Fell Champions

Things were going exactly as poorly for Rua as Kirhaela had predicted. 

Kirhaela didn’t have to defend against anything Rua threw at her. She did it anyway. Her form, as always, was flawless. There was no series of moves, no sequence of attacks. It was all one motion, flowing from one to the next so seamlessly it was all one thing. Just as a great landscape painting wasn’t each individual flower, each rock, the river, or the sky, it was all one whole, beautiful and flawless. 

A lesser swordsman would’ve relied on their Pact in their fighting, gone more aggressively, and disrespected their opponent and any threat they might throw. Not so with Kir. 

Kir would never let a little thing like being nigh-immortal drop her guard and make sloppy mistakes that an opponent could potentially exploit. 

Rua had a small edge in that she could tell when her opponent was feinting and when she was actually committing to an attack, but it meant nothing in a fight where she had no path to victory, no way to actually hurt her opponent. Her every instinct was wrong, every swordsmanship lesson drilled into her to counterattack on a successful defense, an error in this one scenario. Every time she stabbed at Kir with either of her two swords, it would stop uselessly three inches from her.

Her link with Otter was distracting her, though. She normally enjoyed holding onto it at all times, peeking through the keyhole to Otter’s mind and soul, and knowing what was there. 

Now, all she felt through it was pain and exhaustion. She was fighting, too. And she was wounded. There was a feeling of weariness and panic, but also annoyance. 

Rua couldn’t let herself get caught up in Otter’s experience. She was too busy with her own fight, too busy trying to win the unwinnable. 

So she pushed the link to the back of her mind, tucked that feeling of reassurance and affection and warmth that she normally basked in as far away from her as she could. She couldn’t let herself get distracted, get wrapped up in things she had no control over.

“You’ve gotten better,” Kir said. The fact that she had to catch her breath a little before saying it attested to the truth of the fact. It didn’t feel like too much of a victory. 

“I spent a year doing nothing but practicing,” Rua said, breaking off their engagement and stepping back. She felt like she could go on for hours more, but she knew she was losing. Her Tenacity had been slowly chipped away with small cuts. “That, and my Pact.”

Kir nodded along. “You’re using your lie detection to read my attack patterns. It’s clever. If we’d fought before I received my Pact, you would’ve won. I have an unfair advantage.”

Rua faintly blushed at that. Kir always had been sparse with the praise, but when she said it, she meant it. 

“You could always concede, let me go, not bother Sunny. I promise to keep her in line.”

That soft look on Kir’s face hardened in an instant. “She’s a threat to us all. You know the stories. It’s my duty to protect the Islands.”

“Can’t you just set duty aside, just once?”

Kir looked as if she’d just heard a curious sound that was the auditory equivalent of a rotting trash in summer heat.

“Not all of us run away from our responsibilities.”

“I didn’t run from my responsibilities, Kir.” Rua swung forward with both of her swords, one coming in high, the other coming in low. “I ran away from you.”

Kir’s response was sloppy, disjointed. She barely parried the high blade, and would’ve been skewered through by the lower one if not for her Pact. Rua pressed onwards, not holding anything back, flowing from one attack to the next, refusing to give up her advantage. When Kir danced back and tried to create distance, Rua kicked a shard of wood, a piece of debris from the explosions, at Kir and forced her to block it.

She was relentless in her pursuit. A crack had opened, and Rua was determined to exploit it. She might not be able to hurt Kir, but she didn’t have to hurt her to win. Her Tenacity was still up, but more importantly, she was confident she had more soul power invested into her Strength. A lot more.

She didn’t have to defeat Kir. She just had to exhaust her until she couldn’t fight anymore.

And if she wanted to do that, she needed to press the attack. Not just physically, but mentally. Emotionally.

“I ran because of you!” Rua shouted. “Juala, Juala I expected to use me, to hurt me!”

She caught Kir’s sword with both of hers, one to either side of it, and pulled it out of position, and then kicked at Kir. Her leg got caught mid-attack, but she didn’t let it hang, immediately dropping it back to the ground. She was only held whenever she tried to hurt Kir. The second she backed off, her Pact would let go.

“But you!” she continued. “I trusted you! You were supposed to be there for me!”

