The clash rattled through my arms, through my ribs, through my skull.Steel against void. Light against shadow.
The impact threw me back. My boots scraped stone until they lost grip, and I slammed against the wall. My sword shook in my hands, vibrating like it would split apart.
Malkoran's shade pressed forward. That voidblade of his hissed, eating light from the air. His eyes burned white, hollow, endless.
I pushed back with everything I had. My knees locked, my chest screamed, but I forced my weight forward. The Beacon's pulse beat behind me, thrumming in my chest like it was my own heart lending me strength.
Still… he was stronger.
He shoved and the voidblade carved down. My steel caught it just enough to drag it aside, sparks tearing off stone. The edge still grazed my arm. Flesh burned. The pain made my teeth clench until I thought they'd crack.
"Run," a voice in me whispered. Not Meridia. Not anyone. Just me. Just fear.
But my legs didn't move. They couldn't. If I turned, if I gave my back, he'd split me in two.
So I stood.
He came again, swinging wide. I ducked low, rolled to the side. His blade carved the wall, stone screaming and splitting like wood. Dust rained down.
I came up on one knee, sword raised. My breath sawed out of me in ragged pulls. My chest burned. My arms shook.
I was at my limit. And he was still coming.
Think. Think.
I glanced at the Beacon. The light pulsed. Stronger. Faster.
Meridia's voice echoed faint—like memory, not sound. Cleanse the darkness. Prove you are worthy.
Not words of comfort. Not a hand to hold. Just command.
Fine. Then I'd burn everything I had left.
I tightened my grip. Focused. Drew the magicka up from the pit of my gut, through my veins, into my arm. My sword flickered with white light. Not much. Just a spark.
But a spark was enough.
He swung again. I met it, magicka flaring through my blade. The clash burst light between us, searing my eyes. The shade screamed, recoiling as his arm dissolved in smoke where our weapons struck.
I staggered back, gasping. My sword's glow dimmed, then steadied weak. My magicka was draining fast.
He looked at his arm. Smoke bled off it, but it reformed, pulling shadow back into itself.
"You cannot burn me away," he hissed, voice shattering through the chamber. "Light dies. Always."
I spat blood. "Then I'll make sure you go first."
He surged. Faster than before. His form cracked at the edges, shadow spilling off him like steam. He swung with hate, not precision. Every strike crashed like a hammer, shaking the floor.
I blocked one. Dodged the next. The third clipped me in the ribs, ripping through leather and skin. My breath broke in a scream. Blood poured hot under my armor.
Still I moved. Still I swung. Each time I forced magicka into the blade, light flared, cutting deeper into him. Each time it drained me further. My vision swam. My hands felt like stone.
One more clash. My sword burned white. His voidblade cracked against it. The impact tore both of us apart—he staggered back, screaming as a gash of light ripped across his chest, and I hit the floor, chest heaving, vision dim.
The Beacon pulsed harder. The statue loomed above us, light pouring from its eyes.
Malkoran's shade steadied, though his form wavered. He was unraveling—but not gone. Not yet.
He raised the voidblade high. His hollow eyes locked on me.
"This ends."
I tried to rise. My body refused. My sword felt like lead. My magicka was gone, burned out of me.
All I had left was will.
And will wasn't enough.
He brought the blade down—
—and that's where it ends.