NOVEL NEXT Chapter 403: Fighting To Die
Ren launched himself forward again, his boots crunching over frost as he swung low towards Myra's side.
She stepped into his arc instead of away from it, her gauntleted hand locking onto his wrist. Her sword came up in a clean, effortless line, splitting his collarbone and biting deep into his shoulder.
Pain flared white hot in his shoulder, but Ren flowed with it, burying it deep within himself. He couldn't allow himself to be distracted. Not here, not now.
His free hand lashed out in a stabbing thrust toward her midsection, but she tilted her torso, letting the blade scrape harmlessly off her armor.
Then she wrenched him forward by the wrist and slammed her knee into his chest. His ribs shattered with a crunch like brittle sticks.
He hit the ground hard, rolling once, the ice searing into his back. But already the knitting began, with his bone reforming and his tissues sealing.
He pushed himself up, sword clutched tight.
Again.
They clashed in the center of the frozen floor, sparks leaping from each time their swords met.
Her style was disciplined but brutal, with slashes that flowed into kicks, sweeps, and sudden bursts of lightning that scorched through the air.
Every hit from her was meant to kill instantly, and every one that connected shredded some part of him before his regeneration caught up.
And as they fought, she began to speak, casually, almost as if she was telling a story.
"You know," she said, parrying his slash and slamming the hilt of her sword into his jaw, "my family's always talked about the Ross line. The fierce noble warriors of the kingdom of Albion that guarded the North."
Ren staggered, spitting blood onto the ice. She didn't let up, her blade whipped around, cutting deep into his abdomen before she stepped back.
"I grew up hearing the stories." She continued, circling him. "Men and women who held their ground against endless tides of beasts and enemies. Who'd rather die on their feet than live on their knees."
Her sword darted in again, too fast for him to block. It sliced diagonally across his chest, cutting through muscle and bone.
Ren fell back a step, catching himself before he went down completely.
"You," she said, eyes narrowing with something that almost looked like admiration, "are exactly what they spoke of. If you and I were equals, same power, same rank, you'd beat me. No question."
Ren's lips curled faintly, but he said nothing.
"But right now," she went on, her sword sweeping low to take his legs out from under him, "you're fighting to die."
He crashed onto his back. Ice cracked under the impact. She followed him down, plunging her sword into his side, the blade skewering him clean through. Lightning flared through the steel, frying every nerve in his body. His back arched violently, a strangled grunt tearing from his throat.
"I respect you for it." She added, pulling her sword free and stepping back.
Ren rolled onto his stomach, forcing his body to move while it was still knitting together.
He knew she could just control the ice and shred every part of him to bits, but she was letting him fight. Because of who he was.
His breathing was rough and shallow as he staggered to his feet, but his eyes were fixed on her, studying, memorizing.
Every swing she took, every step, every tell she had before she attacked, the faint twist of her shoulders before she unleashed a lightning surge. He was mapping it all, building a complete picture in his mind.
He gave no sign of it. No twitch to show he'd caught her tells. He fought the same, slashing, thrusting, and lunging, each attempt ending with him being cut down again.
She kicked him square in the chest, sending him sprawling into a wall of ice. The impact dented the frozen surface before it cracked around him.
He staggered forward, trying another desperate overhead slash. She stepped inside his guard, her blade flashing across his ribs, cutting so deep his arm nearly fell limp from the shoulder.
He dropped to one knee. Myra's sword came down, cleaving him from shoulder to hip. His body split open in a haze of steam and red mist, reforming in a grotesque reverse of the destruction.
Again.
She hurled a spear of ice towards him. It punched through his thigh and pinned him to the ground.
Ren tore himself free with a roar, even as half the muscle in his leg was missing. He stumbled toward her, sword dragging. She sidestepped easily, the flat of her blade smacking the back of his head.
He went down face first, tasting copper and ice. His regeneration was slowing. He could feel it. His limbs were taking longer to knit back together.
She'd noticed too, and her guard had loosened. Her swings now carried less caution.
Ren caught the flicker of a smirk under her helmet as she drove her sword into his stomach again, twisting it before yanking it free.
He collapsed onto his back, staring at the ceiling. The frost lit cavern swam above him.
He focused on breathing, on letting the regeneration work. His chest pulled together, the ragged wound sealing, though slower than before.
Myra rested the tip of her sword on the ice, leaning slightly on the hilt. She watched the process like a scientist observing an experiment.
"Persistent." She murmured, almost to herself.
Ren exhaled slowly, letting his eyes close for a heartbeat.
Then, slowly, he rolled to his knees, pushing himself upright. His stance was loose, but his eyes never left her.
It was time.
And so, Ren stood for the last time.
He looked up at Myra across the frost covered floor, her ice sparking with faint arcs of lightning as she waited, her sword tip tracing lazy lines in the frozen ground.
His lips moved.
No sound came out, not here, not under the Shard's smothering silence, but Myra's eyes never left his face. She could read his lips.
"Do you know why I'm fighting?" Ren asked, not even hearing his own voice.
She tilted her head slightly, almost curious, but didn't answer.
Ren took a step forward, his expression steady despite the blood painted across his skin. "You don't, do you?"