Blow For Blow

Changra's muscles tensed as he faced Berethia, her storm of green energy crackling ominously around her. Her twisted grin mirrored the malice in her glowing eyes, but for once, he didn't flinch. His stance was solid, his fists raised and ready. Despite the rage coursing through him, his thoughts remained focused.

I don't need the dagger. I can do this without it.

Envy tilted her head, her grin widening. "Oh, look at you. All grown up. Did you actually learn to fight, Changra? Or are you just bluffing again?"

Changra smirked, rolling his neck as if shaking off tension. "Why don't you find out?"

With a feral scream, Berethia lunged, her staff crackling with green energy as she swung it toward his head. Changra ducked, pivoting on his heel to dodge the strike before countering with a swift uppercut to her ribs. The impact sent a shockwave through his arm, but he didn't let up.

"Not bad, right?" he said, stepping back quickly to avoid the retaliatory swipe of her staff. "You'd be amazed what three years of not getting stabbed in the face can do for a guy."

Berethia snarled, her staff glowing brighter as she jabbed it toward him, sending a wave of energy in his direction. Changra leapt to the side, his movements fluid and precise. Before she could follow up, he was already in front of her, delivering a sharp elbow to her jaw.

She staggered, her grin faltering for a moment before twisting into something darker. "Impressive," she hissed, wiping a trickle of blood from the corner of her mouth. "But you're still holding back. Why?"

Changra didn't answer, instead stepping forward with a flurry of punches aimed at her torso. She blocked most of them, though a few landed, causing her to hiss in frustration. "Still no dagger, huh? Afraid of what it'll do? Or afraid of what you'll do with it?"

His jaw tightened, but he didn't respond, instead focusing on his next move. He sidestepped another wild swing of her staff, using the momentum to drive his knee into her stomach. She doubled over slightly, but recovered quickly, sweeping her staff low to knock him off balance.

He stumbled but caught himself, rolling back to his feet just in time to dodge another energy blast. Sweat dripped down his face as he adjusted his stance, his breathing controlled despite the growing tension in his chest.

She's fast. Stronger than me, too, but she's not invincible. Just keep moving. Don't give her a chance to pin you down.

Berethia chuckled, her voice laced with venom. "You've gotten better, I'll give you that. But you're still just a little boy playing at being a hero."

She darted toward him, her movements a blur as she unleashed a series of strikes with her staff. Changra blocked and dodged as best as he could, his training pushing him to his limits. Each deflection sent jolts of pain through his arms, but he didn't let it slow him down.

"You talk too much," he said through gritted teeth, catching her wrist mid-swing and twisting it sharply. She yelped, dropping the staff momentarily, but retaliated with a punch that sent him reeling.

As he steadied himself, a flicker of doubt crept into his mind. How long can I keep this up? He shook it off quickly, planting his feet firmly as she advanced again.

"I've got more in me than you think," he said, dodging her next attack and delivering a roundhouse kick that sent her stumbling back. "And honestly, I'm a lot more fun at parties."

Berethia laughed, though it sounded more like a growl. "Is that what you tell yourself to sleep at night? That this is just a game? You're pathetic."

She surged forward again, her movements erratic but deadly. Changra met her blow for blow, his strikes precise and calculated. For every hit she landed, he gave back as much as he took. His body ached, but the years of training carried him, his movements flowing like water.

The battle was just beginning, and though he refused to let it show, a small voice in the back of his mind whispered a truth he didn't want to admit.

I can't hold out forever.

The battle raged on, the tension thick enough to cut with a blade. Berethia's strikes came faster now, her movements fueled by an erratic, almost feral energy. Her staff crackled with green lightning as she swung it in fluid arcs, each strike landing closer and closer to its mark. Changra's body screamed in protest as he dodged, deflected, and countered with diminishing precision.

"You're slowing down," Berethia sneered, her voice dripping with venom as she pressed her advantage. "What's the matter, Changra? Running out of steam already?"

Changra gritted his teeth, narrowly ducking under a sweeping blow aimed at his head. He retaliated with a sharp jab to her side, but the impact barely fazed her. She laughed—a wild, unhinged sound that sent chills down his spine.

"You can't win this," she taunted, her strikes becoming a blur of motion. "You're nothing without your precious dagger. And even with it, you'll still lose. You always lose."

His chest heaved with effort, sweat pouring down his face as he struggled to keep up. Every dodge and parry felt heavier than the last, his limbs growing sluggish. His breathing came in short, labored gasps, and his footing faltered slightly as he tried to sidestep another blast of energy.

Stay focused, stay calm. Don't let her get into your head.

But it wasn't just her words that were gnawing at him. The hum of the Crimson Dagger was growing louder, an insistent vibration that seemed to pulse in rhythm with his heartbeat. It was faint at first, like a distant whisper, but now it was a roar, an intoxicating melody that begged for his attention.

Use me. Just a little. Let me help.

"No," Changra muttered under his breath, shaking his head as he deflected another strike. "Not you."

