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Lennon 'Bladeless Monster' Hull

With confident steps, I stride to the woman who is to be my opponent. My formless hands clench excitedly, eager for a battle to test my mettle once more. The act of growing stronger is something I relish in, and wars of this caliber are the best ways to do so.

Yet, within just a few steps after the battle was forcibly paused, something I loathed every second of, the woman smiles, and it positively floors me. My feet halt as I take in her figure.

Her curves are lined by a silky-smooth ivory dress that drapes all the way down to her opulent heels. The tiara on her head complements her grin, while the sparkling jewelry shakes my vision. Some part of me fights against something, but I shake it aside, beaming at her.

And to my surprise, she speaks first, her previous words washed away in my memory somehow.

"Oh, hello there, dear! I'm Gorgeous. What is your name?"

Something screams of danger. It's... primal. It's...

Colors waft in my eyes as a smell reaches my nose. The fragrance is intoxicating, weakening the tension in my joints. Gorgeous strides toward me with her long legs, the skin peeking out from the single open slit on the right-hand side.

"Lockjaw, love? Oh, don't worry about that. It'll clear up real soon."

Heels clack against the arena floor as my hands clench. Why are they clenching? Something isn't right here.

What isn't right here?

I'm in an arena with Gorgeous. That's perfectly normal. My, she's beautiful. I wonder...

"Are you lonely, my love?"

A petite finger with long crimson nails trails along my chin and lifts my lowered head to meet Gorgeous's eyes. They are swirling hearts, pink and iridescently enchanting atop the tall woman's sockets. Am I lonely? I suppose I am. It's been a long time since I found someone I could open up to and truly speak with. Kwakiteh was near that point, but I hadn't yet taken that step.

A moment passes as I find myself lost in the windows to Gorgeous' soul, delving into the pits.

Still, something screams of alarm within me. I start to shake it away until a hand pats my shoulder. My eyes don't leave Gorgeous' exquisite form, but a voice reaches me.

"Stand up, soldier. This is no time to sleep! Up and at 'em!"

My eyes open once more, a secondary layer blocking my vision and clogging my mind. Reason returns to me as I find a hand nestled within my chest, cradling my heart with razor-sharp nails. The hand is dainty and beautiful, a perfect pair to its twin.

Feeling the scent enter my nose, I bite down, cutting off my tongue to help focus. The pain does exactly as my probing questions to Virgil lead me to believe during one of our scarce conversations.

Still, the haze remains, invading deeply with Gorgeous already having me at checkmate. Her giggle tosses me further down the abyss as I fight to retain consciousness.

"Ohoho! You broke out!? That's not nice, love. Why don't you go back to bed? Then you won't be lonely anymore. Mother accepts anyone. Even you. It'd be such a shame to end you here. Last chance, my beautiful boy. We can't have you voyaging without a leash, now can we?"

Every single word, every individual syllable, and every personal sound dives into my brain, scraping out reason and rationality. I can practically feel my resolve slipping away, my connection to my Dominion and Power fading.

So this is it. Her Power, right? I think Wyatt said her Dominion was the wires? Or maybe it's the other way around. It's impossible to think clearly now. And the seconds are ticking. The glorious curve of her smile is gradually drooping, counting down to my demise.

And instead of searching for a way out of the inevitable, I grapple with methods to deal with said inevitable. She will take my heart. I am not, under any circumstances, fast enough to stop that.

Can I live without a heart? Temporarily. A minute at most is all I can handle before the lights go out, seeing as I'm uninjured otherwise. My movements will have to be minor, as slight as possible, to conserve energy. This means... I have to end this fight quickly.

No. I need to end this fight the instant I can. This is not a battle I can allow myself to enjoy.

My decision is made as the colors wash away my senses once more. Before all is lost, I make my move. Instead of retaliating, though, I do what I must to retain my sanity. Pain is practical for this purpose, but I am not under enough stress.

No quarter given, not even to myself. That is the path I have chosen.

Ten diminutive blades of my Dominion Slash up my toenails, removing the keratin and drawing an obscene amount of blood as wounds trail up to my shin. The agony and shock put upon my body lurches me into action.

With a clear mind and a crystalline view of the world, I lunge for Gorgeous. She's so close that it would only take an extension of my arm. The woman does precisely as I expect her to. Those claws tear apart my heart, piercing right out of my back.

