The Fungal Knight vs The Blood Devil
The Final Round
“Oh, you’re really starting to irritate me,” Saria said with bated breath.
She looked down at her amputated arm, and lamented its loss. To remove a warrior’s limb: It was an insult that cut deep. Adrenaline fired through her veins, temporarily stemming the pain of her missing hand. She knew it wouldn’t last long, as she’d done the same to many others in her lifetime. Whether it was an arm, leg, nose, or ear, people could fight missing either and not notice. That is, until the shock of losing a limb hit them, and they fell into a crying, blubbering heap. Then she killed them.
This “Lord of Bones” form that the Fungal Knight seemed to hold to such high regard was interesting, to say the least. She thought that his first form, when he wielded that black sword, was the epitome of his skill. Apparently, he still had a few tricks up his sleeve, such as this… thing. She knew not what she beheld, some conglomeration of vines which raised his skull to about eye-level to her, and he began to form a vegetative shell around his skull, protecting all but his eyes. His three blades were wielded by his vines instead of his own hands.
“You know I don’t fear death, but I’d hate to die by one of your weak vines instead of by the hand of a true swordsman.”
“Well too bad, you’ll just have to deal with it.”
Without hesitation, a sword-wielding vine, the one holding his favorite Shroomblade, dove at her with blinding speed. Saria slipped to her left, and met his sword with her own, parrying it with a wild swing. Now, had she done that to a normal swordsman with actual limbs, she would have had time to recover from her own parry. However, she wasn’t fighting a creature with arms, legs, or even much of a bone structure. The vine had an almost instantaneous recovery time, and came back with a vicious slash before she could even blink.
The vine-blade hacked at her armor, and she felt it grate against the steel of her breastplate, right above her heart. Still standing, she prepared for another torrent of attacks as the vine retreated to join the other two. She heard bonesword laugh from inside his protective pod of vines that covered all but his flashing purple eyes.
“Come on Blood Devil, at least try to fight me. Or better yet, you can just give up and let me kill you. I reckon ‘Blood Pudding’ will be a better name for you after I’m finished.”
Enraged by both Bonesword’s taunts and her own lack of strength, Saria charged towards him, sluggishly dodging and cutting vines on the way. It was very reminiscent of her fight with Rose Cythla, who used her hair as whips and weapons of her own. All she had to do was repeat what she did then. But still, she was nowhere near as injured as she was now.
She narrowed her eyes as the three vine-blades closed in on her like a trio of venomous vipers. She couldn’t make a single mistake. If she did, who knew what those blades would do to her? And considering Bonesword’s mental state; his desperation, his hunger for payback after the insult she slung towards his loved one, and his own will to win, the result would probably be excruciating for her.
That is, of course, if she failed.
She had no intention of doing any such thing. The three swords launched at her like arrows from an archer’s triple nock, but she saw it coming from a mile away. Even so, it still hurt when she deflected the three blades. Again, they instantly recovered and shot back at her like they hadn’t been deflected in the first place. She batted away the three blades again, slower this time. And once more, they came back for another stab at her. This time, she was too slow.
The shroomblade vine came low, and stabbed her through the leg, nicking her femur. Saria fell to a knee, unable to stand. The vine withdrew the blade, slowly. She felt every nook and cranny of that sword as it slowly dislodged itself from her flesh. Suddenly, the pillar supporting Bonesword was in front of her, a looming adversary.
For once, Saria wanted to give up. Every bit of her hurt like it had been slowly rent by a dull, rusty blade. At least with death came eternal peace. No more pain, no more suffering. All of her troubles would be cured, and she would be embraced by Death’s warm arms, like a soft bed after a long day’s work with no rest.
Yeah, I think… I think it’s my time to go now. I just... Want to leave my troubles behind... forever...
She stopped.
Wait, what the hell am I doing?
She glared disgustingly at the three blades, and at their wielder. Was she really considering dieing to this… this thing?
If she still had a hand, she’d slap herself. From the day she left the Silverlocke training grounds, she had made a vow to never give up, no matter what. Even if she was missing a limb, even if all of her bones were broken, even if she couldn’t possibly win, she would never give up until her opponent was dead.
No, I will not die a sniveling worm!
A deeper shade of red seemed to overcome Saria’s eyes as she glared not at the swords, but Bonesword himself, through all of the vines and vegetation that surrounded his skull. She held her sword in front of her, pointing directly at Bonesword inside his pod.
“Know this, Fungal Knight. Even if the fiery chains of Hell hook my limbs and threatened to drag me down to its deepest depths, I’ll drag you down with me!”
Before he could react with any substantial action, Saria rushed in towards Bonesword’s protective pod with surprising speed, her muscles and ligaments threatening to tear with every step. Once she was there she didn’t miss a beat, and as Bonesword struggled to wrap his vines around the dropped swords, she swung her blade with all of the might she could muster in her left arm. It felt awkward and off balance, but her Red Blade struck true, and sliced the vine pod down the middle, stopping just above his skull.
That’s fine, I’ll just have to pry you open!
She used her teeth, tearing half of the pod off of the pedestal, and spitting it out into the sand. The other half followed the same fate. In her fit of rage and pure instinct, she wound back her arm, and tried to punch the lone skull sitting pretty on the vine platform. Forgetting she no longer had a hand, she instead punched the skull with her bleeding stub, knocking it off of the vines and causing her just as much pain as she'd dealt.
Despite the agony that ripped through her right arm, she forced herself forward before Bonesword could recover from the blow. Placing her boot on top of her opponent, her senses screamed at her to crush the thing without another thought. However, something else pulled at her. Was it… her conscience? It was less of a moral guide, and more like a sense that told her not to end her opponent like this, under her boot.
She released him from his steel trappings, and instead held her sword over the skull.
Out of breath, she staggered through her next sentences.
“You…. You’re a real arsehole…. You know that?”
She coughed up blood, tasting copper on her tongue. She hesitated before speaking her next words.
“But at least…. you’re an arsehole that could fight…. Gave me a beating I won’t forget for a very long time…. And for that…. I guess I…. I can thank you…. Making me realize my limits and all that crap....”
She raised her blade, waiting for him to speak, and he did. She realized that she didn’t have much of a way for words, but it was the best she could manage.
“Ah…. you really did get me this time. I guess it just wasn’t meant to be….”
He trailed off, and said no more. Saria nodded, and brought her sword down, splitting the skull cleanly in two. Instantly, she felt something enter the phylactery she wore. A steady blanket of calm washed over her senses like a wave. Her Red Blade fell from her hands, dropping to the sand beneath her, and the fire that surrounded her died out, leaving nothing but a bleak stillness. Her right hand was still somewhere on the shore, but for right now, she didn’t care about it.
Saria wasn’t one for sentimentality, but in this case, she would make an exception. She found an isolated spot of shore, and buried the Fungal Knight’s remains there. The swords marked his grave, and no one would ever dishonor the Fungal Knight’s grave, not on her watch. If one of the swords ever went missing, she would hunt the wretched thief down, and gut them with her bare hands. She didn’t know why, but this fallen swordsman meant something to her. She just couldn’t describe the feeling, like an empty pit within her soul. She knew that no matter who she fought in the future, no one would ever be more worthy of respect than the one who now rested beneath the peaceful sands of the shore. She'd never fight such a person ever again, and it was that very fact which nabbed at the back of her mind like an itch that could never be scratched.
She looked at the freshly dug grave, and thought to herself:
Is this.... Regret?
