"You've come again, creature," said Michael. "Have you come to test your fate?"
He sounded and looked more human than any of the previous bosses, but that only made me angrier. He was looking down on me and I couldn't say a word, only growl at him as he chuckled like the sound of bells. But he wouldn't be laughing for much longer.
I sped forward, barely slower than the needles I threw ahead of me. He smiled as if he was indulging a child, not bothering to dodge the needles that barely dented his glowing skin. As for my daggers, somehow he managed to pull his sword from the stone in time to parry both of them. But despite his obvious speed, he somehow managed to pull off the maneuver while looking unflustered almost to the point of lazy boredom.
My daggers kept flashing, striking the silvery steel of his blade again and again. They were only testing strikes but I began to wonder if anything I tried would work against him. Not once had I penetrated past the barest edge of his sword's reach. A wary caution was seeping into me beneath the rage that filled me since Sachi's death.
The caution was justified when the six-winged angel seemed to grow a foot in stature and moved to the offense. It was everything I could do just to stay alive, barely diverting his powerful strikes enough to dodge. Even so he was able to slice off the tip of my right ear atop my head, the pain so fierce it was blinding. I nearly lost my head on the backstroke, dodging on reflex just fast enough that it only left a stinging cut across my collarbone instead.
"You fight like an animal," said Michael, pausing his advance.
'Well you fight like…' I was going to think something unflattering about him, but it was hard not to realize that his fighting style was immaculate. So often the styles of players and mobs alike was more flash than substance, but that wasn't the case here. Every strike was clean and sure, as if it had been practiced ten thousand times daily. His footwork never faltered, never relied on system enhancement rather than the physics system. He moved like a swords master. Not an ordinary one either. Even ignoring the superhuman speed, he seemed more skilled than my third-dan grandfather. Even videos I'd seen of 7-dan and 8-dan kendo practitioners barely seemed comparable. Just how much motion capture did Kayaba use to create such a fearsome opponent.
"Are you sure this is the place for you?" asked Michael. "We stand at the intersection of the realm of Earth and Sky. Lowly creatures will find only death above. You should go back."
My teeth creaked, a growl building in my throat. His tone was smooth and gracious but his meaning was anything but. He was mocking me and all my efforts. And as for telling me to go back, how could that be anything but a lie when the door sealed shut behind me the moment the battle started? It was just a lie to sow doubt in the heart. The only way out was through.
I attacked him viciously but my momentum didn't last more than an instant. His sword was like a solid wall, seemingly everywhere at once, or at least wherever it needed to be. Worse, his counters and feints were timed with diabolical precision. Despite all my fighting experience he repeatedly threw me off balance, hitting perfectly to foul up my rhythm and very nearly hit myself with my own blades. Only my fast reaction time and even faster footwork kept me alive, but striking him was another matter. Ten minutes of lightning-fast combat passed in a flash, but I had yet to move his health bar.
The archangel was truly a monster. One made worse by how initially unimpressive he seemed while seated on the windowsill. Between his low level and unimpressive stature compared to other bosses he would seem like easy picking to many players. His passive condescension and aristocratic air would only egg them on further, drawing them into a trap as sadistic in some ways as the one that had so cruelly taken Sachi and the others. No normal player or even skilled player could stand up against the angel's strikes. Not while reliant on the system's sword skills. Only immense real world skill or as in my case a number of extra levels and an extremely unorthodox fighting style would have any chance. Sword skill on this level was one in twenty million at best, and most of them were too busy in reality to play video games like SAO.
I could see it in my mind's eye as I pictured how others might attempt to block the sword that kept striking at me multiple times every second. All I could picture was them dying. Even a tank would last only one or two strikes as their defensive sword and shield were knocked aside, the third strike taking them between the eyes. The angel would move inwards as they fell, shattering the raid group's formation as he cut the damage dealers down like a scythe through wheat. If teleports were cut off like in that trap room, a complete wipe of the raid group wasn't out of the question.
A shiver ran down my spine. Whenever I felt like giving up I'd told myself that it was up to me to end this game, that only I could do it. But while a skilled gamer, I wasn't a chuunibyou. I'd considered easing off, letting others take the lead. But now more than ever I felt that it was true. This one boss could end everything. If I died here it wouldn't just be me. The others wouldn't know what they were getting into. And if the vanguard died, that would be it. They were the most skilled players, the most ambitious, the most fearless. They couldn't be replaced. The rest would either die at Michael's hand no matter how hard they grinded beforehand, or the suicides would start again.
If I lost, I wouldn't just be losing my chance at vengeance against Kayaba and my chance at the crystal of rebirth returning me to my true body. Sooner or later, every single soul, young and old, would follow me to the grave. I felt the responsibility pressing down on me like the weight of the heavens. It was like I'd felt when rushing to the boss fight on the first level, but worse because this time there would no second chances. My weakness could damn everyone.
