The Epic of the Disc Chapter 62: Rematch

Chapter 62: Rematch

The knight moved—vanishing and reappearing right in front of him, blade already raised high, humming with a sound that wasn’t quite natural. It came down.

For a brief moment, everything slowed down.

He closed his eyes. Took one slow breath. Purely for dramatic effect.

’This time I have to win,’ he thought. ’No. I must win.’

His eyes snapped open, and he raised his blade to block.

His legs buckled under the weight. The impact erased sound from the world—a shockwave ripped outward, cracking through the inner realm itself, and the surrounding statues crumbled to dust, one after another, like witnesses who’d seen way too much.

The knight leaned into it, pushing down with enough force to split a mountain.

He tilted his blade. Just slightly.

And the ebony sword slid right off the edge, screamed past his shoulder, and buried itself into the floor with a sound like the world cracking open.

He moved, closing the gap instantly, wrapped his body around Enkidu’s sword arm before the knight could recover, twisted mid-air—and drove two vicious kicks straight into its helmet.

Crack.

Crack.

Seeing that combo did absolutely nothing. He launched himself back, creating distance.

But the knight reacted just as fast.

It swung upward from below, the blade ripping through the ground like paper. Shiro blocked it—and immediately regretted every life choice that had led to this moment—as the force sent him rocketing straight up.

His feet hit the ceiling.

In that split second, he drove both daggers deep into the wall, anchoring himself there, hanging upside down like some extremely grumpy bat.

Their eyes met.

The knight pulled back its shoulder. The blade thinned—then thickened, denser than before, practically warping the air around it.

Shiro exhaled slowly.

Then he crouched—coiled his legs against the ceiling like a loaded spring, and fired.

He shot toward the knight like a spear.

"Illuminate Nocturne."

The tips of their blades met in the middle.

For a heartbeat, neither moved. A silent war of pressure, of will, both of them locked in—neither giving an inch.

Then Shiro pressed his free palm against the hilt of his own blade.

One final push.

The ebony sword shattered—fragments spraying outward like black glass, and in the blink of an eye, Shiro tore clean through it. Through the blade. Through the arm holding it.

He tumbled past the knight, hit the floor, and skidded to a stop on one knee behind it.

Enkidu’s severed arm hit the ground with a loud thud. Its ruby eyes flickered. Then dimmed.

And then—slowly, deliberately—the knight walked toward him. Knelt down. Bowed its head and raised its remaining hand with an open palm.

Shiro smiled. Small. Exhausted down to the bone.

"Thank you," he said quietly as he took its arm. "Now rest up."

And just like that—he was back.

Not on the floor of his room. Not exactly. He was floating slightly off the ground, inside the red barrier—the one that had been holding the entire ship together. Cracks spiderwebbed through the air around him like glass seconds away from breaking.

Something small and warm shifted on his lap.

Ari.

She looked exhausted. Wrung out. Like she’d been holding the whole world up by herself—which, to be clear, she had. If it wasn’t for the barrier, the entire ship would have gone down.

He picked her up gently, cradling her in his palm—and that’s when he noticed his own hand.

Bony. Too bony. Skin stretched thin over knuckles that looked two sizes too big.

And shedding. Again. Skin peeling off his body in soft, quiet layers.

He sighed. ’Not this again. Whatever.’

He ignored it and looked at Ari instead. His smile broke. Tired. Grateful.

"Thank you."

She jumped up onto his bony face, tiny body landing on his cheek, and rubbed her nose against him in the softest headbutt of his life.

"I missed you too."

After the shedding finished—after he peeled the last of the old skin off his body like he was taking off a very gross coat—he looked down at Ari.

"Let’s go."

Getting to his feet took effort.

A lot of effort.

Honestly? It felt like he was learning how to walk for the first time all over again. Knees shaking. Legs confused. His own body going, Wait, we’re doing this again? Now? Fine. I guess.

He pushed the door open—

And found Nora.

Curled up on the floor. Right outside his door.

’She’d waited this whole time.’

Something in his chest pulled painfully tight. He ignored that too.

He knelt down slowly, palm cupping her cheek with a gentleness his body probably couldn’t afford right now.

Her eyes fluttered open. Small at first. Sleepy.

Then wide.

"What happened to you?!"

Shiro forced the biggest smile his bony face could muster—which, admittedly, probably looked like a skeleton trying to reassure her.

"I’m okay."

Using the wall, he hauled himself up to his feet.

"I’m hungry. I could really use some food right now."

She sighed. The annoyed kind—except it wasn’t, not really. It was the kind of sigh people do when they don’t want you to see the other thing they’re feeling.

He didn’t mind.

She helped him stand, looped his arm over her shoulder, and guided him toward the stairs.

"Did you get taller?" she muttered.

"It’s a puberty thing," he said softly.

"That’s not how puberty works, idiot."

He chuckled—and even that hurt. "I know."

The sunlight hit him like it had a personal grudge. Like it had been waiting centuries for this exact moment to deliver the beatdown.

’Easy, buddy,’ Shiro thought, squinting. ’We’re on the same team.’

The others turned as they stepped onto the deck. All three of them—Ana, Richard, Luca—froze when they saw him.

Concerned. Not the polite kind. The actual kind.

"Ana," Nora spoke up, before any of them could pile on with questions, "can you get some of that meat we hunted yesterday?"

’Yesterday,’ his brain echoed.

"How long was I in my room?" he asked, voice thin.

"Eighteen hours," Nora answered.

’...That long.’

Ana grabbed a massive chunk of meat from the storage and started heading toward the galley.

"I need to drain the poison first and cook it—"

"No need," Shiro muttered.

They all looked at him like he had, officially, finally, completely lost his mind.

He was too hungry and too tired to explain.

"I’ll be okay."

Ana hesitated. Exchanged a look with Richard. Then—nervously—handed him the raw, still-poisoned chunk of meat.

Shiro bit in.

And with every bite, his body filled back in.

Smoke hissed off his skin in soft curls as muscle wove itself back over bone. Color returned to his face. His shoulders broadened again. His hands stopped looking like props from a horror movie.

By the time he finished, he felt—

Rejuvenated.

Alive.

Solid.

Then his eyes rolled back. He fell backwards, hit the floor with a heavy thud, clutched his throat, and rolled around dramatically.

"ANA! Get the antidote!" Nora shouted, panic punching through her voice.

Nobody moved.

Ana just chuckled.

Richard sighed—the deep, long-suffering sigh of a man who had been too serious for too many years.

Luca grinned outright.

Nora whipped her head around, confused. "What—?"

"He’s messing with you, Nora," Richard muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose before walking off toward the ship’s controls.

Slowly—very slowly—Nora turned back to Shiro.

Her face had gone a dangerous shade of calm.

Before he could say a single word in his defense—

Her boot came down on his face.

"I’m sorry—!" Shiro’s voice came out muffled through leather.

"I’m SURE you are."

Ana loomed over him a second later, tilting her head curiously.

"How are you not poisoned?"

"Well," Shiro mumbled, still pinned under Nora’s boot, "weak poison like that can’t hurt me. My body carries poison way more pungent than this." A pause. "Especially now. I’m at full strength again."

Nora lifted her boot and stepped back, something flickering in her eyes. Not anger anymore. Something closer to shock.

"How?"

He just shrugged—from the floor, because apparently that was where he lived now.

"It’s a long, boring story." With a groan, he pushed himself up to his feet.

He closed his eyes.

Dragged in one long, full lungful of salty sea air—like his body had just remembered what breathing was supposed to feel like.

Exhaled slowly.

Opened his eyes.

"I am ready."