I shifted my weight from one foot to another, shoving off to close the small gap between my opponent and me, but I felt my sole slip on the blood-drenched floor, my knee crashing to the ground and bringing me eye-level with the incoming blade.
“Cirian!”
Two voices rang out, echoing across the chamber.
I couldn’t avoid the Umbral’s thrust, but the opening was still there. I could make it. If I could just get there…
A second stretched out ahead of me like an endless tunnel, my epee poised to pierce the Umbral’s chest, their blade racing toward my face. But I could clearly see I was too late in my efforts. The blade trained on me would reach its target first, and that would be the end of the match. A disappointing finale to the life of one Cirian Findlay.
So, I looked my executioner in the eye as they swung the proverbial axe, expecting to see those fathomless pools of darkness staring back at me. Instead, a warm chestnut, and a sorrow that skewered my heart long before any blade.
Sancha.
At the last moment, the blade of darkness shifted, angling downward towards my chest, and taking just a fraction of a second longer to reach its destination.
A fiery pain snuffed the last of my warmth. Both blades found their targets, mine through Sancha’s chest, and the Sanguine blade through my own, but I cared not which blow hand landed first. Sinking to her knees, Sancha’s eyes watched me, filling to the brim with tears that streaked fresh ichor across her face.
She was there, at least for a moment. She was there with me at the end. And as I felt myself sink forward, she caught me, cradling me against her own battered form as my vision began to dim.
“I did my best,” I whispered, unsure if my words would reach her there under the Umbral’s embrace. “I swear it.”
Her lips trembled, as if trying to form words, but only more of the vile black liquid spilled over her lips.
A fresh pain shot along my arm, jolting me back to consciousness with its demanding burn. The chain-like marking along my forearm glowed red-hot, smoke risings from the scarred links. Those on Sancha’s arms did the same, the growing cloud of smoke over us swirling slowly.
Bastien reached us then, trying to pry the two of us apart, but he was thrown back by some invisible force.
Was that the Umbral’s doing?
He shouted something, but a rushing sound in my ears blotted out the noise, growing louder with each passing moment. Beneath us, the floor shook, cracks splintering like spiderwebs along the surface.
Azrael’s arms wrapped around my torso, and even with all of his brute strength, he could not pry me away from the arms of my master, nor the blade that pierced my heart. And with a jolt, he, too, was repelled, colliding with Bastien as they tumbled to the floor.
Rumbling, as if the earth itself were roiling, shook the chamber, and the great altar shattered into a wave of crystalline shards that fanned out around us, dazzling to behold. The wave of shards parted around the Umbral and me, but collided with the others, obfuscating them from my sight.
A hand grasped the hilt of the blade in my chest, the pain flaring even worse as a pair of fathomless eyes pulled me close. The Umbral had regained control, gritting its blackened teeth as it tried to sink its blade further into my chest.
“I am the victor,” they sputtered, breath fouled with the stench of death. “And now, I will watch the last of that dreadful light leave your eyes, Acolyte. Do not close them. Do not deny me my prize.”
The cloud above us teemed with the burning sigils of the chain-like magic, the Umbral peeling their gaze from me long enough to witness the symbols aglow on their arm.
“No. This cannot be. I was the victor. Me!”
Chains burst forth from both of our flesh, wrapping quickly around us, binding our bodies to one another. The Umbral bellowed, spewing hot ichor across my face.
Neither of us had won. The realization dawned on me, bringing with it a broken laugh. Sancha had shifted the odds in my favor.
It was a dead heat. A tie that couldn’t be broken.
A pulse of magic emanated from the cloud swirling above, rippling the stone floor as if it were water. The ceiling high above groaned, showering us with debris as the Cradle itself shuddered.
“What happens now?” I choked, the chains squeezing what little air I could hold from my lungs.
The Umbral didn’t respond, struggling against the chains. I could feel their ligaments popping as they pulled with frenzied fervor.
Their reaction was answer enough. Whatever was about to happen was not good.
“Cirian!”
