Date: February 21, 543 years since the Fall of Zanra the Dishonored.
The world narrowed to a point.
Datuk stood on trembling legs, blood from a dozen wounds soaking his clothes, making them heavy, sticky, alien. His left thigh burned with fire — where the stone spear had left a deep, ragged wound. His right shoulder ached with every movement. His ribs throbbed, and with each breath something wheezed and whistled in his chest. The Spirit of the Berserker worked at its limit, accelerating regeneration, but even it couldn't keep up with what the Herald destroyed with each new strike.
Ulvia stood beside him, shoulder to shoulder. Her left arm, the living vine, was covered in deep scratches, and the silver veins on it flickered unevenly, anxiously. Blood oozed from a wound on her side, and she, clenching her teeth, pressed her hand to it, trying to stop the flow.
The Herald stood motionless in the center of the arena. His spear was lowered, and the white figure seemed to rest. But they knew — this was the calm before the storm. He was preparing something new.
"If this keeps up, we lose," Ulvia said. Her voice was quiet, but there was no fear in it — only weary, bitter resolve.
"I know," Datuk answered. "That's why I was saving this for last."
He closed his eyes.
"Spirit of the Berserker: Final Battle," he whispered, and his body flared with crimson light.
The pain was gone. Not disappeared — simply ceased to matter. The blood stopped flowing — or rather, he stopped noticing it. His muscles, trembling with fatigue moments ago, filled with new strength. His heart beat steadily, powerfully, and each beat echoed in his temples with a dull, martial rhythm.
Datuk opened his eyes. His pupils, green and bright, were bloodshot. The skin on his hands turned crimson, and veins bulged, pulsing in time with his heart.
"Now it's my turn," he said, shifting his axe.
Ulvia didn't ask. She understood. She stepped back, giving him space, and reached into her pocket where a small bundle of thick cloth lay. Her trembling fingers unwrapped it. Inside lay white, almost transparent grass. Frost grass. The same one she had found in the ice fields.
She didn't hesitate. She brought the plant to her left arm, to the place where the vine met living flesh, and called upon its power.
Cold struck instantly — not the kind that numbs fingers, but deep, penetrating to the very core. The vine on her left arm quivered, and from it, from its very center, new shoots began to grow. White, transparent as ice, they covered her fingers, her wrist, rose to her elbow, to her shoulder.
Ulvia froze, feeling the cold spread through her body. Her arm was no longer green — it became white, frosty, and steam rose from it. She raised it, and ice needles, thin and sharp, grew between her fingers.
"Now my turn," she said.
They lunged forward simultaneously.
---
Datuk attacked first. His axe, wreathed in crimson flame, traced an arc, and the Herald, accustomed to his speed, failed to dodge. The blade slid across the white chest, leaving a deep, glowing wound. White dust gushed from it, and the Herald, roaring, stepped back.
"Taste my axe!" Datuk bellowed, striking again.
The Herald parried with his spear, but Datuk was faster. His axe moved at inhuman speed, and each blow was heavier than the last. He smashed through defenses, broke the spear, and the Herald, for the first time in the fight, began to retreat — not to regroup, but to save himself.
Ulvia attacked from the flank. Her left arm, white and frosty, shot forward dozens of ice needles. They pierced the Herald's side, and from the wounds gushed white dust mixed with shards of ice. The Herald jerked, and his spear, raised to strike Datuk, went wide.
"Don't get distracted!" Ulvia shouted, changing the shape of her arm.
The ice vine elongated, turning into a long, curved sword. She stepped forward and drove it into the Herald's back. The blade sank into the white flesh up to the hilt, and the Herald, roaring, flung her away with a strike of his spear.
Ulvia flew to the wall but managed to tuck and land on her feet. Her left arm, still white and frosty, pulsed with cold.
"He's weakening," she said, wiping blood from her split lip. "We're getting to him."
"Then don't stop!" Datuk answered.
He charged again. The axe sang its bloody song, and every strike found its mark. Shoulder, side, thigh — the Herald took wound after wound, and white dust swirled around him like mist.
Ulvia supported him. Ice needles, spears, swords — she changed the shape of her arm every second, attacking from blind spots, forcing the Herald to divert attention, expend energy on defense. When he raised his spear to parry Datuk's blow, she struck his back. When he turned to her, Datuk hacked from the side.
"He can't keep up with us!" Datuk shouted, landing another blow. "A little more — and he'll fall!"
The Herald retreated to the center of the arena. His white robe was torn, and white dust oozed from a dozen wounds. He breathed heavily — or pretended to breathe — and his spear, once so fearsome, now trembled in his hand.
"He's tired," said Ulvia. "Just like us."
"Then we finish him," Datuk replied.
They exchanged a glance. The same fire burned in their eyes.
Datuk lunged forward, using Skopid for a sharp burst. The axe traced an arc, and the blade sank into the Herald's chest. Ulvia attacked from the other side — her ice sword plunged into the white figure's back.
The Herald froze. His body, so alive and dangerous a moment ago, suddenly went limp.
"We did it," Datuk whispered.
But the Herald did not fall.
He raised his head, and his featureless face seemed to look at them with hatred. Then he raised his spear and drove it into the ground with force.
"Get back!" Datuk shouted, but it was too late.
An explosion erupted from the ground.
Not spears, not balls — just a blinding white flash that hurled them in opposite directions. Datuk slammed into the wall and slid to the floor, feeling blood trickle from his ears. Ulvia flew to the opposite wall and collapsed to her knees, clutching her hands to her chest.
Then the spears began to erupt from the ground. Dozens, hundreds — they grew everywhere, and there was no place to hide. Datuk managed to roll aside, but one pierced his left forearm. He roared and tore it out, leaving a deep, bleeding wound in his arm.
Ulvia took a blow to her side — the spear grazed her ribs, leaving a deep gash. She screamed and crawled to the wall, but new spears were already growing around her.
"He's separating us!" she shouted.
"Hold on!" Datuk answered, fighting his way toward her.
The explosion repeated. White light struck with new force, and Datuk, almost having reached Ulvia, was thrown back. He hit the wall, and his vision went dark.
When he opened his eyes, the arena had changed.
The wall behind them — the one that had been intact a minute ago — had collapsed. Black stones lay in a heap, and through the resulting breach, darkness was visible.
They retreated to the breach but did not enter. They stood at the edge, waiting for the dust to settle.
The Herald stood in the center of the arena, his spear raised again. He did not pursue them. He waited. Preparing to take their lives.