40

Sion jumps backwards, the giant blade of Kreteo smashing the ground where he stood. Sion can still barely believe the strength behind the slashes. The sword is so heavy as it falls it barely even cuts into the earth. And yet Kreteo swings it around as though it weighed nothing at all. Sion still hasn’t tried to fight back, finding it both improper and impossible.

“Mr. Kreteo, why are you doing this?! What happened?!” Kreteo stops moving for a moment, answering with a low, rumbling voice.

“You are a target. My master has ordered your death. You will die for siding with Dracabana.”

“Are you a member of the True Dracabanan Army? Is that why you’re acting like this?”

“You are a target. My master has ordered your death. You—”

“What did they do to you?! I’m sure you’re a good man! And I’m sure there’s something wrong with you!”

Sion’s pleas are wasted. Kreteo heaves his sword and drags it through the air. Still far beyond Sion’s reach, the tip of the blade comes right at his stomach. He again jumps back, leaving the blade to cleave through nothing but air. However, Kreteo does not let his blade be carried by the momentum. He pulls against the weight and slashes up towards Sion, in the air. Sion forms a barrier with his soul magic. As Kreteo’s blade slams into the spell, the hardened soul shatters. Desperately, Sion begins to form a powerful shield adhering right to where the blade will touch him. In the instant before it reaches him, Sion predicts the path of the sword. He stakes his life on his rushed prediction and forms a shield at his side, right beneath his ribcage.

The edge of Kreteo’s sword slams into Sion’s small shield. It keeps him from getting cut through, but cannot stop the powerful blow. Sion is sent flying by the slash. He hits the ground, sliding against it, scraping the grass from the dirt. He felt the shield break, the bones beyond it as well, and he’s sure that if he pulled up his shirt he would find a terrible bruise, if he hasn’t begun to bleed outright. He doesn’t have the time to check, nor the presence of mind to tell if his skin is wet or not. He gets back up to face Kreteo once more.

“Mr. Kreteo, can you even hear me?! Is there nothing I can do but fight you?!” Kreteo looks down at him, eyes dark and glassy.

“You will die for siding with Dracabana.”

“So I really can’t try to reason with you… I knew it, but…”

Kreteo brings his sword down once more. Sion, still not fully recovered, takes an uneasy step back. He doesn’t let himself look away from Kreteo. He activates his truesight and peers into Kreteo’s soul. The blue slate opens up, and Sion reads over his abilities. His class is ‘Champion,’ and surely that is clear in his physical prowess. Sion can hardly read the long list of skills and powers he possesses without losing focus on the battle at hand. He blinks and the slate vanishes.

Sion steps back as Kreteo swings the sword at his torso once more. His step was just barely too short. As the tip of the blade passes by his stomach, the force of the wind passing by cuts through the fabric of Sion’s shirt, leaving a tiny scratch on his skin. The only thing Sion had gleaned from his truesight was the fact that Kreteo is overwhelmingly powerful. The only saving grace he could find is that for some reason or another, he is not using the vast majority of his abilities. If he were, Sion doubts he would have made it this far.

“Mr. Kreteo, I won’t give up! I’ll definitely save you, and I won’t let you hurt anyone else!”

Sion dashes towards Kreteo. Kreteo begins to move his arm, dragging the giant metal blade along, but Sion is fast enough to avoid it. Before Kreteo can swing, Sion gets right in front of him. The sword is too large to be used in such close quarters, limiting much of what Kreteo can do.

Though he’s lost the use of the sword, Sion had also noticed that Kreteo possesses a significant amount of skill in martial arts. Kreteo is not quite as strong without a sword, but even then Sion cannot imagine an easy victory. Kreteo is bigger, stronger, and more skillful than Sion. He doubts he could bring him to the ground, much less hold him there. He’s sure he wouldn’t be able to throw him safely. He can’t imagine a prolonged clinch going well. All Sion assumes might work is pumping Kreteo full of as much magic as he can muster before a counterattack comes.

