implicit understanding.
The battle was begun.
D’Arden summoned up the power from the land beneath him, drinking and drawing in the purity that he could feel from wherever he could feel it. It mattered little where the power came from, and he shaped it into a shield that he held before him. Only seconds later, Khaine’s first attack slammed into the shield and exploded in white and red around him. He was driven backwards from the force of it, but the shield held firm.
He drew in another stream of power from the land below, and shaped it into a lance that he hurled with one hand at his opponent. It flew straight and true like an arrow sent sailing from the finest bow, but the red energy leapt up and devoured it before it ever reached its target.
To any spectator who could have witnessed the event, it would have appeared that two stars had decided simply to battle it out in the heavens. The Ether was invisible from the world and could not be viewed by normal means, but D’Arden was certain that the Arbiter’s Tower was aware of the conflict. He made many of his attacks as spectacular as possible, hoping to draw the attention of his fellow arbiters so that even if he fell, that they would know of his valiant efforts to stop this corruption before it spread further, and so they might also be aware of the danger that faced them if he should fail.
As the battle raged on, D’Arden became aware of the fact that he was winning. Explosions rattled the Ether where the two of them fought, but it became clear to D’Arden that he was slowly winning victory over his opponent. Khaine’s attacks began to lose power – not all at once, but each attack seemed to be progressively weaker, while D’Arden felt himself growing stronger each time he tapped the land for its energy. He could not fathom how exactly that he was winning, only that he was, and he rejoiced in the victory. If he could truly defeat Khaine’s corrupted energy here in the Ether, he would be severely weakened back on the mortal plane, and D’Arden would be able to extinguish the corruption in Calessa once and for all.
He continued to throw attacks at Khaine, drawing more and more energy from the land to beat down his former mentor’s corruption. He’d lost all hope of purifying the man, to bring him back from the insanity – if D’Arden had come here years ago, he might have had a chance to save Khaine from the depths of the corruption, but alas, he knew that it was now too late.
Suddenly, D’Arden could no longer feel Khaine’s presence.
Had he won?
He rushed back down to the mortal world, relinquishing his hold on his spiritual form and racing back towards his body at alarming speeds. He crashed back into his body just in time to see a grinning Khaine driving the wickedly curved manna weapon towards his heart.
He hadn’t won.
Khaine had resorted to treachery.
The world seemed to slow to a crawl. Khaine’s death grin face bore down upon him, the glowing red blade coming closer with every second that ticked by. It was at critical mass – there was no way that D’Arden would be able to draw his sword and block the attack. In the face of his power, his former mentor – the most honorable man that he’d once known – had opted out of losing in the Ether battle and had come back here to drive the sword through D’Arden’s unwitting heart.
There was no honor, no power in Khaine’s desperate attack.
It pained D’Arden deeply to be defeated by it.
He could not be defeated by it.
Drawing on every ounce of strength he possessed, D'Arden twisted aside and the blade merely sliced along the flesh of his collar and the base of his neck, drawing blood and cobalt flames from the wound. It was no fatal blow like Khaine had intended, but the pain that flared in his chest disrupted his concentration. He stumbled away, rolling along the ground before regaining his feet, somewhat unsteadily.
They circled each other for a moment, and then D’Arden stepped in with his manna blade and cut downward at Khaine. It looked like a simple downward cut, and Khaine gave a horrible grin as he moved to parry. Instead, D'Arden changed his sword's trajectory at the last moment, slicing under his opponent's guard. Khaine tried to block, but could not bring his sword to intercept in time. The blade sank deep into the flesh of Khaine’s shoulder and alit with the azure flames. The larger man stumbled backward with a shriek of agony that rumbled the very foundations of the building as blood flowed and the blue fire consumed the droplets.
He pressed his attack then, aware of his growing advantage. Short one arm, which now hung limply by his side, Khaine’s parries were slower and his attacks less effective. D’Arden was as clearly winning the sword battle as he had been winning the Ether battle.
A perfectly-timed swing by D’Arden disarmed his opponent. The red manna blade skittered across the floor to rest several feet away, and D’Arden planted one heavy boot in his opponent’s chest, sending him to land backward on the marble floor. Blood was flowing now both from the deep wound in his shoulder and from multiple other shallow wounds that D’Arden had inflicted.
He stepped up then to stand over his former mentor, whose eyes still blazed with the red flames of the corrupted manna. “I’m sure you’re very proud of yourself, Tal. That was quite the tricky attack with your sword. Where did you learn something like that?'
“I’m not proud at all,” D’Arden said, staring into the eyes of his former master, ignoring the jibe at his swordsmanship. “I am disgusted, humiliated and disappointed that the man who once trained me and taught me everything that I know has fallen to such a low level.” He placed one boot firmly on Khaine’s chest as he began to struggle and pressed downward until he felt the sternum begin to snap. “I am revolted by you. This is your elegy, Khaine. If the Arbiter’s Tower wasn’t already aware of what you’d become, thanks to the Ether battle, I would come back to them singing your praises about how you had waged a war against the corruption and fallen bravely to it, fallen in battle like a true warrior. I alone would have carried the burden of your madness, your corruption – the burden of all of those who have died under your watch. Your arrogance has driven you to this, your hubris was your downfall. I am not proud. I do this only because I must.”
“Then you will rot in Hell itself!” Khaine said, grabbing hold of D’Arden’s boot and shoving him backwards. Khaine scrambled back and once again took up his blade, fighting with renewed vigor. He was drawing again on the power of his palace, and D’Arden could see the wound in his opponent’s shoulder healing. Soon Khaine was fighting with two arms, and D’Arden found himself in the losing position once more. He cursed himself for talking instead of taking the chance he had to end this madness.
This time, it was D’Arden who found himself disarmed. His manna blade clattered to the ground, and though it was not far from him, there was no way that he could retrieve it without Khaine impaling him.
“As it should be at last,” Khaine said, lowering his blade only slightly. “The master has outperformed the student. I win, Tal. It’s over now. You and your little bitch die today, and I will personally cut the hearts out of every one of the Arbiter’s at the tower. Your power will feed mine, and when I finally control an army of undead Arbiters, the world will fall at my feet!”
D’Arden felt despair rising in him. How could he have failed, when he had come so close to victory? It seemed hopeless.
He could feel the corrupted mana flowing over him, seeking a way past his defenses. It had been hours since his last spark from the heartblade, and he feared that the corruption might find a crack in his mental armor.
Could he beat Khaine, he wondered, if he let the corruption in? Was it possible to use Khaine’s own power against him?
For the briefest of moments, he considered the possibility.
Then it was too late.
Khaine’s curved manna blade drove through his chest. Explosive agony filled his world. He tried to scream, but it only came forth as a ragged cough. Blood and traces azure flame danced on his lips.
He could feel the life draining out of him as Khaine’s power surged through him, consuming the blue fire that drove his life-essence.
His mind became suddenly clear. If he was going to die here, he did not intend to let Khaine win.
With one hand, D’Arden grasped Khaine’s blade, close to where it had entered his chest. He forced his other hand to wrap around the blade farther up.
“What are you doing?” The corrupted Khaine stared at him, red eyes wide.
Using every ounce of strength he could muster, D’Arden dragged himself along Khaine’s blade. He felt the crystal scrape against his ribs, and more blood and azure flame poured from the wound.
