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He ran.
That was one of two things that remained in his thoughts as he sprinted up the flights of stairs, his breath coming in short gasps in between his sprints. His shadow loomed against the stone walls, brought to ethereal life by the flicker of the dying torches as he continued up the spiral staircase, not once pausing to catch his breath.
The night breeze brushed against his face as he burst from the tower. The evening sky was cloudless, merely painted with a spatter of stars and the full moon throwing down silvery beams onto the silent land. He stopped midway through the ramparts, putting a hand against stone to support himself as he caught his breath.
Once he had calmed, his whole form stilled for a moment, before he slowly shifted to stand and stretch languidly. “You’re... awfully fast for a tin can.” He turned then, smirking at the crusader standing at the threshold of the tower before him. The swordsman was shrouded in the shadows of the tower, though a step forward would reveal to him the face of his pursuer. All that he could see was a bulky silhouette, gleaming like gold and silver where faint rays of moonlight illuminated.
“You killed him.” It was undeniably cold and young, the voice that floated to his ears. The man raised a brow, schooling his face into one mocking expression.
He ran a hand through his long, black mane of hair, never once taking his carmine eyes off the shadow concealed fighter. “Well, what did you think I was here for? A cup of coffee?” He replied, nearly ending in a laugh. The crusader took that one step towards the outside world, instantly bathed in the moonlight.
Maybe it was those blue eyes, so cold and calculating. Or it could have been that hardened gaze on a face so young, as if the owner had seen what cruelties life could deal to a man.
But one thing was for sure, his guess was totally off the mark.
In a blink, his Swordmace was in his hands. In that same moment, the crusader lunged. Blade met blade in a brilliant flash of sparks, illuminating briefly the fighters as they stared each other down. They jumped away from one another, then lunged once more.
Clash after clash. Parry after parry. Slash for a slash. It was a brilliant dance of weapons and mettle under the evening sky. The parapet was their stage, the stars their silent audience and the moon their only source of light. No other soul intruded in their macabre dance, save for the distant shouting and faint tinkle of what sounded like a fight one as fierce as what was unfolding.
The fighter before him was remarkable. Remarkable that she was a woman. Remarkable that she was able to withstand the battle so long even with the wounds she had obviously suffered prior to this battle.
With a block from a well aimed thrust, the man in white robes used the locked weapons to push him away from the swordsman. They stood a moment, neither exchanging any blows as they sized each other up, taking note of each wound, each twitch of a lip or a brow, each laboured breath they took. Blood ran down one of his arms, the sleeve torn and showing the clean slice through his flesh. But the crusader did not remain immune. Blood stained her left side, her chainmail broken from a lucky thrust. But neither showed any indication of pain.
Neither made any movement as clouds slowly crossed the skies from the eastern horizon, blocking out the moon for just a moment. The world was swallowed in a moment of darkness, when only the light of the torches was all the light that could be seen.
Once the moon stepped out from behind the cloudy veil, she lunged. Silvery blade slicked with blood, she thrust it forward.
He smiled. Tightening his grip on his weapon, he took a step forward.
Time stopped in that frame of a second. A gasp escaped his lips, ending in a hiss of pain. He trained his eyes on the eyes of his enemy, expecting to see triumph gleaming in that sea of blue.
Yet again, his guess was off the mark.
Surprise. Regret. Concern? Had that really been concern in those blue orbs? With a sickening squelch she withdrew her blade, letting her hand fall back to her side. He let out a moan of pain. Feebly, he clutched at the wound, the pristine cloth of his uniform turning scarlet as his eyes faded back to its original green hue.
Feh... Ironic. She was the one to run me through too.
“Why didn’t you move?” He didn’t understand why her voice sounded so beautiful to his ears. He must be going crazy. Then again, he must have already lost it somewhere along the way.
His only reply was a throaty chuckle, cut short when he coughed. He put a hand to his mouth, feeling something dribble down his hand.
“... I didn’t kill him.” He said, feeling something bubble in the base of his throat, yet he fought the urge to throw up. He forced a small smile on his face when he saw the narrowed eyes glint with scepticism and suspicion. Ah, there wasn’t any use explaining it to her.
Before he could think or her to react, the man pulled her close with his unstained hand. His lips were so close to her ear, he could almost touch it if he were to move that last breath of distance. But he didn’t.
“Just so you know, I think you’re cute.” And as quick as he had pulled her close, he pushed her away with what remaining strength he had. Watching as she nearly stumbled over her own feet, he wondered about this last impulsive act. Why had he done it?
He couldn’t quite think straight. But in the end, he found he hadn’t minded it at all.
The end. The end of my suffering—
It was getting harder to breath. He coughed, feeling more of that warm liquid dribble down the sides of his mouth. His vision swam in and out of the darkness, unable to see whether or not his opponent was coming towards him. He was feeling more and more lightheaded from the blood loss. But he didn’t care anymore.
“Heh... we both win...” The man staggered back, feeling the edge of the stone railing behind him. With a last, shaky breath, he leaned back. He felt the wind behind his back, tugging at the edges of his white robe as hard as it could, as if trying to keep him from repeating Icarus’ tragedy.
The sudden searing pain shooting up from his wounded arm blinded his vision to white. The pain, too, numbed all his senses, or perhaps had jumbled them enough that nothing was distinguishable any longer.
The last thing he saw... the last thing he ever saw, were eyes so brilliantly blue they seemed almost unearthly.
END ENTRY.
