The final blow rang out, not with the high crackle of energy crystals or with the boisterous battle cries that normally accompanied a battle, but with the low, heavy grunts of combatants who neared exhaustion with every movement they made. The dull thud of blade against flesh echoed throughout the chamber even as the blood began to gout from the opened arteries. The eyes of the loser of the fight widened in surprise even as the light of life began to flee. He could dimly hear the rhythmic splash of blood against stone as his life literally fled from his body, propelled onward by a heart that didn't realize the futility of its actions.

His knees, strangely enough, were the first part of his body to realize that the fight he had been fighting for so long was finally over. They buckled in a way that might have been painful, had he still possessed the ability to comprehend pain. The hit the ground and he wobbled, throwing out a hand in reflex to try to steady himself.

Reflex was all he had left, now.

The labored breathing of the one who killed him filled his ears suddenly, and had he the capacity for much rational thought, he might have found it amusing that his enemy had staggered to the side when he had fallen, put off balance by the lack of an opponent. Instead, he simply tried to gulp air into lungs that could no longer hold it, down a throat that was filling with blood.

He was staring with horror, disbelief, and unacceptance. The expressions were slowly becoming solid on his face as the slapping of blood on the ground grew less insistence. In what felt like slow motion, he pitched forward, his last sight being that of his rival.

He died.

I stood-or rather, I slumped, against the stone wall as his blood finally stilled and pooled into the seamless floor. My clothing…shambles. My armor… well, let me just say it was no longer armor, with the holes and tears and missing pieces. I was in danger of losing my consciousness because of my own blood loss, but I couldn't bring myself to move away. To avert my eyes. I had to see… had to stand witness. And still, to this very end, I couldn't just walk away. We had fought. I had won.

Was it skill?

No. We were evenly matched, he and I. For every move I made, he made a counter. For every hit I scored on him, his own came back on me in kind. We were as similar as brothers, but opposites, like the sides of a coin.

I drew in ragged breaths through my mouth, because my nose was broken. I could feel the most surreal things… the runnels of blood that ran down my skin to mix with the pool on the floor. I could smell the intense odor of metal that seemed to accompany blood no matter where it was spilled. The sight of the growing pool, no longer pumping like a frantic drum from his broken self, but still managing to lap at the edges and come ever closer to me.

It was a lucky hit, all told. By the end, I no longer had the strength for wild acrobatics and fancy thrusts. I had only the heft of my blade and the strength of my failing muscles to drive the blow that did him in. Even now, I doubted my ability to move beyond the spot I had found to prop myself upon, my arm bracing the wall like a lifeline. If I were to fall forward, I would probably drown in the crimson pool.

And so, I could not move. The sounds of fighting echoed through the corridors but it all took a second place to the scene before my tired mind. I stood and I stared, the feeling of finality trying to break through my muzzy shock like the sun through a cloud. He was gone. The one I had sworn so much vengeance upon… I had cursed his name. Spent wakeful nights trying to come up with some way that I could have done with it all. It had become an obsession. A pre-occupation. It clouded my thoughts. Influenced my judgments. Guided me through thick and through thin… through the good times, where I had come so close to my goals.. and the bad times, when I had fallen so short. It was a thing that had remained unrealized for so long that I had begun to live for it. I woke up each morning, simply hoping for the chance to make my hopes a reality and rid myself of this person, this… thing that would not go away.

It drove me.

But now… now, he was gone.

My obsession… my rage. My vengeance. My wish was fulfilled and even now…standing as I was in my own glory at having defeated my foe…

I was empty.

He lay there, still, unmoving, and lifeless. I could almost feel the rage building into me again.

"How dare you.." I hissed. My voice sounded as though I had poured boiling water down my throat, chased with a pound of gravel. "How dare… you…"

Somewhere, I felt a burgeoning strength I didn't think I possessed. I took four faltering steps back towards the limp body, slipping in the ichor and falling to my knees at his side. I took up his torn clothing that still lay over him and shoved, turning him over to expose his front. The blood left thick streaks all over his visage. His eyes were still wide with surprise and they stared straight through me to the ceiling and beyond.

"You bastard!" I screamed. I could feel my throat being torn apart at the strain I was putting into the words that I shoved between my lips. I tried to shake him, but could only jostle him a little. I was unmindful of the gore that splashed up on my knees and my legs. I only had my sights for him, and the satisfaction that even in death, he robbed from me. I knew now, the horrible trap that he had lay in wait for me, even though he did not ever intend it this way.

He was gone. And with him, went my whole reason for existing. The burning, consuming desire to take back what he had stolen. To defeat him. To win.

My victory was twisted. My glory was somehow warped. My triumph was not fully realized and it never would be.

It didn't matter that we had won.

It didn't matter that I had killed him, for all that it was my first goal in all the actions I took. From the time my eyes opened in the morning to when I closed them at night, I had planned for this. But now, now it didn't matter. Now, I was lost to my consuming rage at the audacity of him to die and leave me here with nothing left to kill.

My hands were still bunched into the fabric of his shirt when she found me, shaking, angry, and kneeling in a congealing puddle. She did not enter the room, but stood at the door. She called to me, and I could almost hear the smile in her voice.

"Are you mourning the enemy… or are you mourning your wrath?"

It was with difficulty that I made myself uncurl my fingers, one by one, out of the clothing. It was even more painful having to use my sword to lever myself into a semi-upright position. I managed to stand under my own power as I turned and looked to my master. My clothing was saturated. Very bloody. I imagine, almost as bloody as my eyes.

"Master…"

"Yes, Dark Ace?"

"The Sky Knight is no more."

"And the others?"

I let my gaze roam over the room, briefly landing on the sightless green eyes that stared back at me in frozen horror. I turned back to the young woman who commanded my loyalty.

"The others were never my concern."

OOO

Well, the poll on my profile said that people wanted me to do a character death. So I did. But I tried to think outside the box and see what killing Aerrow might do to the Dark Ace, as I imagine that by the time that would ever happen, he would have worked himself into a frenzied obsession that let him dwell on little else.

As for the others in the crew… I realized that doing just the Dark Ace's reaction might make some people unfulfilled, so if interest is great enough, I can do individual reactions.

Thanks go to my shoulder muse, Madame Lady. Strangely enough, her latest fic 'Stuck on this Condor with You' inspired me to finish this, as I only had the first quarter finished and I couldn't figure out how to transition it from one guy dying to another person's reaction. I have no idea how this was inspired by her lighthearted fic, but I will blame her now anyway.

And now, thank you for reading, and please review.