Their swords clashed feverishly as wild sparks lit the eerie throne room. The atmosphere was intensified with grunts and yells as the two adversaries tried to settle their differences. Blood splattered over the cold, stone floor after each clash of their swords, signifying the opening of fresh wounds. DM125 smiled as she battled her worn out challenger. The rugged, blonde man defended himself lazily, as his strength deteriorated from each encounter. His battered body stood cowardly as it bled from the newly inflicted scars. The devil woman had vanished, leaving him to dwell in the tainted throne room by himself. He closed his eyes for a second, trying to anticipate her next move; not daring to get another flesh wound from such a person. He held his decrepit claymore by its hilt as it slanted to the floor. The smell of his blood was apparent as it overwhelmed the castle’s musky odor.
The air grew thin and quiet as he was now able to hear his breathing. “Foolish mortal” he heard her voice echoed throughout the castle.
“You stand there feeble and ancient, with a tiny bit of pitiful courage that has obviously fooled you into believing that there is a chance of you winning here today.” He opened his eyes, looking around hopelessly as he tried to pinpoint her voice. The room grew dark as he felt her aura accentuated.
“But before you become any more arrogant,” she continued still unseen, “I will tell you that there is no chance in my hell that you can become the victor here today.”
“And to prove my point I will end this foolishness immediately and strip you of that attribute that you believe in so much called hope.” His eyes quickly focused before him as he was just barely able to see her appear in front him. He immediately flew his claymore in front him to block her surprise attack. The impact drifted him as he pierced his claymore in the floor to stop his force movement and himself from plastering on the wall. The atmosphere became thick again as his worn out body felt the murderous intent she emitted.
He focused his eyes on her and saw nothing but flawless sin. She stood there free of scars and wounds as her grin lashed at him mischievously. “Why won’t you die?” he barked shrewdly, as he tried to ease his composure. DM125 snickered at the statement as she stared into the man’s desperate face. “Weren’t you the one who said that I can’t kill you?” she reminded him.
“Well I am just proving that your theory is way off.”
“Why don’t you go back to hell,” he shouted, causing a colony of bats to spiral through an open window and out of the castle.
“Hell you say,” DM125 pointed out. “I am tired of that place. Besides I am not done fulfilling my purpose here on the mother land.”
“A purpose to torment me until I am broken and decommissioned,” he stated chokingly. “Well guess what, you have already achieved that a long time ago.”
DM125 stood there laughing as the tired man tried to build back his stamina. “If you believe that my purpose here is to torment you then you think more foolish than you look,” she explained.
“You are nothing but a discarded fragment of failure; failure that is not even worth a purpose to torment. Anyway, I am done talking as the time has come for you to enter the crimson abyss.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” the man nodded as he positioned himself for another attack. “But it is you who is going back into the abyss you failure of a demon.”
The throne room fell into another period of absolute silence as the two rivals exchange looks of intensity and grimace. Then, at the flap of a bat’s wing the disgusted man made the first move. He propelled himself in the air with his claymore flipped over his shoulder. The gap between them closed immediately as he hoisted his sword off his back and came down with a vertical slash to cut down his enemy. DM125 quickly dashed to the side, completely evading the attack, but in the same split second stared in shock as she realized what had just happen. The man stood there smiling with his claymore still held by one hand over his shoulder. “You have just witnessed an illusion,” he boasted now swinging his claymore down on the stunned demon. “Now here is the real attack – MENTAL BREAK!” The room trembled at the aptitude of the attack as particles of stones and dust raise from the source of the impact. The exhausted man stood in shock as his claymore had not cut down the demon but instead an illusion of herself which vanished.
“You are not the only one who can create illusions,” he heard a familiar voice remarked as he stood horror stricken to see DM125 directly in front him. He quickly tried to pull out his claymore from the split created by his attack but failed to beat the demon’s reaction time.
“Too slow,” she grinned as the blade of her katana lit up with a fiery blaze. “Now here is my attack – FINAL FLIGHT OF THE PHOENIX.” The katana impaled the man through his abdomen where it burn until the tip of the sword emerged through his back. The force of the impact sent him flying in the air until his body plastered against the wall where it hung by the blade of the sword. Blood streamed out of his mouth as he coughed uncontrollably. The devil laughed at his futile attempts in trying to remove the katana that pierced through his body. “Like I said,” she smirked as the old man had finally given up. “That hope of yours will be extinguished.”
The old man hung half dead as he squinted at DM125 in disbelief. “Why…don’t you just kill me?” he asked chokingly as the demon picked up his claymore. “If you feel I will grant the honor of relieving you from this pain then you are sadly mistaken,” she explained. “Instead I will take your tainted soul and add it to my collection.” DM125 engulfed the claymore in a black substance and aimed it for the old man’s neck. “Let your weapon guide you to my hell,” she screamed as she threw the cursed claymore at the weakened man. He closed his eyes expecting to feel another stabbing pain but instead heard the sound of swords clanging.
The old man quickly opened his eyes to see a woman dressed in black armor standing in front him, facing DM125. She had a green cape to her back where a golden crown insignia was imprinted in the middle. Her short, black frizzled hair blew violently in the wind that passed through the castle. In each hand she held a kodachi. The worn out man looked beyond her and saw his claymore stabbed in the floor. “Prepare yourself DM125,” the mysterious woman said now forming a fighting stance. “Because your death is now.”
© Property of sinX
Kodachi = is a small Japanese sword.