Halfway through, a head sized rock was thrown with unexpected swiftness and hit the knee of the swordsmen by surprise.The damage wasn’t that great as most of the body is covered in armor, but it wasn’t the end of it. At the same time Mordread give the last pull of the cape, that finally torn into two blood rags attached precariously at his back, the swordsmen lost the balance and the previous stuck enemy jumped out of the ground with ease, rising the coiled metal pole as fast as possible in his other hand and like a woodcutter chopping the wood he delivered a hit the side of his head, without even given the chance to parry it.

Blood spilled out of his mouth, with maybe some tooth, as his body spun in the axis trying to keep balance, his astonished face made a contrast with Mordread calm face, with all that unbound rage gone as if was never there. However that doesn't slow his new strike, now with the 2 hands freed he put all his strength on his veins bulged arms in an upward swing that even before the rags of the cape hit the ground aiming for the head again.

The turning body of the swordsmen ended in front of it and redirected the beeline for his jaws to his left shoulder, tearing a new wound on his shoulder and with it part of the leather armor, his left hand holding the sword couldn’t stand and let the blue sword fly to the side. However, the lack of edge of the coil pole proved a disadvantage as most of the force was lost in bypass his armor.

The stupor wore off and noticing Mordread still recovering from his wide swing, the swordsmen quick throw himself in the direction of the fallen blue sword, that haven’t fallen far away in a roll. That wasn’t enough, and instead of prepare another blow, Mordread decided to change direction and just smite down the now rolling man, but the wound on his arm made very difficult to control his left arm losing much of the needed power as it hit his back.

The painful grunt resounded on halls, as Mordread that advance forward with a kick to the side of the swordsmen that was about to secure his weapon, ended rolling away because of the kick as his fingers scraped on the surface of the hilt making the blade spin. The metal pole descended again to create a chain of attack, but before the assault could reach him, he rolled out of the way, giving Mordread the opportunity to kick away the sword a few feet away, as himself wasn’t confident enough that he could take the sword before his enemy.

This game of cat and mouse had continued for a whole minute, circling half of the hall all the way back to the front of the black throne, before the swordsmen manage in a sudden forward roll take his sword back, trading for a heavy blow of the coiled pole. Now he was riddled with bruises and wounds, his brand new armor was covered with both his and Mordread blood and the blood of the lost teeth still flowing from his mouth.

Experienced by the pattern of attacks, he raised the sword in front of him as soon as possible in order to defend from the revenge attack, that... never came. Still kneeling, he noticed that Mordread wasn’t in front of him anymore, but his following the trail of blood he saw his cold face quickly being surrounded by the darkness of the other half of the hall as if he was immersing himself in a thick black ink. However, the disappearing face wasn’t able to keep the emotionless mask and he could see trembling and twitching of absolute anger that ended in the same malicious smirk he showed to him before.

Furious, he broke into a mad sprint, raising the sword above his head in order to cause the greatest damage, watching that the tip of the twisted metal was poking out of the darkness giving away Mordread position. However, right before he would cross the umbra, from inside the darkness an insidious object aim right for his eyes, prompting to hastily stop the charge to defend himself, but what he ended blocking wasn’t the metal pole but instead a flying rock and soon followed by a stab on his chest from Mordread weapon, however his hand wasn’t stable and made cut a hole through the armor on the intestine instead.

The sloppy attack in fact that troubled him to pull it out, because was stuck on the armor and protected from most of the damage. Giving the counter-attack opportunity for the swordsmen, that because he couldn’t advance for not worsen his wound wasn’t able to reach his enemy body but was more than enough to attack his weapon. The just pulled coiled sword, received a heavy strike from the proper sword, and chip away a big part of the metal pole but this time almost severing in two. Both by the result and backed away from each other, the swordsmen grieved his injury and Mordread tried to calm his breath because as soon he retreated he almost fallen to the ground it wasn’t using the pole as a support.

