In the end of the hall, a pillar of light cracks from the darkness. Piercing right to Mordread eye, hiding in his brightness a man slowly took form at it button.

But in the dominion of shadows the light struggled to gain ground, barely cleared the few meters around, from the small open. But was enough for a muscle man pass through scanning the surrounding and finding only the silent dark.

Mordread eye is unmoving, not in greed of the man gloves and sandals. Nor the worry of the club he is carrying with ease. What he looked was the small dots growing into small sparks of flame, at the edge 9f his vision.

When the light from before hit his pupil the pain forced him to blink. Scaring them away from his view. Now he watches in detail the Warrior that barged in, talk with pride as it shows his bare chest and toned arm.

The Warrior words are short. Anxiety was slowly building up inside of him, but he couldn’t accept. Furrowing his eyebrows as he looks around, after a couple of seconds he takes two step back and looks from where he came.

But just like the hall, the brightly lit corridor was just as eerie silence. As if sensing something he quickly turned around ready to any attack, but the wind blow was all that grazed him. His face twisted further in a mix of annoyance and anger.

But indeed there was a movement, Mordread slowly moved his eye in the direction of the colorful flames. To his surprise they don’t vanish but grown in shape and colorfulness, still, the closer he gets to the deepest part of the dark side of the hall the more erratic became the colors.

The Warrior now calls in mockery, louder than ever he screams threats as if trying to drown how tense his muscle was. Inevitable his exertion leads to a bead of sweat forming on his forehead, but as he noticed cleaning with his free hand like if blood was droping he gasped in shock, before using to fuel his remarks with newfound determination, even spitting on the ground to show his point.

Mordread couldn’t keep the discipline and quickly moved the eyes, he was so close to finally understand what was he try to look. But in the deepest of the shadows there was no color or shape, and no matter how much he starred the colors didn’t come back.

Now only the darkness cover his view, as the Warrior low mumbling and slow but ever closer steps demanded attention louder than any of his words before. His imagination started to run wild. He could almost see in his hand rocks and spears, each step carried him a dozen of meters and with deadly purpose as his eyes reflected his defenseless figure.

As the anxiety grow worse so too did his visions, now the shadows were dancing, distorting dark light from it like the heated air over the frying rock. But he was sure, this time was just his head tricking him, the feeling he got from it was exactly the same he had when outside the game. Now was his turn to frown his head in displeasure.

He closed his hands into fists trying to keep the composure, the mumbling of the Warrior ended in an audible reverence intonation. Now his small step got bolder, as the sound got closer twice as fast than before.

But was a wet drip over his right thigh that kidnapped his attention and made him involuntary blink. As a flash of color overlap for a moment over the strange distortion, but was so fast that he could tell what he really saw.

His senses heightened, the creeping steps; the calm cold wind blowing over his charred and torn cloth; and now the awe of the colors. But all he could feel was the second drop in the same place as before, the black pants couldn’t soak it and so started to run in his leg. He loosened his grip but the drop stayed the same as his uncertainty if he indeed loosened his grip.

His head trembles, fighting against the urge to look to the side and quell his anxiety, look at down and assert his own well being. But he persevered looking straight to the distortions, blinking many times he still doubted of his eyes, the flash of color like small floating blobs filtering the background.

The Warrior now was but a few meters of him, he could almost feel his breath. The more he focused on the sound the less visible the distortions become, typing his finger he could just feel the pressure over his leg. And making his decision at the same time the wind started to howl.

He closed his eyes, now no distorted shadow, no colorful flashes, no colors in the corner of the vision. His deep breath was masked by the powerful wind and so the dark was whole again.

Unknowing to him, the Warrior was elated, the dark was wavering as moonlight rays occasionally pierced the heavy clouds. Giving him a glimpse of the area in front of him and revealed the sky over the hole in the ceiling, the clouds are slowly breaking apart, the moon will soon show in all its glory.

