The Weight of the Unseen

Pain returned first.

A deep, searing agony ripped through Alpha's body, lighting up every nerve like a festival bonfire. His chest burned where the enemy's blade had struck, a raw, pulsing ache that sat too close to his heart. His lungs clawed for air, as if he had been drowning moments ago, but he was certain he had never fallen into water. Then again, the battlefield had become something just as deadly ,a churning storm of magic and death.

Then came sound.

The world crashed back in around him. The battlefield roared to life, no longer distant, no longer muffled. The thunder of spells detonating against crumbling walls. The clash of steel on steel. The screams, some filled with rage, some with agony, and some that were already cut short. His heartbeat pounded against his ribs, fast, steady, insistent.

Then, as if it had never left him, Vanitas was in his hands.

His fingers curled around the hilt before his mind even registered the movement. The blade felt solid, cold, real. Unlike everything else in that limbo between moments, where time had stretched, where a voice had whispered to him.

That had not been a dream.

Alpha's eyes snapped open.

Time resumed.

The enemy's sword was a breath away from his throat. A black blade wreathed in hungry flames, distorting the air like heat off a forge. He could smell the magic in it, sharp and acrid, the kind that didn't just burn flesh but left scars in the soul.

Too close. No time to dodge.

His body moved before his mind could catch up.

Vanitas rose.

The impact sent a shockwave through the battlefield. A deafening explosion of force tore through the ground, sending dust and shattered stone flying. Soldiers in the distance staggered, some turning just in time to see the earth beneath them split apart. The air crackled with raw energy, the force of two opposing powers meeting and refusing to yield.

In the middle of it all, Alpha stood.

His grip was firm. His stance solid. And for the first time, the enemy had retreated. Not out of strategy, but instinct. They had felt it too.

The shift.

Alpha exhaled, watching his breath mist in the cold air. Something was different now.

Vanitas no longer just rested in his grip. It pressed deeper, settling into his bones like an extra limb he had always had but never noticed. Holding it felt like gripping the edge of something vast, like standing at the precipice of an abyss and realizing it was watching back.

Not just a weapon. A presence.

A whisper curled through his mind, cold as the void between stars.

"Power is never given. It is taken."

Well. That was ominous.

The enemy did not wait this time. No hesitation, no taunts. They came at him in a blur of motion, their sword cutting through the air like a streak of black lightning.

Alpha moved to meet them.

Their blades clashed, sending sparks dancing into the chaos around them. But this time, something was different.

He saw.

Not just the attack. Not just the movement. He saw the gaps. The way their weight shifted before a strike. The fraction of a second where their stance left them open. The exact moment when a feint would come, before they even knew they were going to throw one.

His body moved before thought.

A deflection, smooth as water. A twist of his wrist, guiding rather than blocking. His foot angled just right. Vanitas carved through the air, striking, not where the enemy was, but where they would be.

A sharp sting.

The enemy leapt back. Their gauntleted hand pressed against their side.

Alpha blinked.

Had he just… landed a hit?

It was shallow, but the proof was there, glistening crimson against obsidian armor.

The enemy looked down at the blood staining their fingers. Then they looked up at him.

Alpha watched it settle in their mind. The realization. The understanding.

They could die here.

Vanitas pulsed in his hands, the silver veins along its surface glowing faintly, like a heartbeat.

"You are learning."

The whisper was softer this time. Pleased, maybe. Or expectant. He could not tell if that was a good thing.

The enemy straightened. Their posture shifted. No more arrogance. No more certainty.

Alpha rolled his shoulders, ignoring the lingering ache. His sword still hummed with something alive, something ancient. The kind of power that had built empires. And, more often, the kind that had burned them to the ground.

He inhaled deeply, the scent of war thick in the air. The metallic tang of blood. The acrid bite of spellfire. The smoldering remains of once-great structures, reduced to rubble.

This city, what was left of it, had once been called Lorvain. A shining jewel of the eastern kingdoms, a place where scholars debated under grand marble domes and the scent of spiced tea filled the air. He had read about it once. Now, it was nothing but ash and corpses.

A waste.

But that was what war did. It took. And it never gave back.

Alpha focused on his opponent. They had stopped underestimating him. That was good. That meant they would actually try.

The ground beneath them hummed with residual magic, the aftermath of whatever battle had been fought before this one. Craters marred the streets, some still glowing with embers. Ghostly remnants of spells flickered along the broken walls, lingering wards, old enchantments refusing to die. This place had been strong once. He wondered if it had known how close its fall was.

The enemy raised their blade again, their grip steady. The fight had changed.

No more games. No more tests.

Alpha let out a slow breath, centering himself. He had been fighting for his life from the beginning, but now, he knew the difference. Before, he had been surviving. Now?

Now, he was fighting.

Vanitas pulsed, as if in agreement.

The enemy lunged.

Alpha met them head-on.

Their swords clashed once more, but this time, there was no hesitation. No moment of weakness. Only intent.

The fight was no longer about proving something. It was not a test of strength, nor a mere battle of skill.

It was a war.

And only one of them would be left standing.