My chest burns where his blade bit into me.

The pain isn’t sharp anymore; it’s a deep, gnawing throb that claws at my focus with every breath, every movement.

I can feel my pulse pounding against the open wound, hot blood trickling down my skin. The sensation is overwhelming, like a fire trying to take hold inside me, but I shove it down.

The adrenaline coursing through my veins drowns out the pain, turning it into white noise.

My thoughts aren’t on the agony—I don’t have the luxury for that. It’s irrelevant. This isn’t about the pain. It’s about surviving. And for that… I have to win.

The wound on Siddharth’s thigh isn’t deep, but I can see the effect. His balance is off. His footwork now stutters. It's barely noticeable, but I see it. This is my chance. I press in hard.

I swing my sword in a wide arc, aiming to force him into another defensive retreat. He parries, but slower than before. His grip tightens as he adjusts his stance, both swords up, blocking, but I can feel the imbalance.

My blade crashes against his, metal grinding on metal, the impact sending shockwaves up my arms. The pressure between us builds. I twist my hips, pulling back before slashing downward again, my attacks relentless, ruthless.

He’s slipping.

The thought barely crosses my mind before Siddharth moves. Fast. Faster than before.

His swords whirl, cutting through the air with newfound speed. The defensive retreat I expected doesn’t happen—instead, he lunges forward, his blade flashing at me, aimed straight for my chest.

I barely twist out of the way, the tip of his sword grazing my ribs. My heartbeat thunders in my ears. His speed—how is he moving like this?

No time to think. Move!

I parry his next strike, but I’m off balance. The pressure is back. He’s pushing me now, his movements sharper, quicker.

I try to counter, driving my sword toward his shoulder, but he deflects it easily, his swords moving faster than they were a moment ago.

Impossible. How could he get faster?

Siddharth’s swords blur in front of me, coming at me from different angles. I barely block one slash aimed at my side, but the other sword follows instantly, aiming for my leg. I leap back, heart pounding.

He’s using Overdrive? No... that's not possible. That technique—there's no way.

I don’t have time to think. His next attack is already coming. My arms move on instinct, sword meeting sword in a deafening clash. The impact rattles my bones, and I grit my teeth. I can’t afford to slip. Not now.

My feet shuffle across the dirt, trying to hold ground as he pushes me back. His strikes are relentless, every slash more precise, more dangerous than the last. I can feel the air splitting with each swing of his blade.

I have to push through.

Siddharth’s swords come at me again, faster than I can process. I block, twist, parry, and sidestep, but his speed is overwhelming. Every time I think I’ve regained the advantage, he counters with a brutal slash that forces me to retreat.

Sweat drips into my eyes, stinging, mixing with the blood still running down my chest. I’m panting now, my breathing ragged, each breath feeling heavier than the last.

Stay focused. Push through.

I deflect another one of his blows, but my arm burns with the effort.

It’s not that he’s faster than me—it’s that the gap between our speed has shrunk.

I swing my sword in a tight arc, aiming for his midsection, but Siddharth’s blades are already there, deflecting the strike and launching a counterattack faster than I can blink. His sword slashes at my thigh, and I barely jump back in time, feeling the blade whistle past.

His speed—it has to be his own version of Overdrive.

How the hell is he holding that control over EM waves, even with adrenaline flooding his system?

Focus, damn it. Nothing else matters.

Kill or die.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

The next blow comes for my head.

I duck, rolling under the attack, coming up with a thrust aimed at his abdomen. But Siddharth twists, his blade catching mine at the last second, turning my attack aside.

His eyes lock onto mine.

Time freezes.

The amusement is gone. The contempt is gone. The cold calculated gaze is gone. What’s left is primal. Animalistic.

The eyes of a beast locked in a struggle to the death.

Everything is boiling down to this moment.

Reason is gone.

Nothing matters but survival.

I bite down hard, pushing the pain, the fatigue, everything away. If I hesitate, even for an instant, I’m dead.

I have to push beyond. I have to risk it.

I will win... no matter what!

I launch a savage series of strikes, not holding back, my sword flashing through the air in an all-out, relentless rhythm.

Each movement is fueled by raw instinct, by the drive to be the one that remains standing.

