Corrin stepped back and crouched into a ready position. He was poised, ready to defend himself at the slightest movement from his enemy. "Do you fear me, Corrin?" Riktus asked, smiling. "For you should! Why do you fight me when no man can win? I cannot die. No one can kill me!" Those words struck Corrin like a blunt blade. How was Riktus not dead? With what foul power had the man reincarnated himself in the President?
"What makes you think that you and your insignificant friend are any different?" Riktus questioned. It didn't matter. Corrin would kill Riktus, just like he had sworn. He would kill him, and free Johnson, and whatever he did would eliminate this foul sorcery that had kept the Controller alive.. And with that, he made his decision. His arm shot up, and, slowly, he extended his middle finger. A fair tribute to his old friend.
"Once more, you insult me…" Riktus growled.
"Corrin…" Grange warned. "He's coming." The words had barely escaped the Martian's lips before they became true. Riktus threw his hands into the air. The ceiling crackled with orange lightning as a vortex of flaming energy erupted above Riktus' head. Something flashed in the Controller's eyes; a burning desire; a desire to kill Corrin.
He dove forward, and Corrin met him. The two were caught as one, tossing blows back and forth. Grange leapt at Riktus, but was thrown back like a small stone. "This is our fight, fool!" Riktus roared. "I will occupy you!" With a crackling, something dark emerged from the vortex and made for Grange. Corrin could not focus on his friend. He had a promise to fulfill.
His fist shot towards his enemy's face and connected. Riktus grunted and threw his leg out behind Corrin. With a crash, Corrin fell to the floor. Riktus was upon him in moments, bombarding him with his fists. This was not Riktus at his best, Corrin knew it. Thrashing out, he sent the Psyker flying backwards.
Riktus caught himself in mid air and sat, hovering several feet from the ground. His face was a deformed cloud of explosive electricity. His cloak dangled down, tips alight with magical flame. Corrin's eyes darted to the side. Grange was embattled, defending himself from some form of abomination. Its skin was charred black with flame, and grey-green horns of ivory grew from its head. Hoofed feet knocked against Grange's chest and sent him flying backwards.
Corrin's intuition saved him once more. Without thinking, he ducked. A ball of flaming magics soared overhead and exploded onto the wall. Corrin spun to face Riktus. The man's hand was an inferno, casting scorching beams of heat towards him. The power of a Psyker was truly magnificent.
Corrin took a chance, leaping from his position and to the wall at his right. His feet connected with the smooth surface, and he slid down. The shadow of a desk hid him from Riktus' wrath until he could collect himself. It was happening again. Blood streamed at blazing speed across his body. Adrenaline pumped superfluously. With care, he rolled from his position and stood. Riktus faced him, blasting away at the desk where he had been situated.
The room was bright with the shadow of dancing flame, and warm with the scent of burning wood. The capital was aflame. Neither of the combatants payed this any mind as they continued the game of cat and mouse.
Finally, Corrin made his move. It seemed as though life slowed as his feet left the floor. His body almost floated across the smoke-filled air. Riktus almost looked surprised at the Merican Soldier's sudden attack. Corrin raised clasped his hands into a single fist. His mouth opened into a gaping hole as he brought his arms down upon Riktus head.
There was a crack as bone collided with bone. Both figures toppled to the ground. Their breathing was in chorus, heavy, and rhythmic. "Just give up Corrin…" Riktus croaked. The two struggled for a moment more. Corrin threw himself atop his foe's body and looked him in the eye.
"I," he spat, "hate you." The words took a moment to sink in, and, though they were simple, something in them seemed to touch Riktus. Corrin had no remorse. His fist beat into Riktus' jaw, sending it out of place. Blood flowed from the man's mouth and onto the warm floor.
But his Rage threw him off guard. There was a light. Corrin shielded his eyes as he was thrown backwards. Pain ran down his spine and throughout his body as he crashed into the president's desk. Splinters shot about like a storm, piercing his skin, and enhancing the agony. He slumped to the floor as the desk collapsed.
Riktus crawled forwards until he could crawl no more. The two mortal enemies were lying there, face to face, fatigued and worn to the very brink of human capacity. Corrin's eyes drifted to Grange, who was caught in the creature's infernal grip. Its smiling face of horror was boring in, inches from the Adept's.
Corrin's eyes dropped down, fading. But he would not fail, not today. Suddenly, there was a blast. One of the flaming walls collapsed in its entirety. A dark figure stood in the ruins, tall and mighty in comparison to all others around him. He strode into the room, still hidden by shadow.
"My lord, what has this heretic done?" the man cried in terror. It was Johnson. He emerged from the smoke, a bolt gun hanging from his arm. His blank eyes were set on Riktus. "My lord…" he sighed.
"Johnson!" Corrin beckoned his voice longing. "Johnson!"
"Silence, cretin!" Johnson scorned. His gaze was unfaltering and filled with fury.
"No…" Corrin muttered. "Not today…today things change…" his voice slowly rose. "Do you not remember? Have you forgotten everything that we have been through together?" Johnson was silent, looking on at Corrin. Something besides a frown seemed to be forming on his face.
"Do not listen to him, my servant! The infidel speaks only in lies!" Riktus shouted. Johnson moved his weapon arm up slowly and pointed the gun at Corrin. His fingers were trembling, his mouth shaking.
"Have you forgotten the Ural Campaign? How we freed so many thousands? Have you forgotten the Oceanic War? We overthrew the greatest Tyrant this world has known!" Corrin bombarded his friend with these questions, seeing the guilt rise.
"Ignore his words!" Riktus ordered, his face contorting with rage.
"Do you remember how we fought against him?" Corrin pointed an accusing finger at the Controller. "We fought his armies. He stood for all we stood against! Are you simply turning your back on everything we've fought for? Everything our countrymen have died for?" Riktus groaned and moved slightly closer. Corrin was not afraid. He knew he had rendered the Psyker powerless.
Johnson faltered for a moment. His eyes slowly drifted closed. They opened again, at incredible speed. "I should not have come back for you; after all you have done for them! But I am your true friend. Do you remember?"
"I…" Johnson spoke. "Yes." He took a heavy step forward. Riktus' face was hot with anger. Corrin smiled, lightly, his muscles aching. "I remember…I remember everything." He took another step. "I will not fail you...not again Corrin…" Corrin stretched his arm out, and Johnson did likewise. His old friend closed, as he lowered his weapon. Then, it came. "No!" He bellowed. The weapon shot up again. Corrin gasped. With a crack and a flash, blood splattered Corrin's face. Pain seared from his shoulder, not subdued by his Rage; pain so absolute and horrific, it almost brought him into blackness.
Johnson looked on, horrified. But he did not spend another moment. He spun to Riktus. A series of blasts in succession left the Controlled in a pool of blood, spreading across the oak wood floor. Johnson turned on the creature that held Grange and fired into its blackened hide. No blood emerged as it let out a cry of terrible agony, but it had taken enough pain.
Slowly, it withered, as did Riktus. The two seemed to die as one, their movements slowly descending into stillness. Corrin found strength, but only enough. He brought himself to his feet. Quickly, he stumbled towards his friend. Johnson's eyes slowly faded, then, color returned. The whiteness that had dominated them for so long was gone.
And, as one, they collapsed to the floor.