D’Argen wanted to run. It was what he was best at. It was what he was known for. Yet all it would do would buy him time and he would be back here again.

Zetha was the first to rise from the fallen bodies. He ran at D’Argen, shield up and sword resting in the notch on the side to keep it pointed at D’Argen’s body. The runner easily stepped out of the way, even though his mahee did not respond when he urged it to help him.

Zetha pivoted on the spot and slashed with his sword. D’Argen ducked under it and prepared to roll out of the way. Then, a horrible pain in his ankle had him bracing both arms in front of his head instead. Zetha’s shield hit him hard enough that he fell back. The spikes of Sa’ab’s whip dug deeper through his boot and into his skin. D’Argen grit his teeth not to scream in pain and then…

The pain slowly faded away. Like it was never there.

His entire foot became numb and D’Argen panicked. If Sa’ab put some sort of poison on the whip’s spikes and he was unable to run—

He shifted his foot as much as he could and the whip wrapped around him shattered into millions of tiny ice crystals. D’Argen stared at it in wonder for too long. He almost missed Zetha coming at him with his sword again. The runner rolled out of the way just in time and then he was back on his feet. Both of them. The frost on his boot was visible but he could feel his foot again, except for the pain.

Cana reached him by that point, her dagger still covered in his blood. He ducked under her arm and then came up with a shoulder right to her chest. She huffed heavily into his ear but she did drop the dagger. D’Argen caught it before it hit the ground and jumped away. It was a small and thin blade, but it was made by Adda-on. It was strong enough to stop Acela’s sword and even flake some of the gold off its surface. He kicked the approaching Asa under their staff and right in the stomach, then turned Acela’s sword using the dagger, forcing two others to step away.

They did not give him room to breathe. Asa approached again and swiped at his feet. D’Argen stepped over the staff and then down as hard and as fast as he could without his mahee. It did not break the wood but it did give him a leg up. He used it to jump and stab down at Zetha, forcing his king to raise his shield in defense and open his stomach. D’Argen let his stolen dagger bounce off the shield and out of his hand. On his descend, he crouched and punched under the edge of the shield, stealing the breath from Zetha’s lungs, and forcing him a step back.

D’Argen hated fighting. It was not enjoyable. But if he thought of this as a spar, if he thought of his training with Vah’mor, he could do it. He could maybe even smile when he dodged under Abbot’s sword and spun on his knees out of the way. He could mock a glare at where Upates almost shot him with another bolt from his contraption.

He could even wink at Thar, pretending the man was there to observe and provide tips rather than stare at his own hands. Thar was not attacking him and his giant sword was gone from sight. Not like Thar could use it to attack D’Argen without cutting at least three others in the process.

Vah’mor’s bladed glaive hid Thar from sight and D’Argen knew that once Vah’mor entered the fight, he had no chance at all.

Fortunately, Vah’mor’s weapon of choice required larger swings and more room. No matter how fast Vah’mor moved and how fluid their movements, one attack blending into the next seamlessly, they could not avoid all the bodies surrounding D’Argen. The others slowly backed out of the way. D’Argen turned and ducked and dodged as best he could.

One swipe came so close that even though he avoided the blade, the black staff of the glaive hit him in the temple. He stumbled and fell to his knees. The shorter blade came around and D’Argen raised his arms in defence. Skin and bones could not stop that blade. His old bracers maybe could have.

The sound of metal against metal startled D’Argen into opening his eyes. The glaive’s blade bounced off his silver bracers. Vah’mor did not lose momentum, spinning the glaive around again to attack with the larger blade.

But D’Argen had bracers.

Just as Vah’mor’s blade was about to tear his throat open, D’Argen had Acela’s golden sword in his hands. The soft metal bent under the attack but did not break. D’Argen twisted the sword up into the air and let it go, forcing Vah’mor’s glaive and arms up as well. Zetha’s sword was much heavier than it looked, the pommel alone weighing as much as Acela’s sword. It was strong enough to hit the general’s glaive even further out of the way and open up their defenses even as the sword went flying. Vain’s sword was thin enough to slip through the metal plates in Vah’mor’s armour at their side, there to allow for more freedom of movement. As soon as that blade sank into flesh, D’Argen let it go as well.

