Elessar Lore
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45 — The Sword
🕑 Added 2025-07-14 04:28:06 +0000 UTCNychta felt fire. The flames that made a pyre of the mountain around them; the boil that rose in Alex’s veins. Most of all, she felt the fire slumbering dormant in his soul. Each time he swung her, each time she clashed with opposing steel, a flicker of that fire coursed through her. It reminded her of her world; her people, and what she’d lost. Still, it was not hot enough. It was… wrong.
Why? She began to wonder. Why does one swing a sword—
Sparks flew as Alex ducked beneath the assassin’s sword. The world was burning like hell caught on fire. He could feel Nychta grasping for answers and the only he could give in this moment was: If I don’t, then I’ll be dead in a second flat!
No, not even a second. A mere breath after the yatagan scythed overhead, the assassin was already swinging it back down on him. He received the blow on Nychta’s backside. Mana coursed through his arm as her backward curve hooked the blade, forcibly pulling it sideward through its own momentum.
It was the custom skill he’d developed against Eliert. But the Umbral Court bastard had been a lesser opponent, and back then, Alex also had his left arm and a shield to punch down with. Here, he had neither—only his foot—which he raised to stomp down on the sword with, before quickly redirecting the movement into a kick.
The assassin proved not-so-willing as Eliert had been to let him decide the course of his attack, and since it was too late to reverse the blade’s momentum, he’d instead leaned into it. To the extent that—as Alex had been about to bring his foot down—Nychta was already drawn into the yatagan’s inflection-point and its concave tip poised to take a chunk from his forearm.
Hence, he’d kicked.
He disengaged Feather-foot at the last moment and his heel crashed like iron into the Assassin’s hand, breaking his sword control. Re-engaging Feather-foot a moment after, he spun the movement seamlessly into a crescent kick, guiding the assassin's blade down off Nychta’s curve as his center of gravity shifted backward.
Nychta has re-named a Custom Skill.
back edge hook control move (change to something snappier before combat)
Has been changed to:
Lion’s Snare
Alex wasted no attention on the notification. His life was balancing on a thinning wire as was. His Weapon Mastery was what allowed for these minute alterations to combat skills, and without the crispness their mana lent his movements he’d already be dead.
Fading into the mists, the assassin left only the barest moment for Alex to catch his breath—and even that just felt like a taunt. His throat burned, fighting to source oxygen from all the blood and smoke. The smoke stung his eyes. But before he could blink, the assassin’s sword was already arcing toward him.
He raised Nychta and more sparks flew.
Precariously, their melees had drawn him away from the ravine’s edge—and it was just as well under such low visibility—but now, he had nothing at his back. The blood shadows taunted him like nascent demons in the mists, and the fire flickered from all directions with shadows of their own. A world on fire was held at bay only by mists so viscous they condensed and dripped as droplets of blood off his skin. It really did feel like he was in hell.
With his sight shot Alex had to rely on his trait, but the assassin’s new way of projecting his killing intent confused it. The difference to his senses was so miniscule that he suspected the blood-shadows weren’t truly feints. Somehow, the assassin still held a card Alex didn’t know about, and that fact meant he had to painstakingly maneuver just to limit his angles of approach.
Every time their blades clashed he was forced to innovate, to summon up a new trick just to stave off death. And each, he staved it only narrowly. The assassin was done playing around.
Symbolized by the throwing knife embedded into Alex’s lower back.
“Arggh…!!”
He didn’t have time to yank it out. A blood-shadow appeared with even harsher intent from his rear. Of course, Alex hadn’t known it was a shadow until he’d already sliced off its arm and it collapsed in a puddle at the ground. Of the two threats, he’d simply started with the one an inch closer, and hindered by the pain, he barely met the real assassin’s blade in time.
His stomach sank further to find that the assassin was wielding it one-handed. In his other hand he’d summoned the knife and—
Smoke Screen
Alex forced so much mana through the skill that he positively erupted with smoke. As a result, the assassin took caution, retreating. The smoke even displaced the blood-mists in his vicinity for a time.
It would only be for a time.
Mana: 43%
Frankly, Smoke Screen was a last resort. The bloodmists served as echo-location for the assassin anyway; Alex was the only one made blind by this. It bought him time though, and he used it to yank the knife out of his back with a grunt. Thankfully, his gambeson had padded against the attack, but he wasn’t even sure removing it was the correct course of action.
It probably was. It would only wedge deeper otherwise, but now the wound provided more opening for the mists. Already, he could feel the boil seeping in as they returned. Alex braced himself.
And… continued bracing. He frowned. If the bloodmists were back, where was the assassin?
The question rang out with no answer. He grew more disconcerted for each second he wasn’t attacked. Smoke Screen shouldn’t have bought him this much time. Had he… the assassin wasn’t leaving, was he?
Sure, the assassin’s blood pool went even deeper than Alex thought. If he condensed it tightly enough maybe he’d still make it through the flames. But he had to know Alex wouldn’t have set fire to the forest if he didn’t also have an escape!
Did he still have an escape?
Panic gripped him. Nausea. Dizziness. How far was he from the ravine now? Ten meters? Ten meters sounded right. But what direction? Where was he?
He couldn’t tell. His head pulsed. His heart panged and beat faster the more the foul blood pumped to it. He retched. Was the fire even having an effect? If it was, the assassin showed no indication of it—and why isn’t the assassin attacking?!
Anxiety. Vertigo.
