Arch’s fist cuts through the air, his knuckles sliding across Epim’s cheek and drawing a line of blood. Epim shifted his weight backwards, allowing his reflexes to take over his thoughts. The scythe blade began to slowly reform at the end of his hands, but he dispelled the entirety of it. Arch was already too far within his zone of effective attack, and it would only hinder him in the clash.

Epim’s choices were limited. Any strike back that he failed would put him at risk of a devastating counter blow by the physical superior arch. Any inaction would allow Arch to continue his momentum of attack.

Epim’s thoughts went to his knife. If he could draw it fast enough in reaction to Arch’s attack then he could deliver an attack. Even if he couldn’t deliver a deep fatal blow, as long as he could force distance then he could again call his scythe forward.

Of course, this plan relied on the idea that his knife wouldn’t break against Arch’s fists in the same way his scythe did against the wind pressure.

And while Epim considered his course of actions, Arch wasted no time in continuing his assault. A series of fists were thrown, each only barely connecting and causing only superficial damage. But with each blow and strike, Arch gauged Epim’s strength and dexterity, and he began to construct an image in parallel during the fight.

“(If I attack here, he’ll move this way. If I strike him, he’ll react this way. He favors inaction. He’s focusing on defense. He doesn’t take explicit risks. His footwork is sloppy. He’s relying on natural agility and talent, there’s no foundation to his movements. He doesn’t have a plan of action, he’s inexperienced in close quarters.)” Thoughts ran through Arch’s head in a flurry, and he discarded them the second they became unnecessary.

He breathed in deeply, looking Epim in the eye. Energy ran through his body, focusing on his right arm. “Needle!” He yelled out. His fist slammed forwards with lightning fast speed, finding its mark on the left shoulder of Epim.

The force of the blow was not heavy, but a searing pain shot its way through Epim’s shoulder. The pain concentrated itself in a singular spot, and while there was no entry or exit wound, it felt as if he had a gaping hole gouged into him. He winced in pain, and Arch immediately followed up with his left fist, shooting up from under his right and towards the chin of Epim.

It was a perfect combination strike, interrupted by the reemergence of Epim’s scythe with its blade perilously close to Arch’s body. But even in the accelerated battle, Arch had never taken his mind off it. He had reacted in time to the emergence of the ephemeral weapon, and leaped backwards, giving up the conclusion of his attack.

*(He’s leaning to the right. The damage to his left with the needle left its mark. I’ll destroy the scythe and…”) Arch’s eyes narrowed. The scythe was different, barely. The shaft of it was shorter, and the blade at the end seemed to become longer and narrower, if not also sharper.

Arch’s attention was not only on the scythe. Epim had slipped his left hand, which now felt quite a degree heavier than it did before, onto the hilt of his knife and drawn it from its sheath. He held it in a reverse grip, and took a stance. His left hand with the knife held in a reverse grip, and the now shorter scythe in his right hand reared back.

The torchlight illuminated the two. Arch’s body was still pristine, his clothes were in disarray but not a hint of damage showed itself on them. Epim on the contrary was covered from head to toe in wounds, his clothes tattered, his body bloody, it was obvious that he was in a battle of life and death to any who saw the scene.

Yet although his body looked on the verge of breaking and disaster, his mind was anything but disoriented. He had grown accustomed to the shape of the scythe, the feel, the weight. Even if the change it now took was minute, merely a transformation in size, it filled him with revelation.

It wasn’t just the way the scythe felt, the way it formed from his call felt different. The change in the volume of the energy that left his body furthered his awareness of the process that took place during the creation. His weapon would answer his will, therefore his action would follow it as well.

To Arch’s surprise, Epim rushed forward. The speed surprised him, but he was still able to react to the rush. He first attacked with the knife in his left, aiming to gouge out a chunk of Arch’s flesh.

Arch felt a degree of pity, at the sight of the inexperienced attacking with no method.. The knife was a basic silver blade, something he had been able to destroy with ease long since he began his journey into the path of his martial arts. He waited for the blade to grow close, and then with an elbow he slammed down on the incoming blade with precision, intending to shatter it and remove a method of attack from Epim.

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As the elbow hit the blade of the knife, he was taken aback. It did not crack, it did not even waver, it seemed as if the entirety of the force he had used was dispelled in absolute disregard. The blade carved into his right side, and then Epim’s scythe came. His right arm overlapped his left in a cross, and the scythe blade came down towards his face.

Even with the blade in his side, Arch was able to react to the scythe and moved his head back slightly to avoid the downward force of the scythe blade. He watched the curved blade arch downwards in front of him, and prepared his counter, as another scythe blade carved through the side of his face. Rather, it is more correct to say that it was the same blade that carved through him, it simply moved to the opposite side of the shaft in an instant.

With a yell, Arch threw his knee into the stomach of Epim. It struck with great force, to the extent that blood flew out of Epim’s mouth and the force propelled him backwards, his feet skidding against the ground as he maintained his balance. Epim felt a great internal pain, but raised his head to maintain his awareness of Arch.

