Press The Attack

The world seemed sharper now, every detail etched in crystal clarity. The Crimson Dagger hummed with a feral, unrelenting energy in Changra's grip, its crimson glow pulsing in rhythm with his pounding heart. The wound in his side, though still bleeding, no longer consumed his thoughts. His pain was distant now, muffled by the raw power coursing through him.

Berethia's laughter faltered for a moment as her glowing eyes fixated on the blade. "So, you finally gave in," she hissed, her grin twisting into something darker. "Let's see if you're strong enough to wield it."

Changra rose slowly, the dagger's hum resonating through his body, filling him with strength he hadn't felt in years. His stance was firm, his breathing steady, but the weight of the blade's influence pressed against his mind like a vice.

Don't let it control you, he told himself, his grip tightening on the hilt. It's just a tool. I control it, not the other way around.

The dagger's voice whispered in his mind, seductive and soothing. Oh, but we could be so much more if you'd just let go. Stop fighting me, Changra. Let me show you what we can do together.

Berethia wasted no time, her staff crackling with green energy as she lunged at him. The attack was swift, brutal, but this time Changra didn't falter. He sidestepped with inhuman precision, the dagger moving almost of its own accord to parry her blow. Sparks flew as the two weapons collided, the force of the impact sending shockwaves through the air.

"You're faster," Berethia muttered, her voice laced with frustration. "But you're still weak. You're nothing but a puppet."

Changra smirked, though his hands trembled slightly as he fought against the dagger's pull. "Better a puppet with power than a pawn with nothing."

She snarled, spinning her staff in a deadly arc aimed at his head. The dagger seemed to react before he could think, blocking the strike effortlessly and twisting in his hand to slash at her midsection. She leapt back, narrowly avoiding the blade's edge, but her movements were slower now, more erratic.

See how easy it is? the dagger crooned. Imagine what we could do if you stopped holding back. She'd be dust in seconds. You'd be unstoppable.

"I don't want to be unstoppable," Changra growled under his breath, his voice barely audible.

Berethia's gaze flicked to him, her expression a mixture of fury and curiosity. "What's that, Changra? Talking to yourself now? Or is it the dagger whispering sweet nothings in your ear?"

He didn't respond, instead lunging forward with a flurry of strikes. The dagger's movements were fluid, almost graceful, as it guided his hand with terrifying precision. Berethia blocked and dodged, her green energy flaring wildly as she countered with blasts of magic. The two clashed again and again, their weapons sparking like fireflies in the darkened village.

Changra could feel the dagger's influence growing with each strike, its whispers becoming more insistent. You're holding us back. Let me take the reins, Changra. Let me show you what true power feels like.

No. He pushed back against the voice, his jaw clenched as he struck out at Berethia again. The blade grazed her arm, drawing a hiss of pain and a burst of green energy that forced him back a step. He stumbled slightly, the weight of the dagger's power pressing harder against his will.

Berethia grinned, blood trickling from the shallow cut. "You're slipping," she taunted, her voice mocking. "That thing is eating you alive, isn't it? Just like it was always meant to."

He steadied himself, his eyes narrowing as he adjusted his grip on the dagger. "You don't know anything about me."

"Oh, but I do," she shot back, her tone venomous. "You're nothing without that dagger. You never were."

Her words stung, but they were drowned out by the dagger's voice, which purred in satisfaction. Prove her wrong. Show her what you're capable of. Show her she's the nothing here.

Changra's rage bubbled to the surface, his movements growing faster, more aggressive as he pressed the attack. The dagger burned in his hand, its energy coiling around him like a serpent, feeding on his anger and despair.

But even as he gained the upper hand, a nagging thought lingered in the back of his mind—a faint echo of who he was before all of this. This isn't me. This can't be me.

Berethia's laughter echoed through the chaos, a sound both maddening and despairing. "Keep going, Changra," she said, her voice cracking slightly. "Let's see who breaks first. You… or me."

Berethia's attacks came faster now, each strike of her staff heavier, more precise, and fueled by her unrelenting fury. Green energy crackled violently around her, illuminating the desolate battlefield in flickering light. Yet, despite the ferocity of her assault, there was something almost hesitant in her movements, a faint tremor in her strikes that Changra couldn't ignore.

Changra blocked another wild swing with the Crimson Dagger, the collision sending a jolt up his arm. He gritted his teeth, stepping to the side and countering with a swift slash aimed at her shoulder. Berethia twisted just enough to avoid the blade, retaliating with a blast of green energy that sent him skidding backward.