It was getting swelteringly hot. Harder to think. He willed himself to focus. The ravine—it was to his left, it had to be. If he doused himself in water, he could make it, but that would only be the start of his problems. He’d depleted his tricks; Gloomy was down for the count. He’d be a sitting duck down there!
It won’t come to that, he told himself.
The bloodmist assassin didn’t retreat. No one survived the bloodmists, if he ever retreated that wouldn’t be the case. That’s what Alex was banking on. If all this effort went to waste… if it was all a waste… then—
Why does one swing a sword?
The question rang out, and Alex only then realized he’d been scratching at his eye; hyperventilating. Nychta’s voice brought him to awareness. The bloodmists were seeping into his mind, coloring his thoughts. He couldn’t combat it completely, but he forced his breathing to calm.
When he did, it became suddenly obvious why the assassin wasn’t attacking. The answer was so simple it was almost laughable. He just hadn’t encountered Smoke Screen in this life. He was only being cautious…
Except, that wasn’t it either. Or at least, that wasn’t the whole story.
Because as soon as the thought entered his mind, the bloodmists pulsed. He felt something awry in the air and could do nothing but wait in horror as the assassin’s intent began to… change. It grew sharper, more threatening; just as indifferent as before, yet somehow more on-edge.
He heard glass shatter against ground and recalled the vial the Elder had given the assassin all those years ago. The assassin had been changed by drinking that vial. Eric had a harder time killing him after, but Alex hadn’t been of the heart to ask for details at the time.
Now, that fact would bite him.
So be it. Like Gloomy said, he couldn’t lose his will before even seeing what he faced.
He coughed, his lungs soot-coated and tangy. His eyes were completely useless now so he closed them and sharpened his senses, preparing himself for an even harder fight. In the suffocating dark, he waited. The forest snapped and crackled with fire. The assassin groaned, his voice breaking pitch in the lower octaves before falling eerily silent.
Then it began.
The assassin’s changes became dreadfully apparent once he attacked. From the outset the velocity of his intent chilled Alex to the bone. His sword swung from a higher angle now. The swing itself was broader, stronger.
Alex ducked behind a tree. A bare moment later, he was pelted by wooden shrapnel as the assassin barreled through its burnt husk. Shocked but not surprised, Alex was already moving in reaction. Amounting scratches across his face, he lunged forward. But not with Nychta. Instead, he lunged with Lionheart’s greatsword.
Pierce
It was not a one-handed sword, but right now it didn’t need to be. The mana coursing through his veins didn’t allow it to dip from weight. The sword’s superior range turned the assassin’s devastating speed against him. Alex felt surprise in his adversary’s intent—then ultimately, the impaling of flesh.
But once again, not enough of it. The assassin’s physique had changed. Alex sensed as much—two to three feet more in height based on the angle of his swing—but when his sword met the scrape of ribs where the assassin’s heart should’ve been, he learned his physique had not changed uniformly.
You have inflicted [Sepsis] on an enemy.
He cursed. Sepsis was not enough to hinder a creature with perfect blood-control. Danger screamed and he immediately vanished the greatsword back to his inventory, summoning—
His wrist bent.
He’d summoned Nychta and the instant she was in his hand, he faced a tidal-wave of force. His arm went tingly; his muscles burned not only from the mists. He grit his teeth, and through tremendous effort, did not buckle. Yet, even this fickle resistance was a strain on his body.
Surely, the assassin was using both hands. This much strength couldn’t possibly be half of what he could dish out, right?
Alex shouldn’t have hoped.
He sensed a new danger come to life—the knife as it jetted toward his gut.
Unfortunately it wasn’t just the assassin’s strength or physique that improved, even his reactions were sharper; such that when Alex vanished Nychta from reality, the assassin’s newfound strength only sent him off-balance for a second. The assassin stumbled past, his knife scraping Alex’s leathers. Alex scored a light draw-cut across his chain-mail protected chest before the yatagan’s pommel smashed into his left shoulder with a sickening crunch.
He cried out in pain, but the danger did not end there. He whirled into a guard and the danger just paused for a second, then split. Up until now, the assassin had to place his blood shadows where he couldn’t see them to trick his senses. Blinded, Alex couldn’t see shit though, and to his senses there were now two assassins, both rushing at him from point blank. He had no clue which was the real one.
It’s not true what they say: about life flashing before your eyes.
The only thing flashing was death, and there was no time to contemplate it. Plainly, this was a coin flip—he couldn’t defend against both assassins. He had to just choose and hope he chose the right one. But that’s not what his trait told him. His body had been mid-choosing when it told him there was no choice. And at some point throughout the fight, it had started telling him that the blood-shadows were equally as dangerous as the assassin—equal.
In a flash, Alex’s instincts took over. The coin was tossed; his choice was made.
Weapon already in motion, he swung toward the right-most assassin. He’d been here a million times and his trait always had a way of making pitch darkness somehow scarier. Worse almost than not knowing the dangers that lurked in the dark, was knowing the dangers and nothing else. The swords’ paths as they ended his life were viscerally clear, and he had to just ignore one of them as he faced the other—ignoring a chill like ice even while it sliced the neck of his astral body. It was the nature of a coin toss, to leave your fate in the hands of chance. His life could end by both swords; the only thing he could control was which face of the coin he called. And when he called it.
Yet, something about that didn’t satisfy him. So he waited until that coin was nearly touching the ground before he called what was really in his heart. Just before he reached the right-most assassin, he suddenly pivoted his defense toward the left-most assassin instead. The right-most with his blade positioned to pierce his astral heart—he let pierce. The sword swinging toward his neck was the one he swung at, and the barest moment before he did, he felt it.