Epim had bet on the formless nature of his scythe, and commanded the blade to move position on its shaft on a whim. He had intended to trade his knife for the attack and quite a bit of damage to himself, but was quite pleased by its sturdiness. Although the situation couldn’t be said to be solved, he was more in control of it than before, and his mind raced with ideas on the transformative nature of his scythe.

His body seemed to be overtaken by an exhaustion he was unused to in a moment, beyond the damage done to him. HIs pool of strength was draining.

Arch looked at Epim, his eyes narrowed and his senses heightened to newfound levels. His assumption on the scythe being dangerous was correct, but the knife betrayed his understanding. It was surely simple silver, there was nothing special to it. And yet it survived his blow. He realized now that he had to act with the assumption that everything about the man in front of him operated on an unknown.

“I’m curious. Your brother was carrying Bart away and acted to kill us at first sight. Are all the people that come from where you are so violent?” Epim probed Arch’s sensibilities, hoping to give him some time to catch his breath and steady himself.

Arch clicked his tongue. “No. My brother was weak willed, which was why he was on the capture duty. I… would have just killed the vermin if I were sent instead.” Arch would never give him the chance, once again launching forward. His strategy had changed, he was now focused on crippling Epim completely. As long as his body was broken, his weapons posed no threat.

Arch kept his distance, weaving out and looking for a moment to attack. A series of fists were launched, which Epim could barely keep up with, his feet sliding against the ground as he moved out of range. Arch kept close. “Vermin? Why do you think of them that way? Because of their appearance, or is it because of their ability to suck blood?” Even through his exhaustion Epim continued his questioning.

Arch dropped low, shooting out his leg into Epims, threatening to destroy his balance. Epim fell from his standing position, and Arch stamped his foot into the ground, accelerating his left fist towards the now vulnerable Epim.

But the fist was blocked by the knife in Epim’s left hand. It caught the blow in its entirety on the flat of the blade, and while the ground cracked beneath Epim, he was left unharmed and given the time to sweep his scythe in front of him, forcing Arch to back up. “Have you not heard the legend, have you not seen the facts? The moment they appeared this land began to drain of life. They steal life from others and carry it in their veins. What else would they be, but vermin!” Arch jumped back again, rearing for another onslaught of blows.

Arch’s eyes opened in shock, as the scythe in Epim’s hand was thrown with force. It spun through the air towards him. If it were any other weapon he would dodge closely and use the opportunity to close the distance, but the unclear nature of the thing made him hesitate for a moment, it came close to his head, passing behind him.

In his momentary focus on the weapon, he was unprepared for the charging Epim. “Legend? You mean you haven’t seen it for yourself!?” Epim’s scythe returned to form in his hand, once again at its full length. He swung it down, and the blade caught the chest of Arch, cutting a deep gash through it. Epim prepared to close the distance and strike once more upwards, but he felt himself nearly collapse. His breath became ragged, and he was unable to act further as Arch backed away.

Red blood drained down Arch’s chest. The blow wasn’t fatal, but it made every movement excruciating.

Epim recovered from his exhaustion standing apart from Arch who looked him in the eyes fiercely. “I should rephrase my question, then. Is everyone from where you come from so stupid, to believe something they haven’t seen themselves?”

Arch let out a frustrated breath, his hatred palpable. “You’ll never know, because you’ll die here.” His body seemed to pump outwards, and then contract quickly. His eyes seemed to shine, and the air in the room was drawn towards him with each breath.

“Focus.” Arch spoke aloud, and every single part of his body seemed to carry a newfound lethality. His muscles pumped with explosive power, the edges on his body seemed to become sharper, his eyes seemed to observe to an even greater level.

Epim clearly understood that what was to come would be far more intense than before, any misstep would cause the progress he had clawed out in the battle to disappear, Arch would not give him a moment of recovery in his current state. The exhaustion that covered him was quickly becoming a source of fear, and doubt began to steep into his mind. Doubt, that was quickly dispelled by Alucire’s words from before. He thought of the little light spinning within him, the light that propelled him forwards.

“Oh little light, please turn just a bit more for me now. Allow me to finish this.” He spoke to himself, and of course, the light within him answered. It spun with new intensity, and the twilight within his soul began to spread farther and farther, it permeated everywhere it could. Within Epim’s eyes, the twilight was present.

In a moment, the two would be on each other for their last bout. A man who fought only for the sake of avenging his brother, and one who fought for the sake of living. While this description could be said to fit the beginning of their bout, Epim’s desire from the battle had grown beyond just preservation of his own life. He would strike not only in protection of himself, but in retaliation of an affront on his ideals. As he was someone who knew the truth of the Bewitching woods, only he could dispel the falsity that Arch operated on.

“Come at me with everything you have.” Epim spoke outwards. “I’ll show you the foundation on which you operate is false, at every level.” His grip tightened on his scythe and knife.

Deep within the dungeon, Epim found a resolve that belonged only to him, garnered from his experiences in his first two days of life. It was something he would protect, as it fueled him to continue forwards.