Sky above, did it feel good to stretch her muscles! She actually caused damage to herself with that first strike, but the strain made her feel alive for the first time in…

It didn’t matter. A proper duel, after all this time, was exactly what she wanted. Needed. And, so long as she kept her eyes out for the sneak thief, there wouldn’t be any chance of interruption.

Her lips curled into a wicked smile. Hopefully this grave robber would put up a worthy fight. He’d better, or Gox would probably rise from his grave to reclaim his sword! Her smile soured, and she smashed the cretin’s blade aside again, toying with him to relieve some of her aggravation. Gox probably had risen and tried to take the blade back, only to be turned to dust again. How many others had claimed his sword as their own? How many times had his memory been trodden upon?

She advanced suddenly, the same as the past two times, and moved to smash his blade aside. The moment his guard was in place, she pivoted, swinging with everything she had. He would not maintain his grip, and she would open his throat for daring to approach her.

*CLANG* The metal sung a horrific note, echoing through the chamber, but to her shock, not only did the ‘unbreaking’ enchantment on the sword withstand her strike, but the boy kept his grip. She paused, just for a moment, as he careened across the room, bones audibly breaking with each bounce, before smashing into the wall with a force that would have killed the sturdiest Dwarf before the system changed them.

With a morbid respect, she noted a small chip in her sword: a result of the strike. Syndarus could have sworn that was Gox’s blade, but his enchantment was nothing compared with hers, and their magics faded over time when not exposed to their Dwarven sources. So how…?

She moved to toss her hair in a flourish, but it moved as a solid mass of filth. What a queen she was, she mused, that she could be reduced to this. Her skin was filthy, streaked with dirt and dust and grime… her hair had fareed worst of all. What she would give for a bath… for cool, running water to cleanse herself. Something she would never feel again.

She sensed the thief’s approach again, and swatted in its direction. The presence didn’t vanish, as it had last time, but instead pressed closer, threatening her. She just barely heard the soft steps of someone landing on the dusty floor, right beside her. She turned in a flash, ready to eliminate the pest before following through on her promise to gut the male, but she was too slow. The blade slipped easily into her abdomen, her armor having long ago rotted to nothing, and she felt it pierce through her back.

Without even blinking, she grabbed at the imp’s hand, but misjudged its speed. It made no effort to remove the blade, as she had imagined, but had already produced another to take its place. Syndarus made to sweep with her sword, using her back arm as leverage, but switched her slow swipe to a swift kick the instant the rogue reacted.

The figure nearly twisted its way around the strike, but even a glancing blow was enough to send it careening away. She tentatively touched the blade in her stomach. Poisoned, she could tell, but Dwarves were one with nature. Poison was just another inconvenience, and even the most potent wouldn’t bother her much more than the wound itself.

She didn’t have much blood to lose, however, so she left the blade in. The pain was minimal, and it hadn’t gotten any important muscles. Still, she had a score to settle.

She rotated the stone beneath her, rather than turn around, and saw a confusing sight.

“Monster, you would protect another, not of your own?”

A low growl was the only response she received from the quadrupedal mass of muscle in front of her.

“Your response mattered little anyway, I was merely curious.” The stone beneath her feet erupted up and forward, launching her at an extreme velocity towards the beast. She unsettled the ground at its feet, fractions of a second before she would have impacted, forcing it into a piss-poor defensive position. It would have died, had she willed it, but she cared little for the beast. It would perhaps provide a small amount of entertainment after the boy, but he came first. She sailed easily over the stunned animal, and smashed down with everything she had, right onto the grave robber.

Her ears rang. Not with any particular sound, but… as a result of one so loud it had actually deafened her. Dust cascaded around, stirred up by the force of the strike, and reduced the already terrible visibility.

Her ears popped, the system restoring their function at an extreme rate, and the first thing she heard… was laughter. Not her own, victorious revelry, but an insane, coughing laughter coming from the cretin she had just killed.

“You -*cough*- really went for it that time.”

“You are not dead.” The words sounded stupid in her own ears, but that was all her stunned brain could come up with.

“I get that a lot.”

The dust drifted away enough to reveal her sword had been deflected to his side, where it had embedded itself almost a foot into the solid stone.

“I broke both of your arms…” She lifted her sword away, slowly. “You could never have handled half of that strike, especially injured.” She abruptly reversed direction, smashing the blade down again. She saw him wince, but his sword barely moved.

“Why?” *Slam* “How?” *Slam* “Answer me, peasant!” *SLAM*

Out of the swirling fog of dust, a foot appeared, catching her in the upper chest. She flew, barely trying to resist it as her mind struggled to comprehend the madness right before her eyes. Even among the Dwarves, none could stand against her. Had she truly fallen so far? Or was this lowly grave robber truly so powerful? She did not know.

She landed in a heap, but easily rolled to her feet, wincing as the blade in her midsection jostled slightly.

