NOVEL NEXT Chapter 402: A Song Of Ice And Lightning
"Pick up your sword, Terence. And prepare… to die."
Ren's fingers curled around the hilt of his battered sword as he pushed himself to his feet.
At this point, he was beyond exhausted, but the fire in his chest burned hotter than the ache in his limbs.
He looked up and met Myra's gaze, calm, steady, and utterly unshaken, and without another thought, he lunged forward.
The distance between them vanished in a heartbeat.
His blade swung for her side in a clean arc, aiming for the joint in her armor. She casually turned her body just enough that the sword screeched harmlessly across the curved plate.
Before he could recover, her arm shot forward, the pommel of her sword smashing into his ribs. The air rushed from his lungs as some shattered, but he gritted his teeth, pivoting into another slash.
She didn't even flinch. Her blade came up, catching his strike and pushing it aside with insulting ease.
Ren twisted, trying for a follow-up strike at her shoulder, but her movement blurred, faster than his eyes could track, and her sword intercepted his again. The shock of the impact traveled up his arms.
And then came the moment he'd been dreading. Myra angled her stance, letting Ren's momentum carry his weapon into the thick plating along her side.
The metal didn't give, his sword did. The chipped steel gave way with a loud crack, shattering into numerous fragments.
Ren stared for a fraction of a second at the jagged remains in his hand before Myra's gauntlet slammed into his chest.
The force sent him airborne. He spun once, twice, the world flipping around him before his body hit the ground hard.
Pain bloomed in his back, his shoulder, his hip, then again as he bounced off the cobblestones, skidding to a stop several paces away.
When he looked up, Myra was already walking toward him, each step slow, the scrape of her boots echoing in the silence.
"The world," she began, her voice carrying easily over to him, "is full of people who don't know what they want."
Her eyes stayed locked on him as she closed the distance. "They drift through life, following the crowd. They cling to possessions, titles, and goals, not because they truly desire them, but because they want others to see they have them."
She stopped, just out of reach, her expression a mix of disdain and conviction.
"Tell me, is it wrong if a few rise up to help those people choose? To strip away their illusions and give them lives where they can be both happy and fulfilled, without the unnecessary baggage of the world's false pressures?"
Ren's grip tightened on the broken hilt, his eyes narrowing.
"That," she said with quiet pride, "is the aim of the Silent Choir. Submit to us, Terence Ross. Let go of this fight, and you can become part of something greater than yourself."
For a moment, neither moved.
Then Ren exhaled, forcing himself onto his feet, the broken sword still in one hand.
"I'm not interested." He said. The sound didn't come out of his mouth, but Myra knew what he'd just said.
His other hand dipped into the spatial pouch at his waist. It took effort, with each pull feeling sluggish under the Shard's influence, but the leather grip of another sword finally slid into his palm.
He drew it free, the steel gleaming faintly in the muted light.
Myra's eyes flicked to the fresh weapon, and she exhaled slowly.
"So be it."
And she activated her powers.
At her feet, frost bloomed in jagged patterns, racing outward in a spiderweb of glittering ice. The frozen layer spread fast, the air around it crackling faintly.
Sparks of electricity danced along the frost's edges, jumping from vein to vein in bursts of blue light.
The cold nipped at Ren's boots, even before it reached him.
Myra stood at the center of it all, her armor catching stray flashes of light from the dancing sparks. She raised one hand toward him, her expression sharpening into a challenge.
"Attack me, Terence." She said. "Show me the power you have to back your decision."
Ren moved.
The frost crackled under his boots as he lunged forward, the sword in his hand a silver blur.
Even though Unfettered Enhancement was not active, every skill the Divine Gift had helped him enhance had been engraved into his bones.
His sword fighting skills, his anticipation, his timing, everything.
His footwork was clean as he fought, each step he took bringing him in on the perfect angle for a cut.
He slashed low toward the seam in Myra's thigh plating, twisting his wrist to draw the blade upward.
Her sword met his with a clang, the impact ringing through the air. The frost under them fractured where they stood, shards splintering outward. She shoved him back, the force of her block almost knocking him off balance.
He reset instantly, stepping into a high feint with a sword before cutting for her ribs with the other. Her sword came down in a parry, sparks leaping when it met his sword.
Ren's mind was calm, calculating lines, timing, and distance. Every swing was maximized to keep Ren in the fight for longer.
But Myra was a wall.
She was just that much stronger than him, that in that moment, he felt like a mosquito.
Every time he tried to cut through her defenses, she answered twice over. Her speed was unnatural, her sword a streak of silver wreathed in electricity.
A quick twist of her wrist disarmed his follow-up, and her counter opened a burning gash down his side. He didn't stop, or rather, he couldn't stop.
He came at her again. This time she sidestepped his thrust, her gauntlet flaring with ice that raced up his sword arm.
Frostbitten pain bloomed, and in the same motion she pivoted, slicing through his abdomen. His body fell in two halves, tumbling apart onto the frozen ground.
Lightning flared along the ice. It speared through him, frying every nerve in his severed torso.
Then the frost came again, seeping into the flesh, locking it in place, making regeneration scream with effort.
Ren's body knit itself back together anyway, flesh and bone reconnecting in wet, steaming pulses. He staggered forward, sword still in hand.
Myra's eyes narrowed. Her sword cut downward in a vicious arc, cleaving him diagonally from shoulder to hip. She didn't even pause. Turning on her heel, she came back the other way and took his head.
For a few heartbeats, the world tilted sideways from his point of view. Then the tendrils of muscle and sinew re-latched, pulling his skull and spine into place until his vision was whole again.
She stood over him, sword loosely at her side.
"You're tiring," she said, her tone almost conversational. "I don't know how you're doing it… but your regeneration's slowing."
Her voice was calm, assured of her victory. "Very soon, you'll stop getting up. Very soon, I'll kill you for good."
Ren said nothing. Even if he stopped fighting, he wouldn't die. Not until someone unraveled the threads holding his body and soul together.
However, in his mind, he was already making calculations. Mapping the fight. Cataloging what he'd seen. Testing and discarding possibilities until only one remained.
A course of action that was simple, and would be suicidal, if he wasn't essentially immortal.
One hit. That was all it would take to win, but to land it, he'd have to die first.
He'd have to draw her in, make her believe she'd finished him completely, and then drive that final attack home in the instant she let her guard down.
He exhaled slowly, feeling the air mist in the frigid silence.
His knees bent. His hand tightened on the hilt. His eyes locked on hers.
Then, without a word, Ren rose to his feet once again.