My body moves on its own, beyond my control, beyond the limits of pain and exhaustion. My strikes lack none of the calculated precision I once relied on, but now they carry something more—madness.

Our swords clash violently, sparks flying as metal grinds on metal. His counters are perfect, his technique impeccable. But I can feel him faltering, just a little. His balance shifts, his stance wobbles ever so slightly. The wound on his thigh—it’s throwing off his balance.

I swing again, a wild slash aimed at his neck, but he ducks, his body spinning like a whirlwind as he counters with a low thrust. The tip of his blade scrapes against my calf, and I grunt, feeling the sting of fresh pain.

Move! Keep moving!

The command roars through my mind, louder than the pain in my leg, louder than the burning in my chest.

My heart is hammering, the blood is pounding in my ears, and the world has shrunk to this single moment, this desperate struggle.

My body moves, but I’m no longer thinking.

Fear is no longer driving me, and pain barely registers. All negative emotions fade away.

Siddharth’s next strike comes, faster than the last. His blade whistles through the air, aiming for my neck. I twist, the metal grazing my shoulder, close enough that I feel the sharp sting of the near miss.

My sword flashes forward, a wild slash aimed at his chest. He deflects it, but not without effort. His balance wobbles. I can see the tremble in his arms, the strain in his legs.

His thigh is affecting his footwork, just a fraction, but it’s enough.

I press harder, my sword slamming into his with cold, unrelenting force. He stumbles back, forced to give ground. The dirt beneath us shifts, dust swirling at our feet as the fight intensifies. Faster. Relentless. Ruthless.

My muscles scream, the exhaustion creeping into my limbs, but I refuse to stop. I can’t stop. The roar inside me drowns out everything else—every thought, every feeling, every instinct is screaming for one thing:

Kill or Die!

My sword tears through the air like a beast unleashed. Each strike comes harder, faster, more reckless. I don’t care. I can’t care. The pain in my leg, the fire in my chest—it’s nothing. I’m running on pure adrenaline now, raw, animal instinct. My body feels like it’s on fire, but I push harder, deeper into the frenzy.

Our blades clash—again, and again, and again. Sparks explode with each collision, the screech of metal on metal ripping through the air like a scream. His counters are perfect, flawless, but I’m beyond thought now. Beyond technique. My body moves on its own. I’m blocking, dodging, slashing, barely processing what’s happening.

Time doesn’t exist. Every heartbeat feels like an eternity.

I swing again, a wild, reckless arc of steel, wide and brutal. Too wide. I see it, but I don’t care. Siddharth moves in, his sword flashing toward my side, faster than I can react.

Too fast!

But my body twists, almost involuntarily, pure instinct kicking in. His blade grazes my cheek, carving a searing line of fire, but I barely feel it. The blood drips down, warm and sticky, but I don’t stop. I can’t stop.

I roar inside, a primal scream tearing through my mind, echoing in every muscle, every bone.

I don’t care what it takes. Cut me in half if you want, but...

I WILL WIN!

My sword crashes down with everything I have left—my weight, my fury, my defiance, my will—all fused into this single strike.

The blade arcs through the air, heavy and final.

Time freezes.

He moves to block—but it’s too late.

For an instant, our eyes lock. The great leader. The invincible warrior. The pride of the Oasis. In that final moment, all of that fades away. His once cold, confident and calculated gaze shifted, replaced by something far more human—fear, desperation.

The blade connects with a sickening crunch.

Blood sprays into the air, an arc of crimson, as Siddharth’s head separates from his body.

Time seems to stop as it falls, hitting the ground with a dull thud. His body collapses, lifeless.

Warm blood splashes across my face. Thick. Heavy.

I freeze.

Then it hits me. Everything.

I throw my head back and roar. A guttural scream tearing from my throat.

I roar with everything. Rage. Anger. Defiance. Pride.

The sound rips through the air.

Blood drips from my face and body. My chest heaves. My body shakes, but I keep shouting. I shout so loud it feels like my throat is tearing apart, but I don’t stop.

I roar as hard as my body will allow.

I shout to the sky, to the heavens, to this world, to all—but most of all, I shout for myself.

It’s over.

I won.