"Why are you holding back, Berethia?" Changra called out, his voice edged with exhaustion but still steady. His breathing was ragged, his body aching from the relentless onslaught, but he refused to fall. "Is this all you've got?"

Her eyes flared with rage, but there was a flicker of something else—doubt, or perhaps pain. "Don't flatter yourself," she spat, her voice sharp and brittle. "You're not worth holding back for."

She surged forward, her staff swinging in a deadly arc aimed at his ribs. Changra twisted his body, narrowly avoiding the blow, but her next strike clipped his shoulder, sending a sharp pain shooting down his arm. He stumbled slightly, catching himself just in time to deflect another burst of magic.

The Crimson Dagger hummed louder in his grip, its voice slipping into his thoughts like a whisper. She's hesitating. Weakness. Exploit it. End this.

Changra ignored the dagger's taunts, focusing instead on Berethia's movements. Her strikes were powerful, her magic fierce, but there was a rhythm to her attacks now—a hesitation, a slight delay before each blow. It was almost imperceptible, but it was there.

Why is she hesitating? he wondered, his eyes narrowing as he dodged another swing. Her face was a mask of fury, but the cracks were showing—moments where her expression faltered, where her eyes flickered with something other than hate.

Berethia roared, raising her staff high as green energy erupted around her in a swirling vortex. She brought it down with a deafening crash, the shockwave rippling through the ground and sending debris flying in all directions. Changra barely managed to leap out of the way, landing in a crouch a few feet away.

"You're pathetic!" she screamed, her voice trembling with emotion. "You don't deserve this power! You don't deserve any of it!"

Changra straightened, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth as he met her gaze. "And you think you do?" he shot back, his voice cold but steady. "What are you even fighting for, Berethia? You're not just trying to kill me—you're holding back."

Her grip on the staff tightened, her knuckles white as she glared at him. "Shut up! You don't know anything about me!"

He took a cautious step forward, his eyes locked on hers. "Maybe not. But I know hesitation when I see it. You can hate me all you want, Berethia, but something's stopping you."

Her eyes flickered, her snarl faltering for a moment before she lashed out again, her strikes wild and erratic. Changra deflected each one, his movements sharper now as he pressed his advantage.

"You're wrong!" she shouted, her voice cracking. "I'm not holding back! I'm not—"

The Crimson Dagger hummed louder, its voice dripping with malice. She's lying. She's scared. Break her.

Changra hesitated for a brief moment, his grip on the dagger tightening as the blade's influence clawed at his mind. Berethia seized the opening, her staff glowing brightly as she unleashed a powerful blast of magic that sent him flying backward. He crashed into the ground, the impact jarring his entire body.

As he struggled to his feet, he watched her, her chest heaving with exertion, her eyes wild and glistening. That flicker of hesitation was still there, buried beneath her rage.

"Who are you really fighting, Berethia?" he asked, his voice softer now but still firm. "Me? Or yourself?"

Her expression twisted, a mixture of anger and despair as she raised her staff again. "Shut up!" she screamed, her energy flaring once more. But her hands trembled ever so slightly, and for the first time, Changra thought he saw her falter.

The air crackled with tension as Berethia's green energy flared brighter, her strikes growing fiercer with each passing moment. Changra barely had time to react, deflecting her staff with the Crimson Dagger as sparks flew from the clash of weapons. The force of her blows sent tremors through his arms, each one heavier than the last.

"You're nothing, Changra!" Berethia screamed, her voice raw and shrill as she pressed the attack. "You think you're strong? You think you're special? You're a coward hiding behind that dagger!"

Changra's breathing was labored, his movements slowing as exhaustion began to take its toll. He sidestepped a downward swing, only for Berethia to pivot mid-motion and slam the end of her staff into his stomach. The impact drove the air from his lungs, and he staggered back, clutching his abdomen.

You're slipping, the Crimson Dagger whispered, its tone mocking and urgent. Let me take over. Stop pretending you can do this on your own.

"I don't need you!" Changra spat through gritted teeth, barely dodging another strike aimed at his head. His deflection was clumsy, and Berethia's staff grazed his shoulder, leaving a searing line of pain in its wake.

Her laughter was manic, her expression wild as she raised her staff, a coil of green energy swirling around it. "You're breaking, Changra! Piece by piece, you're falling apart!"

She swung again, the glowing weapon crashing against his dagger in a blinding burst of light. The sheer force of the impact sent him stumbling backward, his feet slipping on the loose gravel. His grip on the Crimson Dagger tightened, his knuckles white as he tried to steady himself.

