Chapter..6.Clash beneath the eclipse.
887 Words
Lysar's pov
"Egowill" I called with a thought.
[Egowill: How can I help you?]
"Got any information on her"
[Egowill: As a matter of fact, I don't. I only know what you do. Judging from observation, she's strong.]
"Tell me something I don't know" I hissed.
[Egowill: Ironic. She worth to unlock your persona.
Requirement: Defeat her.]
All it took was a second for the thought process.
The swamp was long gone by now, blown away by my last strike. Only cracked earth remained beneath my feet, steaming faintly in the half-light of the eclipse.
She hovered above, then descended slowly, the heat of her presence heavier than the air itself. Her boots touched the ruined ground with hardly a sound.
The way she carried herself, spine straight, gaze locked—spoke of a warrior who had fought a hundred battles and never faltered.
Her weapon appeared as if the air itself handed it to her: a slender blade, dark steel with a glint of red along its edge. No aura. No trickery. Just the blade. Her persona.
Persona. A weapon born from ones own personality.
"Stand up," she said.
I pushed myself off the cracked ground, blood dripping from my fingers, bloody teeth and faced her. My spear dissolved into nothing. No need for power. Only skill.
I summoned a plain weapon of wind-forged steel—long, simple, and without ornament. Its weight settled into my palm, solid, honest. One I had purchased from the global system.
For a long heartbeat, neither of us moved. Only the whisper of the eclipse's faint wind stirred between us.
Then she came.
Her first strike was not a test—it was a cut meant to end me. A diagonal s***h that would split me from shoulder to hip without hesitation. Her speed outpaced thought. But not mine though.
The blade kissed my skin, shallow but real. A hot sting. Blood welled down instantly.
I didn't step back. I didn't even raise my spear in defense. Instead, I lunged forward, inside her guard, and let my own weapon arc for her ribs.
Steel rang against steel. Sparks hissed like angry insects. She had turned her strike into a parry, smooth as flowing water.
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
Strike followed strike. She pressed harder, faster, her blade a ribbon of dark silver cutting through the air. Each blow sought the end of me—neck, chest, wrists, throat. Each landed, shallow cuts that burned and bled.
Sweat trickled down my temple. My chest rose and fell with the effort of staying upright under her storm.
I tightened my grip on the spear. Every time she cut me, I drove the point toward her—forcing her blade to adjust, twist, redirect. I gave her my flesh, but stole her momentum.
The ground beneath us cracked from the rhythm of our steps. My boots slid in half-circles through the dirt as I pivoted, counter-thrusts brushing past her arm, her hip, her throat, never landing deep, but close enough to singe her pride.
She pressed harder.
The rhythm became a song of violence. Steel on steel, my blood spattering the earth in time with each ringing clash. She was flawless in her precision, merciless in her control.
But I smiled through it. I wouldn't I? It was fun, finding someone worth.
The sting of each cut only sharpened me. The weight of pain became fuel, keeping awake. Where she was perfect, I was relentless.
Her blade opened a line across my forearm. I answered by driving my spearhead past her cheek, grazing her skin before she tilted away.
Her sword kissed my side, shallow but burning. My counterstrike forced her wrist back, nearly wrenching her blade free.
Our feet moved in circles, always circling, always cutting.
She was winning—yes. The shallow wounds tallying across my body proved it. But with each exchange, her breathing deepened. Her shoulders rolled a fraction heavier. Her movements, still beautiful, carried the faintest trace of strain. So, was she winning? Who knows.
I simply endured, striking back with every ounce of will. Her perfection bled into effort.
"So stubborn," she muttered, voice low, her blade pressing down in a lock against my spear.
My arms trembled under the weight, but I leaned into it, blood dripping freely down my shoulder. My grin split wider.
"So persistent," I whispered back.
The deadlock broke. She spun, her sword flashing for my throat. I let it kiss me again, another shallow cut, while my spear drove straight for her chest.
Her blade stopped at the skin of my neck, cold and wet with my own blood. My spearhead halted just before her heart, the air humming around it from the force I'd barely restrained.
Both of us frozen. Both weapons drawn, both fatal if carried through.
Silence fell. For some reason, we were both compelled to stop.
Our chests heaved in unison. Blood ran down my arms, my side, my neck. Sweat trickled down her jaw, dampening strands of her hair.
The eclipse above hung in its final moment, red light staining the battlefield.
We locked eyes. Neither yielded. Neither pressed forward.
The world held its breath.
And the fight ended—at a draw.
[Egowill: Unlocking persona failed]
I could have sworn I felt that bastard grin.
- Writer
