Action regardless of outcome...
The wind shrieked as Vera swung his lead-like arms. Movement regardless of outcome, yet it felt empty.
The intensity Vera felt in his battle against Vast Heaven was not here...
Where am I going wrong?
The smooth movement of his qi grew violent, its golden shine tainted by a red hue.
Horns ripped through Vera's skin, unable to pierce through his body. Nonetheless, blood flowed like a river.
Only the sense of touch remained. The rest were overwhelmed by sheer volume. His very mind was overwhelmed; repetition turned thoughtful action to a blur.
His trained body acted as the only sense of relent, preserving him for the next opponent.
Challenger after challenger, the process of battle itself feels mundane.
Unbeknownst to Vera, the horde was thinning. His own efforts coupled with the presence of another challenger.
The eye of the storm split into two.
Even though the horde had thinned, Vera's movements continued to deteriorate.
Each swing widening by an inch...
The symphony started to dampen... the sound of a visceral battle clawing at it.
The cacophony that blinded Vera weakened. A moment's breath finally reached him.
The blood that covered his eyes was finally wiped off.
It was still night...
Yet, a bright golden hue stood in the battlefield.
Despite its refined shine, it moved like a mad beast. Biting into the neck of the beasts, ripping away at their bodies.
Vera's body continued to fight the beasts, but his eyes were stuck to the golden hue.
Each swing showed Vera where he went wrong.
Relent?...
Vera's movements grew feral.
Why was I conserving myself? ...
The skulls of wildebeests turned to mist as they met with Vera's fists.
Preserving myself for the next challenger...
Visceral screams escaped Vera as he ripped open a wildebeest maw.
Did I think of myself as the champion? ...
The sense of relent vanished, mirroring Vera's movements.
How could mortal indignation exist in someone who relents?
Vera no longer cared about whether or not he'd last till dawn. Each swing bore a sense of fullness.
Every movement was filled with his everything. Thoughts of the next challenger disappeared.
The heavens only respond to truth... At this moment Vera's body and mind reflected only the truth.
Art over life.
***
His very being stood undifferentiated from violence. Layers of blood and guts dried on his body. A carapace of death shielded his body from the light of dawn.
As he knelt on a bed of corpses, he stared into the horizon. A horizon of golden majesty, devoid of its once ghostly hue.
Now that he'd given his everything, there was nothing left.
His body slumped into the bed it'd made. Vapour escaped his body at a steady pace, signalling the end of a war.
The sound of the world around Vera returned. Nature's harmony akin to a lullaby; Vera's consciousness faded.