Only then did Alex understand what instinct had driven him to this feint. He’d discovered the secret behind the bloodmist assassin’s shadows, and his body had known before his mind even had the chance to catch up. The chill of death receded and nothing sounded sweeter than the metallic clang that resounded where their blades met. No blade skewered his heart.
There was no time to revel in that—one nightmare was already enough to kill him. Alex had met the assassin’s blade at as nimble an angle as he could manage, and he was still overwhelmed.
The yatagan’s tip scratched his vambrace then cut shallowy into the fold of his only good arm. The path he followed went toe to toe with losing function in it completely. But it was the only path his sword showed him. He ducked beneath the slash, angling Nychta’s to guide it downward; all while she glided the length of the assassin’s blade.
Glancing Blow
It was hardly a blow, rather the only defensive maneuver he had to meet the knife in time. Alex deflected it a bare inch away from gutting him.
He could do nothing for the kick.
Crack!
Pain. A burst of pain flared where the assassin’s leg impacted him. Then he was sent hurtling up the mountain—up. Even more pain lanced throughout his body as he crashed through a burn-brittle tree. He tumbled side over side, skidding to a stop at the trunk of another. His head spun. The shadows of flame danced so close to him, laughing. They were separated by a thick wall of liquid blood, magically reinforced somehow. It was steaming and being pushed in-ward by the second. The fire was having an effect after all.
Alex rolled to his side. He must have been sent ten meters by that kick. Because he looked to his left and there it was—the ravine. Then he looked in the direction he’d been sent from, and shivered. Emerging from the smoke-screen he saw the bloodmist assassin: the abomination he’d turned himself into.
The assassin stalked toward him like a panther. His body was misshapen and bulged unevenly beneath his chain mails. His right arm was a half-foot higher than his left where his armor hadn’t ruptured to accommodate his growth. Alex almost chuckled, seeing that. Oh, how long he’d saved that surprise with Lionheart’s sword, just to be hindered by a malformed empowerment. Yet in spite of his deformity, despite that he’d grown monstrously muscled in every limb, the assassin carried himself just as deftly and casually as he did before. Moreso.
The vampire had become a true monster. Alex had taken the brunt of his kick with his left arm—the only expendable shield he had. Now it was a pulpy mess. The bones were crushed beneath his dented vambrace. The sling was damp and red. The bloodmists were entering through over a dozen different wounds, and beneath it all his ribs had still fractured from the impact.
HP: 63%
Warning: Your body is reaching dangerously high temperatures.
Alex coughed, staring down the ravine’s depths. He held in his fingers the artifact that saved his fall the first time he’d taken the plunge—a feather of the very same crow who’d probably orchestrated it. That had been his way out: he’d wait in the ravine for the fires to die after he killed the assassin.
After I kill the assassin…
He laughed, his mind crazed from the burn. A cool mind tames the fires of the heart, Lionheart had said that. He stopped laughing, and watched the assassin looming in the mists.
Escape aside, there was actually another reason Alex had lured their fight to this spot. Gloomy had said he was stupid for it. Said he had a death wish. Truth told, this might be the first time in a long while that he didn’t. His life was his own, and he wanted to live. For himself. Even if it was irrational, he didn’t believe this had to conflict with that. He’d died and his life hadn’t ended. It couldn’t possibly end with this, could it?
Who knew. But at this rate it would end with this vile creature standing over his cold corpse and that was one fate he couldn’t let come to pass. So he returned the feather to his inventory and stood shakily in face of the approaching assassin.
“You’d allow a man the courtesy of a few words before the end, right?”
The assassin tilted his head. His frankensteined face showed no indication whether that meant yes or no. It didn’t matter really, Alex had gotten him to pause and he only needed to buy a few seconds of his time as he focused inward on his skill.
He’d brought the fight here for a reason. The ravine ridgelined nearly the entire length of the mountain, but at the apex where they stood, it dead-ended. Since the ravine had only one point of entrance, that meant all the air to reach the depths below had nowhere to go but up. The updraft here was most intense. With the entire mountain ablaze, it became ground zero for his wildfire. It was the central source of oxygen, and fire congregates wherever it can find the oxygen it needs to burn.
Maybe if Alex were capable of buying more time, that would’ve been enough. He wasn’t. That being said, in his last life the assassin had only taken that vial when driven to death’s doors. That he had taken it now at least meant he was getting desper—
Oh, And here he comes.
The bloodmist assassin faded into the mists. Apparently that tilt of his head had meant no.
“Well, I’m already finished,” Alex muttered.
He grit his teeth. Maybe he’d planted this fail-safe because deep down, he’d known he needed it. The fire wasn’t hot enough, it wasn’t quick enough. He wasn’t strong enough. And for all that this updraft helped fan the flames, it was still cold air being blown up.
It had been, at least.
Enchant
Aside from the slight boom that echoed from the ravine’s depths, the only sign anything changed was how the updraft began to feel pleasantly warm after a second. He’d only activated one fire-enchantment this time. Down there was all his remaining Salamander Powder and enough scrap-wood to fill the foyer of Lionheart’s manor—but that was nothing in the scheme of things. The bloodmist assassin didn’t even notice he’d done anything. Yet, it was the perfect recipe for disaster.
