Farewell

The wind howled once more, carrying a strange intensity that made the battlefield feel almost suffocating. The aura of the moment was charged with tension as Lazarus and Asgard locked eyes. Both warriors, seasoned by countless battles, now stood in absolute silence, preparing to unleash their full power upon each other. Their stances spoke volumes—both poised, both ready, their gazes sharp and unwavering. Around them, soldiers from both sides watched in awe and terror, knowing that what they were about to witness would be nothing short of legendary.

Without hesitation, Lazarus lunged forward, gripping both of his deadly daggers tightly, his muscles coiled like a spring ready to explode. His steps were swift, the ground barely able to register his weight before he propelled himself forward again. Just as he was about to strike, Asgard reacted with inhuman speed, catching Lazarus's wrist mid-air. Time seemed to freeze for a brief moment before Asgard's foot connected with Lazarus's face in a brutal kick that sent him flying backward. The impact was so powerful that the air itself trembled, and Lazarus skidded across the dirt, only barely managing to regain his footing in time.

Blood trickled from his lips, but he didn't even flinch. Instead, he smirked, his eyes burning with a dangerous light. Wiping the blood off his mouth, Lazarus crouched low, his daggers gleaming under the moon's eerie glow. He vanished in the blink of an eye, only to reappear behind Asgard, his blade aiming straight for his back. However, Asgard's reflexes were beyond comprehension. He twisted just in time, his fist shooting forward like a bullet and connecting with Lazarus's gut. The force of the punch sent Lazarus flying once more—this time, crashing through the remains of a dilapidated building. Wood and stone exploded outward as his body plowed through the debris, finally coming to a stop as he lay half-buried in the wreckage.

"W-what the hell… is this guy?" Lazarus groaned, shaking his head in disbelief as he struggled to his feet, splinters and dust falling from his hair. His fingers tightened around his daggers as he spat out blood, his breath ragged but determined. Without a second's hesitation, he launched himself through the shattered window, ready to engage once more. But just as he was about to make his move, Asgard was already there—standing on the very windowsill he was aiming for. With an almost lazy smirk, Asgard met Lazarus in mid-air, slamming a devastating punch into his chest. The impact was monstrous. Lazarus was sent soaring out into the open night, the force of the hit sending shockwaves through the air itself.

As he tumbled through the sky, his vision blurred. Before he could even process the situation, Asgard was already above him, his eyes ablaze with an eerie light. In an instant, he descended upon Lazarus, his fists colliding with his body like a meteor crashing to earth. The sheer force sent Lazarus hurtling toward the ground, where he landed with such violence that half of his body was driven into the dirt. His limbs trembled, and his breath came in ragged gasps as he lay there, barely conscious.

"Oh, you stupid brat… piece of shit," Asgard growled, his voice dripping with disdain as he slowly approached Lazarus's motionless form. "What do you even think you're doing?"

With no ounce of mercy, he grabbed Lazarus's legs and wrenched him free from the ground, only to hurl him across the battlefield once again. This time, Lazarus's body crashed into a row of towering trees, the impact snapping the thick branches like mere twigs. The sound of destruction echoed through the battlefield, sending shivers down the spines of those who watched.

Lazarus, now bloodied and battered, struggled to his feet. His entire body ached, but his spirit refused to yield. He exhaled sharply, his expression darkening. "Enough," he muttered under his breath. "Time to stop fooling around."

A sudden, crimson glow enveloped him, flickering like an untamed flame. Asgard's eyes narrowed, sensing the shift in energy. Before he could react, Lazarus had already moved. In an instant, he appeared right beside Asgard, his movements so fast they left afterimages in their wake.

With all his strength, Lazarus drove his fist deep into Asgard's stomach, the sheer force of the impact shattering his armor. Asgard's eyes widened in shock as he staggered backward. Lazarus didn't relent—he slashed forward with his dagger, tearing through Asgard's hard-covered mask, revealing a face twisted with fury and pain.

The sight only fueled Asgard's rage. He let out a growl and took three steps back to collect himself, but Lazarus wasn't about to give him the chance. With a flash, he was behind Asgard once more, gripping his opponent's shoulders before twisting and slamming him into the ground with a bone-shattering force.

"Show me what you got, you poor slave!" Lazarus taunted, his voice dripping with venom.

Asgard's fury ignited. With blinding speed, he kicked at Lazarus's head. But Lazarus, now fully in control of his power, dodged effortlessly, dancing around Asgard's strikes with supernatural agility. The two warriors clashed in a blur of motion, fists meeting fists, blades clashing against armor, every impact sending shockwaves through the air.

Then, in a critical moment, Lazarus struck. He landed a crucial punch to Asgard's face, following it up with a brutal knee strike to his ribs. Before Asgard could even react, Lazarus grabbed him by the collar and delivered a jaw-crushing uppercut that sent him reeling. He didn't stop there—he lunged forward, kicking Asgard repeatedly while shouting, "Wake up! Wake the hell up, General!"

But Asgard didn't move. He simply lay there, broken and bloodied.

Panting, Lazarus took a step back, his expression softening ever so slightly. "Have you accepted your defeat?" he asked in a low voice.

There was no response. Only silence.

Just as Lazarus turned away, gazing at the moon in contemplation, he heard it—a sharp, wet sound. He whipped around just in time to see Asgard thrusting his own sword into his abdomen, blood spilling in thick streams onto the ground. The soldiers around them gasped in horror.

Lazarus's breath caught in his throat. "No…"

Asgard's hands trembled as he pulled the sword deeper into himself, tears streaming down his face. He didn't utter a single word—only silence, only pain. And then, he collapsed. The battlefield was deathly still.

Lazarus stood frozen, his mind refusing to process what had just happened. Slowly, he walked over to Asgard's fallen body, kneeling beside his friend. His fingers trembled as he reached out, touching the blood-stained armor. "Why…?" he whispered. "Why did you do this…?"

Tears welled in his eyes, but he didn't let them fall. He simply stared at Asgard's lifeless form, his chest aching in a way no battle wound ever had.

Finally, he whispered, "Goodbye, my friend. Your sacrifice will be remembered for a long time."