Chapter 9 – Martyr vs War

War: (with a cruel grin) "I thought this meeting would be a waste of time... but now I must reconsider. I recognize your danger, little one. Be proud while you can... though, given your recent actions, I don’t think you’ll have much time to boast."

Martyr: (smiling provocatively) "Then don’t waste any more time. Attack me with all your strength! Hurry up, because I’m already starting to get bored. This battle is so predictable it makes me yawn."

Before Martyr could finish his sentence, War moved with surprising speed, his colossal body lunging forward with unprecedented force. Without hesitation, he delivered a devastating slap to Martyr's face.

The impact was titanic. The air itself seemed to explode as Martyr's body was hurled far away, crossing the bridge and getting stuck in a bone column several kilometers away. The ground trembled from the force of the attack, and a cloud of dust and debris rose, engulfing the place of the crash.

War: (walking slowly toward Martyr, his voice echoing with a contemptuous tone)

"I’ve returned the favor, and now we’re even. I could have crushed you completely, but I couldn’t bear the thought of carrying the shame you tried to inflict on me. Remember, I’m not an opponent to provoke lightly."

Meanwhile, Martyr, still trapped in the column, moved to free himself. His fiery wings glowed brightly, burning the bone fragments holding him. When he finally freed himself, he landed with unnatural grace, brushing himself off with an almost casual gesture.

Martyr: (with a sharp smile and a fierce look) "Is that all? Is that the best you can do? I expected much more. Now, let me show you... how to really fight."

With those words, Martyr moved with determination. His white flames intensified, completely engulfing him, and he began manipulating them with precision.

He then began swirling around War with increasing speed, attempting to confuse the towering Eden.

Suddenly, with lightning speed, Martyr lunged at him. From below, he delivered a devastating kick straight to War’s chin, a blow so powerful that the surrounding air shattered into shockwaves that spread in every direction.

But War didn’t move. The blow hit him squarely, yet his colossal figure remained immobile, as if carved in stone. With a look full of disdain, War firmly grabbed Martyr’s leg before he could pull back, pinning him in place.

With a fierce grin, War began spinning Martyr above his head, like a doll in the hands of a giant.

With a mighty leap, War lifted into the air, carrying Martyr still trapped in his grasp. Midair, with overwhelming fury, he threw him toward the ground with all his strength.

The impact was terrifying: Martyr’s body crashed into the ground with an explosion that swept everything around. A crater immediately formed beneath him, while shockwaves spread in concentric circles, shaking the very foundations of the planet.

While Martyr was still recovering from the devastating impact, War was already on top of him, moving with the relentless ferocity of a predator. The gigantic blade of his axe fell with force, aiming directly at Martyr’s body.

In an instant, Martyr managed to react, blocking the blade with his hands, gripping it firmly by the sides to prevent it from penetrating his body. But the power of the axe didn’t stop at its blade: the impact unleashed an earthquake as violent as the force with which War struck.

The entire planet, along with the bridge itself, vibrated. Martyr felt the consequences directly in his body: his vertebrae broke, his arm bones shattered, and other parts of his skeleton gave way under the immense pressure. War noticed the wounds he was inflicting, but Martyr’s determination struck him: he didn’t let go of the axe.

With an unnatural gesture, Martyr inflated his chest, and before War could react, he opened his mouth and spit a burst of white flames directly onto his opponent’s face. The flames devoured the surrounding air, forcing War to retreat with a growl of anger, trying to move away to avoid the scorching fire.

Silence fell over the battlefield, broken only by the faint crackling of the residual flames licking the air around the crater. Martyr lay there, his body a tangled mess of broken bones and torn flesh, immersed in dust and shadows. Every breath seemed an act of rebellion against the immense destruction he had suffered.

Then, a movement.

His fingers contracted, a dull and unsettling sound accompanied the first attempt to rise. An echo of cracked bones, a wet sound of flesh bending under the weight of its own fragility. The right arm, broken in multiple places, moved with inhuman effort, seeking a hold on the shattered ground.

When he finally started to lift his torso, his spine emitted a series of piercing cracks, as if each vertebra was separating and then realigning. His wings of fire, once majestic, were now reduced to flickering sparks, but they began to pulse faintly, like a heart refusing to stop beating.

