not bright, simply empty, as if the sky itself had chosen to set the mood for what was about to unfold. He inhaled once, a slow, steady rattle in his chest, and lowered his head.
Uzak'me stood only a few paces away. His silver blade hung at his side, but the tension in his stance made it clear: he was moments from charging.
"You've betrayed us," Uzak'me said, his voice trembling with a fury that sounded almost like heartbreak. "You stayed with us for years… only to turn your back. You live a happy life while we carried the scars you left behind." His grip tightened on the hilt, knuckles white. "Well… that won't happen any longer."
Eiden rose slowly, his muscular frame protesting. His black cloak fluttered behind him, torn and caked in the dust of previous battles. His white hair drifted across his face, stark against his deep brown skin. His grey eyes remained steady, unflinching.
Uzak'me looked deceptively mortal—young, barely twenty, with a face far too youthful for a being who had watched stars die. His pale skin was drained of all warmth, and his long black hair spilled down his back in tangled, inky waves. His perfect features were smeared with streaks of drying blood, and his deep gold eyes flickered weakly, dimming with each shallow breath. His white and gold cloak was a ruin of burned silk, crumbling at the edges like old parchment.
Uzak'me lifted a hand, summoning a long silver spear that hummed with a violent, divine aura.
Past him, Eiden saw the silent audience. Three cloaked figures stood in the periphery. One massive, broad as an ogre; one thin and skeletal; and to the right, leaning against a tree with arms crossed, was Yajin. Reia, Civilar, and Yajin—all watching, waiting for Eiden's blood to water the dead grass.
Eiden unsheathed his katana, the steel singing a low, mournful note.
"Hmph. I think that… if you had the rest of your blades, you'd be stronger. Yes?" Uzak'me mocked.
"My blades don't define how well I fight," Eiden replied, his voice like grinding stones. "Regardless… I'll still kill you."
The air didn't just crack; it shattered.
They vanished into twin streaks of blinding white light. When they collided, the shockwave was a physical weight that flattened the earth for fifty yards. Eiden's katana met the silver spear with a sound like a mountain splitting. White mana splashed between them, searing the air.
Uzak'me was a whirlwind of precision. He thrust the spear, the tip whistling as it tore through the shoulder of Eiden's cloak, grazing skin and drawing a spray of crimson. Eiden didn't flinch. He stepped into the guard, swinging his blade in a brutal upward arc. The katana caught Uzak'me's ribs, slicing through the white-and-gold silk and carving a shallow, jagged red line across his pale chest.
Uzak'me gasped, blood spraying from the wound to coat the dead grass. Enraged, he channeled his aura into the spear. The weapon pulsed, and he drove the butt of it into Eiden's stomach. The force was enough to liquefy rock; Eiden was launched backward, his boots carving deep trenches into the soil. He coughed, a glob of dark blood hitting the ground, but he didn't stop.
He charged back, his white aura erupting into a jagged, serrated halo.
They met again in a flurry of gore and steel. Eiden's katana became a blur, each strike heavy with the intent to butcher. He caught Uzak'me's forearm, the steel biting deep into the bone. A fountain of gold-flecked blood erupted, staining Eiden's brown skin and white hair. Uzak'me screamed, a sound of pure, ancient agony, and countered by slamming a palm of white energy into Eiden's chest.
The explosion tore a crater thirty feet deep into the earth. Eiden's black robe was shredded, revealing his muscular, battle-scarred torso. A massive burn mark sizzled over his heart, the skin blackened and weeping.
"Is that all?" Eiden spat, tasting iron.
He lunged through the smoke. Uzak'me tried to raise his spear, but his arm was sluggish from the deep gash. Eiden's katana drove through Uzak'me's thigh, the blade emerging from the other side in a spray of viscera. Uzak'me buckled, his knee hitting the dirt, but he used his momentum to drive the silver spearhead through Eiden's side.
The silver tip protruded from Eiden's back, slick with dark blood. For a moment, they were locked together—impaled and impaling. They stared into each other's eyes, breath hot and smelling of copper.
"I told you," Uzak'me hissed, blood bubbling at the corner of his mouth. "You… die… today."
Eiden gripped the shaft of the spear stuck in his own gut and pushed himself forward, sliding further onto the weapon to get closer. He grabbed Uzak'me's throat with a blood-slicked hand and slammed his forehead into the other's face. The sound of Uzak'me's nose shattering was sickeningly clear.
Eiden ripped his katana free from Uzak'me's leg and swung a final, desperate blow. The blade caught Uzak'me's shoulder, shearing through muscle and collarbone, nearly taking the arm.
The resulting explosion of their combined auras sent them spiraling apart.
They hit the earth with the sound of falling boulders.
Eiden lay in a heap, his side a mangled mess of torn flesh and shattered ribs. His katana lay inches from his fingers, the steel dulled by a thick coating of blood. He tried to breathe, but each inhale felt like swallowing broken glass. His grey eyes were hazy, watching the grey sky begin to darken.
Across the ruined, cratered field, Uzak'me was a broken doll. His pale skin was almost translucent now, covered in deep, weeping gashes and burns. One arm hung at a grotesque angle, and his golden eyes were wide, staring at nothing.
Eiden forced his head to turn.
In the distance, the three figures were moving. Yajin stood straight, his arms finally uncrossing. He didn't move to help. He didn't move to finish the job. He simply turned his back. Reia and Civilar followed suit, their cloaks fluttering like the wings of carrion birds as they walked into the shadows of the woods.
They were leaving them both to rot in the dirt.
The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the wet, rhythmic sound of blood dripping onto the scorched earth.
Minutes stretched into an eternity. The white aura had faded, leaving only two dying men in a graveyard of their own making.
"You…" Uzak'me's voice was a ghost, a rattling tremor in the cold air. Eiden shifted his gaze. Uzak'me was looking at him, his face a mask of red and white.
"…are a traitor, Eiden."