Bragg heaved his sword into the air as he approached the swordsman. Bragg didn't know how having two swords could possibly make a difference. Two tiny twigs were nothing against his sword. His momma had bought it for him special, just like his brother's hammer. Both weapons had the marking for White Tiger Steel on them. They were the best possible weapons money could buy.
"You ain't nothing special," Bragg said. "Look at my sword. We got better weapons and better strength. Your twigs ain't going to do nothing."
"The value of a warrior is not tied to a blade," the man said as he held out both of his swords. "A warrior is made by the deeds he does in this life. He is remembered by the stories people tell about him as he journeys into his next life. Today, I will show you the strength of these swords in my hands. They are the greatest swords ever made."
They burned orange with heat, and Bragg gulped down the lump in his throat. To his eyes, the blades looked as hot as the sun and gave off an almost blinding light. Even he was smart enough to be cautious. The first thing he learned from working for Mister Deadman after his mother had gone away for a vacation five years ago was that you couldn't underestimate people.
"She'll be back soon. She's just on a long vacation," Bragg mumbled absently as he drew in a deep breath to call in power for his technique. "Sword Cut!"
Instead of getting closer to test the man, he cut a wide arc through the air with his blade. The air extended out from it, and joy surged through Bragg's heart. The dream of every child, a flying sword cut, sliced through the air toward the swordsman, and Bragg kept his eye on it as he finished the swing with his giant blade.
"Got you!"
"Devil's Divide."
Shing.
The swordsman cut up and down with both of his swords, the orange light of the blades intersecting the moment the flying cut reached him. For a moment, the slash stalled in the air and struggled against the two swords, but that didn't last long. Bragg's stomach dropped as he watched the attack split in half mid-air, the two halves of the cut continuing on to cut into the rock wall of the dig site. Rocks crumbled as the attack carved through the stone and dissipated.
Now, Bragg hadn't expected that. The swordsman approached him, advancing step by step with his two blades held out to his side. Bragg thought about it. He would have to try a lot harder if he wanted to win. He spared a look back to his brother, but Cragg was busy in his own fight against the flashy skeleton man.
"Fine," Bragg said, taking his finger out of his ear and taking hold of his sword with both hands. "Momma always told me I have to be the better brother, being two seconds older."
His legs bulged as he drew in another deep breath, calling the power of the air into his body. He held up his blade by his head and reached back with his sword, ready to bring it down in a hard swing. With a grunt, he shot off into the air in a charge towards the swordsman.
"Sword Charge!"
Boom.
He barrelled forward like a cannonball, the air around him parting in a gale of wind as he shot toward the swordsman. As he came within range, he slammed down his foot and swung his blade, the muscles in both of his arms bulging as he cut down and to the right across the swordsman's body.
If he timed it right, he would cleave the swordsman in two. If he missed, he would take a second step, which would allow him to swing around for a second slice. He had never had to swing for more than two hits with that technique.
Whoosh.
The first swing caught air and nothing more, and Bragg slammed down his foot for the second swing. His eyes searched around him as he rotated, but he couldn't see the swordsman at all. He had to complete the swing to keep his blade in his hands, and his sword caught air for a second time. Bragg had no idea where the puny man had gone.
Whoosh.
Bragg looked up by instinct alone. He expected to see the swordsman there and raised his blade to block the blow. The flat of his blade would be able to take the hit. It was made of White Tiger Steel, after all. However, nothing came down to hit him, and there was no silhouette of the swordsman above him.
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"Where'd he go?" Bragg looked left and right in confusion.
It was only too late that he saw the blur of movement he hadn't seen before.
"Devil's Wind."
The attack didn't come from above but from below. Twelve slices came for his chest, and they cut against his skin in searing flashes of pain. Bragg's sword was already in a bad position, so he couldn't just step away. He hadn't expected the swordsman to duck his slash and then stay in the shadow of his sword.
"Grah!" he yelled as he was thrown back from the force of the cuts.
Bragg stumbled away from the swordsman, and he saw the smile on the man's face as he fell on his butt in the dirt. Bragg had a moment to look down at his body. Several cuts ran across his legs, and his stomach, all of them burned closed and black. Bragg's body was tough because his momma didn't raise any weaklings, but it wasn't immune to damage. He clenched his teeth and shoved his sword into the ground to force himself onto his feet. The swordsman was coming at him again.