After a couple of seconds, he wasn’t alone in the dark anymore, sparks like scraping flint burst into existence in the golden shower, trying to kindle something but the sparks were too few and far between.

In his finger, he could feel the cold metal touch of the flint, but like trying to move buried in mud his movement was sluggish and the spark he created was equally slow even to move or burn out.

The tremulous as he scraped the flint, traveled right through the bones of his finger like lightning was cruising his body. Each indentation friction and each spark created forced the muscles into a micro spasm as it traveled, wearing his stamina in every try, but with a tiny amount of exhilaration along.

While Mordread was scraping and kindling the wind, the Warrior weighed his options. He was battle ready but immobile as he watched the light show created by the ravaging wind. Now he had an idea on where he was, the existence of the rocks spread around and something dark at the very end of it.

But as each second pass, his patience wore thin, touching last time his teeth necklaces he decided to keep moving forward at the same speed as before. He lied tried to be more cautious but the newly made known that he wasn’t just walking into an endless abyss affected his vigilance, as he was walking to pass right beside Mordread.

However the Warrior wasn’t the only that the patient was ending, from the distant sound of the Warrior steps once again resounded and no progress aside from getting increasingly tiring the sparks just fly in the space like pathetic fireworks, without cause but to die out.

The drip on his leg increased once again, his hands trembling, he tried to keep his breathing calm and put more focus on his task. After a few seconds he started to notice, the pale gold of the sparks was turning crimson not only his but the mysterious one that seen to come from nowhere.

The red flame over the remainder of the golden one in the dark background morphed into an ember rock from his memory. The image itself hadn’t changed was just the crimson sparks, but his focus takes his conscience away from the task right into the past not so long ago.

The jolting of each hit on the flint, makes Mordread flinch. No more was accompanied by that minuscule sense of accomplishment and empowerment. What is running through his body was an equally minuscule the pain of the burning hands and feet falling deep into the embers.

When he was trying not gritting his teeth was when the sparks hit something and turned into a flare and soon after into small vermillion flame, shocked by the development Mordread hesitated and the flame died right in front of him.

Almost prompted him into an angry scream, but instead, he pressed deep into the flint as if to cut apart, his hand trembling and his veins bulging, the wet feeling from his leg now in changed to his left arm.

He slashed the flint in a speed that vastly surpass his previous attempt, but that saying it was still half the velocity of in a normal situation. The sparks still flow slowly in their own decelerated world, but this didn’t stop that from the flinch in the shape of a great vermillion plume surged forth, creating small flares soon after hitting something invisible in front of him.

The wet and hot from his left seen to respond to it and increase accordingly, In midst of the cloud of sparks the shape of what it hit to become a little more clear, as it resembled the strange distortions from before.

The small flame once again lived and raged fiercely while Mordred indulged himself with older memory. Now each new try was accompanied by a spray of sparks, that created other micro flames around him, but clearly with the big and first flame in the center.

An evil smile had creepy in his mind without him noticing. As he could see chronologically like flash and with each new memory his anger built up, his breathing was now in disorder and his heart beating fast.

He stopped, his smile turned into bitterness that could stand but some seconds before all emotion was gone. The sparks and flames like a releasing a long breath, they quick died and faded. Now not even the sparks could be seen only darkness.

His mouth moved but no word came, but the meaning was clear:

“All gone...”

The Warrior steps were also gone. Now he his right at the center of the throne hall and beside Mordread that was back to him, one step to left and he would have crashed into him. As he waited for the moon.

The time for the wind to clear the sky has come, like a curtain being pulled it light slowly slid through the hole in the direction of the center. First, was the ruined wall and what left of light through the stained glasses, creating small moonlight pillars as it passes the slip of the red curtain.

At this point, the reflection already showed the outline of the collapsed column and it remains. As the light moved and the cloud gets out of the way, was the white pillar be washed by the blue moonlight uncovering the feeling of looking at an ancient ruin, as the scattered rocks tell a story in itself, creating their own shadow on the floor. Now the light from the hole will quickly converge at the end of the hall.