With Thermostat Alex felt the temperature of the wildfire start to rise. Soon, the blood-mists would be no match for it. Soon, the fire’s spread would become unstoppable. Already, the ravine, his only place of refuge, was on fire. And as hot air rises, as cool air floods in to replace it, the ravine will become a chimney, and its convection currents—the beating heart of destruction. The wildfire will rally around it; it might even develop its own weather System. In extreme conditions, a wildfire could generate energy on par with a volcanic eruption. The winds, arid conditions, and natural geography here in Nightmare were extreme. With just one skill and a single rune, he may have just created a fire-storm.
And up until he’d done it, Alex thought he was prolonging his life. His mind had been on the oculus above the Lost Soul’s sanctum. Those tunnels were disconnected from the ravine. If he could just find it’s entrance above ground and—
No. One Truth told him with certainty: This was his end.
His mind went silent as it processed that.
With the shiver that passed through him he knew it was an unfalliable truth. Yet… it was hard to believe. He’d survived so many years. So many times and places, he’d lived when he should’ve died. Once, that had bothered him. He’d invited danger, flaunted risk, he’d dared fate to show him his end—and when it finally did, he’d defied it. He survived death!
All for it to end right here? In his own past… from a fire of his own creation.
Both he and the bloodmist assassin would end here. That’s what his trait told him. No matter what they did, or how they struggled, it was their fate. It wouldn’t change. He couldn’t defy it. But then… why?
As the assassin came to reap Alex’s life, a single question rang in his mind.
Why do I still swing my sword?
He swung.
[Weapon Mastery] with Nychta increased.
Progress to rank Adept: 99%
Progress to rank Adept: 99%
Progress to rank Adept: 99%
ERROR: [Weapon Mastery] is unable to proceed to rank Adept.
Alex cared little for the notifications—he already knew why it wasn’t working. All he cared for was the path that appeared in front of Nychta as his blade clashed with the assassin’s. The assassin's strength was overwhelming, but Alex forged this shamshir to deal with overwhelming strength. Not to be whelmed by his own disadvantages!
This time, he didn’t even try to contest it. He was much smaller than the assassin now and that difference in stature aided him in ducking beneath the straight-down chop. The assassin was using both hands so Alex's wrist bent even more this time. But so did his elbow and his shoulder as he contorted his entire arm like a spring to relieve the weight. He used the broad of his back to brace against the strike and angled Nychta to disallow the yatagan’s viperous head from biting into him. Mana flooded his veins as he reached for a combat skill and, astonishingly, Nychta’s hilt remained above his head for the entire motion. His wrist flicked a circle around his helm like a comet slingshotted by gravity. By the time it came back to its original position, he’d cleanly deflected the blade over his shoulder.
A Custom Combat Skill has been learned!
Lion’s Relent
Alex stepped into the assassin’s personal range with a shallow draw cut. He didn’t linger in the attack, he just let Nychta’s curve do the work for him, because if they were to start trading blows then the assassin with his vampiric regeneration would surely gain an edge.
Sure enough, the assassin didn’t even attempt to dodge. He invited a deeper strike. As Alex whirled out of the motion, the knife came again from his left—
His eyes widened. No, it was the yatagan in the assassin’s left hand now. He’d adopted Alex’s inventory-play and swapped the knife out for his blade mid-swing.
It scared him that the assassin was learning on the fly, but this… was a mistake. The assassin didn’t adjust correctly for the change in weight and it was the first time Alex could call anything about his swordplay clumsy.
Lion’s Relent
He used the skill again. Following such delicate paths with this boil in his veins made him feel like a pot about to blow its lid. He was deflecting from his offhand side this time. His sword hand wrapped his helm in the opposite direction; the angling was much more awkward. The assassin’s strength drove Nychta’s blunt-edge into his back. The tendons in his wrist burned, unable to disperse all the force.
But he’d dispersed enough that his path didn’t flicker out of existence. Regardless that the system hadn’t raised Weapon Mastery to Adept, he could feel his mastery with Nychta rising by the second. Finding skills that utilized her form was only half the puzzle. Her real potential showed when he saw how those pieces fit together.
Lion’s Relent… into Glancing Blow!
Nychta thrummed at the bind with mana. Rather than redirecting the yatagan’s momentum, she’d stolen it—reversed it. Lion’s Relent guided the assassin’s attack down the length of her curvature, but with Glancing Blow she was the one making sparks fly. Alex stepped in at a diagonal with circular footwork. The assassin’s right arm crossed his left to bury a knife in his neck, but before that happened Nychta whipped around his body at so tight an angle he’d have thought it impossible.
It wasn’t impossible. He’d just been tensing too much; he had to open his grip to accommodate his wrist’s movements. When he did, it practically snapped into position. Nychta flew up—severing the assassin’s thumb and dropping his knife to the ground.
Alex had wanted his hand. He’d settle for a thumb. A thumb meant the assassin was effectively as one-armed and crippled as he, until it grew back at least. He bit back his tremble and lunged into his next strike. He had to press the advantage before that happened.
So he pressed. And pressed. And pressed.
It hurt. Each movement made him feel like vomiting hot acid from his stomach. His heartbeat echoed with a pulse in his head while his body overclocked. Directions swirled. His vision hazied and he had to fight not to lose grip on reality. These were the same symptoms he’d suffered in that lair so long ago. When he’d been separated from his party, and had to fight so hard to make his way back to her.
There, the boil had been hellish, but here a new heat began to emerge. A burn that thrummed beneath his roiling blood; an echo of the storm that raged around them.
By now, even the assassin must have known he wasn’t leaving this place. Chaotic winds were sweeping embers every which way, and outside the bloodmists a whirl of fire pillared out of the ravine like an eldritch hand reaching for the sky.