I was rattled, severely so. Michael disarmed me of one dagger and though I was swift to replace it with another from my inventory, that didn't stop me from taking a dozen small cuts. It might've been a blessing though, as the pain and imminent threat of death as my health bar dropped allowed me to focus back on what I was doing. The middle of a fight was no time to worry about the consequences of losing.
I fought with all my skill and vigor, but not quite all my ferocity. He'd proven more than once that he was capable of shattering my attack rhythm, so I planned for that. I didn't commit as hard on my attacks, leaving me more capable of adjusting when I was knocked off balance. It also meant that there was less chance of striking a devastating blow against the angel, but I knew by now that the chance of pulling an attack off regardless of what I did was virtually nil. To defeat him I would first need to learn his attack patterns. Until I learned enough to see through his defense, all I could do was focus on staying alive.
The fight continued for many hours and I could feel myself flagging, body hot and sweaty despite my excessively skin-baring female armor. I felt grimy, and inwardly cursed the recent realism update that had made sweating in the game possible to begin with. Meanwhile Michael looked completely unmoved by the hours of intense combat. His hair was still perfectly coiffed, lips twisted in a faint smile, and his bare and hairless chest gleamed gold with health like a professional surfer. Despite hours of fending off her daggers he looked like he'd just stepped of a photo shoot.
My cheeks heated as I realized what my appraisal of his status might have looked like. While looking like a girl, a glance like that could be interpreted in a very different way. Unfortunately I couldn't look away from his chest, the movement of muscles there too important in predicting his swings. Embarrassment was still better than death, no matter how badly his smirk irritated me. At least there were no humans around. No matter what he acted like, the archangel was still just an npc.
I nearly tripped as Michael failed to follow through on an attack and instead drew back, sheathing his sword in the stone floor. I was too familiar with his strength by now to take that as weakness. I kept my daggers raised but didn't attack, wary of a trap.
With a wave of his hand, a table with two chairs appeared by the moonlit window. Food fit for a king appeared atop it, complete with fanciful plates and cutlery and a crystal glass full of ruby-red wine. "Sit, eat. You have fought well. Rest and dine with me, so that we might fight again."
I couldn't say I wasn't tempted. The rare roast beef called to me so strongly that I was already salivating. My enhanced nose caught every perfectly crafted flavor, from the butter of the sauteed lobster to the doughy scent of freshly baked bread. It was better food by far than anything I'd had since entering the game, and was such expensive food that even in the real world I'd only had the items once or twice in my life. My hunger left me even more vulnerable to the offer as my stomach did its best impression of a growling black hole. When was the last time I ate?
I took a faltering step towards the table. It all looked so good, but I knew this was a bad idea. He was the enemy, even if he was just an npc rather than a willing ally of Kayaba. He was the obstacle standing in my way, that stopped me from being who I needed to be to save Sachi. Dining with him would be worse than fraternizing with the enemy, it would be spitting on her memory. Besides, there were plenty of cautionary tales about consuming food in the underworld, and this setting seemed close enough to fit.
I took up a steak knife, moving it over over a plate of succulent roast beef. Then as Michael gentlemanly pulled out a chair for me, I stabbed it straight into his faintly glowing arm. The angel-summoned knife succeeded where all my previous efforts failed. Golden blood dripped down his arm and for the very first time his lifebar moved. But it was but a momentary victory. Michael looked more amused than hurt, and pulled out the knife without even a grimace. The wound healed like it never was, blood dissipating into sparks of lightning as his lifebar went back to full.
"So be it, Lady Wolf."
His sword flew to his hand, and with a strong overhead slash the fight was on again.
I was tired. Beyond tired. But refusing the feast had bolstered my resolve. I hadn't found a second wind so much as a machinelike stubbornness to carry on. I ignored pain, hunger, and exhaustion. Days passed, then weeks. To the outside world the door to the fiftieth boss remained stubbornly closed for a staggering length of time, but inside it was even longer. I fought at a superhuman pace, mind and body forced far beyond what either could handle in reality. It made an hour seem like a day, until I wasn't sure if months had passed or even years.
The rage I'd entered the chamber with faded into smoldering embers, suffocated by time and exhaustion. Even sorrow over all those I'd lost diminished into a dulled pain in my heart. All that remained was a steel purpose to continue fighting until I found a way to victory.
It was a poor matchup from the start. I was faster than him, but not by enough to matter. His far greater reach more than made up for my speed and acrobatics. As for strength, my nine levels of advantage meant I didn't lose out, but the greater weight and leverage of his sword and his body in general meant that direct clashes were difficult. Without being able to level further, the only way to gain an edge was to beat him in terms of skill. Not an easy quest against a sword grandmaster.
More and more frequently, I was able to enter a flow state where my mind moved even faster and time ceased to matter. Even so, it was difficult to gain an edge. I learned all I could, but so did the AI. My daggers were the only thing slowing it down. Frequently they would break, only to swapped out with another from my inventory of a different length, weight, and special effect. The adjustment cost me some, but it was harder for Michael to adapt. But that didn't mean he had no tricks of his own.
