The smoke cleared somewhat as the
wind blew enough for them to see each other once more. The violet-blue sparks
of her readied magic cascaded gently around her, serenely unaffected by the
smoke, wind or the battle that had just occurred. Her golden tresses were possessed of no such
discipline, and were chaotically tossed every which way. Her green eyes narrowed as they met his steel
grey ones. Her mouth tightened in angry
determination.
His face betrayed no emotion, as
was appropriate for a blackguard of Moloch. Vile black-green tendrils of
smoke-like vapors swirled about his armor clad form, seeming to caress the
ornate armor, with its menacing skull motifs and ebony runes of dark power. His skin had taken on an unnatural pallor, his
hair a pale, sickly gray. Nothing about
him seemed alive. Nothing like she
remembered. Not like they used to be,
all those summer days of yesteryear.
Thinking of that time brought a
tear to her eye before she could catch herself.
Her face briefly lapsed into a contraction of mourning. It was in that flicker of time that his eyes
lost a fraction of his icy composure, and his focus seemed to diminish, as if
he were no longer observing the situation at hand, but staring down some
corridor of time and memory.
It lasted but briefly before the
swirling vapor around him slashed and writhed, and his eyes hardened once
more. Raising his sinister blade,
crackling with dark negative power, he charged once more. She, too, gathered herself and swung her
staff in a wide arc, the powerful Ileth’ar
gem at its tip glowing a brilliant white-blue. She was enveloped in a
translucent blue sphere, while simultaneously a wave of raw kinetic force shot
forward, further tearing apart the ground. The wave hit him, yet barely budged
him, though it did siphon off some of the momentum of his charge. He brought
his sword around and above his head, preparing an overhead slash
She had only a second to react, and
used that second to focus all her attention on her shield, pouring all her
power into fortifying the barrier as she braced for the oncoming blow. His blade connected with her shield, grunting
as he pressed forward, slowly pushing through. Icy fear began to grip her as
she realized she had perhaps seconds until the raw power of his cured blade
overcame her magical defenses. Mind
racing, she took a gamble and reached forward, placing her hand on his face,
and from her fingertips discharged a blast of brilliant light into his eyes.
He let out a roar and staggered
back, his vision dazzled briefly while his own perverse sorcery worked to
dispel the shock to his vision. Through the searing blindness something else
was fighting to get through as well: the memory of her hand on his face, her
warm and alive skin on his corrupted, yet technically living, form.
The swirling vapors around him
sputtered as he was assaulted by memory and longing. He recalled a time when
she had caressed his face eagerly, rather in desperate defense of her life. He
remembered her smell, her smile, her laugh.
His road had been so long and so utterly corrosive, that he had
forgotten what a laugh was, what it was like to smile. A wave of emotion rose up within him,
weakening the darkness somewhat as the storm of emotion diluted the hatred and
madness within.
For the first time in a very long
time, he asked himself what he was doing. Like a man waking up, it was only
dawning in increments where he was, and even who he was. She stood before him
watching the conflict on his face play out. He stared at her, seeming to see
her for the first time. Hell’s prize was
not to be denied, however, and the darkness asserted itself anew, reminding him
how he came to this dark path in the first place. All the hurt, disappointment,
bitterness and anger. His brow furrowed as the old wounds were opened up anew.
She saw all these warring emotions
battling across his face, hope struggling up from some tightly locked closet
deep inside her. Then she saw the anger
restore itself in him and that hope crumbled, and she too underwent the agony
of the past once more. He raised his weapon again, and brought it swinging in a
sideways arc. It was a strike of passion rather than calculation, though, and
she was able to deflect it with her staff and magic. She knew she could not
hold him for long. He had many slain mages under his belt, and he was in fact
specially equipped and empowered for resisting the arcane.
He bellowed, part wail and part
warcry, a thunderous sound filled with all his vast pain and regret. She saw
that he was now sobbing, his face a contorted grimace of equal parts fury and
bitter sorrow. The raw anguish in that
cry touched her heart, and in that moment she wanted nothing more than to
embrace him and comfort him.
There was no chance of that,
though, as he resumed his furious offensive. The blows rained on her one after
another. She dodged and blocked as best she could but it was clearly a losing
battle. In desperation she diverted all her power into transforming her staff
into an offensive weapon forming a brilliant blue-white spear of pure magic,
her last hopeless counter-strike. As he swung one final deathblow, his blade a
jet black sabre of raw infernal entropy, she jabbed upward with the last ounce
of her strength. Her thrust pierced his ebony breastplate, lancing through his
chest and exiting his back. Their eyes met, his shock and agony staring into
her grief and exhaustion. They remained locked as his sword, carried on by
momentum, ripped into her side, cutting her nearly in half.
A red haze of pain filled her world
as she collapsed onto her side, her vision already beginning to swim and fade.
He too collapsed, sinking to his knees as the energy spear that had vanquished
him reverted back into an inert Ileth’ar
staff. The profane power bestowed upon him faded. He was now simply an expended
asset, and the darkness abandoned him.
His clouding eyes were now a more
natural blue, and he turned them toward her, rolling his head in order to look
at her directly. For the last time they locked their gaze on each other. At
last, it was settled and done with. The
greater conflict would continue of course, but their war, their struggle, was
finally over.
With the last remnants of his once
unstoppable strength, he reached a trembling, armored hand toward her. Somehow
she dredged up the will to reach back slightly. Their hands fully clasped, and
she even managed a smile. “I love you” he managed to mouth as their savage
wounds overcame them, and their eyes glassed over.
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