Alex swung his sword. Why? he asked himself.
His insides were burning, this fire needed somewhere to go but that wasn’t the reason at all. “Better to burn bright and fast than to see your flame whither over time”—he’d believed that once, but that was bullshit! He’d wanted to live! He’d wanted to save his sister! To avenge Laura! But none of those things could happen anymore, so why did he still swing his sword?
Danger came at him and this time, he didn’t swing. He dodged to the side instead, barely getting to keep his head as a strike he hadn’t seen coming scraped his helm. The assassin had stolen his mid-swing summon trick and actually accounted for the weight this time. It spoke to an unfathomable familiarity with his blade that he could just adopt that without practice. His thumb had grown back too, and now he faded into the mists to relaunch his assault.
He had to know he would die, right?
Alex coughed blood and phlegm and spat, “Why do you swing your sword?”
He didn’t expect an answer from the soulless vampire, but the assassin stayed for a second. His eyes whirled in a craze before settling back on him.
“For… love…?” he rasped.
Alex scoffed. “As if a vampire could ever understand love.”
The assassin didn’t have anything to say to that. And if he cared that he was going to die here, he didn’t show it. A fight between two swordsmen was supposed to be a conversation, but Alex still felt like he was having a one-sided dialogue.
That said, he was finally beginning to see the depths of the assassin’s techniques. The bloodmist assassin was a master of his blade—and the existence of masters like him, who had decades or even centuries to hone their arts—were the reason Alex never tried. What level of skill could he, in only a small handful of years, attain that could ever compete? No, if he hadn’t the time or the experience, then the only thing he could exceed them in was the arsenal of his weapons. He’d studied diligently but never with just one blade or in one style. He’d long-since accepted that he would never become a master of the sword.
[Weapon Mastery] with Nychta increased.
Progress to rank Adept: 99%
Alex adjusted his stance, accepting now that he had little time left to make it happen.
The bloodmist assassin disappeared, but he saw shadows of him in the mists. The mists had narrowed to the size of a small arena. He could tell it had been taking a portion of the assassin’s concentration to fight the fires, but it seemed he’d resigned himself now to the fact that it was a losing battle. The bloodmists were being pushed in quicker as his shadow’s speeds began to pick up.
Then Alex noticed that there was something off about them. All but one of them held the physique of a normal-proportioned man. One shadow stood oddly-shapen and a few feet taller than his brethren. And if Alex hadn’t realized the trick behind the blood-shadows, he certainly would have assumed that was the assassin himself.
No, the real assassin would have rejoiced at that. This one too was just a shadow.
The shadow in fact. The one he could swap places with.
That was the secret behind the assassin’s abilities. At least, it would explain multiple things that were bothering Alex. With how fast the assassin maneuvered and repositioned in the mists, why hadn’t he shown that kind of impossible speed in combat? If the assassin could summon multiple shadows, why did he only project his killing intent onto one? And why had he waited until the middle of their battle to do it?
The simplest answer was that the assassin wasn’t projecting his intent at all. Alex’s trait didn’t lie, and he’d never encountered someone who could misdirect killing intent like that. The reason that blood-shadow had triggered such danger was simply because the assassin was capable of swapping with it. In that way, it effectively was equally as dangerous as the assassin.
If he had to hazard a guess, the assassin’s strategy probably adhered to a very strict set of rules:
1. Never swap within awareness of an enemy. He would only swap with his bloodshadow while obscured by the mists, and only when the secret behind his maneuverability could be safeguarded.
2. He would eventually break rule one, but only under even stricter conditions: He’d wait until his target dismissed the blood-shadows as illusory. He’d wait until they’d been weakened by the bloodmists. And even then, he’d only do so once they provided an opening for a sure-kill.
Thanks to Alex’s trait, he had only given the appearance of meeting those conditions, and he’d first sensed killing intent from the shadow when he’d been exhausted and about to meet back up with Gloomy.
If he was right about all this, it would explain why he’d never found out the secret in his last life. Not to mention the vampire’s perfect record with assassinations. The bloodmists were bad enough. Throw in even a limited form of teleportation and it became a truly terrible set of powers. But if Alex were to hazard another guess, he’d reckon that the assassin’s usage of the ability was so strict because there was also some risk involved.
And that was the main thing he found noteworthy about the misshapen blood-shadow. Yes, the assassin used it as a decoy, but Alex would bet what little his life was still worth that doing so was a cover-up. The blood-shadows were likely constructs shaped through blood manipulation—manually probably, if he’d had them before the system—and those kinds of things aren’t easily adjusted on the fly. The fact that only a single blood-shadow reflected his altered form suggests a more intrinsic connection, and Alex was beginning to learn those could be delicate things.
He wasn’t sure how that revelation helped him at the moment, but with the rest in mind, Alex closed his eyes. There were no more smoke-screen, nothing blinding him, still, he closed them anyway. Both assassins were closing in. His reasoning gave him a good guess which assassin was real, but that too didn’t really help him. They both could be real, if the assassin willed it. This was another coin toss. And Alex was beginning to gather that those weren’t battles of luck, but battles of will.
He didn’t wait to take the initiative.
Pierce
With higher Weapon Mastery and higher levels, Alex had gotten better not letting Nychta drain his mana through combat skills. This was an exception. She knew he wanted bombast and explosive speed, and right now he didn’t care about the cost.
