Judgement Blood: A Celestial's Vendetta

Rum stood between two mangled foes.

One was on one knee, rising from being stabbed and slashed many times. The other had a whole Twinblade embedded in his body.

Both his foes were on the brink of death, but still exuded an air of malice that felt threatening nonetheless.

Pat... Pat... Pat... pat, pat, pat, pat.

Rain slowly descended upon the scene, arousing the fire, and crying over the death around them.

There was no movement. No groaning. And no sound but for the patting of the rain, the hissing of the fire, and the heavy breaths by the three standing fighters. Rum turned left and right, looking at Alexander, then at Ilyas. 

They stood still, if not a little wobbly. 

Rum rapped his fingers around the hilt of his sword and sighed.

"How lame."

He stepped back, and then everyone moved.

***

Ilyas felt it when Rum swatted the Twinblade away. He felt the blade rip his liver apart even more.

But concentration and adrenaline dulled it all.

He lunged forward as Rum stepped back. 

Rum intended to remove himself from between the two and thus attack one of them without being completely vulnerable to the other from behind.

The Salivite brought down a clean downward slash at Alexander, only to miss and strike the ground instead. Alexander had moved back and reoriented his grasp on his own nicked sword.

Ilyas gripped the shaft, exploited Rum's missed attack, and wheeled with all the force his legs could muster to lacerate Rum from the back, but Rum spun aside and immediately brought his sword to a diagonal slash on Ilyas's shoulder in a beautiful swing. 

Alexander dashed forward, but Rum dodged yet again, dancing between one attack and another to deliver his own selfish nonlethal gashes.

This ugly dance consisted of one master manoeuvring beautifully, and two rugged and clumsy novices wobbling and flailing with malice.

It continued for a minute, and a minute too long. Ilyas's adrenaline boost wouldn't last much longer before his body finally caves, and he flops to the ground. The wounds on his body were mounting, and the blood he was losing was alarming.

Rum had to die. 

And he had to die soon. 

Alexander understood that, too, it seemed, since he started backing away and making his next moves more cautious and calculated. 

But to win, they had to calibrate their attacks. They had to communicate with each other without words. 

But how?

How could they do that when they only met each other a few hours ago? How could Ilyas, the amateur, understand combat signals when his only feats were barbaric and animalistic?

Alexander was the more skilled fighter and the more vigorous. Alexander needed an opening. He needed a chance.

Ilyas stared across the battle at Alexander as they both reeled back from Rum's attacks. There was a small pause as all three caught their breaths.

He stared intently, then stared some more.

'Look at me. Look at me, please!'

Once was all it took; he just needed him to look once!

Just-

Then, finally, Alexander ripped his menacing gaze from their opponent and stared back.

He stared with a hint of desire and a gush of malice. But there was still intelligence in those blue eyes. 

Through stinging hot sweat and blood smearing his contorted face, Ilyas grinned, then said to Rum breathlessly:

"Your... Imitation... is to feed your... sword with blood?"

Alexander's eye twitched before returning his bloodthirsty eyes to Rum.

Rum scoffed. "So? I'm sorry, did it seem like I made it a secret?" He then brandished his blade and held it where the dying fire could reflect on its silver surface. "It doesn't change anything. You killed them. You killed her. You will suffer it all." His voice was low and ominous, just as his glare.

But Ilyas wasn't paying attention; instead, his mind was anxiously praying that what Alexander understood was what he wanted.

Alexander plastered a look of fear and defeat, then took a slow and subtle step back, intending to disappear into the darkness. 

To escape. 

In his arrogance, Rum made the mistake of chuckling and turning to Ilyas with a sneer. "Your friend abandoned you, freak. That's how it is with you beasts."

He must have seen plenty of betrayals in peril. How common.

How bitter.

Well, Ilyas had been on the bitter side of it, too. He knew how possible it was.

But not tonight.

Ilyas tightened his waning grip on the shaft one last time until his knuckles whitened. His energy was depleted, so this was perhaps his last chance for an attack.

For a stand.

But he wasn't about to repeat the same predictable attack as last time. It wouldn't require much from Rum to deal with it.

Instead, he used the shaft and traced small arcs in the air with the blade pointing at Rum, as if trying to hypnotise him.

It hurt like hell!

Like piranhas were chewing on his liver. But he was doing it to himself, Goddammit!

But no, not now. He had to focus. He gritted his teeth and croaked, "My body can't handle... My body can't handle my Imitation..."

He paused and noticed a hint of apprehension in Rum's eyes as they considered the arcs a bit too often. Good.

"Rye... was strong-" Ilyas coughed blood, then continued, "He did this to me. I had to... I had no choice, so I had to use it."

Rum raised his chin in contempt, "You still have the life to mumble, you rotten bastard?"

