Zeva had never fought so hard in her life. Her opponent was a monster, and she was covered in shallow cuts, with blood pooling by her feet. She was panting heavily as her opponent walked around her in circles, the edge of the scythe tailing Zeva's movements like the head of a viper. Then, he exploded into motion, rocketing towards Zeva. Tired as she may be, instinct made Zeva step back, narrowly avoiding the scythe. This was her chance, she realized. Leaning forward, she slashed with her daggers, but her opponent seemed to have anticipated this. Twisting his wrist, he pulled on the scythe, a guillotine headed straight towards Zeva's head. Eyes wide, she brought her daggers up at the last minute, manically cycling as much air as she could to cushion the blow. The scythe crashed into her, and Zeva couldn't hold the momentum back. She was hammered into the earth, her daggers the only thing keeping the scythe away from her flesh. Her wrists were now broken, and it was all she could do to not pass out. Unconsciousness meant death, not only for her, but for untold numbers. She had to keep the Voyager away from them at all cost. Something was off about that boy, and all the other shallow injuries she had accumulated weren't helping either. The dark energy was consuming her vitality with each passing second. It was time for drastic measures.
Roaring in defiance, Zeva let out a shockwave of air, pushing her shadowy adversary back. Before he could react, Zeva was there, slashing at his throat with her dagger. He blocked it with his hilt, but Zeva didn't let up. She continued to attack with increasing tempo, every single technique and every single sequence she knew in the Dance of the Tempest thrown at the abomination. She became the tempest with her razor-sharp winds.
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Still, this was a stalemate that couldn't last, and the Void one was well aware. He would weather the storm and strike when the opportunity presented itself. Zeva started to flag, and before long, she made a misstep, overextending to the right and allowing the shadow to disengage and swing at her unbalanced form. Zeva was waiting for this. Channelling every single bit of Aum she had, she hurled her dagger at the shadow just as the scythe bit into her shoulder. The scythe, cutting through her breastplate, lodged itself deep into Zeva's torso as she fell to the ground. The Shadow looked at her impassively with one eye, as there was a circular hole where the other should have been. It fell back into the dirt, dead.
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Aaron's feet touched the ground as the wind surrounding him dissipated. "What the fuck should I do? They're both dead," he said, approaching where Zeva lay with blood rapidly accumulating beneath her. As he looked at her intently, deep in thought, Aaron made a decision that would shape him for the rest of his life.