The Thorne suck the light around him, hiding whatever is sitting on it unless is directly hit by light, the Warrior knows this and adjust his position and reaffirm his grip he knows that the battle is close.

In this distance the dark side of the hall starts to falter, almost a meter is already cleared in the area closer to the hole. This time is not the same ink darkness from before, where light and sight follow the rules of that severed dimension, blocking any prying eye from outside.

Mordread opened his eyes but he isn’t looking to the heart of the dark side of the hall like before, his eyes are lost and his head looking down into the void. His arms are dropped without any strength on it as the red stained glass in his right hand is almost falling.

His right leg is stained with drops of blood while his left arm has many cuts from the forearm to his burned palm, most of them are superficial messy cut but 3, in particular, are deep enough to show the bone. The right hand still dripping from the cut of hold the glass shard and the left has many streaming blood, dripping from the tips of each hand.

The time await no one, as the strong wind has no effect in bringing him back the moonlight is about to touch the Darkthrone and reflect enough light to shadow around him not be enough to hide him.

In that moment Mordread rises his head with the same deadpan expression and slowly grip over the bloody glass shard. Moving his head slightly to not alert the Warrior and confirm that he is at his side. While the Warrior has his attention on the enemy on the throne.

He raises his hand and bolt forward, glass in hand and aiming for his thick neck. The light finally hit the throne and is empty, the Warrior is taken aback but he notices the sudden movement at the corner of his vision, he tries to turn and get away from it.

But the body of the Warrior isn’t nimble enough and the shard hit him deep in the neck, however, Mordread doesn't stop there and is throwing himself at him. The surprised and out of balance Warrior could do nothing but be tackled to the ground.

All he saw was something jumped out of the shadow with a spectral aura spreading from it, as a bloody red something approached him in great velocity. The last thing he saw before losing his balance was the hollow eyes in the middle of a white mass.

When they hit the ground Mordread try to use his mass to make it deeper, however, it wasn’t a clean strike as he had to make a sudden turn before the attack, so the shard broke before could go deeper.

The Warrior cushioned Mordread and both rolled on the ground. Mordread in one breath raised and used what left of the shard as a dagger, to hit him while he was still on the ground. But even out of breath the Warrior still had the presence to block his attack raising his club.

Without support from a stable footing is limited the power of the club by itself, however, the club was wide enough to protect his vitals enough for him to raise. The next attack was to get somewhere on the neck or eye, that was swift parried out of the way by a club swim.

As The Warrior tried to roll away, Mordread latched around the arm holding the club and put his knee on his chest for him not easily turn. Stopping him with this extra weight. He quickly stabbed his forearm try to weaken his grip on the club, just like he had done to his own arm.

The Warrior still stronger than Mordread and stopping one of his arms that flailed wildly to break free and receiving punches to his side while he tried to him it wasn’t a clean job as he hoped to be.

The moment he latched the punches showered on him, while his own stab to weaken his grip has a mild result. He couldn’t reach his face so he tried his best to punch him away, it wasn’t the horrible position to throw a punch that he was, it would be easy for him to break a human bone with one of his punch.

That moment that the warrior gave up the club and pushed Mordread away, Mordread in response rolled while bracing the club and got up more or less at the same moment than the warrior.

Now he was armed, however, he didn’t look like someone that was winning. The Warrior had his neck bleeding with a big piece of glass stick out of his left side, his white wolf pelt cape was dirtied by rolling on the ground and his right arm had a variety of cuts while his left fist was purple and trembling slightly.

Mordread was with his white hair disheveled and burnt, his eyes finally returned life, but now his red eyes looked like a psychopath, the edgy of his cloth was torn and burnt. His feet in special was so badly burnt that part of the bone could be seen red.