From the both sides of the hall could hear painful moans, Mordread trembled a little as the pain of the wounds resurfaced again now that he was out of the immediate danger, and beads of sweat are already forming on his face. The swordsmen on other hand looked he has the energy to spare as he flayed himself around in pain. This gave enough time to review his possibilities, he could see the door with the white blinding white light from outside, there was the throne that was black as the darkness he was hiding but nothing else, he could see birds flying outside the hole in the wall. The problem was behind him, there even if the cold wind comes from the hole in the other wall, there was a chilling feeling everything he gazes at the deep, something seen to reflect from there. In fact, was so black that the mind seen to play tricks on him, creating fog abstracted images and colors, that he couldn’t be sure it really was there. Still, he focused again on the swordsmen, that have overcome the pain and walked slowly to the dark side of the hall.

Once again when the swordsmen got close to the wall a rock flew from it, that he evaded, and the tip of the pole attacked, now lower than before. His defense ware ready and stopped the attack, retreating back to the dark it came, but even before a moment passed new attacks followed, trying to stab any part of his body, that put him on the defensive. However, Mordread that was holding the pole like a lance wasn’t related and grumped in his mind:

‘so… This is the extent of my knowledge of the spear like this will be impossible to make a decent attack on him.’ “tsc” -clicking his tongue.

They fought to the sound of the metallic clashes of the now battered coil spear. Using his shallow knowledge he ended with some success, even though that his attack was limited to a slight variation of stabs him as quick as possible, he compensated by moving around and using the total darkness of the half of the room in his favor. The swordsman favored deflecting with his own sword, using even if mean receive part of the spear stab. That decision looked connected with this problem on dodge, there was a micro gap in his movement every time he jumped out of the way and in between long horizontal slash, his face flinched a little.

Unfortunately for Mordread his plan wasn't perfect, as the blue sword was able to find him a couple of times and after the first surprise stab, all other attacks are but flesh wounds. After the few minutes of fighting, his attacks with debris and spear was gradually being controlled and the tiredness looked affecting him quicker than his enemy.

Wasn’t long that he was having almost the same leisure as before, the wounds don’t see to affect him much. Mordread skills had a real improvement in the hundreds of stabs from the shadows, making him a little fond of the spear, but wasn’t anywhere enough to match his swordsmanship, building up anxiety on his heart.

Just as mordread jumped out the ruins of the collapsed column, a chance appeared, the swordsmen last attack was delayed and the blue light of the sword cut the air and keep going on a wide horizontal cut, while Mordread was already under him, the wound of the stab seen to kick stronger than ever and he flinches for 2 sec, frozen and open. He rushed in his assault, knowing that would be difficult to pierce the chest, he took advantage of his that the swordsmen still was on high ground, and try to hit his heart from below. The swordsman quick realizes what happens and before he could do anything the look of despair was already on his face.

Mordread wasn’t just watching but savoring his enemy peril, that he couldn’t help but show my pair of a toothed smile. The coil spear cut the air in an upward motion, trembling for excitement and the blood loss, that now might have splashed at least a drop in each tile on the ground.

With the mind filled with the vicious desire to impale him, took him a moment to realize that there was something wrong, as the swordsmen jumped in the same hole as him and his face didn’t show the despair from before. But there wasn’t enough time, to stop anything, even if decide to, at most slight change the angle and his clear mind was busy speculating:

‘His sword still too far to deflect and now that he is closer is even less time’ - looked instinctively to his face in look for the answer, there was only confidence, that just caused more unease - ‘should be alright, right?’

In an instant his clear mind factored their previews clashes that are in almost 100% of the cases they fought on evenly terrains and that give his guts the feeling there was nothing wrong on the attack from what he remembers.

The spear point finds its target but the feeling that was transmitted wasn’t the resistance of leather, but instead a strange feeling that his attack was slipping to the side and at the same time having difficulty in piercing deeper. Lost in contemplation of his next action, Mordread forgot to change the attack angle and when he turns back to reality, the silver shine reflected the slight orange tint of the fire somewhere nearby. As the horrible scratch sound entered Mordread ears, he finally understood what was happening but instead of backing away, he put, even more, effort, but the hardness is unexpected. As he tried to pierce the even knowing that wouldn’t work against the metal plate of the pauldron.

