Pel closed the distance in a flash, jabbing forth with his right hand. Kyrylo did his best to sidestep it, trying to swat at his arm with the flat of his blade. He felt the bandages rubbing against his cheek as the attack passed by before his sword connected. Pel yelped and stumbled back, clutching at the inside of his elbow where Kyrylo had connected.

But he didn’t waver for long, bouncing back in with another strike, this time trying with his left and swinging around from the side. Kyrylo couldn’t react in time with the recovery, the sword suddenly feeling heavy in his hands compared to how Pel bounced around. He managed to get his weapon in the way for a partial block but he still felt Pel’s fist crash into the side of his skull, leaving his ear ringing.

Kyrylo wobbled a bit but kept his balance as best he could, barely moving the base of his sword down to prevent an uppercut from Pel. He pushed the teen back, surprised at his own strength in contrast. The last brawl had been with such a physical enemy and he had never really gone back to a highschool to beat up kids so he hadn’t been aware of the strength discrepancy he had.

He took the opportunity to try and attack back, slashing down at Pel’s head. The youth spun away to the side and had to place a hand on the ground to catch his balance. Drakmir was right, this wasn’t an experienced fighter. Not that Kyrylo was either but he had done training for months with the RIf, had sparred, had hunted spirits. Even the fight with the guard had been beneficial, experience he could never replicate in a thousand fake matches.

But Pel felt like one of those set spars. He was armed, wasn’t using some bizarre magic, didn’t have a sudden tail. He just punched. Kyrylo could beat someone who just punched.

As if on cue, Pel went for another strike, this one coming from the side again. Kyrylo was slightly faster than before, parrying with the side of his sword and deflecting the blow. Pel tried to bend his arm to hook around but the momentum was lost and it drew him in closer to Kyrylo. There was a split second for Kyryrlo where he considered headbutting Pel but decided against the likely pain.

The pause was too much though and Pel threw his knee up into Kyrylo, his shorter stature meaning he could only connect with Kyrylo’s thigh. It did its job and the pain shot through the left side of Kyrylo. Both of them hobbled back from each other, Kyrylo grabbing his leg, Pel clutching his elbow.

“Not as much spectacle as I had hoped,” Drakmir said, observing from the shadows. “Strong and slow, quick but weak, it creates such an awkward dance. It could be flashier.”

“I want to beat him.” Pel’s voice was low, quiet. What it lacked in emotion it made up for in intensity of conviction.

“You could at any time,” Drakmir remarked. He had withdrawn his notebook again, adding a pen this time so he could write. “Do it with a bang.”

“I won’t improve that way,” Pel countered. Kyrylo was starting to get some feeling back in his leg. He shook it out and resumed his fighting stance, watching Pel with curiosity. He just wanted out of this nightmare that kept dragging him down. If there was a way of doing that, to instantly win these fights and move on, he would take it. He could not wrap his mind around Pel intentionally limiting himself, if that was true.

But he could connect with the passion. Pel said it with such force, a kind of authority Kyrylo wished he had over his own dreams. He wanted that world of Isabelle, of a regular job to be proud of so he could go home, read a book, play some games, kiss his wife, all those things. To just be normal and not something insane like be fused to a spirit.

The thought struck him that he was fused with a spirit and he should be trying to take advantage of that somehow. He knew the punch he had delivered previously had been influenced by the spirit inside him, done something to enhance it or boost it. It didn’t matter. He just needed to get in one good swing and he could end Pel in an instant.

I want to beat him.

Kyrylo grit his teeth, frustrated at himself for even considering what he was about to do. He took in a deep breath and refocused. Pel had some sort of trick as well but was playing this out. He had spared before. He could win. He hadn’t been a failure in training, he just hadn’t been prepared for facing someone who was truly trying to kill you. He had seen that now. He was bigger, stronger. He would win.

“I respect your determination,” Kyrylo said. Pel didn’t respond, didn’t blink. His eyes were still alight, leering at Kyrylo. “But I have to win. You won’t even die, right? So it’s no problem.”

“There’s more to this than dying,” Pel replied, leaping forward again. His fist drove straight through at Kyrylo’s face but he was unphased, holding his sword across to block and immediately pushing back against it, then swinging the bottom of the handle up into Pel’s chest, feeling the backside of his sword touch against his shoulder. He shoved forwards and heard Pel gasp as he rammed his weapon into the teen’s pecs.

Pel shot back, peeling off to make space. Kyrylo wouldn’t let him, closing in behind him and swiping at his side. Pel barely ducked it but fell too low and teetered onto his back. Kyrylo froze for a second, trying to figure out how he was supposed to not kill Pel or declare victory. Drakmir was still just watching behind the fight, Felix and Silvestia doing the same behind Kyrylo.

Pel kicked up into Kyrylo’s wrist and flipped back, leaping to his fight and raising his fists again. He didn’t wait for Kyrylo to recover, driving his shoulder into his waist as a tackle. But it wasn’t enough to bring him down, only knocking him back until Kyrylo drove his own foot into the ground and came to a halt, Pel at his abdomen.

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“This is embarrassing,” Drakmir cut in. “Messy, awkward. I want something grand.”

“Enough!” Pel whipped around, shoulders heaving, fists clenched at his side. There was a faint glow around his hands, trying to escape between the layers of bandages.

“Like that!” Drakmir clapped his hands together. “Ignite your passion, fight for real.” Drakmir paused, his face turning dark as his lips curled into a sneer. “Earn your place.”