He launched with a thrust toward the blood-shadow in the mists. The other assassin’s killing intent sharpened; he probably hadn’t expected that from Alex. Afterall, he’d largely fought a defensive battle thus far: Protecting gloomy, buying time for his fire, or maybe from some deep-seated self-preservation—it didn’t matter. There was no reason to keep doing so.
He went on the attack before the assassin could coordinate his own. Alex was launching from the downslope of the hill and the blood-shadow had a hard time arresting his momentum. Pierce could be a bold and punishable move, but the assassin clearly decided it wasn’t worth swapping with the blood shadow this time. Because Alex’s blade didn’t meet flesh, it met blood.
And just before it did, he felt it again—the killing intent disappear. It disappeared before his blade made contact, not after. It had taken him being blinded to notice the difference, but once he did he wondered how he hadn’t caught it sooner. It allowed him to react a fraction of a second quicker, and with the real assassin lunging toward his back, that time was life-saver. Even before the blood-shadow collapsed he was already altering the mana-flow of his strike.
Pierce flowed into Lion’s Whip.
He extended his arm behind him, pulling and snapping Nychta like a lion’s tail as he whipped around in the direction he’d come from.
Lion’s Whip flowed into Sever.
He’d noticed the assassin’s knife developing cracks at its base and Nychta shattered it. She sang straight through and for his neck.
Then somehow, the assassin ducked all nine feet of his hulking mass beneath the arc of Alex’s sword; his own sword swung horizontally at Alex’s chest. He danced back with Feather-foot, desperate to gain some distance. Flicking his wrist, Nychta came up at the assassin’s own wrist at a harsh angle. That caused the assassin to arrest his own swing, transitioning it into a harsh jab.
The exchange had been a flurry of metal flight until that final move drew blood with a shallow gash in Alex’s side. He stumbled back. His own attack only severed a lock from the assassin’s hair, and the assassin capitalized on his imbalance.
Dangersense screamed of his impending death. Alex, with nothing left in the tank but fire, screamed at it. He redirected Nychta’s momentum with one of the flashiest snapping motion’s he’d ever made, swinging down to amputate the assassin’s arm.
Of course, he was never going to make it in time. But Nychta tugged and tugged on his reserves and the massive 20% mana she consumed startled even him for a second.
A Custom Skill has been created!
[Lion’s Roar]
A feint with a high mana-cost well exceeding its physical function.
Nychta thrummed with mana as though she were aiming to split the sky. The bloodmist assassin’s Perception was high enough that he immediately tabled killing Alex and braced against the strike that never came. Instead Alex went in the opposite direction, scoring a deep draw cut in a spot where the assassin’s chain-mail already ruptured.
He danced back, trying not to clutch his burning side as blood splotched at his feet. Somehow, he’d technically won that encounter. Except he’d well surmised by now that Nychta’s cleansing properties had no effect on vampires. The assassin’s wound would heal, and his own wounds would only fester. Now it was time for the next.
Alex raised his sword, leaving as few openings as he could.
But of course he left openings—he was a one-armed swordsman! A throwing knife flew at his face. The assassin closed the distance in one solid burst while he deflected it. The assassin’s own feints were made ineffective by Alex’s trait, and that’s how he knew for certain that every ounce of mana behind the assassin’s attack would be put to use. It was just a basic combat skill—cut, the assassin only used basic combat skills—but the blade came soaring down at Alex with so much force that he knew he couldn’t intercept it.
He could hardly dodge, either. He tried, but the assassin predicted his movement. He caught him with a kick at his side, except this time he’d controlled his strength. Alex got the wind kicked out of him, but he wasn’t sent flying. That, wasn’t good.
Being able to see the boundaries of the assassin’s sword mastery was never a relief to Alex. Just like how the awareness of his trait made darkness worse, knowing the full scope of the assassin’s techniques—and feeling so viscerally the weight of time and diligence behind his attacks—was terrifying. The mists had narrowed to where he couldn’t hide his form, yet the assassin was still an insurmountable wall towering over him.
As Alex’s ribs crunched and his vision blanked, he barely kept the wherewithal to lash out with his blade. Nychta met the assassin’s knife at the bind. But just as Alex snuffed out that danger, another seared. The yatagan’s tip flashed before his eyes.
He reversed Nychta’s blade, letting the knife cut shallowly into his chest as he relented strength with the movement. Then her tip curved back and pricked a deep wound in the assassin’s swordhand. He dropped the sword.
Alex roared, using a half-formed amalgamation of Lion’s Relent to shake himself free of the knife’s pressure. He lunged to the side, scampering over rocks—
He was yanked back. A thick hand wrapped and crushed the flesh of his arm where it had come loose from its sling. Eyes widening, stomach lurching, Alex… Severed.
Nychta seemed to scream with him as she recognized whose flesh she cut. Coming free, he threw himself back as the assassin’s knife whiffed him overhead. He was still holding Alex’s entire left arm in his hand until he dropped it and picked up his sword instead.
Blood gushed from Alex’s shoulder. The burn was so intense he’d have thought it was being cauterized, but that was just the bloodmists. His health dipped by the second. His mana regenerated from the potion he’d taken before the fight, but his health would only fall. He vomited blood but he couldn’t afford the motion, it just trailed down his lips. He was approaching the end. Dark, smokey clouds began to form overhead, storm clouds. The result of this fight was already assured and he was in so much pain.
Why did he still raise his sword?
