Hadjar’s dragon grabbed this black pearl and, clutching it in its fangs, crashed down. Another explosion nearly toppled the whole Palace. Primus, wheezing, stood up from a huge crater in the marble floor. Dropping down next to him, Hadjar swayed and leaned against the wall. Sweat and blood flowed down his forehead. He felt like he could barely breathe. He had become much stronger since the time he’d fought the Patriarch. But Primus was a far more powerful foe.
“I would’ve liked,” the King leaned on one of the protruding marble fragments, shaking, “to fight you under different circumstances.”
Hadjar was well aware that the King couldn’t fight at full power. Nero’s death had hurt him too badly. To a warrior, their physical health, but also their spiritual stability, was vital. When their energy, like their mind, was in disarray, it was very difficult to use even the simplest Techniques properly.
Silently, Hadjar forced himself to keep going. They fought in a brutal melee. Each clash of blades caused the remaining walls and foundation to crack even further. Both of them were running out of energy, and the whirlwind of their battle soon began to die down. Several minutes ago, they’d flown around the room and the flashes of their blades had seemed to be everywhere at once, but now they stood on the very balcony from which Primus had recently sentenced Hadjar to death. Like mere mortals, they fenced, using pure skill without a drop of energy. Smoke from cannon fire and the battle that had enveloped the square hid them from the eyes of the citizens and soldiers — the Moon Army was fighting the Imperial factions.
Hadjar didn’t care about that. He felt his sword weakening with every exchange, almost managing to crumble faster than his own body was. Dodging Primus’ attack, Hadjar slammed his fist into his opponent’s face. He felt the King’s teeth bite into his knuckles, tearing off the skin and injuring the flesh. Primus recoiled from the blow, but managed to kick Hadjar in his wounded thigh.
The General snarled with pain and anger. He swung his blade, aiming at the enemy’s stomach, but the King parried the blow deftly and counterattacked. The broadsword arced in a wide slash and left a long cut on Hadjar’s chest, from his right shoulder to his left thigh. A shallow but heavily-bleeding wound. They once again stood opposite each other, breathing hard and almost out of power.
“It’s time to... finish this ... Hidji,” Primus grunted out, wiping blood off his mouth and eyebrows.
Hadjar flinched. ‘Hidji’ meant ‘evil wolf cub’ in the nomads’ language. Primus had teased Hadjar with the nickname in his childhood.
“Yes,” Hadjar nodded. “It’s time.”
Primus closed his eyes. He held the broadsword in front of him and a tornado of black energy rose up around him. A huge whirlwind cobbled together from the remnants of his energy. Hadjar saw the King’s skin turn gray, now covered in liver spots, his once thick hair thin and fall out, his teeth turn yellow, and the whites of his eyes become dull.
The vortex tightened and shrunk until it shifted from Primus to his sword. The broadsword was enveloped in a black wind. Primus opened his eyes, and as he did so, a black, thin ray of energy lanced out from the tip of his sword. With incredible speed, it covered the distance between them and Primus’ eyes flashed with triumph.
The attack melted away after only a hundred paces, somewhere above the square where the General’s execution would’ve been carried out. Hadjar pressed his hands to his right side. Blood spurted through his fingers. The attack had gone clean through Hadjar’s body. He couldn’t even cover the hole it had left behind with his hand. Suddenly, the triumph in Primus’ eyes gave way to understanding and then a calm readiness to meet his fate.
“Atikus has taught you well-”
The King didn’t get to finish speaking. Hadjar evoked the image of the Sword Spirit hidden within the World River. Then, using the remnants of his energy, simply lunged forward with Moon Beam. The sword, unable to withstand any more abuse, cracked and turned into a cloud of steel dust. Before it disappeared, Moon Beam managed to send out an almost invisible, barely noticeable, ghostly sword that ran Primus through.
The King fell from the balcony. The entire eastern side of the Palace was covered in long gouges. Then that half of the Palace trembled and began to collapse.
“Father!” Came the shout from the surviving side of staircase.
Hadjar cursed.
Wearing her mother’s armor, Elaine ran toward him, holding the white sword of her ancestors. A scorching, orange flame rose up around her, and rage smoldered in her eyes.
“Murderer!” She cried, pointing her blade at Hadjar.
***
Primus couldn’t see what was happening in the Palace. He fell from the balcony and rolled under the hill. He felt his life leaving him, trickling out like sand from a broken hourglass. Then came a flash of pain. An old stone covered in ivy had arrested his fall.
“Brother.” Through the haze of his agony and the whispers of death, Primus clutched the stone and assumed a half-sitting position. He leaned against the old tombstone and looked at the horizon. Tears streamed down his cheeks. “I’ve missed you so much, brother.”
When the next rays of sunlight illuminated Primus’ face, he was no longer breathing. He was finally at peace.
***
“Well, can we go now?” The boy named Atikus asked the tall, curvy woman. “The fireworks will start without us.”
“Yes, let’s get a move on,” the woman smiled.
A boy with clear, blue eyes came up from behind her.
“We’ve been waiting for you,” Haver smiled, the boy’s grin infectiously wide. “Where have you been, brother?”
“I was