Everything froze for a moment.

Vah’mor stared down in wonder at the thin sword protruding from their side. There was frost, already stained red, but growing larger and larger in a spot anchoring the sword there.

D’Argen knew it was too cold for the blood to melt it.

Then the others all attacked at once again. And then D’Argen reached for his mahee and beyond it, as deep as he could to that unknown that he felt but had not touched.

Upates fired another bolt and D’Argen let the winds shift the bolt just enough so that when he twisted, it flew over his shoulder and into Asa behind him. Acela had her sword back, but her hand must have been numb from the cold, lowering her aim. Her sword bounced off Zetha’s shield when she tried to follow D’Argen’s dodge. Sa’ab’s whip flew erratically to wrap around Zetha’s sword and then got cut in half.

A wind came out of nowhere, strong enough to knock three others off their feet. Ice formed under the feet of the rest until they were all defenseless on the ground. The wind batted them all down and the moment the ice touched skin, it stuck.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

Vah’mor still had D’Argen’s mahee though, so they were able to both find balance on the ice and then run away faster than the wind. The sword was no longer in their side and they moved like they were not wounded at all.

But D’Argen had gotten a hit in.

He was much more familiar with Abbot’s sword than the others, having wrapped his mahee around it thousands of times, so its weight was familiar in his hands. He used it to block Vah’mor’s glaive when it came at him from the side. The blade bounced off and Vah’mor spun with it, turning it into a new attack from the other side. D’Argen blocked that way with his bracer and slashed at Vah’mor’s knees with his borrowed sword. Vah’mor moved out of the way and positioned the spinning glaive into a straight line at their side. They stabbed forward. At the last moment, they let go of the shaft so it reached even farther.

D’Argen was the one who had told Vah’mor they should replace the bottom blade with a pommel and chain to do just that. He stepped back just far enough and parried up with Abbot’s sword, sending the glaive up and Vah’mor off balance. Lilian’s winds whipped at Vah’mor’s clothes and Thar’s ice turned even smoother under their feet.

D’Argen crossed the distance between them and right into Vah’mor’s open defenses. He stabbed with Abbot’s sword and Vah’mor dodged to the side. Right into D’Argen’s open palm. As soon as he felt soft and worn leather under his fingers, he gripped tight and yanked. His sword came free of Vah’mor’s waist. D’Argen jumped back as Vah’mor found their balance and had both hands on the glaive’s staff. They hit up with the staff horizontal to the ground, but D’Argen was already a few steps away.

Before the runner could celebrate having stolen his sword back, Vah’mor was at him again. He had to cross both swords over his head to stop the heavy blow from the glaive. It still made his knees shake. Vah’mor put more weight into it. D’Argen felt one of his knees buckle. Then the weight was gone so suddenly that D’Argen shot up into the air. Vah’mor spun the glaive and the shorter blade came up. It was sharp enough to tear the front of his robes apart and slide through the skin of his chest. D’Argen tilted his head back at the last moment but the blade still cut at his throat chin. He stumbled back. His mahee refused to help him and he slipped on the ice under him.

The slip had him unintentionally dodging Vah’mor’s side slash. He tried to catch himself and dropped Abbot’s sword. It fell through the ice and disappeared. He refused to let go of his own sword even if all his fingers cracked when he hit the ice with a fist. Then the ice crawled up his fingers and locked around his wrist.

He tried to yank it out but it would not budge.

Vah’mor hit down with their glaive and D’Argen kicked up, catching the shaft with the bottom of his foot. He opened his mahee to give him a burst of speed and send the glaive flying back. His mahee did not respond but he had pushed with enough to force Vah’mor into a new attack.

Hiras had a dagger! It collected Hiras’s storms and the blade was covered in lightning. His entire hand went numb when it appeared in it, but his muscles were tensed with his fingers closed. He stabbed at the ice around his other wrist. It shattered just in time for him to bring his sword up and block Vah’mor’s next downward strike.