His face, marked by deep wounds, tilted upward, revealing eyes burning with an unquenchable light. Blood dripped from his lips, his breath a mixture of rasping and hissing bursts of air. Every movement carried with it a disturbing sound.

When he finally managed to rise to his knees, a dry and chilling noise resonated in the air: a breath.

Martyr raised his head, his face marked by wounds and caked in dust and blood. His fire wings, flickering weakly, began to glow with an ever-brighter light. Then, with a voice that quickly turned into a roar of pure will, he uttered a single word:

"Forgiveness."

At that moment, the air seemed to freeze and then explode in a wave of white, vibrating energy. From the center of his body radiated a blinding light, penetrating every fiber of his mutilated flesh.

The broken bones began to crackle, making a deep sound like wood bending under an immense force. One by one, the fractures healed, and the vertebrae realigned with relentless precision, like pieces of a mosaic returning to their place. The broken ribs trembled, shifting and rearranging until they formed the solid rib cage that protected his heart once again.

From his limbs, the torn muscles contracted and regenerated, fibers joining together at an impossible speed. The blood that had stained the earth seemed to be sucked back into his veins as the tissues re-knitted themselves, transforming the torn flesh into a smooth and immaculate surface.

Even his skin, which had been ripped and burned, regenerated under the divine glow, returning intact as if nothing had ever happened.

The battle was far from over.

Now they were back to square one, except War had only sustained minor wounds. If it weren’t for Martyr’s ability, the fight would have already ended, but it didn’t…

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Martyr: (with a contemptuous tone) "Show me more. Is that all you’ve got? I’m not impressed yet."

War: (his face twisting in a mixture of confusion and rage) "I’m sure I’ve broken more than one of your bones. How are you still standing? How can you look at me like nothing happened?"

Martyr: (with a mocking smile, his fire wings rising majestically) "Your powers are nothing against me. You’re just a pawn, a little worm crawling in this place. You can hit me as many times as you want... but it will never be enough to bring me down."

War: (with a fierce grin, tightly gripping his axe) "Ah, finally a worthy opponent! I couldn’t ask for anything better to break the monotony. You’re strong, I’ll admit... and besides, I’ll be able to kill you many times. Every resurrection of yours will be another pleasure to indulge in."

At that point, War intensified the power of his singularity. The air around them became dense, saturated with a ferrous odor. The ground turned dark red as Proxima Fini, War’s singularity, filled the environment with living blood.

He then began manipulating that sea of blood, shaping it with his will, forming a blood titan, a colossal figure that surrounded him like a living armor.

As the transformation took shape, War directed part of the blood toward Martyr, generating a liquid explosion that struck him with devastating force, hurling him high into the sky. The impact rumbled like thunder, and now they were suspended above the bone bridge, in the center of a dark sky.

War stood at the center of his creation: a massive bust made entirely of blood, towering as a colossus on the edge of his semisphere. Every movement of the creature shook the air, its arms moving with such power that gusts of wind and shockwaves bent the bridge below.

Martyr, suspended in midair, wasn’t intimidated. With a fierce look, he drew his divine weapon, Courage, and infused it with the power of the fire of creation. The blade began to glow with an incandescent light, the flames that surrounded it were so intense that they seemed capable of tearing through space itself.

Martyr, now, had full control over the length and size of the sword, an extension of his own power.

War, from his titanic form, threw enormous blood blades toward Martyr, slashes so fast and powerful that they generated storms in the sky. Each shockwave accompanying the blows left scars in the air.

Martyr tried to dodge the blades with acrobatic movements, pushing himself to the limits of his agility. But he didn’t always succeed. Every blow that hit him tore through his body, leaving him mutilated and bleeding. His chest was torn open, one arm almost severed, but every time he was injured, he uttered the word “Forgiveness,” and his body regenerated rapidly. His wounds disappeared, but the pain remained, an inevitable price for his sacrifice.

As he dodged and regenerated, Martyr swung his sword, which lengthened and flamed, becoming a weapon of pure destruction. With precise blows charged with flames, he managed to mutilate the blood titan, slashing its arms and chest. But every wound inflicted on the titan seemed futile: the surrounding blood flowed back into the creature, reconstructing it with the same speed with which Martyr regenerated.

The sky above the bone bridge was now a theater of fiery storms and rain of blood.