Why did the assassin not raise his own? In a flash of insight, Alex looked to the ground and saw… a shadow. Alex didn’t have a shadow—not in the mists and smog and smoke—but the assassin did. And he hadn’t a second ago. It was blood red and growing out—
Alex snarled and lunged in a fury. The assassin had already been fading into his mists, content to end things in the next encounter. There would be no next encounter! Alex Smith wouldn’t lay lapping his wounds, waiting to be put down! His fate was predetermined but this fight wasn’t! He’d come to kill the bloodmist assassin! He would die by his own flames!
The shadow at the assassin’s feet stopped growing as he moved from his spot. He met Alex’s rush with an impassive glance, retreating further into the mists. He certainly had some kind of stealth-skill, but not high-level if it only took Alex a second to spot him. He spotted other silhouettes too, but only one in the sea of red shared his broad form. If that was an indication he needed time to reform his blood shadow, then there was nowhere the mists where he could hide.
Alex followed. Blood fell with every step, but he didn’t feel himself bleeding. As much blood entered his wound as did leave. Foul blood. They were already wall-to-wall with the inferno outside. A fire-tornado had started raging in the last thirty seconds and sweat beat his brow. It was as hot as the belly of a forge.
The thought brought a tear down his cheek as he swung his sword.
I’m sorry Nychta.
[Weapon Mastery] with Nychta increased.
Progress to rank Adept: 99%
Progress to rank Adept: 99%
The open-grip Alex adopted broke open a whole slew of new paths Nychta could take. The possibilities for feints were as endless as the range of movement in his wrist. Now that the assassin stopped running, Weapon Mastery was only rising higher and higher the more they threw themselves against him. Yet the error never faded.
Why does one swing a sword? Why does one swing a sword?
Nychta hadn’t been prompting him to meditate on the question. That was her desperately crashing at the barrier to rank Adept, searching for her own answer. She still had no clue why it wasn’t working. He never should have hid it from her.
But the question captured him nonetheless. Why did he fight?
As much as he failed to find an answer, he never stopped fighting. The pain was overwhelming yet it was almost as though he were unable to succumb to the burn. He fought like a man possessed, a fanatic who’d lost all rhyme and reason.
He feinted a strike to the assassin’s right, and when he didn’t fall for it Alex just accepted the retaliatory wound. The yatagan sliced deep into his left shoulder and in return Alex gutted the assassin. Normally entrails would’ve spilled, but they didn’t. The problem with trading blows with a vampire was self-explanatory. The problem with combatting his overwhelming strength with agility was the assassin was also faster than Alex. So Alex had to be daring. To inflict any damage on the vampire, he had to suffer a wound in trade. But his own wounds didn’t heal; it was an unsolvable problem. He didn’t take it as an excuse to stop.
He kept swinging. And swinging. And strangely, Alex felt that he was steadily scaling the insurmountable wall before him. He hadn’t trained a lifetime in the sword, but the life he led had ultimately provided him comparable experience. He wasn’t just seeing the assassin’s skill, he was starting to see the paths he’d take to counter him… under different circumstances. A body less wounded. Blood less boiling. No dizziness. A shield in his left hand. He was seeing paths as was, and acted on them—minor wins—but for all the paths he saw before him not a single one led to victory.
HP: 35%
His swordsmanship was growing sharper but his body was getting sluggish. He took another slash across his thigh.
HP: 33%
He only had a minute left in him at most. He could feel himself just going through the motions. He was strong but the assassin was stronger. He’d already lost the battle in his head, why bother swinging?
HP: 28%
There was a reason, right?
There’d been many, but none that still mattered if he was dying here. Anne was the one he needed to kill to avenge Laura. His sister was probably already dead. Laura didn’t even care about being avenged, he just was doing this for himself. He’d abandoned his sister to do it. And while killing the assassin should satisfy a small portion of his vengeance, the emotionless brick sure didn’t make it feel that way. He couldn’t kill him regardless.
Death was approaching. He’d felt nothing but regret the first time he died. He’d come to rectify his past. He’d thought that maybe once that was done…
HP: 25%
Alex grit his teeth, searching around for the assassin. The bloodmists were the size of a fighting ring now, and as soon as he saw him, he charged. He couldn’t afford to let him get back his bloodshadow. Moreover, if he stopped attacking at this point his body would just grow cold and unmoving.
He swung his sword with vigor. He didn’t know why still, but a path shone before him and Nychta wanted to follow it as much as he did. All he knew was that while he still burned with fire, he couldn’t be the one to let this flame go out. He would burn to ashes before that happened. But in his rage, all he really wanted to burn was the assassin.
And he would kill him, he decided. Not “die or die trying”. He’d do it and try to live. Regardless of what fate told him he’d at least try. It couldn’t end like this. Nychta didn’t deserve it either. She was as done with dying as he was, and they seemed to dance more in tune with one another than ever.
The assassin launched forward to meet them. He swatted their first attack away, but their path didn’t end there. Alex feinted high then went low, stepping into the assassin’s range and intentionally providing an opening. The assassin probably knew it was intentional, but he took it. Blood spurted from the strain in Alex’s muscles as the sword crashed down on him.
He channeled Lion’s Relent, but this time he only did the bare minimum of deflecting. He accepted the leather-splitting strike down his back in trade for only a low swipe at the assassin’s ankles. He accepted the knife too, letting it slash across his eye and un-helm him in place of slitting his neck. In trade for all that, he simply nudged the assassin off balance until he was back to back with the flames. Then Alex feinted a pierce—a mistake—and the assassin pounced, disarming him. Nychta flew from his grip, but the assassin still hadn’t seen his final trick.