The force of it had him falling onto his back. But his sword, like Hiras’s dagger, used his mahee. It did not seem to have the same issues as his body did. Vah’mor’s glaive bounced off it so far that they had to take multiple steps back, giving D’Argen enough time to rise again. He did not need his mahee to push off the ground and run at them, sword pointed at Vah’mor’s chest.

When the glaive came down to block, the force behind his sword send them both back a few steps. D’Argen’s mahee allowed him to find his feet. He pushed off toward Vah’mor again and it did nothing to help him. Vah’mor met him halfway with another clash that was even stronger. It sent them both flying back. Before D’Argen could find his feet this time, Vah’mor was on him. He was able to block Vah’mor’s side slash, but the force of it sent him flying back. Vah’mor was on him again before he even felt ground under his feet. He was able to block a second and a third time. The fourth hit was with the glaive’s shaft across his back and it sent him sprawling into the ground.

He dropped his sword.

He tried to scramble up to get it but just as his hand wrapped around the grip, a boot landed on the blade, keeping his hand trapped.

But it was not Vah’mor’s black leather.

It was pure white with not even a spec of dirt on it.

Thar crouched, his foot still on top of the blade. His cold fingers tipped D’Argen’s chin up to look into his eyes. D’Argen noticed Thar’s sword was out, tip sunken deep into the soft ground. Then the cold chill from under his chin turned into a shiver down his back when he heard Vah’mor approach.

“Enough,” Vah’mor gasped out the word as if they were out of breath.

“You did well,” Thar said in front of him, voice calm and so cold, even if the words were meant to be a comfort.

D’Argen’s eyes watered and he tried to blink the tears away before they fell. He could not. They ran down his cheeks and soaked into Thar’s fingers. Soaked. Not froze.

D’Argen opened his eyes to glare at the thing wearing Thar’s face. Froze. His tears should have frozen. Through his glare, he noticed Thar’s eyes wandering down his face. He saw how they widened and how surprise took over. He felt Thar’s hand tremble under his chin and then let go. When Thar raised that hand between them, there were ice drops frozen to his skin.

It was enough. D’Argen pushed up with all his might, knocking Thar off balance and bringing up his sword. He turned around with sword raised. Vah’mor approached and D’Argen stepped back to get on the defensive, but Thar was right there, stopping him.

And then D’Argen felt flesh part and bones scrape against metal.

Vah’mor’s eyes widened in surprise and their mouth dropped open with a gasp. They did not stop advancing even once the guard from D’Argen’s sword touched their chest. D’Argen tried to back up more, to stop them, but Thar’s body was like a wall of ice behind him.

When Vah’mor dropped their glaive, it hit the grass and dirt under them as if it was marble, clanging so loud that it echoed even in the open space. Then it slowly sank, as if in quick sand, until it disappeared.

D’Argen forced himself further into Thar’s chest and tried to pull the sword out. Thar did not move, but Vah’mor took a shaky step away. Slowly, the sword came out of their chest. They reached up to try and stop the blood from flowing.

Without even knowing it, D’Argen had aimed for their core. Though that should not have been enough to—no!—D’Argen firmed his resolve. His sword was from the old realm, from the gods’ realm before they fell. If anything could kill a god, it would be one of their own weapons that still held the magic of that realm.

Vah’mor’s knees buckled and they fell with a gasp. Blood seeped out from between their fingers and them more came out of their mouth.

D’Argen felt Thar’s deep breaths against his back and the cold air against his bare neck.

His general. His close confidant and friend. The first fighter of them all and the one who protected them for millennia. Vah’mor crumpled on the ground and, like their glaive, they slowly sank into it. The grass around them turned longer and darker, the tips of it turning into whisps that surrounded and enveloped their body. They pulled it further down until nothing remained.

D’Argen dropped the sword with a shriek and turned around, right into Thar’s embrace. Strong arms wrapped around him and he buried his face into Thar’s chest.

Now he understood why Lilian had cried and screamed when they stabbed him.

He wanted to do the exact same thing. Even though he knew that was not Vah’mor, it still wore their face and D’Argen…

D’Argen had just killed his friend.