In which case, my Dominion moves against her strings. Dozens of clashing sparks emerge within our two-feet gap. Blades against threads. The shine of our battle is brighter than any of the jewelry on her body. I can visibly witness her desire to 'tame' me vanish as her face sets into depravity.

Yes. This is what I want. A real battle.

The lack of a heart, however, will be a debilitating matter. No more flowing blood means the energy within my muscles currently is all that I will get. Monster detonates that energy, condensing all that I have to give within an even shorter timeframe, pulling from that which I do not have to use.

Again, I take note of the way Monster interacts with missing organs and limbs. Most skills and Powers break when pieces stop working. Johnny's eyes are a good example. Yet as I reach for Gorgeous with my countless blades meeting her innumerable strings, I smile with joy compared to her facade.

A true monster indeed grows the nearer to death they reach. The less of me there is, the more of me that is distributed to what lingers.

A thousand impacts resound within a fraction of a second, and Gorgeous retreats away from my advancement. I do not allow her to escape. Every muscle and tendon in my body vibrates with perfect efficiency, moving in such an intuitive pattern that no energy is wasted.

My foot twists on the dirt, allowing me to pick up even more speed as I compel my soul to attack more. The Slashes double then triple with Gorgeous still on the back foot. Blood, dark ichor, slips from her body and falls onto the ground in low amounts, but each drop broadens my grin.

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Each stain on her clothing fulfills my purpose. Still, it is not enough, as she's buying as much time as possible, not truly retaliating. Time is ticking. Two seconds have passed. I miscalculated a bit. I won't last a minute. I'll last perhaps half that. I didn't take into account the increased draw of energy to keep up with a weakening body and mind.

Tightening a phantasmal grip, I finally swing the formless Dia at Gorgeous's neck, the distance perfect for doing so. The beautiful figure bounds to the side, jewelry detonating into countless shards to protect her. The Demigod lands on her feet, one hand against the floor as she opens her mouth.

I don't give her time to speak. My feet slam into the dirt as I charge her down, but it's not enough. A rhythm enters my ears, and...

Another dozen cuts line my body as I purposefully force myself to stay awake. None of the wounds are lethal, not even close, as I am cautious only to hit the painful portions of the human body, not the vital ones. Gorgeous, however, is furious at my actions.

"Let me ta—"

Swinging Dia in a downward arc, Gorgeous is compelled to contort, the threads around her catching and deflecting the force of my sword. Another half-dozen blades come for her back, but she diverts them, too. As I Cleave for her neck again, I notice a writhing under her skin.

What is that? Oh, it must be one of those fancy body-enhancement skills. I wish I had one of those; mine is as brutal and uncooperative as they come, being a direct evolution of Physical Strengthening.

Expecting something to happen as my edge nears her flesh, I twist my Dominion to the side. And I prove myself correct as threads explode from her jugular to block my attack. Fortunately, I foresaw the move, which had Gorgeous's alabaster shoulder turn crimson with damage.

Now that I have her close and know most of her capabilities, I pivot on my feet, shifting into the stances associated with my swordsmanship. They hold no names; the fancy learning of the Estates were too good for me. They only bear numbers given by Edmund and built upon by me.

My mentor created eleven stances for me to use and flow effortlessly between. None are 'skills' as most would believe them to be, but they are the near-pinnacle of swordsmanship. I rarely call to them mentally, instead subconsciously using them just as one uses their muscles to walk, but right now? I need the foundation of my training to stabilize my mind.

Using the 2nd, I rip back my formless steel, twisting it to point at Gorgeous with my illusory elbows raised by my head. She backsteps, throwing enchanting fumes and a thousand deadly pointed threads at my throat. Closing my eyes to focus, I fall into the 6th, trudging forward and twirling the formless blade with the tip as an anchor.

From the 6th, I enter the 10th, kicking to the side and slashing with my momentum. I cut through hundreds of threads at once, opening a line of blood upon Gorgeous's perfect countenance. Then, I sidestep, sliding into the 1st as I perform a rudimentary vetical downward slash, the attack blocked. Not enough.

The 11th, a masterwork of fluidity and posture, flips my blade back over my body, eliciting another slash within an instant. The third second of the battle ends with a harrowing gash going from Gorgeous's chest to her hip.

The yipe of agony throws me off with its intensity. I stumble slightly, losing the transition to the 8th's all-in dive. The wobbling vision costs me as threads sink into my flesh, at least thirty or forty of them. Gritting my teeth, I constrict my grasp on my blade, focusing my Dominion wholly upon Dia.