"Devil's Divide!"
The swordsman held up both arms, crossing them across his body as he shot forward. Bragg brought up his sword as a shield, throwing himself behind the blade as the twin swords cut through the air toward him.
Ting. Crack.
Heated metal cut into his sword, and the entire thing shook up through his arms as the blades cut into the metal. Smoke poured up from the blades as they twisted against the metal of Bragg's sword, and Bragg had to take a step back to get a breath of fresh air.
The pincer of the swords protested his release, but his sword came with him as he retreated. Bragg brought it up to inspect it and saw two melted pits at the midway point of his sword. A line had cracked between them, and to his surprise, as the blade cooled, the sword broke in half.
Cling. Clang.
Half of Bragg's sword fell to the ground, and he looked down at it with wide eyes. It shouldn't have been possible. The sword was the best, made from White Tiger Steel. No one should be able to even put a bump on the sharp end of the blade.
But there it was, the blade tip rested in the dirt in front of him while he held only half of his sword. Bragg turned as the swordsman advanced on him and realized he had a problem. His weapon was gone, and he couldn't win the fight.
"Devil's Thrust!'
The swordsman held both of his swords at his side, the blades intersecting in front of him before he charged forward for one final time. Bragg tried to bring up his blade to block, even if it was just half of a sword, it could at least shield him, but it was too late.
Shing. Crack.
One sword came for his broken blade, piercing through the metal and knocking it away. Bragg absently reached for it, even though he knew it was the wrong move. He didn't want to let go of the sword. It was the only thing left—the last gift from his mother.
The second one came directly for his heart, and Bragg had nowhere to go. The sword pierced through him, and his heart burned as it cut through bone and flesh before it came out the other side.
His mother once told him he was only good for fighting and watching out for his brother. Bragg remembered that. It was his job as an older brother to make sure that Cragg was protected. Throughout their entire life in Undertown, he had lived by that code. Whether they were fighting in the streets on the way home or whether it was when he had to take his father out and throw him into the trash because he had taken a hand to Cragg one too many times. Bragg was supposed to be the strongest. He was supposed to protect his younger brother.
Now, here he was, sliding down a sword as he fought a swordsman on a no-name island out in the nightsea. He wasn't sure where his life had gone wrong. Was it when he first started working under Mister Deadman? Was it when he and his brother had started beating the drim to make them work harder? Was it when they had used them as target practice for their techniques to hone their skills? No. Bragg knew that all of those had been necessary to become stronger.
No, his mistake had been letting himself be separated from his brother. The two intruders would have lost the fight if they had stayed together. Bragg knew this to be true. His one regret in life was that he would die away from his brother.
He fell forward onto the blade as the light around him faded, and he breathed only one word.
"Momma."
----------------------------------------
Sayed's breath caught in his chest, and another spike of pain ran down his arm from his heart. He couldn't keep his gate open any longer. He had to let go. He dropped his swords and let Bragg's body fall with them as he closed his gate.
He had pushed himself as hard as he could, opening his gate and calling in power far beyond what he should. His blades had burned brighter and hotter than ever before, and Abed's sword had brought him the victory he needed. However, he was now paying the cost of pushing his blessing so hard. Even with his gate closing, the heat still roiled through his body.
He looked down on Bragg. The man lay in a growing pool of his own blood. Sayed regretted having to kill him, but he didn't have anything left. When men crossed blades, they did so knowing that death was on the other side of the battle for at least one of them.
"May you find your way in the next world," Sayed mumbled as his head swam. "But know I will not join you in the Crimson Fields today. You will have to walk alone until your brother joins you there."
His blessing was changing inside of him. Heat ran through his arms and legs like steam coming off of boiling water. After he fell asleep, he would wake up a different man with a changed blessing. How would he grow? He didn't know.
The ground rushed up at him, and he fell face-first into it. Heat radiated off his body in bursts as he lay against the cold ground. Above him, the moonlight shone down, and in his blurry vision, he could see Jean trade blows with Cragg.
"I have gone as far as I can, brother," Sayed whispered. "It is up to you to go the rest of the way."
Sayed closed his eyes and let himself be consumed by the darkness. The heat remained even as he slept, roiling across and out of his body as he fell through darkness and toward a bright light. As he fell, he recognized the desert sand before him. Hajh rose to face him as sleep claimed him.