The Emptiness defines us.

She was alone again.

Stood facing a monster with no one at her side, no ink army left alive to give her the edge.

She knelt in the dirt, her spear on the ground ahead of her, calling for her to once again be the warrior. Her head lifted. Martel was practically a breath away, dragging his eviscerated legs to the sound of pained grunts. The hammer was more a crutch for him than a tool of pure destruction.

She laughed a little. “To think our plan was this bad…” she muttered.

Slowly the hammer lifted up, behind Martel’s head, then came crashing down. Elara of course had picked up her blade and moved, she’d got a good cut in as she danced past - the cut leaving a thin red line on Martel’s stomach. Still, it felt easy enough to dig deeper but she just didn’t. She’d put the strength in but it drained from her arms - the cut feeling half hearted.

It’d been this way for a while, this feeling of pointlessness. “What do I fight for?” She asked herself. With the time ticking down, and the potential of Mayumi and now Arata having to face another killer - she wasn’t exactly sure what she was still doing fighting the walking corpse.

Of course, she’d told Arata to go on without her, that she’d deal with Martel. She’d assured him that if they had both left, eventually a hammer would crush them before they could even reach the portal… but she didn’t believe that.

“What does that make me? Empty.” It had been on repeat in her mind like a broken record. To escape this place? Make it home and… “then what? Get revenge on someone that did me no wrong?”

She’d already lost that will, Martel had already had her dead to rights. It was so vivid, knowing she was going to die… and the feeling of pure apathy, almost contented. Yet she still stood, and she couldn’t explain why.

Martel exhaled loud again, and swung his hammer around. She dodged again, cutting him just above the armpit. It gave him the fury to move quicker. She readied another strike, but instead of a brainless full swing of the hammer, Martel kept his weapon low. His frame moved quickly, the punch that followed like a whip. Elara couldn’t evade. The Spear shaft blocked the hit but the force alone propelled her back into the tree line.

Every movement was laboured, like she was swimming in honey. Her head was spinning, lights flashing and creating shadows the size of monsters.

After the hit, Martel dropped to his knees - his hammer crashing to the ground, and his breathing becoming more like desperate wheezing.

Both of them were beyond limits.

And for Elara, it felt like it was unavailing. “What do I fight for?” The question reappeared.

“C’mon, Ela!” It was distant, like, almost from another world. A voice that didn’t belong to this reality, yet was so important to her. Through the fading visions she saw him. His chiselled face that all the girls fell for, that she laughed at until it was close to hers. That god awful tie she’d bought him that she knew he hated, but still wore. His pitch black eyes that consumed everything that looked into them. That beard that she told him needed to stay if he wanted her to be his.

“You remember our bet, right? You lose and I’m making gyros!”

——-

Her eyes closed and she was there. In the humid heat hearing the cicadas in the distance. He stood over her, holding out his hand with a dumb grin. “You need an invitation or something?”

Tentatively she took his hand.

This was most certainly a dream, she remembered it all. A year ago, the tournament was a month away and she had asked him to train with her. Somehow it’d turned from a simple spar to a full blown match with a wager.

The feel of the wooden sword, the sweet smell of the apples, the song of the birds above. It was all there again, like she’d been trapped in a bad dream.

“Here we were. Acting like idiots, like the world was paused for us…” her pained expression dropped his grin. “Elara?”

“Little did I know who you really were.”

He had let go of his sword, now his hands were around her face. The gentle warmth she had so badly wanted to be real, yet she flinched back. “Wh- what? Are you okay?” He asked.

For a moment she kept quiet. There were two versions of him, and right now he was the version she still loved with all her heart. She didn’t want to believe in the Dolos that Arata had told her about. The words stung as they left her mouth, like her own body was fighting to keep silent but she spoke them regardless. “Who are you?”

His brow scrunched, “You hit your head or something?”

“Are you the one I loved, the one that I saw as a hero… or are you the villain? Hiding everything from me, pretending you cared when you were putting people through hell?”

“Both.” He answered immediately, taking Elara aback. “I did what I did, Ela. Won’t give you excuses, won’t lie.” The fact he was so straight with it, no emotion behind the words - she felt like she was talking to an echo. She slowly dropped to a knee, taking it all in.

Dolos kept his distance, sat on the wall beside her and looked out to the horizon. “Beautiful, isn’t it? This fleeting wasteland… takes me back to when we met. You were such a hothead back then, just a nomad from the sands with a chip on her shoulder and one hell of a punch.” He giggled. “You remember when Elysian came by, thought he could try and teach you, got his ass planted!”

“Why am I here?” Elara interrupted. “Am I dead?”

Dolos cracked up. Wiping tears from his eyes, and grinning at her like an idiot again. “Nah, I just thought you could use a pep talk is all.” She didn’t reply as he continued laughing, just that was all she could ever wish for.

Eventually his laugh trailed off and the silence returned as he watched the winds pick up sand, and the distant waves further than he had ever travelled. That grin dropped to a neutral look. “This will all disappear soon. Someone like me can’t stay in such a nice place… and you, under no circumstances, will not come back here.”

“Sorry, can’t promise anything.” She replied, the words shallow.

“Like hell!” Dolos spun around to look her in the eye.

“Have you seen what I’m fighting?!” She fired back. “What have I got? A stupid stick against a monster that’s taken enough poison to flatline an elephant, a minor inconvenience, wouldn’t you say?!”

“And who do you think trained you?!” Dolos finally showed something other than tepid smiles, and grabbed her shoulders - pulling her in. “You know as well as I how strong you are, Ela. But you’re too content with fighting yourself!” She could see pain on his face, tears welled and she couldn’t stop them. “You want to believe you’re empty? Good. Emptiness defines us. It lets you find something else to live for. So embrace it, and don’t you ever let go! Give up on your stupid revenge… give up on me!”

“I…” She whimpered. “I can’t… No matter what you did, or who you were…”

“...I will never be able to forget you.”

—--

The warmth disappeared, the light faded. Her eyes opened once more - mere moments had passed but it felt like an eternity.

She was back in the accursed forest, back with the sickening smell of fresh and tainted blood mixed together - coagulated into a malicious hell amongst nature.

Martel readied another swing, the last of the strength he had left. Time itself stood still for her. The emptiness kept her in place, the worthless vengeance…

Then as the hammer fell she moved slightly. She’d heard the crack, saw the eviscerated arm lied beside her - still connected but limp and crushed. She was glossy-eyed, the pain not present. “Fight.” Dolos’ voice rang faintly in her mind. She gripped her spear with her remaining arm, standing with great difficulty…

The blade pierced deep into Martel’s stomach, the twitch of agony was followed with a howl. His hammer swung just over her head, the force of it pushing her away.

As she landed, she realised her spear was still embedded in her opponent - and he had now closed the distance, wrapping his blood soaked hand around her and lifting her high.

“Fight, Ela… Fight.”