The sky over the capital had turned the color of a bruised plum. Thick, heavy clouds hung low, scraping against the jagged spires of the obsidian palaces.
A relentless wind howled through the narrow alleys, carrying the scent of ozone and scorched earth. Rain began to fall, not in gentle drops, but in sharp, cold needles that hissed as they hit the cobblestones. The atmosphere felt thick, charged with a static energy that made the hair on the back of one's neck stand up. Every shadow seemed to stretch and twist, mimicking the unease growing in the gut of anyone brave enough to remain outside.
Water gathered in the deep grooves of the plaza stones, forming dark, shimmering pools that reflected the flickering orange glow of distant street lamps. The air grew heavy with the smell of wet soot and ancient dust. The Great Plaza, usually a place of commerce and noise, sat eerily silent. Even the birds had fled the eaves of the grand cathedral. The only sound was the rhythmic drip-drip-drip of water falling from the stone gargoyles and the low, guttural moan of the wind as it whipped between the pillars of the government buildings.
In the center of the Great Plaza, the air shimmered with a strange, oily light. The Man stood there, draped in a coat that seemed to swallow the dimming light. His aura felt wrong. It leaked from him like a toxic fog, heavy and suffocating. It pressed against the stone, cracking the pavement beneath his boots without him moving a muscle. This aura did not just occupy space; it felt like a physical weight pressing against the lungs of anyone nearby.
Lifeless stood fifty paces away. His breathing came slow and rhythmic, though his heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. He felt the cold dampness of his shirt clinging to his skin, a minor irritation compared to the mounting dread in his chest. Beside him, Jarvis stood with his jaw set tight. The boy looked pale under the flickering gaslights of the plaza, but his eyes burned with a desperate sort of courage. Jarvis shifted his feet, his boots splashing in a shallow puddle. His knuckles were white as he gripped the heavy iron links at his waist.
"Who are you?" Lifeless asked. His voice sounded hollow, stripped of all emotion, echoing off the surrounding stone walls.
The Man smiled.
It was a cold, jagged expression that reached nowhere near his eyes. "The man who is going to take this empire for himself."
The statement hung in the freezing air, a declaration of war that required no further explanation. Lifeless did not hesitate. He reached down, his fingers curling around the cold steel of his hilt. The leather wrap felt familiar, a grim comfort in a world falling apart. He felt the subtle vibrations of the metal, as if the blade itself anticipated the carnage to come. Beside him, the rattling of metal echoed through the plaza. Jarvis wrapped his hands in heavy Obsidian chains, the dark links pulsing with a faint, rhythmic glow as they bound his forearms. The chains hummed with a low frequency, a sound that vibrated in the teeth.
The Man shifted his weight. He felt the weight of Lifeless's presence, the sheer killing intent radiating from the swordsman. He widened his stance, his weird aura flaring into a dark halo that distorted the rain falling around him. The droplets seemed to veer away from him, as if afraid to touch his skin.
"Wanna die for this?" the Man asked.
"I am not the one who is going to die," Lifeless responded.
The air between them snapped. The Man moved faster than the human eye could track. He blurred across the distance, a streak of shadow against the grey rain. Before Lifeless could even raise his guard, a deadly hook caught him square in the jaw. The impact sounded like a mallet hitting a side of beef. The force sent Lifeless flying backward, his boots skidding uselessly over the wet stones before he crashed through the brick facade of a nearby bakery.
Dust and flour exploded into the air, mixing with the falling rain to create a thick, pasty mess. Lifeless lay amidst the wreckage, his head spinning in a dizzying kaleidoscope of pain and grey light. His nose bled freely, the warmth of the blood a stark contrast to the freezing rain. He spat a thick glob of red onto the debris and forced himself upright. Every nerve in his face screamed, a dull, throbbing roar that threatened to drown out his senses. He gripped his sword tighter, the metal singing as he pulled it from the rubble. The weight of the blade felt heavier than before, but he refused to let his grip slacken.
He charged.
Lifeless ran with everything he had, his boots thumping against the pavement with desperate urgency. He reached the Man and swung his sword in a wide, horizontal arc aimed at the Man's head. The Man leaned back, the blade whistling mere millimeters from his nose. Lifeless adjusted instantly, dropping his weight and swinging for the torso. The Man stepped inside the guard, the blade passing harmlessly behind his back. Lifeless twisted his wrists, bringing the edge down toward the Man's shoulder. Another dodge. The Man moved with a fluid, sickening grace, as if he knew where the blade would be before Lifeless even decided to swing.
Lifeless felt a cold shock settle in his marrow. His speed was his greatest asset, yet he felt like a child swinging a stick at a ghost. His breath began to hitch. The exertion was already drawing a toll. Sweat mingled with rain, stinging his eyes.
"Get back!" Jarvis yelled.
The boy launched himself forward. He moved with power, the Obsidian chains whistling as he swung them in great, heavy loops. The dark metal sliced through the air with a predatory hiss. It was a valiant effort, though far from the refined precision of a master. The Man did not even look at him. He waited until the chains were inches from his face, then he vanished. He reappeared behind Jarvis, his hand moving like a lightning strike. He grabbed the back of the boy's head and slammed it into the cobblestones.
The sound of the impact was sickeningly wet, a dull thud followed by the crunch of stone. Jarvis's body went limp immediately, his chains clattering uselessly against the ground like dead snakes.
