Eithan savoured the half second pause as both of his apprentices gaped. For a moment he's reminded of the time he'd orchestrated the marriage of Cassias in exchange for his position as Patriarch of the Arelius.
But that was then and this was now.
"Forgiveness underlord, but I am not fit to fight Yerin. We are of the same level, but experience-wise she trumps me far more." Lindon sheepishly retorts.
"Is this Lindon the Black Dragon speaking? Survivor of Jai Long and Blood Phoenix, slayer of Ekeri, the Gold Dragon hmm?" pokes the Arelius Underlord.
"Thing is you've long surpassed even those titles now. With the tournament teeming with artists far beyond your level, it's exactly why I am asking you this."
He turns his gaze on Yerin, "And I need to know how the both of you are going to fight at this level. Eventually, it will be likely one of you is going to fight the other. That is not to say of the Blood Phoenix breathing down on us all yes?"
Yerin narrows her gaze towards the blond underlord before looking back at Lindon "Understood."
Likewise, Lindon ascents. Despite the roil in his mind. He could not argue with the Eithan's logic.
"Perfect!" There was a clap of hands as Eithan leapt to the other side of the arena, passing over the wall and up to the stands.
"For all intents and purposes, this is a serious duel to incapacitation unless deemed otherwise. No worries, I and Naru Saeya over there will stop it if anything gets too hairy." Saeya nods at them in greeting.
Eithan manipulates something on the control panel of the arena. Within moments the scripts lining the arena walls shines, extending a bubble of transparent protective madra surrounding the walls to prevent leakage of powerful techniques from extending away the arena grounds.
From within the bubble of madra Lindon opens his void key. The fissure of space leading into a pocket dimension of the various nick-knacks and treasures he'd found along their journey.
"It's alright, I'll see you soon." He gestures Little Blue on his shoulders. The riverseed spirit burbles a series of chimes as he motioned her in. In the next moment, Lindon withdraws a long shaft of wood, ending in a purple tasselled metal spike and angled hammer. Both of which were wreathed in sealed madra.
He took his stance with the head spike facing her the length of his weapon now doubling his reach. Lindon breathed, steadying himself as he starts cycling his madra across his body's channels. Feet angled against each other, presenting only a side for Yerin to seek; a form bourn through merciless Akura. A shroud of Blackfire envelops him as his eyes turn from white to black.
"Let me guess? A trick weapon?" Yerin teased. The blade in her hand gleamed in white under the light as she enforces sword madra unto her sword. In copper's sight; the edges were honed and bright as the thin ripples of deadly force that shrouded it began coalescing not only from her sword but through the six bladed arms arrayed like a spider against him. She crouches slightly, ready to bound at a moment's notice.
"You know me all too well. If you're curious, come close." Lindon warily paces to her side, eyes locked unto her form. Dross give me a plan here [yeah and you need let her show me some of her moves first].
"Bold, to prod the tiger." She smirks. "But I'll pass." She swings all of her blades at him at once.
Rippling Sword erupts in destructive waves, gouging the arena grounds in its wake as it quickly rushes towards him.
Lindon leaps, his Blackfire Cloak lending him explosive strength as he clears the cleaving madra below. He swivels midair, twisting to bring the full force of the hammer down to Yerin below. The binding upon its black surface unravels as the smooth surface begins to spark.
Yerin dives to the side as the hammer impacts. Blackflame madra exploding in a radius behind before a quick acrobatic flip allowed her to split the approaching fires with her sword. She was unscathed, but the same could not be said of the flaming grounds. Eerie dark flame intermingled with script light as blackflame remained in pockets around where he stood.
"Not bad. Nice trick for setting me up with Dancing Dragon. But..." In a split second she crosses the distance between them. Her sword slamming into the warhammer with brute force, her hand pressing against the shaft. The proceeding clashing sound ringing Lindon, grunting with effort as Yerin's Steelborn body trumps his in brute strength. "See if you can trap me with this."
He shifted his foot back, turning with Yerin's strength before jerking the shaft out of her grasp. He paid for it with cuts on his cheek and left arm. But with an underlady's vitality she did not stop, she ploughed on with Flowing Sword collecting sword madra into her ever keening blade.
Despite the harsh training drills under the Akura, Lindon had this long warhammer crafted for its ease of use and how it's closer to Harmony's axe. But even that with Blackflame shrouding him, he could barely keep up with the student of the Sword Sage. Her blows coming in faster and faster. Any mental calls for Dross were to no avail as the construct continues to analyze the seemingly endless random combinations and feints she had strung from both blade and goldsigns.
Another blast of Blackfire hammer allows a shift in the distance to afford him a split moment's reprieve to fire black dragon's breath; the smooth beam of tar-like fire could melt most metals. But that too parts against the sword madra wreathed Sage's blade.
Soon whatever was left of Lindon's mental state was dragged into a dance for survival, a combination of Akura training and underlord's vitality keeping him nimble and enduring.
He'd now shifted his core for pure madra, the white steam-like cloak made from it allowed him to go on where Blackfire could not. But the damage was building, with various injuries draining what madra was left in his cores for healing.
Yerin did not let him use the length advantage of his warhammer. She kept him close as a coiled viper was to its prey. In the last five instances he could get close with open palm were shut as traps of bladed goldsigns were poised to skewer him, or Sage's blade cut deep into his forearms and chest. They shifted across the arena as they traded blows, Lindon letting his white arm absorb what sword madra was there to mitigate damage before venting them back at her. He caught an opening in her guard from a faint he'd learned from Fury, using the butt of his warhammer as a jab before swinging it in a small tight arc, looping around the thrusting blade arms and the haft of the hammer crashed on the shoulder.