Kir flinched more from the words than she did from any strike. Her normal poise was gone. Her calm, her collected attitude. Her exuding aura of superiority. Not that she’d ever been insulting about it. A bird didn’t need to be haughty to know it flew above the fish. 

But now, for once, that confidence, that air of invincibility was cracking. 

Kir swung her sword hard. It was uncharacteristically aggressive, as if she were trying to regain control by overcompensating. Kir didn’t have the strength to overpower Rua’s strikes. Her weapon might’ve been bigger and had more mass, but it didn’t matter. Rua was just stronger. She didn’t just withstand the strike with one of her swords, she slapped Kir’s sword out of position contemptuously, knocking it aside.

“It was Leilynn that saved me!” Rua screamed. “She supported me! She told me there was a way out, a way without destroying myself!

Rua pushed her advantage. She got both swords in a locked position on Kir’s crossguard and then twisted. There were any number of counter moves available to Kir, but they all seemed to escape her at that moment.

Kir’s sword went tumbling out of her hands, and fell to the floor. Kir stared at it in shock, surprised to see it there.

Rua felt a surge of pride. She smiled goofily, pleased that she’d won. Finally, actually won. She’d beaten Kirhaela.

Kir looked just as stunned.

And then Kir was on her. She surged forward in one motion, and for a second, Rua thought it was an attempt to grapple. But it wasn’t. Kir’s arms encircled her in a hug, and their bodies were mashed together. Their height disparity didn’t help. Rua’s face was mashed against Kir’s breasts, and it was all she could think of, that feeling of softness against her, touching a part of Kir she never had before, not really, not with this level of intimacy. 

Rua dropped her swords. She knew it was a mistake as she did it, but she did it anyway, and she hugged Kir back. The feeling of Kir’s flesh against her own, the warmth of her body, drove all reason and sense from her mind.

Kir was warm. Fever warm, just like all Mikovians. They looked so cold, with their deathly white skin and their white blonde hair. A people designed by a Dreamer to blend into the snows of Mikovia, to thrive where it was coldest. And their body heat reflected it. Kir was unnaturally warm to the touch, a welcome feeling in the Silayan winter, a reminder of summer. 

“I’m sorry,” Kir said in a hushed whisper.

Rua looked up to Kir, or tried to. Her breasts were very firmly lodged into her face, and she didn’t want to pull herself too far away from them.

With one hand, Kir took Rua’s cheek and caressed it. Rua leaned into it. Kir leaned her head down, and Rua froze, terrified, unsure, confused, and then Kir’s lips were on her own. Soft, chaste, tentative.

Rua responded with hunger, pushing herself up on her toes and trying to devour Kir’s mouth with her own, attacking with lips and tongue and living the experience she’d so longed for.

She was so caught up in it, so stuck in the moment, she didn’t even notice the first two dagger strikes.

The third shattered Rua’s Tenacity, and she tried to twist away, but Kir’s lips locked on her own, and Rua could feel wetness on her own face, wetness from the tears flowing down Kir’s eyes.

Rua punched at Kir, but even as close as she was, her fist was stopped cold by the Pact of the Gracewarden. She pushed, forcing herself away, but by then, the dagger plunged a fourth time and took Rua in the side.

Rua staggered back, her hand going to her wound, just under her ribs, to where the knife was lodged, and looked back at Kir in disbelief.

“I’m sorry,” Kir said. “I’m so sorry, I’ll never forgive myself, but this is the only way. The only way I can protect you from what’s coming.”

Rua ripped the dagger out and threw it at Kir, but of course, like with everything else, that did nothing. The weapon hung suspended in the air in front of Kir yet again in defiance of gravity before trembling and then falling uselessly to the floor with a clatter.

Rua's guts may have been stabbed, but the feeling of betrayal felt even worse. Kir had kissed her, had actually shown Rua the kind of affection she’d longed for, just to get close enough to stab her. 

Rua let out the sound of a hurt animal, a scream of frustration and fury, and threw a fist as hard as she could at Kir’s stupid, beautiful, sad face. 

How dare she. How dare she look sad for this kind of betrayal. How dare she feel bad for doing yet another awful thing to Rua. 