A human might master a small set of styles in their lifetime, but the machine spirit had no such limitations. Kayaba must have culled the best sword styles from around the world. Some, like those Michael had used in the beginning, were almost lackadaisical. He moved like air, lacking killing intent but deadly all the same. Other styles flowed like water, flexible but with overwhelming momentum. During the day he favored a fiery, domineering style. Every move was tyrannical, made with full force and with the theory that the best defense was a good offense.
Bit by bit I'd learned their weaknesses. I began to see not just the spirit behind an individual style but their connection to the art of the sword. I learned better the use of my many daggers as well, from short serrated knives and punch daggers to slender stilettos to cutlasses that nearly qualified as short swords to my short body. I was beginning to glimpse the Dao of blades in general, but that still wasn't enough to beat his latest trick.
Wasn't this just cheating? He'd taken up a heavy earth stance, strongly favoring defense. But that didn't mean he wasn't capable of counterattacking in deadly fashion. He was willing to take a small injury for the sake of dealing a large one, a trick that had nearly cut me in half the first time he'd done it. It was an absurd abuse of his health bar that was twenty times greater than my own. I couldn't strike him meaningfully without taking a devastating strike in return. It was an obstacle that seemed insurmountable.
I continued to trade inconsequential bows with him for days, falling into a half-awake meditation as much of my mind busily brainstormed a route past his iron defense. It wasn't until I drifted back to memories of my normal fighting style that I realized what I'd been missing. All this time I'd been neglecting my legs. At first that was because I was wary of getting them chopped off, but then after such a long time I'd simply forgotten to utilize them properly. I knew him and myself far better than I had at the start of our battle, so now it was time to kick.
He smiled along with me the first time I kicked his knee, opening up a strike with my dagger along his hip. More kicks followed whenever I found a good opportunity. Bit by bit I learned a broader style of fighting and at last was able to start carving away his health faster than he regenerated. It was odd to see the golden angel's chest marred by scars after remaining flawless for so long but I persisted in carving into him.
"You continue to improve." He wasn't mocking or patronizing as he was at the start. "Prepare yourself. The final test commences."
I drew back, wary that he would at last use his wings or release some other special power. Until now he'd been restrained, perhaps due to the solo duel nature of the match, but there was no telling what power he had in reserve.
It wasn't his wings or a summoning of allies or greater stature that came next. Instead it was a new sword style, one that combined all the rest into a cohesive whole that was greater than I'd thought imaginable. It was beautiful to watch, even as my arms shuddered from fending off strikes so quick in succession that I was seeing their shadows rather than the sword itself. He had moved far beyond what any grandmaster could accomplish. This was surely the level of a sword saint, a realm only ever achieved in myth and legend.
More than once I thought I would die, my long struggle brought to nothing. But somehow I survived. Cut and ragged, armor reduced to nothing, but alive. And more than that, gradually I could feel something. A faint sense for the blade that made my parries less desperate, my footwork surer. Soon I wasn't just reacting, I was predicting his moves a split-second in advance. It went beyond reading his glances or muscle tenses, I could truly sense the intent behind his sword. Better than that, I could manipulate his stance ever so slightly by exploiting its weak points in advance. It was a like a mirror echo of how he'd bullied me when I first arrived. I couldn't help but feel a little glee from it.
The end came so abruptly that it caught me by surprise. I'd cut his hand off, sword spinning away with it. He was defenseless as I kicked him over, landing in a straddle over his waist with the tip of my dagger poking into his stomach, angled towards his heart. But I stopped before I reached it, caught staring into his sky-blue eyes. He really was remarkably human. So lifelike that it was hard to remind myself that he was just another piece of code in a virtual world. He was the only one I'd known for over a year of fighting without true sleep, the one thing that seemed real as my memories of everything outside the chamber dimmed. He wasn't a friend, but the strikes between us was the only thing that kept me anchored for so long. Was I destined to lose another companion just after losing the last?
He grabbed my hand with his sole remaining one and I tensed. If he started fighting again it would be something I was used to, something I knew how to react to. Just touching without fighting was weirding me out, but it had been so long since anyone touched me that I didn't immediately pull away.
He didn't try to rip the dagger out. Instead he looked into my eyes and said, "You've learned all I can teach you. Good luck. And prepare yourself. The end of the world approaches."
He pulled down my hand, thrusting the dagger into his own heart. He was still smiling as his body dissolved, sparks shooting out the window towards the heavens. [Michael, Archangel of Mercy] died, and in his place only a crystal remained.
'Why am I crying?' I wiped away the tears but more replaced them, my eyes hot and blurry. I felt like curling into a ball for twenty years but instead I used my last wisp of energy to grab the crystal. It was a mistake.
The crystal shined hot enough to burn before shattering into specks of magma. They enveloped me, melting into my flesh. I screamed only for it to crawl down my throat, agony my only existence until seconds later I was burned to ash.
**
chap 21 up at Lycelia