Talon POV

From dawn until dusk, the two suns would chase each other through the skies. The Sun Fiend and the Sun Falcon, in their eternal hunt. But in the days leading up to my duel with Elian, it felt as though the Fiend and Falcon had agreed to call a truce and take a leisurely stroll instead. And so I chose to spend most of my time training in solitude in the Deep Woods, deeply considering what cheating tricks Elian might attempt this time.

When he finally arrived, I had to restrain myself from skipping all greetings and immediately beginning the duel, instead taking the time to carefully observe him. He now donned a set of black and red armor, presumably made from the monster’s carapace and lined with Greshan runes. Though I could not read any of them, many looked similar to the runes the girl had carved while channeling her magic. Though, speaking of her…

“Your friend isn’t here?” I asked. “She seemed quite eager to watch our duel.”

He simply shook his head. “Couldn’t make it.”

“Where’s your weapon?”

He struck a goofy pose. “This is it! Made with your gift! What do ya think?”

“...That’s armor. Not a weapon.”

“Well then, I guess this’ll be an easy fight for ya,” he said, with a teasing grin.

I tsked, and strung my bow. Very well then. At last, we’d see whose weapon was truly superior—his armor and strange tricks, or all my power and preparation.

I nocked my war bow and drew it back. While the capabilities of his armor were unknown, it was safe to assume I had the advantage in both range and firepower. Odds were high I could swiftly kill him and bring an end to this duel, though deep down I hoped our anticipated duel would not be so short and boring.

When I fired, he made no move to avoid the arrow. Rather, he marched directly into it. Golden runes lit up all over his armor, causing the air around him to shimmer and reflecting upon the green puddles. When my arrow collided with him, the flames broke apart and scattered. Some sort of defensive magic, clearly. I fired more rounds as Elian continued his advance, testing for potential weak points, but to no avail.

One of the key advantages of weapons instead of channeling in a fight was that a weapon required no special rituals to activate. Once they were forged and finished, anyone trained to use them could call on their magic easily. And armor was much easier to use than any normal weapon: all one had to do was wear it. His defense appeared perfect. But that was only how it looked. If an unbreakable shield existed, then we would have no reason to fear gods, monsters, or demons.

“Giving up yet?” Elian grinned. I shook my head.

“Perhaps in your dreams, or if you hit your head hard enough.” I narrowed my eyes. What was the armor’s weak point? Perhaps if I broke the runes? Would melee or physical attacks fare better…? I drew my knife and suddenly charged right at him. His eyes widened at the sudden change in strategy.

The pace of the fight suddenly shifted. I expected my flurry of slashes to land a few blows, but he surprised me. He staggered back, falling into a ankle-deep puddle which began to hiss and steam, but managed to twist and wriggle his body to avoid all my strikes, even with his lower body’s movement impeded. Impressive; he did not simply rely on good equipment. He was genuinely skillful. At this close range, I saw a red shimmer over his armor and the sweat beading on his skin. Combine that with how the water near him was evaporating, and it gave me some ideas. Briefly we exchanged blows. That he felt the need to block my physical attacks confirmed some other suspicions. When left an opening I wasted no time. I plunged my knife into the meat of his arm, in a gap in his armor. Blood spattered my hand, and he grinned.

He suddenly yanked his arm back, taking the knife with it. Slippery with blood, I couldn’t hold onto it. I sneered, “Why do I use knives anyways if everyone always snatches them away?”

“Probably for the best, knives are dangerous!” Elian said in a sing-song tone.

“Maybe if you’re eight. Are you?” Heat caused the air around me to shimmer as I continued my assault, my favored style of channeling causing my temperature to rapidly rise. I shifted from stance to stance, a relentless flow of offense. A big risk against a large group of assailants, but it kept my singular opponent too busy to retaliate. Instead he was forced to block, as more sweat trickled down his face. Usually in this state, everything around me felt cold, but his hands felt just as hot as mine.

Everything clicked. I understood how his armor functioned—as well as its weaknesses. A predatory grin crept across my face.

When I was younger, I had tried to learn every form of channeling I could. Be it pricking my fingers while stitching runes, struggling to heal through cooking, or reciting the epics of old, I did my best to master them. Some of them, however, I secretly dismissed as useless. While cooking-channeling was an excellent way to heal illnesses and rejuvenate energy, it was useless in battle. Who would whip out a stove mid-fight? Magical weapons and rune-stitched clothes were just as useless if they were damaged or stolen.

But there was one form of channeling that I was convinced would be my salvation, my vengeance. One that I practiced for hours each day as a child, long before the sunsrise and long into the night. A method of martial arts that, ironically, were meant to replicate the Sun Fiend’s own fiery attacks and use them against her. I had trained until my muscles burned and my lungs stung. Until my hands and feet were hard with callouses. While my bow made me a ranged attacker to be feared, my obsession with this style of channeling is why the Angra called me a monster.

It was said that the Sun Fiend radiated an aura of magical heat that melted the weapons and armor of anyone near to her, followed by those unlucky warriors. So long as I stuck to the stances and moves of the Heat Arts, I could mimic this ability to a weaker degree. An internal fire raged beneath my skin, augmenting my speed, stamina, and power, and burning anyone who touched me.

And if Elian’s armor worked how I thought it did, I would be able to overload it, perhaps until he combusted.

I pushed myself to my limits, a gale of vicious blows. For this to work, I needed to completely corner the Greshan and prevent him from dodging. As he slid to the side, I dropped to the ground, careful to avoid the puddle, and kicked his legs out from under him. With a gasp, he stumbled and fell. I planted my hands on the ground and sprung upwards, then brought my foot down on him like a hammer. He thrust up his arms and blocked.

Twin plumes of smoke and steam rose from as I stepped forwards, advancing on him. Fear and adrenaline roared in my ears, pulling a cackle from my lungs. I slammed another fist into Elian’s chest, using my channeling to pump more magical energy into his armor. He stumbled backwards with a muffled splash.

What I figured out was that the armor must work like a lightning-rod. Living out in the Wastelands, where there were few to no trees, we knew that to avoid being struck by lightning, we needed to divert it elsewhere. The armor would absorb magical energy and safely expel it, perhaps in a magical aura similar to my heat aura. But if I could force magic into it faster than it could expel it, I could overcome its defenses and defeat its owner.

My vision blurred, and my head became lighter and lighter. It wouldn’t stop me, nothing would stop me. Even as my mind began to drift, I struggled to strike blow after blow, ignoring the pain lancing up and down my arms. Then my arms stopped moving—two vices were clasped around them. Despite how I struggled, I couldn’t break free of them. The tang of smoke dominated my senses. Someone was trying to yell something, to shake me, but it didn’t matter. The enemy, I would destroy my enemy. I would kill her, rend her limb to limb, make her pay for all she had done. If my arms wouldn’t work, I would rip out her throat with my teeth. But instead of darting forwards and dealing a punishing blow, my head drooped forwards, tiredly. My skull…everything was hazy…and in my vision, a face became clearer as it swam closer to me…

…Oh.

She wasn’t here at all, was she…?