Memories: Awakened versus Executioner

As the man stood up from the towers cold floor the first thing he felt was heat.

Not the warmth of life, but the searing, consuming kind. The kind that devoured flesh and bone alike. It pulsed beneath his skin, flickering between past and present.

And there, standing amidst the tower's chambers was the figure.

Though, his appearance had changed. He resembled a swordsman cloaked in black, his weapon gripped tight in his hand. His stance was poised, practiced. Dangerous.

He was still wielding that unnatural thing—long, heavy, and lined with five open eyes on each side of the steel, that seemed to gaze at him intensely. It was a weapon that seemed more ceremonial in nature, it was made for executions after all. But that that didn't make it any less dangerous.

Then, the figure's voice cut through the silence.

"I thought I had split you in half. Maybe your more interesting than I gave you credit for."

The dagger in his hand trembled, vibrating with something vicious. Hatred. Rage. A desire for vengeance so deep it felt alive. It pulled at him, demanding he strike, as if it had unfinished business with the figure.

The man took a breath. He didn't understand why, but he obeyed. He had made a deal after all.

He lunged.

Flames roared to life from his free hand, white-hot and hungry. He didn't hold back—he swung wide, letting the fire consume the air between them.

The swordsman moved like a shadow, fluid and effortless. He sidestepped, his sword lifting in a graceful arc—

The first eye on the blade snapped shut.

Darkness swallowed the Awakened man's vision.

A sharp, unnatural blindness. He staggered, but the dagger tugged and forced him move anyway. A second too late, and he would have been cleaved apart. He felt the rush of steel cut the air where his neck had been just moments ago.

The blindness lasted only a moment. Then, as suddenly as it had come, it was gone.

He exhaled sharply. A power with a cost. That was the rule, wasn't it?

"You're learning."

The swordsman's voice was smooth, almost amused. Familiar. The Awakened man could not place it, but it sent a chill down his spine.

"Did you think power came without consequence?" the swordsman continued, taking a slow step forward.

The Awakened man said nothing. Instead, he struck again—this time following the dagger's lead. It guided his hand, twisting in his grip, forcing him to strike at weak points. It knew this enemy.

White flames exploded against the figure's sword. The heat distorted the air, the steel groaning under the pressure.

Then, something unexpected happened.

The swordsman did not evade. He stepped into the fire.

He walked through the flames, unharmed for the most part, the flames just sizzling weakly against his robes.

"Flames are weak if you don't give them fuel to grow. " He said mockingly.

"For power, you have to sacrifice some part of yourself"

The swordsman reached up, fingers brushing against his own cowl. Slowly, deliberately, he removed it.

What lay beneath should have been beautiful.

The face was young—almost too young, sculpted with unnatural elegance. But the eyes—or what was left of them—were nothing but charred ruin. The flesh around them was burned, disfigured beyond recognition.

"I was like you, once." The swordsman's voice had lost its amusement. "Do you know what it means to wield a gift like yours?"

The Awakened man clenched his fist. The fire in his palm flickered—as if uncertain.

"It means you will have to burn," the swordsman said simply.

Then, all five eyes on the blade shut at once.

The world vanished.