Berethia advanced, her strikes unrelenting. She landed a solid hit on his ribs, the blow sending him crashing to the ground. Before he could recover, she was on him, her staff slamming down toward his chest. He rolled to the side just in time, the weapon striking the ground with a deafening crack.

"You can't win!" she snarled, her voice a mixture of rage and desperation. "You're weak, and you always will be!"

Changra pushed himself to his feet, his vision swimming as blood trickled down his face. His body ached, every movement a struggle as Berethia loomed over him, her energy pulsing with chaotic intensity.

You need me, the dagger hissed, its voice a tantalizing whisper in the back of his mind. You'll die without me. Let me take control. Let me end this.

"No…" Changra muttered, his voice barely audible as he raised the dagger in a defensive stance. "Not like this."

Berethia's eyes blazed with fury, her strikes coming faster now, each one landing with brutal precision. Her staff crashed into his side, sending him sprawling again. He cried out as he hit the ground, the taste of blood sharp in his mouth.

"You're pathetic!" she screamed, her voice trembling with emotion. "You don't deserve this power! You don't deserve anything!"

Changra groaned, his body refusing to move as Berethia loomed above him. Her staff glowed brighter, the energy coiling around it like a serpent poised to strike.

Let me in, Changra, the dagger urged, its hum resonating through his entire body. Stop fighting me. Together, we can destroy her.

His grip on the dagger faltered, his vision blurring as Berethia's laughter echoed around him. The weight of the blade's influence pressed harder against his mind, its promise of power seductive and suffocating.

Berethia raised her staff high, her grin widening as she prepared to deliver the final blow. "This is the end, Changra."

He closed his eyes for a moment, the dagger's hum drowning out the world around him. Maybe I do need it, he thought, his resolve teetering on the edge. Maybe…

But even as the thought crossed his mind, a faint image flickered in his memory: Lysa's smile, Jane's quiet determination, Merrick's steady voice. They were still out there, counting on him.

With a roar of defiance, he forced himself to his feet, his movements slow but deliberate. "Not yet," he growled, his grip on the dagger tightening. "I'm not done yet."

Berethia hesitated for a split second, her expression flickering with something akin to disbelief. Then her fury returned, and she lunged at him again, her strikes more ferocious than ever. Changra braced himself, his body screaming in protest as the battle raged on.

The air around them was electric with tension, every movement charged with the intensity of their clash. Changra's breathing was ragged, but the power surging through him from the Crimson Dagger seemed endless. Each strike he delivered grew faster, harder, more precise, as if the dagger itself guided his hand. His vision blurred at the edges, tinged crimson, as his thoughts began to fragment under the blade's influence.

You're unstoppable, Changra, the dagger whispered, its voice smooth and intoxicating. This is what you were meant to be. Let me guide you further. Let me take you to greatness.

Changra grit his teeth, his grip on the dagger tightening as he struck out again, forcing Berethia to leap back to avoid the blow. She retaliated with a burst of green energy, the attack lancing toward him like a bolt of lightning. He sidestepped, faster than he should have been, his body reacting with unnatural precision.

Berethia growled, her frustration evident as she pushed herself harder. The green aura around her flared brighter, her strikes coming with renewed ferocity. But there was still a hesitation in her movements, a fraction of a second where her body seemed to falter, as if something deep inside her was resisting.

"Is this it, Berethia?" Changra taunted, his voice colder now, almost unrecognizable to himself. "This is the strength of your envy? I expected more."

Her face twisted with rage, her eyes glowing an unnatural green. "You don't know what you're talking about!" she screamed, her voice cracking. "You don't understand what I've been through, what I've lost!"

Changra advanced, his strikes relentless as the dagger's power coursed through him. Each blow he landed sent shockwaves through the air, forcing Berethia further and further back. The ground beneath their feet cracked and splintered under the force of their battle.

Give in, Changra, the dagger urged, its hum vibrating through his entire being. Let me take over. We can finish this. We can end her.

Berethia's green energy erupted around her, the force of it knocking Changra back a step. She charged at him, her staff swinging with deadly precision, but he met her blow for blow, their weapons sparking as they collided.

"You're just like me!" she shouted, her voice a mixture of fury and despair. "You think you're better, but you're not! You're nothing without that blade!"

Changra's laugh was cold, almost cruel. "Maybe I am nothing. But at least I'm still standing."

Berethia's strikes grew more erratic, her movements fueled by desperation. But with every clash, her hesitation became more apparent. Her attacks faltered, her energy flickering like a dying flame.

Then, suddenly, she stumbled.

Her staff fell from her hands, clattering to the ground as she clutched her head, a scream tearing from her throat. The green aura around her dimmed, sputtering like a candle in the wind.