Holding point down the newly acquired club on the right hand could still see the blood dripping from the deep cut on his palm. While his left side is slightly forward the forearm is hanging down as if broken and dripping blood from the many cuts looking almost like a glove.

The Spectral cape fluttered with the strong warm wind coming from the side, giving the illusion like he was opening one wing. They faced each other while soothing their breath, a few feet away from one another, Mordread had his back to the pile of rubbles of the column while behind the Warrior was the second column.

The club was a simple yellow hummer bone with some carving in the handle to improve the grip, the shaft has a small increase until the tip with a knob at it widest was a little bigger than a fist, however it was many times heavier than someone would give credit.

The warrior didn’t see to have any spare weapon, his furred boots and pants don’t have any hidden compartment, instead of gripping one of the tooth in his teeth's collar. With that in mind was Mordred that took the initiative and attacked the warrior.

Mordread attacks could only be called desperate, his hand was injured and there was no sight of any ability. However a club isn’t a complex weapon, and the warrior without the weapon was forced into a corner, or so was for a while.

Because Mordread could see the strange distortion around the warrior, akin to he had seen in the darkness before. And his attack that should at least broke a bone or two didn’t have much effect, the warrior was clear felling each strike but not after that.

When he was distracted with the warrior defense, he opened his hand to grab the club. For a hair breath, he didn’t manage to hold on it, in fact, his finger was the target of the next strike, forcing him to retreat.

Their quick fight ended next to the hole on the wall. The hot wind blows their hair as Mordread keep the pressure with his attacks. When a crow flies by the hole and broke Mordread concentration.

The warrior took this chance and bolted toward a rock big rock in the ground, something the size of a men chest and started to lift it. Mordread was quick to follow his attack, on his exposed back.

But his attack, on the back, arm, and even head was complete shrugged off as his enemy took a deep breath while rising that bolder. The distortion was now stronger enough to his form slight wave as covered his body, but when he took that deep breath the air that he sucked was also filled with that distortion.

Watching his attack fail he instead took a handful of glass shards and pebbles and tried to blind him with it. Without a surprise, the plan failed but small cuts could be seen on his arm start to bleeding.

Quickly he grabbed a long sharp glass shard and when he was about to throw it, stabbed him, but his target changed midway. While he wanted to simply put the glass in the middle of his throat, his last moment dodge saved his life, but he ends up losing his right into the eyes.

Surprising enough the sharp point cut through the distortion and took his sight from him. However, the warrior wasn’t a simple man and still throw the halfway raised bolder at Mordread.

Mordread that was already counting with him just let go the bolder because of the pain was taken off guard and tried to jump away from it, but his burnt leg wasn’t fast enough and was grazed by the bolder. The crack of his bone breaking could be heard anywhere in the hall but this was drowned by the scream of utter agony from both of them.

The bruise was deep and bloody already creating a pool of blood around, a bone was showing and the leg to twisted to an angle that shouldn’t be possible was already clear in his fate of it.

And after agonizing on the ground he took a larger stone and strapped with what was left of his shirt, and used the club as a walking stick and limp his way back to the dark side

He hasn't noticed, but the one that was roughly touching together was at a visible rate sealing the connection between them, like if it was wielding two pieces of metal.

Meanwhile, the loss of his eye and the sudden throw of the rock had a great impact in the warrior, his breath was erratic his face pale and the distortion around him was fading in and out around him, as he screamed of pain.

Every Time he opened his good eye or tried to keep his lost eye closed, the pain would sting like an ice pick right into his brain. Where the only action he could take was rolled around the rubbles and press his face for some kind of comfort.

When he managed to withstand the pain enough to keep his eye open, Mordread was trying to fix his leg a few meters away from him and after rolling around he was clear what kind of rocks there is here. He groped around until he found a piece that was just a little smaller than his head, in a rough diamond format was probably created when he throws that bolder.

