With a powerful growl, the man charged at the woman as soon as she completed her gesture, reality distorting in a flash of color in his wake. The warrior reacted instantly; she dodged the greatsword's strike with a quick sidestep before delivering a vertical slash with the same savage speed. The man used his displacement rune and shifted just out of reach, enough for his greatsword to cover the distance with another strike.
But after the warrior's strike, a red line lingered momentarily in the air, as if it had marked the space. Then, with surprising speed, the line shot toward the man, who couldn't escape.
The blow sliced through his armor and left shoulder, pain radiating instantly as blood splattered across his face. He growled and retreated with a burst of flames to a safe distance, then quickly glanced at his wound. A horizontal line of blood stretched from his shoulder to his stomach, but something was off.
It wasn't entirely his blood.
Blood manipulation…
The man was certain of it. It was a weird form of sembou manipulation, but it once again stirred a wave of nostalgia in him.
"This wound will never heal," the woman's voice rang out, pulling him back to reality. "It will keep bleeding until your death. Such is the power of the artifact Guedj-u derett (the sea of blood)."
She extended her long, curved blade. The man gave a faint smile, a genuine one this time.
"I see. So it's a battle of attrition."
"Exactly. Every wound, even the smallest, will bring you closer to death."
"Then I just have to avoid getting hit," the man nodded, resuming his stance despite the pain and bleeding from his shoulder.
"I won't let you have that pleasure," the woman replied, charging at him, unleashing several supersonic bangs in her wake.
The man smiled and did the same.
The ashen city was illuminated by thousands of bursts of flames and scarlet glints clashing with the force of an explosion. The strikes came relentlessly, in a multicolored chaos, and in the midst of this inferno, two warriors danced. In the air and on the ground, they moved with a rhythm defying all logic, wielding their weapons with deadly precision.
The pressure of their energy made the space tremble, distorting reality and confounding time. Their sword strikes echoed to the ends of the earth, as they fought at the edge of human reality.
Two people battling at the brink of the world's end, in a place unknown to all.
Fighting not to save , but to sacrifice themselves.
The man, amidst the relentless deluge of blood blades, had managed to dodge nearly all the attacks, except one that grazed the top of his eyebrow. Blood flowed endlessly over his right eye, but he could see beyond it. He had memorized his opponent's attack pattern.
He charged through the scarlet attacks in a single move, weaving through the air before rushing toward the warrior. The woman raised her blade to a lateral position at the last nanosecond, and the two weapons clashed. The impact created a shockwave as tall as a mountain, clearing the ashen sand for hundreds of meters. However, the greatsword, due to its weight, had a clear advantage.
Shiara was thrown to the side and flew with a supersonic bang. A loud 'BOOM!' echoed as she landed a few kilometers away, forming a crater that sent up a cloud of dust. The man immediately rushed toward her, raising his greatsword, victory seeming within reach.
Then the dust from the impact suddenly cleared, revealing the woman, barely standing, her armor crumbling on the right side, surrounded by thousands of scarlet orbs floating in the air, shimmering.
"Biddeew-u derett!" (The stars of blood!)
The orbs shot toward the man in an unfamiliar configuration. The warrior had one last trick up her sleeve, something she had saved in anticipation of this scenario.
But she wasn't the only one with a hidden move.
The man roared, and his cape responded, multiplying infinitely into bronze flame orbs with contorted, face-like shapes. They struck the scarlet orbs and exploded, splattering flaming blood across the arena. The detonations hadn't even finished echoing when the man was already behind the warrior. She turned too late.
The man brought down his flaming greatsword on her shoulder and dragged the blade downward. The armor gave way, and her entire right arm was severed in a clean strike, plunging into the ashen ground, tearing from the woman's stomach to her chest.
The warrior barely had time to stifle a cry of pain. The man immediately drove his greatsword into her, pinning her to the ground with force. The blade sank into her like butter, the tip enough to tear from her stomach to her chest.
Shiara coughed up a spurt of blood throught her mask. The man slowly withdrew his greatsword, pulling chunks of flesh and intestines with it, and knelt beside her.
The battle had, unsurprisingly, ended in his victory.
"I'll end your suffering," the man said with a hint of affection in his voice. "It's been a long time since I've had such a fine fight. Thank you."
The young woman made a slight gesture with her left hand, as if to tell him to wait. She fumbled toward her mask, clumsily unhooking it before letting it fall, revealing her face. Her eyes had half-lost their shine, but a gentle smile stretched across her dry lips.
"Sorry… couldn't… save…"
The man gently shook his head.
"It was inevitable. You have nothing to blame yourself for," he concluded, raising his weapon to finish her.
"No…"
The woman raised her hand and grabbed the man's cape.
"Name… Your name…"
She let out a pained wheeze before whispering:
"Georges Badji."
The name flowed through the man like a stream of flames.
"Your… name… at least… I can give you… a hint of yourself... but for a moment…"
Shiara coughed up a trickle of blood and turned her head into the ashes.
"Sorry…"
And just like that, she exhaled her last breath and died.
The man stood still for a long moment, his gaze fixed on the dead young woman before him.
The name "Georges Badji" echoed in him like a sincere note, like the sound of a bell.
And that was probably what made it all the more painful.
He rose and gently retrieved Shiara's severed arm to place it beside her. He would have liked to bury her, he truly would have…
But…
The cries of the djinns, emerging from the edge of the worlds, began to echo. The man clenched his teeth tightly and roared. A cry of rage, of anger… and of deep melancholy. He would have given anything to stop there, to give up.
But the voices in his head were already singing a new war song for him.
So, with a growl, he assumed his stance again, his heart torn by a void that could never be filled.
Georges Badji, the invincible.