Sion gathers up soul magic in his fist. He holds his fist tightly as it begins to glow a pale blue. Wisps of blue light billow out from it. Kreteo plants his sword into the ground behind Sion. As Kreteo begins to pull back his arm, Sion strikes. Sion slams his fist against Kreteo’s abdomen, where his stomach meets his chest. It’s hard. Sion wonders if his blow even hurt Kreteo on its own, but he did not plan for it to. His fist on Kreteo’s body, Sion begins to push the soul magic inside of Kreteo.

Against something weaker than him, Sion’s spell has no small chance of killing them as their own soul starts to wreak havoc inside of them. He can only hope that it even hurts Kreteo. Sion has long been afraid to use this spell on a person. He has only hypotheses on what will happen now.

Kreteo begins to shudder, as Sion had expected. Sion keeps striking him with shallow blows, suffusing his entire body with soul magic. Kreteo keeps shaking, but Sion can tell that he is quickly recovering. Sion tries to step away from him, but Kreteo swats at him. Kreteo’s palm knocks Sion aside.

Sion falls and Kreteo reaches for his sword once more. However, as he grips the hilt and looks at Sion, something in his demeanor changes. He begins to talk frantically.

“Sion, run away. I don’t want to hurt you. Truly, I need you to live on. Run.” Sion stands up and looks right at Kreteo.

“I said I would save you! There’s no way I can run now!”

“Don’t be a fool! Run away or…” Kreteo’s body shudders mid-sentence. “Die for siding with Dracabana.”

Sion doesn’t know why, but he knows now that his soul magic woke Kreteo up. He begins to circulate his soul around his body like blood. He watches Kreteo approach with his sword at the ready. Wisps of blue light begin to come off of Sion’s skin like steam. Kreteo swings his sword and Sion dodges out of the way. He cannot afford to let himself be hit. Though with his body clad in the armor of his soul it is unlikely for the sword to cut through him, even a single blow would disrupt his magic completely. Every blow would leave the magic flowing freely out of him, and as the damage stacks up, he knows he would not be able to build up enough force again. Sion will bet it all on a single blow.

Whether from above or from the side, Sion dodges out of the way of Kreteo’s slashes. For each, he takes only a small step. He does not want to overexert himself and make his plan fall apart so simply. He moves gently, like a leaf caught in the wind, letting the the swipes of the sword guide his movements as he dances around Kreteo.

With each near miss of Kreteo’s blade, Sion sees the straight line connecting them together. A simple path for a single strike to take. He has to fight his instinct, knowing in his head what his body is not keen to accept: that he still needs more strength. Sion avoids the slashes for a full minute, his body gradually brightening from the pale blue light clinging to it.

He can feel his mind grow more clear and his movements sharper. Finally, after a minute of evasion, Sion feels himself ready to attack. He dashes forward, fist held behind him, hoping to capitalize on his long limbs to thrust his arm forward and strike first. When Sion steps off the ground, Kreteo raises the flat of his blade in front of him as a shield. Win drives his fist into the metal. He grits his teeth, worried that his plan might end here. He begins to call out to Kreteo.

“Stop getting in my way, Mr. Kreteo! Just let me save you!”

With so much of his soul magic around him, even the slab of metal is no match. The sword cracks, then shatters. Kreteo throws the sword aside as it breaks. Sion advances, no more defenses to protect Kreteo. He slams his fist into Kreteo’s sternum and holds it there. As Sion strikes him, a burst of soul magic shoots off, flooding Kreteo’s body with it.

Kreteo stops. He begins to shudder, even more violently now. Blue lines run all over his body and spread, as though his blood was what had lit up. Kreteo collapses to the ground, but brings himself up to his knees with only a small groan soon after. He looks at Sion with awe.

“Sion, you really did it. You broke the spell. You saved me.” Sion answers somewhat woozily as the relief of victory washes over him.

“I said I would.”

“You did, but I assumed you would be mistaken in the end. The same holds true for anyone. I thought I might never be wholly myself again. Thank you, Sion.” Kreteo bows his head to Sion earnestly. Sion falls back as his body gives itself some rest. “We have the same enemy. Allow me to tell you what happened, so that you might understand what you face.” Sion sits up to look at Kreteo.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet! I’ll soon have strength enough to fight once more. I will help to protect what you you want to protect. Thank me then.”