Blood red sunset washed over the fog in the canyon from its dying spot on the horizon. Mista was not as fast as she had been though it appeared as though she had been cared for. A trek that should have taken but a night and two fort had been exaggerated at some length for time lost. Eery was not a potent enough for the unnerving calm that had washed over the past days and nights. An approach unforgettable he gritted his teeth the entire way along the bloodied path; something tread upon by the highborne for the purpose to bathe in the blood of the innocent. It made him sick to his stomach but they had finally made it.

A foreboding welcome crept over the horizon as they drew forth. All that remained of a once regal thing, the crux to all of the life around it, the Tree of Life was merely a monolith of decay. Rotting in the baking sun day in and day out it was nothing more than a body left to dry. It pained him so as the view came into full sight, the structure that was once a beauty in nature, a symbol of perfection in its asymmetry; it was a beacon of sorrow under the stars at night. Casting its blackened shadow over cracking tiles of arid waste it stood by dead trunk and withered roots, ready to topple at any given breeze. As they came under its shadow, the red setting directly in front of them, the voice from years prior came over.

"I've waited a long time for this." Fate had thrown the two of them face to face earlier and now the image came painfully full circle.

Rattling with each step he took he could hear the countless bones of the deceased. The road he'd taken to this point was lined with the skulls of the women and children, the innocent people that had not known what awaited them. Of course he had become a different man from those days, the impressionable youth, naive and perhaps a little too much so for now he held the burden of guilt upon the shoulders before her. Much like then there was nothing given for his eyes. She could have vanished within the silhouette of the tree were he not careful enough with those eyes. Her attire was that of a blackened leather and a tattered cloak. Seamless, no skin was left to be shone beneath the armor or between. She sounded as though she had not changed which rose a brow on his face.

"How the years have been graceful to you. Tell me that young women from back then, is she your mother? Your grand mother?" He attempted to recount the passage of time as it had been, for the youthfulness in her voice she could not be over the human age of thirty yet that would be impossible.

Fast was the only word suitable enough for the action. A shadowed blade flew directly towards Mista's face and had he not been swift on the trigger to draw his spear the steed would have had the remainder of its life taken from it. A cry of steel clashing rang through the area as he held one hand atop the saddle and dismounted feverishly. The steed was given a swift prick to its rear from the tip of the spear and after it let out a cry it was on a tear out of hell itself away.

Flowing were his movements as the spear was spun from right hand into left in unison with his synced steps. Her back was to the sun and as such had he not heard the links on the chain as she threw the sickle he would not have been able to save the steed's life. Now as he faced her it was against the silhouette of the tree where his eyes could only barely withstand the glare of the sun roasting the horizon.

"He wouldn't wish to see anyone die in the wake of wh--" A whistling ripped through the air to interrupt him.

Steel had been drawn from the ground and back to her previously empty hand before it was flying through the air once more to strike him. As the spear was sent to intercept the blade and entangle the chain with which it was leashed, she had rendered the longer ranged weapon's only weakness and exploited it as she crossed the distance between them with ease. Just before him her hands vanished as black leather blended upon itself before two elven blades were removed and the first came from low in posture towards his neck in a cyclone strike. He avoided it with a narrow sidestep before her next came lower, threatening to rend his lower body in half.

Incredible were her movements. It was not that they were too fast for the elf's eyes to follow but rather they had been perfected, merciless in their stride that no energy was wasted in the form. A perfect dance to their bloody sonata. As he tugged on the spear the chain would allow him no solace and he quickly broke it over his knee and let go of the bottom portion, which was the more sizable of the two, and held the spear with blade in the right hand. His left was extended out as a make shift check on their distance.

"Do not speak of him as if you knew him!" Her tone was cemented within his memory and it was identical to on that night, there could be no mistake of it.

A piano score unknown to him began to play and her every step, an eclectic masterpiece, demanded from him the utmost concentration and discipline. Were he to overstep his footwork by an inch she might have simply caught him within a blind spot. A war of attrition had set in as she pressed him on his heels; twin blades were ruthless in their cunning and their waltz was one of not honor or humility but desecration. She would leap and come within a hair of his neck and he would respond with the fewest possible fractions left in a second before the necessary counter-measure.

