Battle of the Black Skull (10)
In the cacophony of the battle, obscured by roaring thunderclaps and the whisper of falling rain, two swords were creating a lethal melody of steel.
Mordret knew that he was weaker than his younger sister. He was slower, too, and not nearly as resilient. He was even less skilled, perhaps. His powers were formidable, but they were useless against her. The King of Swords had made sure of that. His soul cores had been spent on creating the Reflections, and those Reflections were being spent on holding back her army.
That army was also more powerful than the one on his side. Morgan had chosen the battlefield and lured the enemy into a trap. As a general, she had already succeeded.
But she was not only a cunning strategist. She was a brilliant warrior, too. Morgan was like an unstoppable blade. She had everything that a Princess of War was supposed to possess. She had power, talent, resolve, intelligence... she had the authority of their family, and its favor as well. While Mordret had nothing. He had always had nothing. And everything he had tried to make his was either destroyed or taken away.
However, despite all that...
He was not going to lose.
He was going to win.
"Die, you wretched thing!"
Their swords clashed, and even though Mordret had managed to read her intentions, he was still thrown back. His block was perfect, but it was not strong enough. He slid in the mud and let out a pained gasp. He was slightly dazed.
Rain was falling all around them like a grey wall, and every drop was a mirror. The world was reflected on itself myriads of times, and all those reflected worlds flooded his mind like a kaleidoscope of horror. Every gruesome death, every desperate call for help, every selfless act of courage, every cowardly wail of defeat were reflected, multiplied, and projected into his head. It helped him to orient himself better on the chaotic battlefield, but it was also...
'Ah. Annoying.'
This was why he didn't like rain.
Morgan was already closing in. Mordret grinned as he rose to face her.
There she was. A beautiful young woman in a suit of black armor, who looked so much like him. What did she know? She didn't know anything. She had been a mere child when their family decided to betray him. Not even a Sleeper. She had not been there when his original body was destroyed, or when he was locked in a cage like a beast...
Morgan was not among those he wanted to kill the most. But she was their symbol.
For Mordret, the young woman with a face that was eerily similar to his own symbolized the great clan Valor. She embodied everything that he wanted to destroy. And, so...
He was going to break her into pieces.
Her sword flashed, cleanly cutting through the raindrops as it flew toward his body. He tried to deflect it, but it was of no use - the strike turned out to be a feint. A moment later, sharp pain pierced the left side of his face.
Mordret stumbled back, feeling blood flow down his cheek.
'Argh... I... I think I lost an eye, this time...'
Illuminated by the flash of lightning, Morgan's face remained impassive.
"Pathetic."
Did her voice sound... disappointed?
Mordret smiled and raised his sword without saying anything.
Usually, this would be the time to implement a scheme... a cunning trick, a subtle deception, an unexpected reversal... something like that. He was a master of such things, after all.
But he was sincere when he said that there would be no tricks today. There was no point in destroying the symbol of Valor with a trick... there would be no satisfaction, either.
His hatred would not be quenched.
No... he was going to defeat her with nothing except his own body and blade.
Because, even after they had discarded him... Mordret was still stronger, strong enough to destroy them all.
And they needed to learn that.
"Come, sister. Give it your all!"
His laughter drowned in the rain.
Morgan obliged.
For a few seconds, the two of them clashed, their swords singing a sharp and deadly song. The clangor of two blades striking against each other fused into one continuous, sonorous melody. They were too fast, too skilled. Neither could overpower the other, and those who got in their way could only flee and stare in terror and awe.
But eventually, inevitably, Morgan obliterated his defenses.
Her sword broke through his armor, impaling him through the chest. If it was anyone else, their heart would have been pierced... oh, but he must have shaken her a fair bit. Enough for her to forget that her brother had been born with a rare condition that caused the position of one's organs to be reversed.
So, she missed his heart.
Still... having a sword driven through your lung hurt a lot. It hurt terribly.
Not that he cared.
Instead of recoiling from the strike, Mordret pushed forward and grabbed Morgan by the neck. Her eyes widened, and she hurriedly tried to twist the sword in the wound.
Her other arm was already moving to block the potential strike of his own sword.
Instead of trying to use it, Mordret simply headbutted her and felt her nose crack under the force of the unexpected blow.
Morgan staggered back.
Blood was flowing from her broken nose, painting the lower part of her face red.
"You vile... scum..."
Her sword, which was still lodged in his chest, scattered into a whirlwind of scarlet sparks. He couldn't help but stagger and let out a pained yelp.
She was, without a doubt, going to summon it back... but that would take a few seconds, at least...
Not caring, Morgan lunged forward. Her leg whipped into the air, aiming to take his head clean off. Mordret blocked it with his sword, and felt his sword crack.
His sword broke.
There was more pain.
Morgan's shin cut through his sword, his armor, and his forearm. The bone broke, the muscles split, and the tendons tore.
His bleeding hand fell to the ground.
Not paying it any attention, Mordret stepped forward and drove his broken sword into the narrow crack between her breastplate and the segmented steel skirt protecting her lower waist. The jagged blade plunged into his sister's side... even though her flesh seemed as durable as steel, he pushed it as deep as he could before the broken Memory disintegrated into a rain of sparks.
She let out a stifled groan and pushed herself away.
"I'll... kill you..."
She tried to hide it, but there was a hint of hesitation in her voice.
Morgan was winning... she was definitely winning. She had only received one serious wound, while her enemy already looked half-dead. He looked like a walking corpse.
So why... why was he so calm? What was wrong with him?
She felt a chill run down her spine.
...Her sword was already manifesting itself back into reality.
Mordret was summoning a new weapon, as well.
He glanced down, at his severed hand, and stepped over it indifferently.
"No. You won't."
There was a hint of finality to his words.
Gritting her teeth, Morgan blocked out the pain and attacked once again.