His efforts paid off and piercing the protection of the pauldron and armor, and make a bloody hole. However, was too much effort, that ended with him that had the upper hand lost the moment he tried to pull away and the swordsmen free right hand to finally grab coil spear, pushing with all his strength back into to him. That moment Mordread blood almost frozen, his eye was wide open, that reflected the swordsmen a toothed smile, lacking one in fact, and his sword that strangely hasn't yet come back in so long was diving full power. Mordread looked back at his stuck weapon while all kinds of insults for his stupid to fall the most obvious flaw of his spear technique, if he could call like that, but was the desire to just leave the weapon behind and flee was filling most of his mind.

Sudden the badly chipped coil spear snapped exactly where the first hit almost broke in two. That was caused by the fact that wasn’t the sword but knee of Mordread that arrived first and hit on the weakest point. As the parts separated and for the last time the stretching metallic sound resounded, their holders sudden suffered the rebound, the swordsmen lost his golden chance and the small metal pole in his hand that he was pulling ended hitting his own face and while the sword finished its attack, was but a flesh wound.

Mordread on another hand, that was pressing down, needed to tank the sword attack in order to pressed forward in time. He took the rest of the metal pole and try to pierce his neck, the point was mostly blunt but is all that is left. The swordsmen, maybe from the experience of being stunned many times, wasn’t an easy prey and reacted quickly as he jumped away trying to dodge and hastily wide slash, scare me away from approaching. With some easy the slash was avoided but his sudden jump makes him miss the attack to the neck, and quick rotating the scrap metal, holding like a dagger, and content hitting between his shoulder and neck. This scream of pain was the worse he had made yet, a small and satisfied smirk was stamped on his face, that quickly turned into a bitter smile, as he retreated from him while delivering a kick to his chest, a decision that he would soon regret, he has spent too much time on this attack and he paid for it as the sword come back and made a gaping wound on his right leg. Limping away from him back to the darkness, that looked so far away even if was just a few steps. He was still smiling, but this one is a frozen filled with an ever-growing anxiety and likewise was his line of thoughts:

‘I couldn’t make deep enough, that attack made almost nothing to him, what I was thinking? I think there is a pole somewhere around here or was in the other columns, no that one I kicked together with the sword, has he managed to lift himself? he already moving, why are you screaming so loudly? I still have my finger? why is so hard to press my wound with my left hand? Am I dying of blood loss? who is him? what if…’.

Each step he made away his eyes are frantically scanning his surroundings in look at everything and yet seeing nothing. Many times he hesitated and looked at one direction or another or a rock, piece of glass, flaming floating page, not too far away, before going back in his way to the half dark. If his breath was bad before, now is on very of passing out, his heart was beating strong enough for him to feel pain on his chest, his mind started to wander:

‘must be hard with so little blood left…, no! focus! the, the, pole…’- he shacked his head and blinked every time he found himself, float away to other questions.

He hasn't noticed he was already inside, the dark half before he turned around and found that the swordsmen were already up. Now his mind a little less erratic than before, focused on the strange action of looking at something on his back when he pulled something from there, he connected at the small pouch he had on his back. However what followed brought his mind right back to its nervous breakdown, he had taken out a green paste and when he smeared on his wounds, they quickly healed and even his out of breath for being kicked on the chest looked to have got better.

Looking back to his own body, the pain seen to have fared even worse, the scraped bones on the chest and back, the many cuts all over his body, his feet bleeding with many pieces of glass clearly sticking out of it; a variety of gaping wounds, the latest on his right leg, the worst the sore state of his left arm, so bad in fact that he can bare close his hands, and he almost can see the other side looking for the hole between the bones on the forearm. The puddle of blood that already formed after a few seconds there, reflecting half of his face that is torn by the attack that took his eyes. When he glanced back to the halls he saw the trails of his splashed blood everywhere on the hall, bring a cold feeling to his bones, the body felt many times weaker all sudden.

His clear mind tried to think things logically but looked like the more the time passed, the more his mind goes wild, he started trembling until the memories of all his anger and humiliation reappeared and for very little he didn’t rush to him to bite his neck and bash his head on a rock. The clear mind prevented the worse and tried to focus on what needs to be done, but the memory of him faking the uncontrolled rage to fool him was coming back time and time again, because that time wasn’t all fake that was a very real desire and now this desire keep coming back.