"NO! I SWORE! YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT!" Lifeless bellowed.
Rage, hot and blinding, flooded his vision. He abandoned all caution. He lunged at the Man, his sword a blur of silver. He threw every ounce of his strength into a series of overhead strikes. Each strike carried the weight of his guilt and his fury. Clang. Clang. Clang. The blade hit nothing but air or the Man's casual deflections. Each time, the Man simply moved his torso an inch to the left or right. He looked bored, his eyes scanning the horizon as if looking for a more interesting opponent. When Lifeless tried a desperate thrust, the Man raised his hand and backhanded the flat of the blade. The sword, forged of the finest tempered steel, flew from Lifeless's hand like a discarded toy, clattering into the darkness of a side street.
"Fight me hand to hand," the Man said, his smile widening into a terrifying grin. "Or are you a coward?"
Before Lifeless could respond, the Man stepped in. He delivered a short, brutal punch into Lifeless's ribs. The sound of cracking bone echoed in the quiet plaza, sharp as a breaking branch. The air left Lifeless's lungs in a pained wheeze. His vision flickered, stars dancing across his retinas. His diaphragm seized, paralyzed by the precision of the strike.
He fell to his knees, clutching his side. He tried to draw breath, but his chest remained locked. The vacuum in his lungs felt like a physical weight. He knew the math. A normal human could hold their breath for three minutes under water. He had trained his body to reach six. But three minutes of active combat without oxygen was a death sentence. His muscles began to burn with the buildup of lactic acid. His brain screamed for air, sending pulses of panic through his limbs.
The Man stood over him, watching with detached curiosity.
He kicked a stray piece of rubble out of the way. Lifeless swung a weak punch, but the Man caught it easily, squeezing the knuckles until they ground together. The pain was sharp, agonizing, but Lifeless used it to stay conscious.
"The side of the neck is a deadly point,"
Jarvis's voice echoed in Lifeless's mind. It was a lesson from weeks ago, back when the sun was shining and the world made sense.
"It has a big artery. If hit with enough force, it is over. The brain shuts down instantly."
Lifeless forced his eyes to stay open. The world was turning grey at the edges, the vibrant colors of the plaza fading into a dull monochrome. He watched the Man's movements, looking for the rhythm. Every time the Man moved to strike, he leaned slightly on his right heel, a subtle tell that only a desperate man would notice.
The Man threw another punch, aiming for the temple this time. Lifeless didn't block. He didn't have the strength to lift his arms. He took the hit to the shoulder, the force nearly dislocating the joint and sending a jolt of electricity down his spine. But he used the momentum to spin. He drove his feet into the slick, blood-stained ground, ignoring the agony in his ribs and the fire in his lungs.
He ran into the Man's personal space, closing the gap before the Man could reset his stance. It was a suicide charge, a final gamble. The Man raised his arm for a cross counter, his fist hovering inches from Lifeless's temple, ready to end the struggle. At the same moment, Lifeless swung his elbow with every remaining scrap of his will.
He channeled the Red Current.
He felt the power surge through his marrow, a searing heat that smelled of copper and ozone. It was a primal force, a biological lightning bolt. It gathered at the point of his elbow, glowing a violent, angry crimson that cut through the darkness of the rain. The impact was perfect. His elbow slammed into the side of the Man's neck, the Red Current exploding upon contact in a flash of blinding light.
The sound was not a bang, but a heavy, muffled thud that vibrated through the entire plaza, shaking the glass in the windows of the nearby shops. The Man's head snapped to the side with a sickening crack. The light in his eyes vanished instantly, replaced by a vacant, glassy stare. His aura, once so suffocating and vast, flickered and died like a candle in a gale. He tumbled backward, his body hitting the ground with the heavy finality of a fallen statue. He did not twitch. He did not groan.
Lifeless stood over him, swaying like a reed in a storm. He finally felt his lungs unlock. He took a ragged, sobbing gasp of air, the oxygen burning like fire in his throat. He doubled over, coughing up a mixture of saliva and blood. He looked down at the fallen enemy. A massive, purple-black bruise had already formed on the side of the Man's neck, the skin split where the Current had discharged. The Man was dead before he hit the stones. The empire's challenger was gone, reduced to a heap of meat and wet fabric.
The silence that followed was deafening. The rain continued to fall, washing the blood and flour from the street, carrying the remnants of the battle into the sewers. Lifeless collapsed next to Jarvis, his hands trembling so violently he could barely move them. He felt the coldness of the stones seeping into his bones. He reached out, his fingers fumbling for the boy's throat, praying to gods he didn't believe in.
He waited. One second. Two. Three. Each heartbeat felt like an eternity.
There. A faint, steady throb against his fingertips. The boy was alive. His breathing was shallow, but his heart remained stubborn.
Lifeless let out a sound that was half-laugh and half-sob. He leaned his head back against a cold stone pillar, his body broken and his spirit frayed. The empire remained, but the cost was written in the red water swirling down the gutters. He watched the rain wash over his hands, cleaning the grime but not the memory. He closed his eyes, the darkness of the plaza finally swallowing him whole as he drifted into a heavy, dreamless sleep amidst the ruins of the Great Plaza. He had kept his promise, but the weight of the victory felt heavier than any defeat.