The Lufian Family 14

Win looks straight at Leofwine, his deep blue eyes resolute. He lets his sword hang by his leg as the soft breeze passes by him. He has no fear. Calliope gained him just enough leeway to rid himself of the fatigue he was feeling. He won’t back down. He won’t look away. Leofwine feels a shiver down his spine as Win looks at him. He feels as though Win is looking right through him yet seeing all he is. Leofwine knows he can’t give up here. Only death would await him. But when he looks at Win and feels his gaze he is just as sure that death is all that awaits him.

Win’s senses feel keener than ever before. He dashes on the wind and appears before Leofwine. Win appears right under him, too close for him to strike, and slashes. His blade glows red hot as it cuts cleanly through Leofwine’s armor, melting the metal away. The feeling of the incoming arrows prickling on his skin, Win leaps into the air with a gust of wind.

Before the arrows come, he sees Leofwine’s armor reforming once more. Not even melting stopped it. As he waits in the air, Win begins to plan for defeating Leofwine. Before he gets far, the arrows come. Win can at last see the archers clearly. He tracks them to their next hiding place then fires a bolt of electricity to each of them. They cannot dodge out of the way and a clean hole is made in each of their shoulders, rendering them incapable of fighting any longer.

Win looks back down towards Leofwine. He’s running. Win follows the path and is sure his target is Calliope. Win and Calliope had both gotten arrogant in her strength. Her voice is already too strained to fight any longer. Again she is powerless. For saving Win she now must sacrifice her life. Win forces himself back into the ground with a powerful wind. He crashes with a loud slam. However, Leofwine is already upon her, brandishing his halberd. The spirits seem weak around her, lethargic somehow. And with a shaky voice, weak with strain, rather than call upon them, she looks over and calls for him, fear in her eyes.

“Win!”

Calliope stands right before him. And yet she's still too far away. She's just beyond where he can grasp, just beyond the end of his sword, just beyond the shadow he's cast, just beyond the chasm between them. A meter, a step, a hair's breadth, all an insurmountable distance now. His sword cannot destroy anything and it cannot protect anything. It's shallow, a suitable sword for Win. Indeed, he's calculated it all out. He was too slow. He is still too slow to protect what really matters. Even with a burst of wind he'll be a moment too late. It's pointless for Win to fight against fate, to take a step forward and hope she might live. And beyond that, it's pointless if she lives or dies. In the grand scheme of the world, it will not matter. No more than the falling of a single feather matters. She will die one day regardless, so what does it matter if she dies today rather than tomorrow? Why should Win care? Win tells himself he should not care, for it does not matter. And yet he takes a step forward. He hopes he might lose an arm rather than she her life, even though he knows he can't reach. Win realizes that foolishly, pointlessly, pathetically, he has made another connection in this shallow life he leads.

Win wants to be the man Calliope sees, rather than the one he knows so intimately. He wants to be a kind man. He wants to be the man who can take another step. He wants to be a man worthy of his strength. He wants to be a man worthy of their love. He steps beyond the chasm, shallow as it was, and out of the shadow into the light, and grasps what he desired all this time. He knows in his heart that even against his best efforts, he has always been connected.

He draws his sword. His heart pounds in his chest. He swings his sword far more gently than he should. Rather than wielding a weapon it was like he was dancing with a lover or lifting a newborn babe. The image of Marcus that had been burned into his mind is more clear than ever. The tip of his blade moves slow enough to watch. His heart feels like bursting as the feelings he pretended not to feel come rushing in. At last, all Win is, all Win cares for, the whole of his heart, it all overflows. And he cuts the air, his sword shimmering with all the colors of the rainbow, glowing warmly with his love. His magic, the raw energy itself contained in his body, travels along the blade and reaches out towards Calliope. Win slices cleanly through Leofwine's halberd. Win smiles widely at Calliope.

“Thank you for calling my name.” He looks back towards Leofwine, shuddering like a leaf now without his weapon. “My name is Winfred Lufian! Heir to the title Margrave Lufian, seventh generation master of the ‘Overflowing Heart!’ Bandit, you truly are among the worst of us all. Truly you are what is wrong with humanity. No moral code, no care for others. Violence all for the sake of glutting your own inflated desire. Indeed, all that is humanity’s folly. And yet our lives are still bound up together, even if we look away from it. Lay down your arms and surrender to me, I mean you no further harm.” Leofwine sneers at him.

“Do you think I’m stupid!? What kind of meaningless lip service is that!? Of course I won’t fall for something like that!” With only a pole in his arms, Leofwine charges.

“So that’s how it will be? I promise you I speak the truth. My sword is not one that destroys evil. Nor is it one that protects the innocent. It is for something even more simple. It cuts a path to the future. It cuts my way to another. It is a sword that connects. My sword is one that saves people. And today that includes you. So surrender. Let yourself be saved from the evil within.”

Leofwine continues to charge. Win swings his sword. The slash is so slow it ought to pose no threat to anyone, not even a child or a wizened elder. And yet, watching that rainbow glow along it, Leofwine finds his movements dulling. It has a hypnotic power over him. He becomes transfixed. He lets the blade sink into his body. It cuts all the way through his stomach, yet it doesn’t hurt. As the blade cuts him apart, he feels it closing up once more, just the same way as his armor. As the sword comes out his other side, Leofwine is sure he should be dead. And yet the slash was so gentle, so kind. Win’s face is incomprehensible to him, a serene, beautiful expression without a hint of malice left.

“I don’t think it’s meaningless at all. If you won’t back down, then let me cut away all the hateful things. Let me cut away the shallow life you doom yourself to live. Let me save you.”

Leofwine says nothing, not even as Win’s sword sinks into him once more. He’s cut apart again and again by Win. Dismemberment, decapitation, cut to ribbons. Leofwine is sure he is dying again and again, and yet he cannot resist. He does not want to resist. The young reaper before him, a man so kind, cuts through his heart. As it knits itself back together, Leofwine falls to the ground, surrendering himself without a single injury.