CHAPTER 1201 BATTLE OF THE BLACK SKULL (15)

Under the relentless onslaught of rain, blood was being washed off the shattered armor of a beautiful young woman with black hair and vermilion eyes. She swayed, trying to lash out with her cracked sword, but slipped in the mud and fell heavily to one knee.

Her breathing was hoarse, and her lips were painted crimson with blood. Mordret looked much worse than his sister. One of his eyes was gone, turning his face into a grotesque mask. So was one of his hands. His armor was on the verge of collapsing into a whirlwind of sparks, and terrible wounds covered his body, revealing flesh and bone.

And yet, his expression was calm.

'Ah... it hurts... I haven't felt pain like that in a long, long time...'

He was growing weak because of blood loss, his vision turning blurry. But he was so close to his goal... after long, excruciating years, the first true taste of his revenge was so near. So, Mordret took a step forward, and then another. His sword rose. His hand was firm and unshaken.

Morgan looked up at him, and the look in her eyes was sweeter than nectar. Confusion, indignation... and hidden behind them, a hint of fear.

"How... how are you still standing, monster..."

Mordret smiled.

'Barely...'

He was not going to engage in a lengthy conversation with her - not yet. He knew that his sister was just trying to buy time. Using one of the enchantments absorbed by her body, she was trying to heal herself - her wounds were already closing, and she was not bleeding nearly as heavily as she was supposed to.

It was not going to save her, though. Morgan might have been able to heal herself, but she couldn't replenish her essence, her focus, and her stamina. She was tired, and that fatigue was only going to get worse. It was going to seep into her bones and into her mind, dooming her.

He just had to last a little bit longer than that. His sister gathered what little remained of her strength and dashed forward with a furious growl. Her sword flashed, sharp and cunning, aiming for his neck... Mordret knew that he wouldn't be able to block or evade it, so he didn't.

Instead, he just shifted his torso slightly, allowing the sharp edge to cut into his clavicle instead of his neck, endured the blinding flash of pain, and drove his own sword into a crack in her armor. Morgan groaned.

Before she could do anything, he swung the bloodied stump of his right hand, hitting her in the temple with the torn edge of the steel vambrace. His sister was thrown back, dazed. Mordret felt a bit lightheaded, too.

A long sigh escaped from his lips. "Ah..."

Through the veil of rain covering the battlefield, he could see what was happening around them. Clan Song... was losing. The titanic worm was battered and mutilated, but three out of the four of his Reflections had already been destroyed.

The last one - the one wearing Whispering Blade's face - was not going to last much longer, either. Saint Madoc himself was close to prevailing in his harrowing battle against Beastmaster. Silent Stalker and Summer Knight were still fighting, both stubbornly refusing to admit defeat. At this rate, both of them would perish, and even if the taciturn daughter of Ki Song prevailed, she wouldn't be able to continue participating in the battle.

Even the Reflection of Sir Gilead seemed to be failing against one of Nether's children that Sunless had somehow made his. The scoundrel himself, meanwhile... This text is property of Nô/velD/rama.Org.

Mordret felt the desire to raise an eyebrow, but he was too weak and tired to do that. '...Dire Fang is dead? Sunless and the Dreamspawn killed a Saint?' This was a terrible, disastrous piece of news, but he couldn't help but feel... impressed. 'Good for them...'

Morgan tried to stand up, and he pushed her into the mud again with a cruel strike of his sword. There was more pain, and it was suddenly hard for him to keep balance.

By now, their clash looked nothing like a noble duel between two royal descendants. It was simply a brutal, graceless, vicious brawl... but Mordret liked it more that way. It was much more sincere. Much more honest. Why would murder look pretty when it was so ugly?

His sister was still refusing to give up. They clashed several more times, and each time, Mordret was on the losing end of the exchange. ...Until he wasn't. At some point, somehow, almost unexplainably, he gained the initiative in this abhorrent dance of theirs. And once he did, his advantage grew like an avalanche.

**No matter how many wounds he had accumulated, no matter how terribly Morgan hurt him, Mordret was unshaken. His one remaining eye glimmered, reflecting her dwindling confidence. And then, after a while, Morgan fell and failed to stand up again.

Certainly! Here's the continuation of the text formatted like a webnovel:

Growling, she struck the ground with her fist.

"I... I don't... I don't understand. How... are you... what trick..."

He smiled, dragging his aching body toward her. Now was the time to talk - not only because Morgan had finally exhausted all her monstrous reserves, but also because he was tired, as well. He needed a few moments to catch his breath and prepare for the final strike.

"You don't understand? Oh, but it is so simple. There is no trick. Yes, you are stronger than me, faster than me... you are maybe even more skilled than me. However, dear sister, I am infinitely superior to you in one aspect. The most important aspect."

He struggled against the weight of his sword, which was suddenly unbearable, and gritted his teeth. "...It's desire. Don't you know that everything has its beginnings in desire? And my desire, it's infinitely more powerful than yours. That is why I am more powerful than you... that is all there is, sister. Oh, and my desire is also much more pure."

'Can't she see? Well... she's young, after all...'

Mordret reached the spot where Morgan was trying to get up from the mud and ruthlessly kicked her in the side with his armored boot. She yelped, and fell back down. He looked at her coldly.

"You see... my only desire is to kill you. But you, you want so many things. You want to kill and imprison me, but you also want to survive killing and imprisoning me. You want to protect your neck from being cut, your heart from being pierced, your skull from being crushed, your eyes from being gouged out. All these countless desires weigh you down. They are a burden that reduces your strength, dulls your skill, and diminishes your speed. But me? I have no such burden. I only care about one thing. I only want to kill you. That is why you are weak, and I am strong."

Mordret used his one remaining eye to glance at the bloody stump of his right hand, at his broken armor, and at his mangled body. His gaze was indifferent. "...And that is why my wish will come true, but yours will not."

Without wasting any more time, he smiled bitterly, and raised his sword. His goal was so close... he just had to bring the sword down. However, he never did.