As the bout drew further from the looming reliquary of souls, that colossal stain upon the world, the sun set in the opposite direction of them. Soon she would be able to capitalize on that fact in her jet black attire and his eyes would begin to lag behind. Neither of them were fools enough to let that pass by and it was represented in their air tight game of cat and mouse. Blades careened through the air with the intent to lacerate his neck or sever his limbs and armed with only the shattered top of his spear he was powerless to meet her hand-to-hand. Running had become the only consistent option at any turn she cornered him into, her attacks were growing less and less forgiving and although he had managed with his lithe form to skirt the danger there came a time where she forced him into a proverbial corner. Her leg swept out to knock his balance and as he leaped, a short thing, his left palm hit the earth to spring him over. A fancy maneuver and one that demanded his agility and precision to pull off it was to no surprise to him that she had followed his path and moved to cut him off.

While his body was parallel to the ground, his left hand being the only part tangent to the earth, she had sprung into action. Her left hand threw the sickle once more directly at his neck. His answer had been prompt and simple, the spearhead was used to deflect it mid-spiral and cast it aside to the cracked ground beneath them. As his feet closed into the earth he could feel the true intentions she had harbored burning within his left hand. An elven blade had been lodged right through and into the ground beneath.

When did that get there? he asked himself before landing on his knees and feeling the resistance of it as it dug into his hand. Then and there it was hard to tell what was harder to swallow: the fact that he could not recall when the blade had pierced him, or the fact that she now had him pinned.

"For so long I awaited this day. The day on which I could finally spill the blood of your line and pay in the only way I could back to that which you ruined!" She shouted the words with vitriol at him as he was upon his knees, right hand gripping at the wrist of the left which had been secured by the elven blade.

"No more blood needs to be spilled to atone for what happened on that night! I slew them all! Each and every last one of them responsible, I claimed their lives and spilled their blood over this very ground. That includes my father!" He could feel a sweat falling over his face that he was unfamiliar with. His chest felt as though it might explode rays of sun at any moment and his face was now pooling sweat.

While his body was parallel to the ground, his left hand being the only part tangent to the earth, she had sprung into action. Her left hand threw the sickle once more directly at his neck. His answer had been prompt and simple, the spearhead was used to deflect it mid-spiral and cast it aside to the cracked ground beneath them. As his feet closed into the earth he could feel the true intentions she had harbored burning within his left hand. An elven blade had been lodged right through and into the ground beneath.

When did that get there? he asked himself before landing on his knees and feeling the resistance of it as it dug into his hand. Then and there it was hard to tell what was harder to swallow: the fact that he could not recall when the blade had pierced him, or the fact that she now had him pinned.

"Of course you did! Where do you think I returned to when I awoke atop that miserable steed?! It was the ruins of my life, my people that I returned to. Where did you return to?! You continued on your path of bloodshed just as your father would have wished for you! Pathetic!" She threw the sickle at him and he had deflected it with his right hand, the spear head in grip before he felt the burning in his left. He looked down and there was an elven blade piercing his hand.

When did that get there? he asked himself before landing on his knees and feeling the resistance of it as it dug into his hand. His eyes went wide at the realization that he had already lived this moment. He turned to her with a frantic sweat and a blatant look of confusion.

"So you're finally realizing it aren't you? These blades, the very ones that you entrusted to me many moons ago; they will be the artifacts to seal your fate. I have laced them with a heavy dose of a hallucinogen. Normally it is used to ease the trauma of those close to death but for you? No this is far more special. It will begin to decay you from the inside out. A rapid infection will set in and it will devour you starting with your muscles and then it will begin to eat the flesh from you as you watch. Perhaps it is not the end father wanted but due to what he wanted, he and all of our people are dead." She watched as the black began to seep from his fingertips towards his wrist.

Agony was synonymous with the shifting hue of his skin. Each millimeter of his skin that began to crystallize in to a dead black carried with it a yard of blades that were busy filleting his flesh and muscle from the bone. Her words began to blend to him, no longer separate entities to make up the sentence but linked with slurred phrases, simply droning as the moments blended into another and expanded for what felt like an eternity.