He re-summoned Nychta to his grip. Then finally, finally, he saw a path that ended in his vict—
And that was when everything came to a screeching halt. His path disappeared. The assassin stopped attacking. They both turned to stare as a third figure erupted from the wall of flames behind him with a wordless, agonizing scream.
Gloomy. What was she—how…
Alex was appalled. He almost didn’t recognize her. Her skin was peeled and blistered, barely regenerating. She was on fire and he had to dodge back to avoid catching aflame himself. The assassin hadn’t had the chance to. She launched at him with a single-minded fervor. She was briefly thrown off by the size of his new form but she climbed deftly up to his shoulders and drove her dagger toward his…
Except by then, the blood-shadow at his feet had finished forming. Gloomy fell from his shoulders, collapsing onto the ground as he disappeared beneath her. It was the first real confirmation Alex actually had of his theory. And it came as the assassin stepped up behind Gloomy and put a blade to her neck. The assassin now had a hostage… for what it was worth.
“Why?” Alex rasped. “You were supposed to be…”
He trailed off as an all too familiar metallic clang echoed in his ears. Gloomy was as broken as she’d been when he’d sent her away, and all that blood she’d spilled began to turn into chains. They spewed from her open appendage, binding her and the assassin together. Her eyes bore into Alex. Red, beady, and disgusting. Like hers.
He growled reflexively, seeing this new power of hers.
“Do it!” She screamed.
Do it. The knife was to her throat. She knew what she was asking for.
As for the assassin, his shadow was starting to reform itself as he struggled in his bindings. He spoke no words, but the bloodmists began to recede to Alex’s back and his demand was clear: Burn. Or else.
Alex’s back grew hotter and hotter as the wall of flames approached. His mind was still reeling from the sudden reversal. Or maybe he was just losing grip from blood loss. He chuckled.
Does any of this matter?
Their fates were sealed. Theirs had been from the start and he must’ve screwed up his own pretty bad to be meeting his end here. Why did they care how it came? Why did he?
It burned that he’d been interrupted. He’d finally been in sight of beating him—beating a nightmare—but that was gone now. He… didn’t see a way out, truthfully. Despite what he’d said about trying. Really, how unfair was this? Had he been sent back to his past just to die here? Something told him there wouldn’t be a third chance.
“Alex!” Gloomy pleaded.
He leveled Nychta, funneling mana into her. The assassin aside, Gloomy deserved the mercy. She didn’t deserve to burn. She might not actually be his sister’s age but she had been that young when time stopped for her. Even if she had the red eyes of a vampire, she was still just a girl.
One Pierce and it would all be over quickly.
“Kill them,” she said. “Kill them all.”
“Me?” Alex laughed. “I’m dying here with you, kiddo.”
She didn’t respond to that. Her eyes just seemed to… lose their luster. As though up until that point she thought he’d just rise from the flames like a phoenix against her enemies. She sank at the realization that her revenge ended with her. With him.
He felt that. An entire world would die with him, with his memories. But the tapestries of fate had bloomed for a small instant and spelled it clearly. An end. What would that be like? Would he find Laura there? Do I even want to?
Would Nychta come with him? What about Lys—or would she come as the wyvern-queen who’d wreaked havoc on the battlefield?
What about my sister?
No, Alyssa wouldn’t be there. Eric said she was alive. And astonishingly, looking at the girl before him, Alex almost believed it. These weren’t children anymore. Gloomy must have withstood so much fiery pain for her vengeance. Would Alyssa’s expression look like hers in a few years? Would her life be anything more than pain and hardship? Gloomy’s expression was one of hatred and vile contempt, but not for him, and not for the assassin. She wanted him to hate her. She wanted this. An end.
And what reason did he have to deprive her of one? The bloodshadow was almost formed now, the flames were already licking his back. She was a vampire. Did he even have a reason not to kill her? She’d have died anyway.
That was how he’d justified it for so long. But right now she was alive.
And this… wasn’t his past.
Before Alex even realized it, he’d stopped channeling mana into his blade. Gloomy’s face twisted in panic. “Kill him!” she screamed. “Kill—”
But her voice was drowned out by the rush of hot, tempestuous wind lashing his ears. The bloodmist assassin stared him down, his mists receding. Alex’s back grew scorched. He lowered Nychta.
“This is not why I swing my sword,” he uttered.
The fire consumed him.
* * *
Hey ya'll, thanks for your patience while I got this chapter out. Sorry, it ended being a few more days i'd hoped. I had a few more growing pains getting back into writing new chapters, and I struggle a bit writing combat in a speedy manner.
I'm happy to report the next chapter's coming a lot smoother. It's a lot shorter and I'm back in my comfort zone, but I'm still a little behind thanks to how much this one set me back, and I don't think it will come on monday like I'd promised. That said, I don't expect it will take me more than an additional day, or two days at most in the case that it expands to be bigger. Likewise, chapter 46 isn't a tough one, so we should be back on schedule within the week.
Hope you enjoyed this one, and thanks again for your patience. I'm hoping I won't have to ask for too much more of it in the future, but I do appreciate it.
Comments
Elessar Beverly
Quick update for anyone who's looking for one: this week's chapter ended up being a lot more monstrous than I thought. It's almost finished, but will be coming late at night/early ams. More details will be included then.
Elessar Beverly
Interestingly enough, I think it might be both after looking into it. But outset is better and more common.
TR
Thanks for the chapter. "From the offset the velocity of his intent chilled" - did you intend it to be from the outset instead of offset?