Everyone stood, caught in the tension between Drakmir and Pel, waiting for something to crack it apart and let them move again. Pel spit to the side. Drakmir chuckled. Eventually, finally, Pel returned to face Kyrylo. His eyes had settled back to their flat state, the light gone from his hands.

“Then we continue?” Kyrylo shook out his free arm and switched his sword to his free hand to shake the other. He heard something crack in his wrist and felt a twinge in his knee, reminding him of past decisions. He had done some sparring before that had triggered it; he would have to be cautious here.

Pel nodded. They were back on.

Kyrylo let out a long breath and tried to focus himself, quieting his mind. His best results had always come in these times, harkening back to when he had even destroyed his knee in the first place. He had been trying to pursue too many things down here, from the Rat King to the spirit city to dreams of Isabelle to his new reflection that talked back to him. He had one goal and Pel was in the way to achieving it.

There was a long pause between the two. The clamoring all around them from the various spirits melted away. Silvestia and Felix faded to the background, Drakmir’s smile vanishing as Pel came into focus.

Kyrylo dodged the first strike, getting used to the rapid attacks and fierce effort Pel always put in at first. He redirected the follow-up, pushing it to the side with his free hand before smashing the broad of his sword into Pel’s outstretched elbow. It felt like something buckled, possibly even crunched and broke, but Kyrylo didn’t know enough about spirit anatomy to say. Pel looked human, certainly, but so did Drakmir until he smiled. Spirits could be anything. And they would all fall if that’s what it took.

Another attempted kick. This one caught Kyrylo y surprise, though he steeled himself against it as pain radiated up from his shin. He grit through it and responded in kind, this time driving the handle of his sword into Pel’s thigh and following up with his own punch, straight into the teen’s chest.

Pel tried to recover but Kyrylo was on him, ignoring the restriction Drakmir had placed on the match and going for a deadly slice at Pel’s neck. The young fighter managed to put up his arm to block and Kyrylo was shocked when his blade was parried, almost bouncing off of the bandages on Pel’s arm. He would have thought it had been blocked entirely but Pel recoiled, clutching at his forearm, pain written across his face.

Kyrylo didn’t hesitate further, stomping down onto Pel’s foot to hold him place and driving down again with the finishing swipe.

And then he froze.

His entire body seized, even as he felt the force traveling through his muscles. He was supposed to move he just…couldn’t.

The rest of the space came back to him, Drakmir overshadowing Pel, his finger unfurled to point at Kyrylo. He still had his wry smile as he approached the pair, gently touching Pel. The teen slumped into his hand and backed away, retreating into the pathway he had first emerged from.

“Can’t kill him,” Drakmir said, watching Pel stumble away. “Not yet. Let him grow some more, get out of that nasty habit of self-restraint. I don’t know why he thinks he needs to prove something. You get stronger in this world by winning fights, not losing. By any means, of course.”

“A lesson you just learned?” Silvestia sneered, gesturing down into the pit where the Rat King had resumed his throne. Smaller spirits were cleaning up the space around him, shuffling away the corpse from earlier.

Drakmir’s grin dropped. “It’s something I am acutely aware of.” He brushed down his clothes, straightening his suit and swiveling on his heel. “Thank you for entertaining me, at least.” He nodded to Kyrylo. “Not pretty but at least decisive in the end. You should fight like that more often. Maybe you’re also holding yourself back.” He gave a little wave and Kyrylo felt his body lighten, his arms suddenly free as his muscles resumed their motion.

The sword clattered onto the floor as the shook rippled through Kyrylo’s body. Felix scooped up the weapon and shuffled up beside him.

“That was fucking nuts.”

“Yeah, what the hell was he?” Both of them looked at Silvestia. She stared right back, returning to her usual unphased state as Drakmir disappeared into the shadows of the tunnels.

“Another one vying to be an Honour,” Silvestia replied. “It’s how it is down here. But he is nothing to the Rat King. He comes from privilege, elites, always looking down on the rest. The Rat King is of us, is from the bottom. He has clawed his way up out of the wastes to become an Honour.”

“Oleg said he wasn’t an Honour.” Felix folded his arms across his chest as Kyrylo took his weapon back. For someone who had mostly stayed silent on the side, he was really trying to resume his usual position as guy with the confidence like he knew what he was doing.

Silvestia shook her head. “Maybe not. Not by ceremony, not by rite. It will be true. You will see, he will rend the spirit from your body and prove it to everyone.”

Kyrylo grasped his forehead. He was holding up his own head at this point, sudden exhaustion catching up with him. He had done an adrenaline-fueled sprint down a spirit-infested hallway, had dueled with some sort of powerful fighter. And there was still a further descent. This wasn’t even the Rat King. His only hope was that it wouldn’t be an elaborate trap and he had to fight the Rat King too. He had always known that was a possibility, even without Felix constantly reminding him; he just didn’t have an alternative.

“This stuff is like a god then?” Felix continued. Silvestia started to walk once more and they both followed. There was no way back out of the labyrinth they had gone through without a guide so they couldn’t let her leave them behind. “You’re all describing it like you worship them.”

“They are what they are. They have the power to shape the Plane, to make true what wasn’t. If the Rat King can break a fusion then it is the same.”

“Wait.” Felix held out his hand across Silvestia and she did finally stop for once. “This makes it sound like this will be the first time anyone’s tried. You talked about this like you’d seen it happen, you said you’d seen his power, he could do it.”

Silvestia pushed Felix aside and resumed her stride. “Nobody knows they’re a god until they try.”