Kir’s Pact tried to stop Rua’s fist, but her fist blew right through that first inch of defense as if it weren’t even there. The second slowed her, just a little, the air feeling like jelly that Rua ploughed right through. The third was like moving through stone, but Rua’s fury was enough to keep going despite everything straining in her, the very muscles of her arm resisting her desire, but her will would not be denied. Her anger called for some level of justice.

Rua’s knuckles touched against the flawless skin of Kir’s cheek and stopped, her fist trembling with the effort to move even a centimetre further. Kir almost looked regretful that her face wasn’t shattered in one blow.

She let out a breath, and then stepped back. “I’m sorry. More sorry than you can believe.”

Rua’s legs gave out from under her, and she fell to her knees, clutching her side. She tried to rise, tried to think of Sunny, tried to think of how she’d failed, yet again, but her body wouldn’t cooperate. She was spent. Done. Broken, both in body and spirit.

“You win,” Rua spat. “You always win.”

“I know.” Her tone was mournful.

Kir shuddered, and her head rocked back in a jolt. Her eyes glazed over, and a rictus grin, a parody and mockery of joy covered her face. Rua reached for her, worried, but her arm wouldn't obey. Her whole body felt covered in filth, an oppressive oil, cold and wet and tainted. The feeling sunk into her pores, her flesh, her bones, and everywhere the phantom feeling touched was left spoiled and defiled. 

Every part of Rua wanted to retreat from that feeling, to scour itself to feel clean once more, to flay the impurity and salt what remained. To burn herself until nothing was left, just to get rid of that awful sensation. 

It retreated, that phantom rot, but something remained. It was like being covered in chains of putrefaction, tied with decay and bound in shame.

"What was that?" Rua asked.

Kir panted heavily and wiped at the edge of her mouth, where a bit of drool had escaped. Her eyes shone with pure bliss, It took her a moment to compose herself. 

“It was my Pact... I can't exactly... control it. Just... give me a moment. It takes a moment to recover."

How was she the one stabbed, and in better shape between the two of them?

"No, I want answers, now."

"Just a moment. I need..." She shuddered again. Rua couldn't tell if it was in pain, or pleasure, but everything pointed to the latter. "If it makes you feel any better… I won’t go after… after your daughter.”

Rua’s head shot up. “What?”

Kir shrugged. “I never intended to. But I had to convince myself it was necessary. I had to be real with my intentions. Real in my belief that if you didn’t fight me, I would be forced to go after her. She was never my target. You were. Your Pact made things… difficult. But now I’ve succeeded in my objective.”

Rua wanted to demand answers. To ask what objective, to ask why the deceit. Instead, she spat on the floor at Kir’s feet. There was more blood in it than saliva.

“My second ability,” Kir said guiltily. “Anyone I beat in a fight becomes mine. My subject, my vassal. They have to follow any direct command I give them. But it’s a two way street. I have to take responsibility for you. I’m just as bound as the defeated person is. As long as you do not betray my trust, I have to take care of you, to not abuse you in any way.

“I wanted you to beat me, Rua. Some part of my mind is… broken. From my Pact. I keep finding myself longing for the next victory. For the next surge of power. The feeling of absolute dominance. You were supposed to be the one that stopped me.

“But I can’t be stopped. That’s the sad truth. My Pact won’t allow me to give up, to surrender. My body doesn’t listen to me. I have to win. My Pact demands it. And… and it feels so good.”

“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you,” Rua said bitterly.

“You didn’t,” Kir said. “Don’t you see? You couldn’t beat me, and that’s fine, because now I can protect you from what comes next. War is brewing in the Islands, Rua, and you were always going to pick the losing side. And now, I can hide you away until it’s done. Get up.”

Rua’s didn’t have the will to stand. She was tired, and ashamed, and angry, to say nothing of the wound in her side. But she climbed to her feet painlessly, as if it were the easiest thing in the world. She didn’t even realize she was doing it until she was standing.

Some part of her mind felt violated with the realization that she hadn't been the one to make the decision to stand.

“We’re leaving,” Kir said. “We’re going to Pruana Isle. Your… our new home.”

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