Even in death, he could not die. It was never-ending. The sting of death.
Altair had lost count of how many tis he had experienced death. Had tasted the cool edge of a Vale wrought sword, cutting him down. He never won a match. Yet the Vale King's lived experience with Iliana was his to wield. Each ti he killed him and proceeded to challenge her, he'd die, and the cycle would repeat for five hours.
After five hours, when the fragnt of the Vale King would sizzle out, he had the honor of dying on his own.
If he needed rest, he had to die. If he wanted to eat, it had to be done in combat and die. It was all hell. Hell, that often pushed him past his limit until he fainted. He would always awake through the confines of resurrection.
Death had a unique sting, one that often left him paralyzed and confused by what happened.
For a long ti, he thought he was being punished. That all that he had ever done was a consequence of all the wrong he had done. It surely had to be. He had killed so many. Had crushed countless beneath his boot. Had destroyed not just a planet but two, albeit not alone. It was still his fault.
If the winner takes all, they too must take the consequences, or so he told himself, rising from the scarlet grass.
He missed how green and crispt they once were. They had devoured so much of his blood now that they had lost their color. Each blade of grass was now a relic, a valuable ingredient to any arcanist worth his salt. Even dusa often ca to cut the grass, collecting the ones that had tasted his blood the most.
"Co at ," Iliana shouted about a hundred paces away.
He shuddered but bounded forward like a white wolf, his silvery hair fluttering behind him as he rounded on her. Stalagmite tore from the earth with every intention of running him through, but he saw them coming from a mile away with his Spiritual Domain, weaving through the large chunks of earth with the grace of a dancer. He growled, not bothering to use Sovereign Gale until absolutely necessary.
His own speed would suffice for now.
Suddenly, hundreds of thousands of combinations wove through his mind, splintering off like jagged bolts of lightning through the skies into various actions and reactions between him and Iliana.
He had realized this was one of his talents that he had neglected to train due to a lack of rivals; even though the use of Foresight allowed him to glimpse one future, his ability to create attack patterns to bend his enemy to his will worked so well, it almost seed like dying so many tis was worth it. Almost.
Fla-wrought spears congealed in the skies like a storm of rain falling overhead, bolting at him.
Forcing himself not to pry into his Omniscience, Altair's ntal image of the battlefield changed to compensate for the changes. A thousand patterns beca ten thousand, branching off into a hundred thousand, spreading out like a web. His eyes glowed, and the thrumb of his sword arced as he cut through a flaming spear, his sword spinning into thousands of semi-arcs to form a sort of do around him.
Embers and flas danced around him, but neither so much reached him.
Not again. He was not going to die again.
"Impressive!" Iliana announced, pulling herself into the skies. "But that's only the beginning." she lifted her palm, and as if she had compressed the sun itself, flas that made the afternoon sun seem like ice appeared. Athyst, with a brilliance beyond the stars, beca amalgamations of dragons in the skies, distorting space.
Sweat ca and evaporated from the surface of his skin as fast as it appeared. Moisture snapped out of existence, leaving the skies cloudless and empty, all for the hundred fla dragons they reflected.
Conjuring another Vale Sword in his left hand, Altair did not wait for Iliana to take action first. Sweet Vale Qi suffused his muscles, hardening his body to a degree he never imagined, as he lept, spearing into the Heavens. In a single motion, as he was sward, Altair was one with the Vale; he entered the second form of Grave of End, Severing Edge, carving through liquid flas.
His sword danced like a Reaper of the Heavens and as profane as the devils of the Hells. One strike beca ten, ten beca a hundred, and a hundred beca a thousand. By the ti he was done, he was three paces away from the smiling Iliana.
"Not bad. Not bad." She sounded almost happy. That Altair nearly missed the sword that took him from the air. He struck the earth with such shattering force it shook the manner.
The guards were all running towards them. The dutches, and even the Old Duke, had made it out of their manner to watch.
Against Altair, it had been the first ti she had drawn her sword. A simple blade wrought from light. There was nothing strong about the blade, yet he could still feel the power from their earlier clash, shattering a few of the bones in his arm. Ashen blood repaired his injuries.
"Finally…" he cursed, barely rembering the month of countless deaths, driving him closer to madness. He had wanted to feel proud, but only bitterness oozed about his tongue.
Iliana descended with a lithe step, gently lifting her sword, when Altair struck with everything he had. Their blade rang true, splintering the earth beneath their feet. She grinned mischievously, and their blade beca a maelstrom, each moving as if they were a living thing.
The swords rang like rain, beating against the window, spewing flas and embers with each never-ending clash. Altair worked the seven forms of Grave of Night with the precision of a master, scaling the power of each sword down to levels his body could handle. He had enough practice with the Vale King to do that much and more.
Still, even as his sword tried to trap Iliana in its endless string of strokes, thrust, and riposte, he always found himself retreating with a cunning stroke that nearly took off his head. A rcy, he realized.
Iliana never killed unless there was a gap in his defenses or if he took a risk, though that did not an she didn't allow him the pain of her sword or magic. He had died so many tis, burning to death; he was sick of slling his charred flesh.
'I feel like I'm playing checkers, and she's bloody well playing 3D Chess,' he had to tell himself. Their blades grew ever more thunderous, rioting like the shelling of a battleground. Traps laid in traps of each flourish of their sword, each thrust, each step, each magical invocation.
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Carved nearly to the bone and made anew with Ashen Blood, Altair fought and fought, the combination in his head evolving so quickly his body often tis failed him. At so point in the battle, he gave up the Vale Sword in his left hand, controlling it ntally with the restriction of his body.
Multiple notifications ran across his iris, but he ignored them. He ignored everything, facing Iliana, coughing up more and more blood, unable to reach her.
He tried every combination in his mind, but none of them appeared to work, as they fought for seven days and seven nights. Altair fell to his knees, his Vale Qi and Mana empty from his core. His muscles were torn and stretched in ways that would leave even the strongest of Ninth Circles shattered.
"In the old world. We would call people like you Grandmaster." Iliana said softly. Her voice was sohow distant.
He looked up at her but saw only mist.
"Learn in Death, Disciple." and her blade separated his head from his shoulders.
***
Raven coldly stared at Iliana, making her way through the throng of guards watching. It wasn't the first ti they had seen him fall. And it wouldn't be the last, but she didn't like it.
Watching her master perish nearly every day left her furious. This ti, however, Altair did not wake like he normally would have. Her heart sank, and she moved towards him. He felt cold like ice.
"He's once more in a state of Soul Exhaustion. His skills have grown so much that he can't physically handle them for seven days and seven nights. I nearly forgot. Get him inside. Even in a state of soul Exhaustion. He will have to face the Vale King."
Raven glowered hatefully at her. "You're a bad master!"
"Is that right, little bunny!" The bad woman with a mirthless smile inquired. Raven stood up before she could say more.
"It is! You don't need to kill him! You don't need to—"
"Then stop ," Iliana said, rolling her shoulders. "I am stronger than you; that ans I can do whatever I want. If you feel I've done wrong. Kill . Defeat . And I'll go.
If not, you can piss right off."
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