Perhaps this one wouldn’t be killed by overpowering force alone. How strange. But, the fact that he had not punished her attempts at humiliating him made it clear he had only held on by a thread. She would fight him. No more games. She supposed his resilience had earned him that much.

----

One of the hardest things to learn when you’re new to fighting is to take things seriously. In certain scenarios, you can measure your strength, and only use exactly what you need, and that’s a sign of true skill. For someone like me, who has little skill and a lot of luck, that isn’t a possibility. I either go as hard as I can from the start, or die, and this fight only emphasizes that lesson. Without my ability to heal at a ridiculous pace, I would have been done, and there’s nothing Cerberus or Lauren could have done about it.

As the last bones in my wrist snap back into place, I push myself to my feet, and start burning Energy. My feet strike the stone hard, sending shockwaves up my legs, but that force drives me to speeds far above my biological ability. My body feels like a mass of molten iron, bending to my will.

Sections of stone appear to trip me, but the queen mistakenly started too small, and I smash through the outcroppings instead of tripping. She immediately rectifies her error, but she’s tipped her hand. I trained with Zathis, and fighting an earth mage isn’t new to me if I expect it. I teeter on the precipice of entering my battle trance, but I resist it. I know I would benefit from it, and the unending focus that comes with it, but I have trouble learning while I’m tranced. I’m in the moment, irrevocably, and although I use all of my skills and training to their utmost, I don’t grow. Not really. And this fight feels important, like my spar with Dean all that time ago. I had an advantage there, but here? I’m the underdog, fighting a true talent with a greatsword. It would be shame to be so focussed on the fight that I miss experiencing it.

Our swords sing with every embrace, kicking wildly away as the metal struggles to deal with the excessive strain we’re putting on it. I feel the vibrations in the core of my being each time my blade is struck, like a hammer on an anvil, and it feels amazing. My Energy pool diminishes rapidly as I start adding in spurts of maximum Energy burn, which momentarily turn my defensive style into a dance of equals. Her mouth, set in a firm line, never wavers, but the deep pools of darkness in her eyes grow more intense with every strike I receive without faltering.

That she can do this level of fighting without needing to breathe through her mouth is a testament to her ability that none can argue with. Her strange swordplay style, entirely based around using her arms as leverage, or as vectors to rapidly change her acceleration, consistently trip me up. Conversely, my own style seems just as foreign to her, having likely spent her life fighting dwarves. Her attack always begins by striking my sword away, which would work well against a fighter who relied heavily on their arms. For me, it jars my hands and makes my life difficult, but I can always move away, pirouetting away while haloing my blade to ward of her follow up strikes.

I slowly adapt to her, using the same things she thinks should work against me against her instead. Smashing her blade aside, burning a healthy chunk of energy, then rapidly advancing into her open guard to land hits. Aside from one gash the first time I tried it, I haven’t been as successful as she has. My own body is covered in slashes, though most of the are only surface level due to my armor.

For all her prowess with a greatsword, it’s the way she strings magic into her fighting that really wins her the clashes. My quick, delicate footwork means nothing in the face of sudden stone pillars blocking my way, or my footing suddenly turning to sand.

The fight lasts long enough to force me to juggle between Stamina and Energy usage a few times before the final strike. A perfect twist, with all the power of her usual blows at a lightning pace, which I just manage to block, setting up for my own counter, but when I go to execute, my feet don’t move.

In an instant, I’m falling, then stopped abruptly, and none of my body, short of my head, can move. She turned the floor beneath me to sand, then solidified it when I fell in.

Burning Energy at even the highest rate does nothing against the stone, leaving me well and truly helpless.

“I… don’t suppose you’d be willing to call it a draw?”

The queen, of course, does not smile, but strides forward, purpose in her steps, before placing the tip of her sword at my throat.

I stare up at her, meeting her intense gaze with a determination of my own. With every passing moment, I’m packing more Energy into my head, so even being decapitated will only probably kill me, with the odds of survival going up every second.

“You have impressed me, but, you owe me a sword.”

She pulls the tip back, inspecting the blade. The entire length is chipped and worn from countless engagements. My arm moves suddenly, as my sword is ripped from my grasp by unseen stone, kicking the blade up into the air for her to catch.

Her bemused expression turns instantly to a frown, and she inspects the handle, then the blade, as if unsure.

“It belongs to me.”

“Impudent fool, its owner has been dead for longer than you have lived.”

“Maybe the sword it once was, but the metal has been reforged, and there’s almost as much of me in that as there is metal.”

She ignores me, instead flourishing the sword as she did with her own, but the handle slips from her grasp, skittering across the room. She stares after it for a moment, watching it come to rest, before turning back to me.

“I am Syndarus Vahashen, queen of the Dwarves, and if that sword has chosen you, then you have my respect.”