Yerin grunts in pain, and one of her gold signs came retaliating in an offensive jab close to his head.
Still the sword and madra continues cut him down.
Twice her sword threatened to hamstring his legs, before the warhammer's long shaft was there to guard them, he leaned close to her to check two of the armblades from getting to him, while the hammer and spike tangles with the rest. Then her Steelborn fist caught his ribs and Lindon's breathing became unbearable, almost failing to cycle his depleting cores. He fell some paces back, the warhammer's tasselled spike rose feebly against her.
Everything hurt. he could feel the breaks in is ribs throb as he tries his best to even out his cycling technique as Lindon breathed heavily, his robes were rags now; marred with tears and blood. In front of him Yerin was better off; robes singed, an arms bruised purple with cuts along her legs and shoulders among other things. But with a better mastery of battle than himself at this stage and with Dross in silent analysis, Lindon was at a disadvantage.
She was always better than him at this, he conceded that. To last this long against a the Sage of Endless Sword's only pupil was a feat he could never have dreamed before meeting Eithan. There was no shame in admitting defeat now.
"Get up." Beneath weary eyes Lindon could see a frown form on Yerin's face.
"I know you better than that. If you think you can concede this match from me. It'll just be a dishonour to the time we've spent fighting to get here." She spits blood on the ground before him before bringing her blade to level it on his face. Her blade arms ringing as she tunes the madra around her.
"Stop feeling sorry for anybody and yourself. If you hesitate one more time, heavens I swear! I'll make breathing in the next few moments as painful as possible for you." He found that he could not meet her eyes. Realizing from all the times he'd know her, that she won't let him give up. They knew each other too much for that.
There was a time her broken body lay upon the stone floor, half dying from the life taken from her in a battle just a few buildings away from here. Remembered her whispered fear that gave her the strength to ascend to Underlady.
In the face of that truth Lindon was afraid. Would they stay the same when the truth of this battle settled? Long after Suriel left him with the visions that led him to this moment, he had always gauged his skills at Yerin's; she'd been the star he was trying to reach since that fateful night in the outskirts of Heaven's Glory sect. He was a lowly unsouled then, leagues away from hers and barely able to manipulate madra to its barest potential.
What was he going to do if he left her? Until his battle with Jai Long he'd always thought she'd still be way far above him when the battle for the sake of Sacred Valley came- if ever Yerin stayed he'd never considered her so close now. But she did, and now...
Now Lindon could only feel shame. It was an irrational fear he knew. Facing it still fears him all the same.
He croaks an apology, but his voice was lost in the shriek of cutting madra.
The ruler's technique Endless Sword blasted in pulses of echoing sword madra all around her and to any edge within her control. Without copper sight, it can only be seen by the distortions it causes around the surroundings; the dust separating as cleaving waves cut through solid earth and rock. Fortunately Lindon's warhammer carried no edge, lest he too would immediately feel the technique's bite.
Unlike Rippling Sword, there was no escape the chaos that was Endless Sword. And to be so close to the eye of the storm, there was only one course.
[I have a plan, it's a half baked one. But I think you can improvise.] Lindon, ignores the construct. To truly win this, he'll only need himself. [Are you crazy! After all that hard work?]
Digging deep into his soul, he reinforces the Soulfire Cloak as he charges in, relying on detecting the madra around him to find the weakest of the buffeting sword madra for his white arm to bear the brunt of the force. Its hunger bindings unleashed to further dull the killing forces. He screamed as severing cuts and gashes appeared, but with the brunt of it either shielded by pure madra or taken in by hunger madra, Lindon presses on.
The entire charge lasted for a moment but to his accelerated body, it felt like an eternity. He couldn't last anymore than a few paces in this storm of swords; but he doesn't have to for one last gamble.
He unseals the bindings of the shaft, tassels and spike- the modified remains of the banners he'd taken from Heaven's Glory incorporated into the warhammer. Light and dream madra fogged its tip before he impales it a few paces away from her.
In most cases, it wouldn't work for Yerin, she'd see it miles away once he'd unveiled it. Even then and without adequate soulfire enforcement from Lindon, both the ravaging sword madra and Yerin would knock it off before activation.
Now to be this close and her madra so dispersed into her ruler's technique- it was the only chance Lindon has for it to work.
And it did, the modified scripts powering the illusion he'd created rendered her immobile, and with it; the swirling maelstrom of sword madra. There was a serene calm upon Yerin's face as her body holds an echo performing Endless Sword, while her mind was temporarily lost into the strong Dream and Light illusion.
Lindon crumples, his left hand tenuously resting upon the warhammer as much of a crutch as his key to victory.
[Not to burst your bubble but, you might want to look up and maybe run?]
He did not expect the Blood Shadow to be unaffected as its host.
Identical in almost all aspects save for it bloody countenance, the Shadow slipped from the frozen stature of Yerin akin to a reflection stepping out of glass- down to the sword her host has in her hands. Immediately Lindon tries to scramble, pulling what pure madra was inside his core. But with exhaustion and injury taking its toll, the Shadow takes initiative; it leans close to him.
There was a smirk on its lips as bloody hands takes the warhammer from his grip before closing the distance to his lips. Lindon barely remembers this, drained as he was. But the shadow tasted of copper and metal, its touch almost solid while emenating a vapour around it and almost warm as skin.
Then the shadow dispersed. Saeya's enforcer technique precisely blasting the Shadow from him. The remnants of it seeking back to Yerin. whose blade now pokes his chest. Eyes narrowed at him.
Lindon feebly holds up his hands.
"My loss."
Notes:
Hmm, if the shadow takes on the characteristics and experience of the host; then of course it'll want to troll its host so long it within its bounds. The possibilities, the drama! :O