A Stubborn Soul

They all fought in frenzy and Chaos, no conclusive thinking went of Alver's part as he began to lose his rationality due to the effects of the Dissector. He felt the blood rush quicker inside his body, taking toll on his health, but gave him strength enough to either avoid all the things that came his way. He was losing his sanity by each step and yet that only made him faster and powered him. 

His movements were in a predictable patterns, all blows, strokes, slits and slashes destined to be avoided by Shari and Luth, and yet it gave them a hard time, since they grew faster the more he used the horrible blade. The agility took both of them some bother.

There only, then only did they now begin to see the same frenzy, the same insanity within his eyes and smile that was visible in the previous Alver that they fought, growing crooked by the second and potentially worse.

Alver recognized that, knowing that he would be far gone with no way of return if he continued this mode of battle, using the double-edged weapon in his arms. He reduced the reckless use of it, but still continued to decimate his surroundings with brutal swings.

Shari was labored at this point, but he still had greater energy to continue, now growing adept to the increasing agility and consistent stroking patters. Alver's style was not much complex to see through and Shari and Luth evaded them, effortlessly by now. Alver knew that he needed to do something before things went out of his order and caused trouble for him.

He raised his sword, ready to form another spatial slit to change his tired self, seeing no other reasonable option. He gave a terrified, shaky breath before pulling the sword to the ground forming the slit. Then he tried to step inside, but Luth, prepared, exactly waiting for the moment if this reckless and inconsiderate blunder, ran towards his direction, aiming the longsword at his chest. Avoiding the ashes was easy for they take up some time to react along, but a fatality would not be a thing which he could afford without risk. In quickness he raised the Dissector, slicing his sword clean off. The spatial slit closed itself at its usage.

Shari threw the ashes, which burned themselves into his skin, a maddened scream escaping out of his mouth. He scratched it helplessly, in the irritation that developed in his skin. The scene repeated itself as it was several moments ago, the mad man writhing at his feet, the cry and screech. All was there again, just one difference, Luth. If ever he was not there, he would have crashed in his deathbed, upon the snow of Zion, faded like the many who came and passed.

The wind rushed, taking speed. He released a breath, warm in the wind, a fog rising out of his mouth and the rush of winds took it along them in a path that only it can predict. Calmness overtook him, but never lasted till soon.

The ring of clashing metals came to him while he looked to find Luth joining sword with the madman, who in this abhorrible state, still had the will to fight, and that too passionately, since he struck it again and again. The knight wished to interrupt, quickly heading to stop and separate their interlocking blades.

At that moment, Alver used the Dissector to pierce through his sword and slice at the his chest. His chest stood slashed ripped by the all-cutting edge of the blade that cut him. Blood spilled out of his chest and threatened to spill from his mouth as well. He stepped back and ripped in the snow, lost his footing, as Shari caught his hold in his arms; laying his hand upon the bleeding wound.

"He won't die," Shari muttered, "He won't, the sword wound will disappear as soon as you same a new cut. Whatever are you trying to do with the attempt to wound him?" the knight said so, knowing that the wound would be healed, and even so the anger and a little concern was present on his voice.

A hysterical laugh came out of Alver's mouth on response, his gesture as mocking as always. "The wound would go, it would. The Dissector can cut anything, and then they revert back to their previous state when another is formed, I revere that about the boy. But the fault in that is that Life itself, is fragile. The life inside a body can't be brought back, even if the body is recovered. Say, if the heart is split for enough time, the life would be gone and the body will be recovered. Do you understand?"

Shari pressed deeper onto the would, trying to stop the leakage of blood, but remained cautious as he knew that one mistake could risk both there life. The wound was deep, but not threatening, it only would be if left unattended for a long time.

"It would not kill him, yet. Your cut was a length too shallow."

"Who said, knight, that I aimed for the heart?" the madman asked, and caused a realization to descend upon Shari.

"The Dissector can cut anything," he slowly mumbled to himself.

"The Core, indeed." said Alver as he dreadfully laughed, "I cleaved his soul, the Sarava from the Narava, the source from the soul. Both separated, driving energy from the body. The Narava will die off with his soul and his own partially split Core will end him further."

Shari desperately attacked the madman, but stopped when he saw Luth's body, twisting in pain, cruel wails escaped from his mouth, veins churning due to the extreme amount of Narava unveiled into them them. His soul was crumbling apart due to the breaking of Sarava. It was painful, completely.

Seeing the sight of the distracted knight gave a triumphant smile and then knowing that it was futile if he even drew another slit, there would be no change in his destiny. Thus, with a victorious tone he spoke,

"I win." with a light tone he said, and drew a spatial slit upon the air, stepping inside beofre any force could stop him.

The knight stood there defeated in his eyes, a boy dead, Alver coming out of the slit in his recovered form. Not much he could to alone at this point, he only blankly watched as Luth stirred in pain and hurt. He wanted to shed a tear, only if he could in that state. His throat came out dry, and the coldness engulfed his body, covered by warmth, yet still he felt sense-less, his mind cluttered by exhaustion and grief.

But Luth's death never concluded, it stopped. There was no moment of his own body for a while.

His soul was carved, splitting apart, demolishing and falling apart on itself, and even in such a case, it held on. The devastating blow and the pain, but yet, it held on. Such a stubborn soul, there was never been, to not be tugged by the ties of fate, carving a path upon itself in its own. It was remarkable, such a soul, not much longer seen to in years.

Threads wrapped themselves like stitches round the wounded soul, pulling the Narava and Sarava back, making them whole, from the bits of everything sundered along.

Though it was not without any mishap.

Shari watched as Luth stood up weakly, his feet and arms were trembling, his sun-bright eyes glowing with a newer expression, tainted by the enigma of the present. In one part he was gladdest in his heart to see him live, on the other was the question of how that exactly occurred.

Alver stood eyes widened and he seemed to ponder the same question which occupied the mind of the knight, yet he knew that it was his triumph. Perhaps the stars had coated his fate, perhaps Moira slept in ignorance at the time, or simple reluctance was a providence become, and yet this was victory.

"You are more amusing than I precedingly believed," he said, "but this ends here. Your bones and will are too broken to continue." 

Luth said nothing in reply, not even paying attention to his voice, instead he ran his hand over his chest and felt the still flowing blood on his chest. He inspected his own soaked palm, raising it near his face, then slowly ran the same hand through his rain, setting then back and away from his eyes. Then only did he utter a word, not in tiredness, not feebly—not at all,—instead in content.

"It is such a delight, to be born." his voice came out hoarse due to the dryness of his own throat but the happiness behind those words was clearer than the stars in the clear night sky. 

Alver stood confused, making an feeble attempt of understanding that statement, but he got nowhere at all. But his smile resumed without an obstruction.

Shari was equally under flowed on the situation, but too weak to do anything he sat upon the snow, pressing himself further in the ground, slumping tire-fully in the soft cushion of frost, absolutely not wishing to intervene the tension which was growing thicker by the second. It was a death game, a word or movement is a causality and the conclusion was beyond the knowledge of any, shrouded by uncertainty.