I am strongest like this. My strongest will devour anyone else's strongest. The pledge narrows my focus once more, and I flow into my own eleven stances, allowing them to meld with Edmund's creations as usual.

The 12th saves me from a fiftieth thread as I flip the blade upon my wrist, the handle acting as a lever to speed up the swing. The heightened velocity cuts all the strings coming for me and all those already in me.

I leap over a pair of two separate groups of one hundred with the 15th. The movement starts with a spinning blade and ends with one falling upon my opponent. The dexterity needed for this maneuver marks it as one of the most challenging techniques I have, forcing the handle to roll and slide along my forearm before catching it alongside my momentum.

Nevertheless, I could fight with these stances asleep, let alone awake. I've used them so many times that I cannot remember the first day I succeeded with the first.

With a crashing impact, I bring Gorgeous to a knee, the entirety of her threads halting my cut. She glares up at me through the minor holes in the strings. Meanwhile, I redouble my effort, pressing down upon her as I ready myself for the 17th.

I don't reach the technique to reapply force, however, as her voice leaves her closed teeth. Despite the situation, it is as melodic as ever, adding lead to my eyelids.

"Just let go. I know you're lonely. We all are. You don't have to be alone, Lennon Hull. Open up. Enjoy your life. Fighting is not all there is."

My muscles relax, but not enough to allow her to escape. The colors shift in my vision as some thoughts return gradually. Where am I? Right. I need to kill—

"It's okay. You're not alone anymore. I'm here. Is that all you need to hear? I know it's been difficult, but you are strong. You are so, so powerful. But that only means you need to rest even more."

Strength leaves me, and I fall backward slightly, leaving Gorgeous alone. I don't want to hurt her, do I? I don't want to be alone forever. I want to be strong. It's fun. But... it is lonely.

One-night stands are all my love life has ever been. Dead friends and temporary acquaintances are all I've ever had. I haven't shared a beer with someone in... The last friend I spoke to for any purpose other than a mission was... The last time I talked to someone just to talk was...

I don't know.

Is that what I want it all to be? Blood, death, and mayhem? Never any lasting happiness? Is the transient, fleeting joy of battle the only one I can enjoy anymore?

Partially, I can recognize that these thoughts are not my own. Yet, I cannot simply push away from them. Falling to a knee, I stare at the dirt, finding my reflection in the spilled blood. I am... so... exhausted. Marks of fatigue line every part of my face. I have the wrinkles of a man ten years my elder.

Gorgeous stays away from me. She must know how awful I am.

"You are not awful, my dear. I am simply waiting for you to find yourself..."

Her words fade in and out as my lungs rumble with a cough. Hacking and spitting out my mouth, I nearly fall to the dirt. Is that blood coming out of my mouth? Huh? Why am I bleeding? That doesn't make any sense.

We were just talking about life, right?

Blinking rapidly, I attempt to force order into my vision to stop the trembling, but nothing works. Sighing, I listen to the woman again, savoring each and every word. It's so... lovely to hear her.

"Almost there. Just a little bit longer, love. Then, you'll never be alone again. You might have only ever had two in your life, but soon you'll have millions to protect you, to warm you, to love you."

My mind drifts to the two figures she mentions. The cold, distant, yet supportive back of my father. He was a good poet, though the actual job that fed us was being an archivist. He was a pretty awful dad if I'm being honest with myself. He did little to physically support me, not once teaching me how to fight or do anything besides writing. I wasn't a good son either, though, so much so that he sent me off. Nevertheless, he never gave up on me, writing me letters and poems to give me strength while I was training under...

Under Edmund.

The old man's face forms within the melancholic chill. His warm grin and extended palm energize the empty body. When did I first meet him? Right. It was when he stopped by my quaint town. Father recognized him and brought me to him, not knowing what to do with such an unruly child.

I was introduced to Edmund's warm smile and open palm on a sunny day, the heat making me sweat but ineffective against him. I'll never forget it. I miss him.

"You can have more. There are many like him. They can help fix you. Help heal you."

Something freezes within my mind, locking the gears within place upon her words. Replace him? Replace Edmund? Nothing can replace that old man. He gave me everything and more. He was perfect. A shining example of humanity. Something I could never be. Something that... I wouldn't dislike to be.

I might not be perfect in nature, but... I'll at least be perfect in the one thing he taught me.

