Goran took a few steps back until his leg hit a fallen tree. Keeping his eyes on Ghost, the big man crouched and picked what was left of the tree, the piece about six feet long. He hoisted the huge hunk of wood across his shoulders and stood, his leg muscles tensing.

Goran took a staggering step toward Ghost, the man nearly twice his height and now with a makeshift club capable of ending the fight in one attack.

Alistair: Are you sure you don’t need my help?

“I’ve got this,” Ghost said as he brought both his swords to the ready. “Let me focus,” he told Alistair, using the same words Alistair had used earlier when he went against the plan.

Goran swung the trunk at Ghost.

The assassin jumped back to avoid it.

Goran brought the trunk overhead with both hands and slammed it down, Ghost barely dodging. Gaining momentum, the big man swung the trunk at Ghost just as the assassin was coming in with both swords hoping to wound Goran enough that he would drop his weapon.

Ghost struck both swords with his makeshift club, splinters flying as he rolled to avoid what would have been a fatal impact. He cursed under his breath. Even with the calisthenics, even with the strength training and the fact that Ghost had been conditioning Alistair’s body for weeks now, the boy still wasn’t strong enough.

Equally problematic, his body exhibited all the signs of fear that Ghost, even in possession of his body, wasn’t able to shake.

It was chemical. Ghost knew that. He has sensed it before.

Ghost could tell Alistair was getting better, hardening with each kill, growing into a strong young man, but this was biological, it was instinctual, and it made it harder to battle such a large opponent.

With this in mind, Ghost used his smaller size, coupled with his speed, even though his knees were a bit shaky, to put some distance between Goran and him. He reached the back wall of the amphitheater, where he spotted Kanda, who was still knocked out from her earlier collision with Goran.

An idea came, a way to stall Goran. It was a nasty one, but it would do.

Ghost lifted one sword overhead, the assassin making it clear that he could kill Kanda by driving his blade down. “Stop, or I’ll fucking kill her. You were supposed to protect her, right? Come any closer and Kanda dies.”

The big man’s eyes flashed wide with fear. “You wouldn’t…”

Much to his surprise, Alistair didn’t interrupt Ghost. He had been expecting the boy to do so, expecting him to say something. Yet Alistair remained quiet, which yet again told Ghost that the young man was finally molding into something that would help them both later down the line.

Or now.

Because this just happened to be one of the moments he had been preparing for.

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Ghost had more freetime than he liked to admit. Being stuck in Alistair’s head and watching the boy meander through the day when he could do incredible things with his power and new knowledge got under Ghost’s skin. And rather than constantly coach him, Ghost imagined moments like this. He envisioned staring Goran down, a sword in each hand, and how he would pull it off, how he would deliver the big man’s head on a platter to the Unknown Souls.

There were variables that he had imagined, but taking Kanda hostage, especially after hearing Goran’s confession, hadn’t been one of them. This brought a short smile to Ghost’s face. It was one reason he loved being alive, even if he only lived through the vessel of Alistair.

Moments like this, moments where everything fell into place and he had a perfect choke point, a serendipitous opportunity to really drive home how serious he was about his code and his quest for vengeance—these were the moments that made living, even living vicariously, worth it.

“Drop your swords,” Goran said.

“She will only get in the way in the future.” Ghost brought his sword down swiftly, the assassin changing his trajectory at the last second.

Ghost knew exactly how it would appear to Goran.

Feinted strikes had been something Ghost had learned at a young age. It was something Kang and him would do when they battled in front of their mother.

“Don’t hit your brother,” Elyandra would say when he was younger, “But bring your wooden sword close enough that it prickles the hair on his arms. Thrusts are fine. That’s why you’re wearing armor.”

The thrusts had hurt.

Ghost remembered those, the bruises they left on his stomach and over his ribcage. Kang was older, stronger, yet Ghost wore those bruises with pride.

In the summer he would go around shirtless, the people in town gawking at the young man covered in blemishes.

Elyandra found it fitting.

“Let them know,” she would say, “let them know that you are a young man who isn’t afraid of anything. But be willing to back that up. Do not be afraid to push things to their limit to offset an opponent.”

And that was exactly what Ghost did as he made it appear that he had cut off the top of Kanda’s head.

“No!” Goran shouted, the large man dropping his club as he rushed forward. Ghost sprang up from his crouching position and drove both swords through Goran’s lower abdomen.

Wham!

Goran managed to drive a fist down onto Ghost’s back, one that felt as if it had broken his tailbone.

Yet it was the final strike Goran would conjure as Ghost held strong, twisted the blades, and pulled them out, viscera spraying onto Kanda’s fallen form.

Finally, Alistair spoke.

Alistair: Fuck. Are we okay?

Ghost staggered for a moment, the pain from Goran’s strike rippling through him.

He hardened his gazes as Goran finally fell to his knees. The big man hunched forward, his hands wet with blood as he tried to make sense of what Ghost had just done.

Gathering all the strength he had left, Ghost crossed both blades at the hilt. With his weight on his front knee, Ghost brought the blades around Goran’s neck like they were scissors. He stepped back, and in doing so decapitated the assassin known as the Scholarly Mountain.

Goran’s head hit the ground with a smack, where it rolled and settled on its side.

“Lionel,” Ghost said, his breaths painful.

The shadows around him shifted and bubbled upward to produce the frightening summon. “You did well.”

“Thank you. My swords.” Ghost wiped his first blade on Goran’s clothing and handed it to Lionel. He did the same with Senka’s sword.

Once the swords were away, Ghost limped to Goran’s immediate left.

Alistair: I can heal you—

“Not necessary. This isn’t over yet.” Ghost looked up at the Abyssal Summon, who floated before him, face obscured, long arms draped to the ground. “Lionel, I need you to knock me out.”