B6C14/15

Her first sword struck mine, clanging against it, and despite that there was no metal in her blade, ours locked and made a sound upon contact. Her other came up and under, sliding through my guard as it lunged towards my ribs. I shifted my body just a little, allowing it to graze the side of me. It didn't splash and fizzle out as expected. Instead, the short sword cut through my molten armour, almost as if it were not made of fire but metal. It drew a cut along my flank.

[...]

Which was when Cinder grinned and dropped both – cupping her hands and bathing me in fire once more.

"Shit!"

Gods, it hurt. There was only a second or two to feel it before my instincts kicked in and my armour became molten once more, immune – or as immune as I was going to get – to the flames. I still had to shield my face so it wouldn't be burned, but the pain dissipated. I rolled away, fighting for distance as I considered my options. Cinder had lured me into dropping the heat on my armour and then switched back to fire spells to cook me.

[...]

She didn't want this, I could tell, and yet she kept coming, attack after attack until the point that some got past my guard no matter what I did. One struck my arm and scored a line through my armour. Another nicked my upper thigh, dangerously close to an artery. A third came in for my stomach, but this time I reacted, rapidly cooling my armour there – localised in one spot. The metal became solid and turned her blow aside, deflecting it so that I earned a scratch and not a gaping wound.

[...]

Cinder let one go and tried to throw fire in my face, but this time I ignored it, closing my eyes and fighting through the pain to continue my onslaught.

Cinder didn't expect it, that much was clear. Crocea Mors cut through and caught her shoulder, drawing blood and a startled yelp. She flinched back, losing control over her fire.

[...]

When he fell, Cinder was behind him, crouched down with something new in her hands. I had a second to gasp before she thrust up, and the sword we'd found in Vacuo – Watts' sword – pierced through my armour, my chest, my ribcage and then then my skin again. It erupted from my back with a sickening squelch.

[...]

I… I… No… Everything hurt.

[...]

Before my hand could touch her, it was knocked aside with contemptuous ease, Cinder almost being gentle as she did so. Not that it mattered. My body sagged and fell, slumped forwards onto her. Cinder adjusted her footing to bear my weight. I couldn't stand on my own feet anymore.

Slowly, I was lowered down. First to my knees, and then walked back so that I lay flat on my back. I felt the sword that transfixed me grate as the ground pushed it back into me. It remained inside my body, lodged somewhere in my organs.

Cinder stroked a hand over my face as she laid me down, kneeling at my shoulder. I tried to do something, anything, but I could no longer feel my hands, let alone move them.

[...]

My hand, still clutched around Watts' sword in a death grip, tightened imperceptibly.

My cracked lips moved.

"S-Stoke… the Forge…"

Pale blue light flickered fitfully behind my eyes.

[...]

It was the sound which alerted her, a sound like steam pouring from a boiling pot. A hissing that heralded something far hotter than even her brightest flames burning on contact with naked air. Cinder turned, eyes growing wide as she watched the man – the boy – place one hand down onto the ground and push himself up onto one knee.

Steam poured from him. It obscured him. His skin shimmered and sweat ran down exposed flesh. The gaping wound in his chest, the one she had imposed, was gone. So, too, was the sword. In its place, an expanse of pulsing silver remained. Living metal.

"How?" Cinder asked. "How are you still alive?"

There was no answer. The Revenant reached down and picked up its sword once more, pale, glowing eyes flickering through the steam.

–B6C14


We traded blows at a furious pace. Cinder's blades rarely broke past my defence, but when they did I tanked them without concern, making her pay for each with another wound that bit deeper and deeper each time.

[...]

Worse, my chest felt like it was on fire. Right across the wound Cinder caused. It hurt less when I was in my Blacksmith form, but progressively got worse when I was out of it. If this continued for much longer, I'd be in trouble.

[...]

With a single nod, Cinder obeyed. Her swords joined as one – becoming one far longer and larger than mine. Each slash sent a wave of fire before and after it, burning the air, and my body. Not as intense as it had been before, but simultaneous, forcing me to choose between the defence of a Blacksmith and the offence of a Swordmaster, each time I changed a drain on my stamina.

Her flaming sword nicked and cauterised my cheek, burning a scar into it. I slammed a fist into her stomach, bending her double. Cinder's free hand gripped my shoulder. Flame roared to life and tore a scream from me. My Class changed and my armour super-heated.

[...]

Too little so, in fact. I swung too hard and over-extended, and Cinder capitulated on the weakness by turning her now broken sword into a dagger, thrusting it under my breastplate, aiming for my stomach. I was barely able to twist aside and even then, the pain of her attack searing my flesh was indescribable.

[...]

He rushed in with a drawn knife. It slammed down.

My hand caught it. By the blade. Blood ran across my fingers, my own and Cinder's, but my eyes fixed on the King with pure rage.

–B6C15