Under the relentless onslaught of rain, blood was being washed off the shattered armor of a beautiful young woman with black hair and vermilion eyes. She swayed, trying to lash out with her cracked sword, but slipped in the mud and fell heavily to one knee.
Her breathing was hoarse, and her lips were painted crimson with blood.
Mordret looked much worse than his sister.
One of his eyes was gone, turning his face into a grotesque mask. So was one of his hands. His armor was on the verge of collapsing into a whirlwind of sparks, and terrible wounds covered his body, revealing flesh and bone.
And yet, his expression was calm.
’Ah... it hurts... I haven’t felt pain like that in a long, long time...’
He was growing weak because of blood loss, his vision turning blurry. But he was so close to his goal... after long, excruciating years, the first true taste of his revenge was so near.
So, Mordret took a step forward, and then another.
His sword rose. His hand was firm and unshaken.
Morgan looked up at him, and the look in her eyes was sweeter than nectar. Confusion, indignation... and hidden behind them, a hint of fear.
"How... how are you still standing, monster..."
Mordret smiled.
’Barely...’
He was not going to engage in a lengthy conversation with her — not yet. He knew that his sister was just trying to buy time. Using one of the enchantments absorbed by her body, she was trying to heal herself — her wounds were already closing, and she was not bleeding nearly as heavily as she was supposed to.
It was not going to save her, though.
Morgan might have been able to heal herself, but she couldn’t replenish her essence, her focus, and her stamina. She was tired, and that fatigue was only going to get worse. It was going to seep into her bones and into her mind, dooming her.
He just had to last a little bit longer than that.
His sister gathered what little remained of her strength and dashed forward with a furious growl. Her sword flashed, sharp and cunning, aiming for his neck... Mordret knew that he wouldn’t be able to block or evade it, so he didn’t.
Instead, he just shifted his torso slightly, allowing the sharp edge to cut into his clavicle instead of his neck, endured the blinding flash of pain, and drove his own sword into a crack in her armor.
Morgan groaned.
Before she could do anything, he swung the bloodied stump of his right hand, hitting her in the temple with the torn edge of the steel vambrace.
His sister was thrown back, dazed.
Mordret felt a bit lightheaded, too.
A long sigh escaped from his lips.
"Ah..."
Through the veil of rain covering the battlefield, he could see what was happening around them.
Clan Song... was losing.
The titanic worm was battered and mutilated, but three out of the four of his Reflections had already been destroyed. The last one — the one wearing Whispering Blade’s face — was not going to last much longer, either.
Saint Madoc himself was close to prevailing in his harrowing battle against Beastmaster.
Silent Stalker and Summer Knight were still fighting, both stubbornly refusing to admit defeat. At this rate, both of them would perish, and even if the taciturn daughter of Ki Song prevailed, she wouldn’t be able to continue participating in the battle.
Even the Reflection of Sir Gilead seemed to be failing against one of Nether’s children that Sunless had somehow made his.
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