The Dreadful Dissector

The smile, a terrible one, reached his face and then finally his eyes.

"T-the blade, c-can cu-cut anything, and Anything!"

He dragged the sword feebly over his head and the slid it down in a slow stroke. The knight stood stunned, as the blade created a slit in space, colorless, sightless and incomprehensible.

"What is that?" he asked plainly, more to himself than the other.

"Yo-you can't, can't kill me with your si-simple Miero. Y-you can't!" the madman answered while stepping inside the slit that formed through the sword stroke, "I-I told you, i-it can cut a-a-anything. Doesn' mat-t-ter if it's even if it the space, whi'h is the plane of existence."

He jumped inside and the knight moved forward for a bit in some surprise. 

The gap closed that second, everyone still in silence, the knight and Luth gave each other moments, communicating to themselves in the pressure of he current situation, not knowing what else to do. There was a sudden shaking and another slit formed behind he knight's back which went unknown to both by a seconds factor.

Then the stroke landed upon his shoulder, when he shifted his moment along the sword's path, going down with it and then moving off. He had avoided the blow but still got a considerable wound that would likely hinder his way in this.

The madman stepped out, but he was different. His eyes seemed to be calmer than they previously were, devoid of the insanity which dwelled there. There was instead a cunning stare that became visible when he made eye contact with Luth; then gazed back at the knight who looked very upset at the moment. Scars and wounds left by the knight were completely gone and faded, nothing hinted that this was the same man, but he was, the same face and hair, he was ways different; and yet the same.

The madman smiled, as he moved the Dissector carelessly in his grip.

"Love it, don'you?" he said condescendingly, without a single stutter. "The Dissector can cut anything, I had told you. Several moments overlap, one over another; every world overlaps, one over another. A slit through space demolishes the separation between those borders," the madman stared at the sky, sighing, "You believe that you will outlast my Dissector, but you are too weak. Never will you surpass this. Never."

A hand protruded from the spatial slit in the air, then a groan came pf his mouth as he swung the sword upon the ground lightly; and the slit disappeared along with the hand.

"You are not the same person, absolutely not." the knight said.

"Partial, I suppose." the man declared while stretching his arms, "I am not the same Alver, but I am Alver. By name, by body. Do not bother your head with it, those who know never speak of it; and those who don't, can't comprehend it. Why, I introduced myself, won't you spare me your name?"

And saying that, the man named Alver stepped further raising his Dissector to finish this combat, worthless in his mind.

Ashes gathered round the knight's hand, grabbing his leg and clenching with sudden force, when he was going to spread the Miero over him. Then a blow shook his hand off, the knight avoiding that strike to potentially risk up his hand.

The small amount of ash he managed to slip on his dress as it withered away, fading was the cloth. The knight stood up, defiantly, confidently, determined to take him down,

"Shari is my name." said the knight plainly while straightening his body, prepared for the inevitable.

Alver laughed, his voice shunning down, like a creeper descending and scraping frailly. "Frivolous beings, no use to argue with you. First I'll tear you up and then the rest will be seen."

He dashed forward, smiting with blunt force, much less precise, much more brutal. The bash shredded his the ground, like a hot knife chopping butter. Nothing obstructed its path, yet a blade could only do as much. Shari slid from it and spilt the ashes towards the latter.

Alver created a spatial slit, preventing the ashes from landing upon his body, not even a particle spared. He drew another cut upon the land, sprinting forth and cutting with improved pace, a mark left upon Shari's chest, through his armor.

A voice of pain escaped he knight's mouth while he formed more of the ashes and slid them through his fingers; some fell down from his fingers, other leapt with great force, their way clearing forth at the man.

Alver drew a horizontal slit in the air, while the motion of the ash spear wasn't stopped in its moment, disappearing into that gap formed. 

Shari now began to believe there was not much he could do at the time. He was heavily wounded, one of his arms practically useless in its damaged state; his breathing as heavier in exhaustion, eyes dwindling in their flare. He would have been glad to faint right there, but there was just enough of his strength remained that he could remain waken and see the sight of that disgusting madman. He was going to be disposed off, that he very well knew, only if he could help it.

The sound of the scraping of sword was prominent in his eyes, as if an alarm which stopped at death. He wanted to fall on his knees, but never would he, being a knight, an honorable knight. A caster of Notis never bowed his head, not to a foul man as he considered him. Just a moment of wait, and then there would be an end. Just a moment of wait and then there would be nothing else. 

Luth stayed thinking of a way to get out of this, for if the knight was ever to fall, he ext one joining the march to his grave would undoubtingly be him. 

Then his eyes wandered off to see the sword that was broken by the Dissector, the same long sword laid on the ground, unharmed, undamaged, in the same condition as it was.

That left him thoroughly confused. Was it not broken by the madman? Was it not? Then he looked towards the wall and there was no cut upon it, he was sure that Alver had lodged the sword within it when he struck. There, there he finally understood what was truly happening.

Luth quickly rushed and grabbed the sword longsword off the ground—a bit heavy for his liking, though he had to manage—and with full force swung it towards the man.

It flew at Alver, who was focused much on the knight to notice the blade in time, when it struck him in the arm. A harsh pain overcame him, the cold metal screeching inside his ribs. He released a horrid hiss, before a hard jab landed itself upon his jaw, his head dangled from nausea from the hit, his blood flowing down his rib.

Luth knew that this would not be enough to defeat Alver, but he had managed to save Shari; and for now that mattered more than the death of him, for he knew he was in no power to do so. He pulled Shari back, away from the man and Shari passed him a grateful gaze, then Luth matched him eyes with a serious expression, while lifting the sword in his hand,

"Look," he said as Shari looked at the sword, which was supposed to be broken, before he asked any question Luth had continued to speak, "There are two faults to the Dissector. First is that it can cut anything; but only one of it at a time. Look at the wall, the ground, they all recover o their previous state whenever he makes a new cut. The spatial slits, the cuts on the things, all of them revert as soon as he makes a new cut." Luth then motioned at Alver, who was recovering from the sudden blow preparing, "Secondly, the more he uses that Dissector, the greater is the loss of his rationality."

"What do you mean?" the knight asked.

"You noticed when we fought him," he answered swiftly, "Before when he seemed mad, then after he came back in his recovered form, he grew more irrational the more he used the blade. It is the condition for such a man to use such a tool. The tool of sanity, heavier than he can pay." Luth lifted the longsword in a position suitable for combat, "His dues are soon."

Shari gave a understanding smile as he prepared the ashes around his hands, "Sooner than you think."

Alver laughed, oh how fiendish was it, a laugh with a residue of mockery, a long screech of a laugh; rancid and vile, this must have been the end. Of either them of Alver.

Luth was much unaware to the fear that encapsulates the lesser hand in a combat, a blood stained battle was to begin. Not of choice, but of obligation, of the sole obligation and desire to live. Upon that desire did every man thrive, and upon it every man fell.