Ilyas took a few painful breaths, then continued while still drawing those painful arcs, "I'm not so naive as to think... I'm going to survive the night. But... I'm taking you with me."

Rum raised his sword and pointed it at Ilyas. "You're talking too much for a dead man. I say, maybe torture isn't the best option for someone like you."

That was it. 

That was all they needed to win. With dread coating his eyes, Rum swiped his sword and prepared to attack for the last time.

No nonlethal lacerations and dancing. No playing with prey.

Just silver and blood.

The bastard had to believe Ilyas's nonsense, because how else would someone like Ilyas be here at the moment?

It was easier to believe that Rye died that way, so he believed it.

Ilyas abruptly stopped moving the blade and took a step forward before Rum did.

It seemed as if he was about to attack first.

Rum flinched, but quickly recomposed himself, staring intently at the tip of the blade, waiting.

Waiting for what?

But waiting nonetheless.

And then-

SHLUK!

A long, nicked, bloody blade slashed at Rum's back.

And before the bastard could even react, the sword struck again, drawing a cross on his back. 

Rum dropped to a knee, intending to turn, but that was when the third strike came and slit his throat. The blade couldn't decapitate the Salivite, but it did enough.

Rum stared wide-eyed at the figure of a blue-eyed man standing behind him with countless gashes on his body, and a furious, triumphant glare in his eyes. He gurgled blood, futilely pawed at his throat, fingers touching and feeling his torn oesophagus and arteries, then he flopped to the floor in a puddle of his own blood.

It was over.

Their dishonourable attack wouldn't have worked in other circumstances. Rum had the senses and awareness of a veteran warrior. When Alexander and Ilyas calibrated their attacks against him, he sensed it all. 

So what chance did they have?

Alexander's Imitation. 

Rum never knew what it was because he never had the chance to. And it wasn't a combat Imitation, but a mere scouting one. 

What if he could use it, however? That was what they did. Rum trusted his senses and the treachery of human souls when Alexander disappeared into the darkness. But what he didn't account for and could not predict was the nature of Alexander's Imitation.

Oh, how arrogance kills.

'It is over.' Ilyas repeated that in his head as many times as possible to make this surreal experience real.

It was unexpected that he still breathed. At some point, everything dwindled to mere moments. No consideration for the 'later', everything was for the 'now'. 

So the prospect of losing or winning wasn't there.

'Oh no.'

And now, here he was about to face the consequences of his actions. 

Ilyas swayed a little, then dropped to his knees. The numbing would disappear soon. He couldn't flop to the ground; the Twinblade was there.

'Oh dear no.'

Alexander stood motionlessly over Rum's corpse, staring at it with indignation and disgust. His mouth quivered at the corner in shock and anger.

It was probably the first time the young man faced such a situation. No, it had to be.

The fire behind them gave way to the rain. It whispered and hushed as it pattered on the trees and washed the earth. It was finally the only sound around.

Ilyas wanted to, but could not fall Goddammit; he could not afford to. The Twinblade would kill him if he made such a drastic movement. 

'Cenric...'

In his feeble, dwindling state, he turned to Cenric, still lying motionless on his back.

'Cenric, please...'

Ilyas scraped his knees across the ground, wanting to get closer to his friend. But his body denied him.

Finally, Alexander regained his senses, ripped his satisfied eyes from Rum, and looked in panic at Ilyas, sitting on his knees with a Twinblade skewering him at a slight angle. Ilyas had a hand on the shaft at all times, lest the weight imbalance of the Twinblade allow it to go beyond his liver.

Alexander stepped over the corpse with effort and hobbled to Ilyas's side.

"Ilyas! Stay with me now!"

'Huh?'

The words were muffled when they reached Ilyas. Everything was muffled, in fact.

Alexander steadied Ilyas while looking around frantically in search of something. Then, in a desperate gamble, he smeared his sword with his blood and started hacking at the shaft of the Twinblade.

Ilyas cried in agony, "Aaaagh!" But made an effort to remain perfectly still, aiding Alexander in his work.

Then, after a few long, excruciating moments, the longer end of the Twinblade snapped off, and immeasurable weight was lifted from Ilyas's body. 

It felt euphoric.

However, the serrated, intense pain in his liver persisted. The blade was still there, gnawing at his insides.

Ilyas kept his gaze anchored on Cenric's body near where the fire was. Praying and pleading. Only the light of the moon and the mournful stars kept them company.

"He's alive, Ilyas. Cenric is alive. Just stay with us, too! Please!"

'Huh. There he is again. Speaking normally. Then why...'

That was his last thought before his consciousness betrayed him, and he flopped forward on the ground. 

With the longer end of the Twinblade gone, finally, this was possible.