The battle continued furiously, a dance of destruction and resistance that consumed itself amid the blood-red clouds of Proxima Mortis. Martyr and War fought relentlessly, slashes and blows followed one another like thunder and lightning, until Martyr, with a sudden calmness, sheathed his sword Courage.

With a solemn look, he brought his hands together in prayer, and his fire wings fully opened, enveloping the air in a blinding light. The white flames detached from his body, floating and taking form. In just a few moments, Martyr shaped two giant arms of fire.

With a decisive gesture, the arms descended upon War, gripping him firmly and locking him in a hold that even the giant’s brutal strength couldn’t break.

Without wasting a moment, Martyr concentrated all his energy. With a push that made the sky tremble, he hurled himself toward his opponent. With the speed and precision of lightning, he delivered a devastating right hook directly to War’s stomach.

The impact was such that War’s blood armor shattered under the pressure, the flames of Martyr penetrated the protection, and the colossus was forced to emerge from his blood armor, vulnerable for the first time.

Martyr didn’t relent. He grabbed War by the arm with an inescapable grip and hurled him toward theemisphere of Death with a titanic force. War’s body flew through the air like a projectile, crashing violently onto the surface.

Without hesitation, Martyr leapt toward him. With another thunderous blow, he struck War, pinning him to the ground as the earth shattered beneath them.

Despite everything, War got up, staggering but still proud. His breath was heavy, his body marked by the continuous efforts to maintain his power. The energy he had spent fighting and shaping his armor was beginning to weigh on him, his very power becoming a burden.

On the other side, Martyr seemed almost immaculate. His body was intact thanks to the constant use of Forgiveness, but he carried with him the pain of every wound suffered. The pain, however, was not enough to break his will. He was a warrior, driven by determination that shone brighter than his own flames.

Watching Martyr, War was overwhelmed by rage. His pride was wounded, his strength questioned. With eyes clouded by fury, he decided not to hold back any longer. Every ounce of his power was poured into the battlefield.

The battle was now entering its most violent phase.

War, with a roar that shook the air, drew his divine axe once more, his veins swollen with rage and desperation. With each strike, he hurled himself at Martyr with unparalleled brutality, repeatedly hacking him apart. Each blow was a discharge of devastating power, and yet, despite the mutilation, Martyr continued to utter "Forgiveness," regenerating in a cycle of rebirth and pain.

War was so immersed in his fury that he lost all control. His axe cut through everything in its path, destroying the surrounding structures, shattering the ground, and even claiming the lives of many of the mud creatures that had gathered in the plaza. Chaos spread, and devastation ran unchecked across Death’s semisphere.

The battle caught the attention of the lord of the semisphere, who would soon rise from his throne to see what was happening.

Martyr died hundreds of times in that fight. Each strike seemed to inflict a final end, yet it didn’t break his spirit. No matter how much he was torn apart, no matter how much pain he endured, each time he regenerated, seemingly more determined than before. War’s frustration grew, as despite his brutal strength, he began to yield under the weight of exhaustion.

Blow after blow, War himself became more injured, more exhausted. His fury had consumed his energy, and Martyr’s constant regeneration seemed to erode his will. Finally, with a thud, War dropped to his knees, his breath heavy, the axe still gripped in his hands, now used as a staff to hold himself up.

Around them, the surviving mud creatures had gathered at the edges of the square, watching in silence.

Martyr approached with a mocking smile, his body now regenerated, free of the signs of devastation he had suffered. The white flames of his wings shone like a promise of unstoppable force.

Martyr: (with a sarcastic tone) "What’s happening, War? Are you already tired of fighting? Don’t tell me your toy is broken... I knew it, you’re the weak brother."

War: (still kneeling, his face streaked with sweat and blood, but his gaze filled with rage) "You talk too much, Martyr. Yes, I’ve killed you hundreds of times, and I’ll keep doing it. But without that arrogant mouth of yours... you’d be nothing. You cling to words because you know your strength alone isn’t enough."

Martyr: (with a provocative smile) "Ah, really? Do I seem dead to you? You look more like you’re nearing the end. Make up your mind, War, are you getting up or not? Or have you grown fond of the floor? It’s starting to seem like your dear friend."

At that point, the dialogue between the two was abruptly cut off.