"This is not where this ends. You will die here in the midst of a pain you never thought possible. I will go reclaim your steed and I will ride it to your camp. I will bring with them something of value from you to prove that you are dead and when I get there..." Her words had long begun to pierce his mind like savage blunt spears recently broken from their bamboo shafts. The remainder of her thoughts flooded in in partitions as his eyes struggled to see her black leather form receding into the now nearly dispersed sun, fleeting with only the shades of deep violet and pink and purple to resonate in the sky.

"Kill. That. You value most." She spun the remaining elven blade within her hand and sheathed it behind her back while soon becoming a moving blur to his failing eyes.

A chill ran over his spine as it had on that night when his father had entered into the tent to claim his life. This was that feeling, the knowing that you were treading upon the line of mortality, so close to stumbling and losing your balance only to fall into a pit of eternity. His world became fire as he tore his left hand from the blade, the center being completely annihilated in half as he did so. The nerves had long since been dead and the black that held itself upon him was now at his elbow. His legs had never moved so quickly before in his life as the took him from the ground. A distance of three yards was left without him knowing the ground. As she spun and drew that second twin blade she swung with enough force to sever a raging bull's head clear from its neck.

Hot liquid sprayed his face and armor when the blade followed through with its stroke. He had leaned into the strike at the last moment and caught the blade right through the left forearm and trapped it within the bicep. She was unable to pry it from the now skewered tendons when that spearhead was driven directly under her ribs and into her abdomen with enough force to pick her feet clear off the ground at the strength held within his right arm.

Her grip on the elven blade ceased as it was left within his tattered arm and she was flung to the ground. Her lung had been pierced and as she began to sputter blood from her lips she was glaring at him from the ground. Her leather hood had been dislodged as she hit the ground and her long slender ears were painfully apparent to him.

A half-elf stared up at him as she failed to gather enough energy to form words. Her gaze said all that it must have. The pain was insurmountable now as it climbed his limb like frostbite a climber's own. She grinned a bloody mess before she began to convulse on the ground.

He was running out of time as he fell to his knees and his vision blurred, the earth becoming a slate of orange and purple. His right hand frantically felt around until the frigid cold of steel chain answered his touch. A tight grip was made and a yank until the sickle found its way to his hand. A direct slice was made to his leather armor so that a piece could be liberated before he cut the cloth beneath. Carefully he tied as best a tourniquet as he could just below his left shoulder, borderline where the infection had grown. As he tugged on it with his teeth the realization set in that he was going to have to make this call now. His potential future as a warrior, as a whole man, or his life?

With the leather piece within his teeth he breathed the last harsh few breaths he could manage before setting the blackened limb before him and raising the sickle in the air. It came down easily at first just below the shoulder and it cut the skin with ease though collided right with the bone. Were he to cut it off below the threshold it would all be for moot so he had gone right for the still living flesh. The sky shook and the ground fell prey to tremors as his body lurched with the trampling of his nerves and reason. His body was now in a full insurrection from logic and thought. The sickle rose up once more to come slashing down upon the same location. The skin was further removed from the bone as it made contact with a loud crack. His teeth bored through the leather and began to strain his jaw as he flooded the burning air with his cries.

Again his right arm rose shaking violently with the sickle in hand. He wasn't even sure anymore through the tear-filled eyes that he could land this mark. He reversed his grip on the sickle and held the handle facing down. The cuts had been as far as the blade could handle and now he proceeded to smash the hilt against the joint. Once. Twice. Thrice.

Each impact shattered the planet which he was kneeling on and threatened to send him passing out. There was no wind, there were no breaths, no cries; all that his world consisted of was the trepidation that was mere moments from being reality. Was his fate to die here? Was his fate sealed on that night so long ago and all that he had longed for, all that he had worked for and now had? Was it for naught? His right arm rose again and as he shook, as he found it close to impossible to hold, he swung it down with his eyes forced shut, tight enough to pop those very eyes of his. He could only see one thing as he did and the weight of the universe fell over him.

Crack!