Berethia noticed the slight hesitation, her grin widening. "Oh, I feel it," she said, her voice taking on a singsong quality. "It's calling to you, isn't it? That little piece of hell you carry with you everywhere you go. Why don't you just give in, Changra? Let it consume you."

Her staff slammed into his side, sending him sprawling to the ground. Pain shot through his ribs, but he pushed himself up, staggering to his feet. His fists trembled at his sides, his resolve wavering under the weight of her words and the dagger's unrelenting hum.

You need me. You can't win without me. Let me help you.

The dagger's voice was almost soothing now, weaving itself into his thoughts like a thread. His gaze flicked to his sleeve, where the faint outline of the blade pressed against his arm. The temptation was suffocating, its promise of power an irresistible lure.

Berethia rushed him again, her strikes relentless, forcing him to retreat step by step. Each blow chipped away at his defenses, her speed and aggression overwhelming. He tried to counter, but his movements were too slow, his punches missing their mark as she danced around him.

"Is this it?" she jeered, her staff slamming into his shoulder and knocking him back. "The great Changra, the boy of prophecy? You're pathetic."

The hum of the dagger grew louder, almost deafening now. His vision blurred, the edges tinged with red as the blade's presence pressed harder against his mind.

You're nothing without me. Take me, and I'll make you strong. I'll make you unstoppable.

Changra clenched his fists, his body trembling as he fought to resist. "I don't need you," he growled, though his voice wavered.

Berethia laughed, circling him like a predator. "Oh, but you do. You'll break eventually, Changra. They always do. The question is, how much more will you lose before you finally give in?"

Her words struck a nerve, and for a brief moment, he faltered. The dagger's hum became a roar, and his resolve teetered on the edge. But even as his body screamed for relief, even as the promise of power clawed at him, he held on.

Changra staggered back, his breath coming in ragged gasps as blood seeped from the gaping wound in his side. Berethia stood a few paces away, her glowing green energy swirling around her like a storm. Her laughter echoed through the desolate village, sharp and mocking.

"You're falling apart," she taunted, her voice dripping with satisfaction. "All that training, all that effort… and for what? You're nothing but a broken boy."

Changra pressed a trembling hand to his side, his fingers slick with blood. His vision swam, the world around him tilting as he struggled to stay upright. I can't keep this up. The thought crept in unbidden, dark and heavy.

Berethia advanced, her steps slow and deliberate. "Give up, Changra. You've lost. Just lie down and let me end this."

The Crimson Dagger's hum grew louder, a steady, insistent vibration against his arm. Its voice slithered into his mind, soft and persuasive. You don't have to die here. I can save you. Let me take the pain away. Let me help.

Changra clenched his teeth, his knees buckling as he took a shaky step forward. "I don't need you," he muttered through gritted teeth, though even as he said it, doubt gnawed at him. His body screamed for relief, his strength waning with every heartbeat.

Berethia's staff glowed brighter, the energy coalescing into a deadly arc as she raised it above her head. "One more hit, and you're done," she said, her grin widening. "Make peace with it."

You can't beat her without me, the dagger whispered, its tone soothing and seductive. You'll die here, bleeding out like the pathetic mortal you are. But if you take my power, if you let me in, I'll make you unstoppable. I'll make you more than she could ever dream of.

Changra's rage simmered beneath the surface, the heat of it fueling his trembling limbs. Memories flashed through his mind: Merrick's calm, encouraging voice, the warmth of Lysa's touch, Jane's quiet strength. I can't leave them. Not like this.

Berethia lunged, the glowing staff slicing through the air as she brought it down toward him. Changra barely managed to roll to the side, the motion sending searing pain through his body as blood pooled beneath him. He gasped, his vision flickering as his strength waned further.

Let me help you, Changra. Give in. Stop fighting it.

The dagger's voice wasn't demanding—it was soothing, almost kind, like a siren's call. And yet, behind that softness was a promise of something darker, something primal and consuming.

Berethia's laughter rang out again, cold and cruel. "Still holding out? Admirable, but ultimately useless. You're done, Changra. Face it."

Changra tried to push himself up, his arms shaking as the world spun around him. His thoughts were a jumble, rage and despair battling for dominance. I can't lose. I can't let her win. But… I can't beat her like this.

The dagger's hum resonated through his entire body now, its voice wrapping around him like a comforting embrace. You don't have to do it alone. Take me. Use me.

His breathing slowed, his heartbeat steadying even as the blood loss took its toll. The rage within him built, bubbling to the surface as his control slipped further and further away. His hands trembled, one instinctively moving toward his sleeve, where the dagger rested.

Berethia stood over him now, her staff raised for the final blow. "Say goodbye, boy."

Changra's lips parted, his voice barely a whisper as his vision began to blur. "Not yet," he muttered, the dagger's hum now a deafening roar in his ears. His fingers tightened around its hilt, the cool metal pulsing with a power that both terrified and tempted him.

Good, the dagger purred. Now let me take over. Let me show her what true power looks like.