Shadow Slave

In the cacophony of the battle, obscured by roaring thunderclaps and the whisper of falling rain, two swords were creating a lethal melody of steel.

Mordret knew that he was weaker than his younger sister. He was slower, too, and not nearly as resilient. He was even less skilled, perhaps. His powers were formidable, but they were useless against her. The King of Swords had made sure of that. His soul cores had been spent on creating the Reflections, and those Reflections were being spent on holding back her army.

That army was also more powerful than the one on his side. Morgan had chosen the battlefield and lured the enemy into a trap. As a general, she had already succeeded.

But she was not only a cunning strategist. She was a brilliant warrior, too. Morgan was like an unstoppable blade. She had everything that a Princess of War was supposed to possess. She had power, talent, resolve, intelligence... she had the authority of their family, and its favor as well. While Mordret had nothing. He had always had nothing. And everything he had tried to make his was either destroyed or taken away.

However, despite all that...

He was not going to lose.

He was going to win.

"Die, you wretched thing!"

Their swords clashed, and even though Mordret had managed to read her intentions, he was still thrown back. His block was perfect, but it was not strong enough. He slid in the mud and let out a pained gasp. He was slightly dazed.

Rain was falling all around them like a grey wall, and every drop was a mirror. The world was reflected on itself myriads of times, and all those reflected worlds flooded his mind like a kaleidoscope of horror. Every gruesome death, every desperate call for help, every selfless act of courage, every cowardly wail of defeat were reflected, multiplied, and projected into his head. It helped him to orient himself better on the chaotic battlefield, but it was also...

'Ah. Annoying.'

This was why he didn't like rain.

Morgan was already closing in. Mordret grinned as he rose to face her.

There she was. A beautiful young woman in a suit of black armor, who looked so much like him. What did she know? She didn't know anything. She had been a mere child when their family decided to betray him. Not even a Sleeper. She had not been there when his original body was destroyed, or when he was locked in a cage like a beast...

Morgan was not among those he wanted to kill the most. But she was their symbol.

For Mordret, the young woman with a face that was eerily similar to his own symbolized the great clan Valor. She embodied everything that he wanted to destroy. And, so...

He was going to break her into pieces.

as it flew toward his body. He tried to deflect it, but it was of no

blood

think I lost an eye, this

of lightning, Morgan's face remained

"Pathetic."

voice sound...

smiled and raised his

a cunning trick, a subtle deception, an unexpected reversal... something like that. He was a master of

sincere when he said that there would be no tricks today. There was no

hatred would not

to defeat her with nothing except his own

had discarded him... Mordret was still stronger, strong enough to destroy

they needed to

sister. Give it your

drowned in the

Morgan obliged.

few seconds, the two of them clashed, their swords singing a sharp and deadly song. The clangor of two blades striking against each other fused into one continuous, sonorous melody. They were too fast, too skilled. Neither could overpower the other, and those

eventually, inevitably, Morgan

must have shaken her a

missed

your lung hurt

Not that he cared.

the neck. Her eyes widened, and she hurriedly tried to twist the

to block the potential strike of

trying to use it, Mordret simply headbutted her and felt her nose crack under the force of

Morgan staggered back.

from her broken nose, painting the lower part of her

"You vile... scum..."

his chest, scattered into a whirlwind of scarlet sparks. He

without a doubt, going to summon it back... but that would take a few seconds,