Without managing to come to an easy solution he decides to walk deeper into the darkness and do something from there. In fact, when he was using the dark to attack him he never had gone too far into the dark side of the room, for 2 main motives, one that was the fact that all his instinct warned against going there, and each step toward only made it get worse. The second was the strange puddle that reflects even in total darkness, no matter on where on the room he was fighting, every time he looked to the deep darkness the puddle always looked just at the edge of the vision, when he tried to look direct there was nothing there.

However, while his mind was lost, thinking all kind of things and limping his way back the platinum puddle was now in front of him, without any ideas he decides to see if in the strange puddle he could find something. Now Mordread can’t see to get closer, the feeling of granular rocks, like a little bigger than sand, was always poking on his torn foot. However, there was nothing anymore, not even the other things he swore his mind was making up to fill the darkness. He felt like he walked for hours without and, but when he looked back he could still see the throne room like watching a light from a very long dark tunnel that gets increased smaller, until he was sure that would become a small candle, even if the distance from there doesn't see to change, is just the scope of view getting smaller. On another hand the reflective pond still just a few feet away. As the time seems to drag, the swordsmen are about to enter the dark side of the room, but doesn't matter how many steps he takes when looking behind still almost the same distance, his mind wanders again:

“Maybe I’m walking into a wall at the other end of the room and I'm so close to death that I can’t even tell”,

But he even manages to entertain such thought for long, the feeling of getting increasingly cold and paradoxically the anxiety was burning within.

“With so much blood loss and torn muscle is a surprise that the bloodlust keeps me alive for so long.”

He sees the swordsmen run toward the dark side, the sense of defeat poured like a waterfall over him, and he tries to combat it by the focus on his wrath against him and all have passed until now. Clear Mind repeated to himself that this is the path, the right path, and now there is only anger, no more fear. There was a small problem with this, because deep inside there was another voice he can’t control that whispered what he really thought and feeling.

Soon when the swordsmen cross the umbra he is also consumed by the dark, and in the same instant, Mordread froze in place. And his mind started to wave a reason with great difficulty:

‘I can’t see him, but I can hear his footsteps. Stop. If I can hear he also should be capable right?’ - In the most cautious move he ever tried, he slowly kneeled to look on the ground for something. With bitter taste in my mouth, the only thing I find is this almost sand size pebbles most with sharp end.- change position now would be very difficult without alerting him, yes, both my tired body and my stealth strategy are against such move. yes, let's wait and hear.

‘I hear his steps on my right side…’

“...”

‘I hear his steps on my left side…’

“...”

‘I can hear him just some steps at my side, I can almost feel his breath’

“...”

‘ I hear him behind me’

“...”

‘I hear him over me, his breath is so loud?’

“...”

‘I hear him on my lef...wait...right sid… between behind and… I hear under me…’

“...”

Have been just 10 min, Mordread still frozen in that same pose facing the puddle and refuse to turn my head to not make a sound or spend my energy that he said to himself that would be needed when the fight broke out. However, he can’t see behind him, just the vague radiation of the light of the other half of the room. However you can also say he can’t see the puddle either, and remaining in silence trying to do is listen to, something, but reality is cruel and uncaring, and with the dry throat hurts and his trembling mouth, with a bloodline just about to fall from it, just move but no sound is produced:

“I...I hear nothing…”

He searched frantically for any sound, but even the ones that that appeared from time to time are completely gone. Deciding that even eyes movements were too much of a risk, his eye stared unblinkingly to the silver pond. Saying that he will wait him tire himself when his guard is down, he just need to wait to get just in front of me, when he sleeps, he would need to just follow his sound, follow his breath and so he needs to be patient, but a question couldn’t leave his mind

‘ nothing? ‘

The complete dark, the absolute silence, and even the feet have lost it sensitivity being in the same position for so long. However nothing of that has calmed him, in fact, each second was worse than when his footstep was getting closer, now the noise of his own blood flowing in his veins sounded like an insupportable as scratching glass with metal. He can’t hold anymore, he needs to do something.