My hand clenches a blade I don't recall forming.

The past twenty-five seconds rush back into my mind as I realize what's happening. Gorgeous put me under her control again. I push my body to rise, but it refuses. A sinking feeling swarms my body as Gorgeous grin stretches all the way up to her ears. As she does so, I recognize that she isn't human. Not at all.

"Time is out, love. I would have put you down myself, but one can never be too careful. You blood-soakers tend to wake up with pain."

I can feel my brain shutting down as Monster is no longer enough to keep it functioning without a working heart. If I was more skilled in Ether, I could attempt to create a faux heart, but that's impossible for me.

All I can do is swing a sword, fast or slow.

My eyes sink to meet the bottoms of my sockets; the relief I feel when the darkness comes is unparalleled. Yet, the disappointment is a thousand times worse. I cannot die. That would be letting down Edmund. That would be betraying all my training. That would be disappointing to all those dead behind me.

I still have to accomplish Kate's wish.

My eyes flip open as Gorgeous taps her heels against the floor. She's impatient, waiting for me to die. How funny. This would be the time for me to emerge with some new strength, right? But... there is nothing else for me to grasp.

I have a Power, a Virtue, and a Dominion. There is nothing more. Dominions can grow, but that is a glacial process. That means... all I have is me.

Lonely me.

Despite the blood loss, the searing pain, and the overwhelming fatigue of missing the most vital organ, I muster the strength to rise from my knees. My heart has been torn from my chest, yet the flicker of life within me refuses to be extinguished. My Sigil resonates woefully as we both yearn for one last act of war. One last bit of blood to be shed.

A show of perfection with our blades in honor of the man who gifted us the right.

With trembling hands, I grasp the hilt of my blade, the familiar touch of leather and steel grounding me in this moment of desperation. The fact that neither is real is meaningless.

My legs threaten to give way beneath me, weakened and unsteady from the relentless onslaught. My vision narrows to pinpricks, the world around me fading into a haze of pain and exhaustion. A wobble precedes every frame of my sight, each delayed and distorted.

But I refuse to surrender. That is not who I am. That is not who I was made to be.

"Won't you kindly die, love? This is getting tiresome. I reckon there is plenty of new pretties past you."

The voice lulls my brain into inactivity, but the leather in my hand grounds me. Dia grounds me. Gorgeous walks to me, the threads around her lifting like an armada of floating snakes.

My focus wanes some more from the hissing threads, the air-shattering speed somehow enchanting in sound. Against it all, I fall into my most comfortable posture.

18th.

My blade rests in front of my body, the tip slightly pointed downward and symmetric with my form. The leather is light in my hands, and the grip is only partial and not wholly clasped and secured. It is this relaxed posture that I use for my training.

It is the start, the middle, and the end. Every day, I raise the blade from here and swing it back down, perfecting the movement, the edge alignment, and the determination in my heart. Once, a hundred, a million, hell, I might have swung a blade a billion times in this position.

As I lose all that I know I am, my arms rise without strength. The threads come, seeking to end my fragile life. And as they fall upon me, I, too, fall. I fall into the 1st.

There is no strength left in my body. I am nothing but a body of flesh, puppeted by a soul too stubborn to die. It is that soul that extends my life beyond its limits. Dominions are excruciatingly problematic to kill for this very reason.

Fortunately, though, my arms are not real. My blade is not real. It is all borne of my soul, as I feel something connect to me. I don't know what it is, but it is... beautiful. I find a string, a path, the.. flawless angle that I must move. And... I follow it. The 1st form descends with such perfection that it can no longer be called Edmund's 1st stance. With a slight pivot, I deflect a thread, then another, and another. All the threats on my life vanish in but a moment, and I find myself upon Gorgeous. Her eyes are widened, fearful, and unbelieving of my presence. Or... of what I have done.

"Conce—!?"

She stepped closer, thinking I would die before the edge of my perfection would ever reach her. Unfortunately for her, that is not something I can allow myself to do. At the very least... I can't die defeated. A thud of her head upon the ground and the Darklight severed within fill my heart with completion as I crumple without strength.

"Shit! Shit! Shit! Devil! Hold that arena closed! Aniwye! Seal his wounds! Silas! Wish for something! He's going to die! Right now! Marion! Copy Aniwye's skill and help pump his blood! Otto! Push on his chest! Move his lungs! His brain is alread—"