But this simple task was constantly interrupted by the sting pain from the moving his head around when his vision was cut in half. When he was finally ready, Mordread had already got up and was trying to move away, he took a quick breath and throw the rock. But he regretted soon after, as the sudden move of throwing such heavy thing, was akin to beat his head with a hammer, as the pain flared stronger than ever.

Mordread was already used to it his own and of his enemy scream of pain that he hadn’t paid attention to another. Was from the corner of the eyes that he managed to see the rock come toward him. However it was too late already, half of his muscle is beaten black and blue, he is limp his leg with his recently burnt leg, and using the club as a walking stick he didn’t have time to do anything aside from bracing himself for the impact.

He, in fact, tried to use the walking stick as a last second defense, taking away from his support on the left side to try to shield the body from a direct impact. However not only the movement couldn’t arrive before the hit, now the support of him keep standing is gone. The rock hit the side of his chest, in the same place that he was punched before and his body falls like a log over the rocks and glass.

The glass pierced most of his left side and because the way he had fallen it had embedded in his skin, while the small rocks provided the Bludgeoning damage. But he couldn’t squirm much or risk his first-aid go for nothing, making him freeze in an extremely uncomfortable and painful position as he screamed the effect on his recently broken leg.

Took a considerable amount of time before Mordread manages to crawl his way to the fire bolder. As each time he tried to walk the warrior throws the nearest stone he could find, this doesn't mean he always hit but each time he gets would be another fall into rocks and glass.

When he arrived there, he was on the dark side of the hall and even in the moonlight, that was now partially covered, was very hard for the warrior to see. However, his scream was getting farther and farther apart and he had seen him try to walk toward him on more than one occasion.

However, for now, he had some time to think. While he cleaned the glass shard still embedded in his body he started to formulate his plan or so he wished, the more he thought the less believable was the chance of him get out of this alive. His body is mostly broken, he have a weapon but his enemy can stand and walk, the blood loss was already making his body feel cold, but he couldn’t enjoy the heat from the bolder.

A rock the size of a head flew by almost hitting him resting with his back against the wall, but manage to hit the edge of the fire bolder. Golden and red sparks spread as small chunks of glowing rock fall from the bolder. However when he looked at the rock it was the same diamond shaped that he been hit and this time he didn’t hear any scream of pain, but just a muffled and angry noise.

But while he analyzed the rock that small chunks of hot rock hit two pieces of glass and they quickly melted in one piece. This scene gave him the insight he needed to finish this fight.

The Warrior, from time to time throw rocks at the general area where Mordread ran too, however fueled by anger and pressing his face with one hand and attacking with other he quickly approached him, now that he could bear better the pain but that doesn’t mean that he still need to wait for a little and vent some pain, before he can proceed.

When he was crossing the threshold between the dark side and the light side of the hall, he was read, one hand was holding a big piece of rock ready to launch and other carrying in front of him if he jumped from it. Was when he started to see the warm colors of fire somewhere there.

The Distortion around his body was as strong as the time he was lifting that bolder, as he gets closer the warm of it made clear the origin, a flammable siege ammunition. And behind it look like there is something hiding, he can see what look like a head already. His step is cautious, looking all around, but try to circle whatever is hiding behind it.

He gives a small jump in the direction of the prey behind the boulder, only to find a pile of rocks that he had throw early and the head was that diamond head sized rock. At the same time Mordread lung forward from his side, but he isn’t swinging the mace at him, but instead he is using like a spear as a strange warm radiance emanates from its tip.

The first swing miss as the attack came from the side he lost his sight, Mordread didn’t forgive his mistake and pierce the glass tip right in his chest. As the distortion falter and stretched thin around him, as it trembles in response to the sudden attack.

The warrior screamed in rage as he launched his attack with the rocks like his own version of the club. This time hit right over Mordread head, blood spew and his eyes turn back making him lose conscience for a moment. Next he aimed right on the club and breaking the red glass tips, making the club almost escape from the partially conscient hands.