Changra froze, his chest heaving as he watched her collapse to her knees. The Crimson Dagger hummed eagerly in his hand, urging him to strike, to finish her. But something in her scream stopped him—a sound not of rage, but of pain.

Berethia's hands clawed at her temples as she writhed on the ground. "No… no, not now!" she gasped, her voice breaking. "I… I can't…"

Her glowing eyes flickered, the vibrant green dulling as her face twisted in agony. "Why… why can't I just… kill you?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Changra stepped back, his grip on the dagger loosening slightly as he stared at her. What's happening to her? he thought, his rage momentarily replaced by confusion.

Berethia's body convulsed, her screams echoing through the night as the green aura around her flared violently before dimming again. It was as if two forces were battling within her, tearing her apart from the inside.

"Berethia?" Changra called out, his voice hesitant. For a moment, he thought he saw something in her eyes—not the wild rage of Envy, but something softer, something human.

And then she collapsed fully, her breathing ragged as she lay on the ground, trembling. The green glow around her flickered faintly, like a dying ember, as the battlefield fell into an eerie silence.

The silence that hung over the battlefield was heavy, but within Changra's mind, the storm raged. The Crimson Dagger hummed with renewed vigor, its voice louder now, more insistent.

She's weak, Changra. Vulnerable. Finish it. End her.

Changra's grip on the dagger tightened as its power surged through him, the crimson glow enveloping his arm and spreading like tendrils of fire across his body. He stumbled forward, his breathing ragged, his vision shifting between reality and a red-tinged haze. The ground beneath his feet felt unsteady, as if the dagger's influence was pulling him into another realm entirely.

Berethia writhed on the ground, her hands clutching at her head as she let out a guttural scream. Her glowing eyes flickered between Envy's unrelenting green and a softer, human light—Berethia herself struggling to resurface.

"Why can't I stop this?" she cried, her voice cracking as tears streamed down her face. "Why can't I… just… stop?"

For a fleeting moment, her face softened, her features no longer contorted with rage. She looked up at Changra, her expression pleading, desperate. "Help me," she whispered, her voice small, almost childlike.

But the dagger's voice drowned her out. She's playing you, Changra. This is Envy's trick. If you hesitate, you die. End her now, or you'll regret it.

Changra's hands trembled, the weight of the dagger almost unbearable. His body screamed to move, to act, but his mind hesitated, torn between the voice of the blade and the woman on the ground before him. The dagger's glow intensified, the tendrils of its energy creeping further up his arm, reaching toward his heart.

"Shut up," Changra growled, his voice low and hoarse. He clenched his teeth, trying to resist the blade's pull, but the hum only grew louder, more insistent.

You need me, Changra, the dagger purred, its tone smooth and commanding. You've always needed me. Without me, you're nothing. You'll lose everyone, just like you always do.

Berethia let out another scream, her body arching as green energy erupted from her like a dying star. Her voice shifted, warped between her own and the sinister, mocking tone of Envy. "You think you can save me?" Envy hissed, a wicked grin twisting her features as her eyes flared green. "You're just like me, Changra. You destroy everything you touch."

"No," Berethia's voice whimpered, softer, fighting to be heard. "Please… don't listen to her."

Changra's chest heaved, his heart pounding in his ears as the dagger's energy seeped deeper into his veins. His vision blurred, the edges of the world melting into crimson shadows. You're losing time, the dagger taunted. Act now, before she strikes first.

"I… I can't," Changra whispered, his voice shaking. His grip on the dagger slackened for a moment, but the blade pulsed violently, its power surging through him like a tidal wave.

You don't have a choice.

Changra staggered, the blade dragging him forward as his body moved almost of its own accord. He raised the dagger, its glow now almost blinding, aimed directly at Berethia's trembling form.

On the ground, Berethia's green aura sputtered and faded, her body collapsing in exhaustion. For a moment, she was still, her face turned toward him, her eyes filled with something he hadn't expected: regret.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the dagger. "For everything."

Changra froze, the dagger's power thrumming in his ears, drowning out all reason. His hand trembled, the blade hovering above her, the pull of its influence almost too strong to resist.

But deep within himself, a faint voice stirred, quiet and firm. This isn't who you are. Don't let it win.

The crimson glow enveloped Changra completely, the energy coursing through him like fire. His eyes, once filled with his own turmoil, now gleamed a deep, menacing red, matching the dagger's malevolent light. His posture shifted, rigid and unnatural, as if he were no longer in control of his body. When he spoke, it wasn't his voice—deep, cold, and resonant, it was the voice of the Crimson Dagger itself.

"Well, well," the voice purred through Changra, dripping with mockery. "Look at you, little Envy. Pathetic. Struggling. A shell of your former self."

Berethia's body trembled as she pushed herself to her knees, her green aura sputtering weakly around her. Her face twisted with equal parts pain and defiance as she glared up at him. "Shut up," she hissed, her voice breaking. "You don't know me."

"Oh, but I do," the dagger's voice sneered, Changra's lips curling into a twisted smile that wasn't his own. "You're a mirror, Envy. A reflection of every failure, every regret. You were always weak, always jealous, always yearning for what you could never have. And now? You're nothing."

Berethia clutched her head, her hands trembling as her voice wavered between her own and Envy's distorted tones. "I'm not nothing," she whispered, though the words sounded more like a plea than a declaration.

The dagger laughed through Changra, the sound cold and sharp like shattered glass. "No, you're worse than nothing. You're a burden. To everyone you've ever met. To everyone you've ever envied. Including him."

It motioned toward her with Changra's arm, the dagger gleaming ominously in his hand. "You think you're special because you felt a spark of hope once? Because you dared to dream you could be saved? Look at where that's gotten you. You're a parasite, feeding on pain and suffering. A broken toy, trying to matter in a world that left you behind."

Berethia's body shuddered, her aura flickering violently as tears streamed down her face. "I… I didn't choose this," she whispered, her voice fragile.

The dagger leaned closer, Changra's body looming over her like a predator. "Didn't you? You've always chosen this, little Envy. Every time you lashed out. Every time you hated. Every time you killed. You embraced it. Because deep down, you know the truth: you are nothing without me. Without us. Without the chaos."

Berethia's head snapped up, her green eyes blazing as Envy's voice roared through her. "And what about him?" she snarled, pointing a trembling hand at Changra. "What is he without you?"

The dagger chuckled, its voice softening into something almost tender, though it was laced with venom. "Oh, sweet Envy, he is everything. The chaos. The rage. The prophecy. He is the beginning and the end. And you? You're just a stepping stone. A lesson for him to learn. A life for him to extinguish."

Berethia recoiled, her body sagging as her green aura dimmed further. She looked up at Changra—or what he had become—with a mix of terror and despair. "He wouldn't… he wouldn't do it. He wouldn't kill me."

The dagger tilted Changra's head, the red glow in his eyes pulsing as it spoke again. "Wouldn't he? Look at him, Berethia. He's already gone. There's no saving either of you now."

For a moment, silence hung between them, heavy and oppressive. Then, Changra's body began to step closer, the dagger raised high, its crimson glow illuminating the broken battlefield as the voice whispered its final taunt.

"Say goodbye, little Envy."

Changra's body moved with precision, the Crimson Dagger driving his hand forward in a swift, merciless motion. The blade pierced through Berethia's chest, crimson light bursting from the wound as her green aura flickered violently, then began to fade. For a brief moment, time seemed to stand still.

The glow in Changra's eyes dimmed, the crimson hue fading as the dagger's control released him. His mind snapped back into place, the weight of his actions crashing down on him like a tidal wave. He stumbled back, his eyes wide in horror as he looked at the bloodied blade in his hand, then at Berethia.

"No," he whispered, his voice trembling. "No, no, no. What have I…?"

Berethia swayed, her knees buckling as she collapsed into a heap on the ground. Her hand instinctively went to the wound, green light weakly pulsing around it as she tried to speak, but no words came. Changra dropped the dagger, the weapon clattering against the ground with a sickening metallic echo. He fell to his knees, his hands trembling as he reached for her but hesitated, afraid to touch her.

"I didn't… I didn't mean to—" he stammered, his voice cracking. Tears streamed down his face as his breathing quickened, each breath sharper and more panicked than the last.

A guttural scream tore from his throat, raw and anguished, echoing across the desolate battlefield. He clutched his head, pulling at his hair as if he could tear the guilt and agony from his mind. "I didn't mean to do this! I didn't mean to—"

Before he could finish, Berethia's trembling hand reached up and covered his mouth. Her grip was weak, her skin cold, but her touch silenced his cries. Her green eyes, though dull and glassy, locked onto his, and for a moment, it was as if time stopped again.

The battlefield fell silent, the only sound the faint rustle of the wind. Changra's wide, tear-filled eyes stared into hers as she struggled to hold herself up. Her lips moved faintly, her words inaudible, but the determination in her gaze was unmistakable.

Changra froze, his breath caught in his throat as he waited for her to speak.