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'Tis a marvellous dance. The rush of the air against his face as the sword swings past and severs a lock of hair in the process. The tremble in his muscles as he and his friend lock blades and bear down on each other. They separate before long, circling around each other, testing each other's defenses...
Zenos does not know how long they've been doing this now. Does not care, either. All that matters is the dance they are embroiled in.
Again they clash, blades gliding off each other after the initial jarring impact. The ring of steel against steel is as music to Zenos' ears, akin to bells tolling. The greatest musicians of the empire could never produce aught but dull, pointless noise, but this… this is the music of the heavens.
He laughs, a sound from deep within his lungs, a wild and pure sound the likes of which he had not thought himself capable of making. It presents a minute distraction which would not have affected anything under any other circumstances.
The Warrior of Light is, of course, cut from a different cloth. In that split-second of inattention, that lightning-fast blade bears down on Zenos and slices deep into his arms ere he can pull away. Warm blood drips down his arm. It does not hurt very much. A teaser of what is to come, but a welcome one.
And Zenos feels alive, feels real in a way he never has before, in a way he never thought he would—but there is no time to dwell on what came before. How wondrous, to be freed of the yoke of his shadowed past...
Again they clash. The Warrior of Light angles their blade to get past Zenos' defenses, but he does not let them. When they pull away, he follows and catches them in the chest with a well-placed kick. They stagger backwards. They do not fall. The sight fills him with giddiness. Who else would have been able to simply shrug off a blow from him?
He chases after them, covering the distance with but a few steps. They're close enough now that he can see a bead of sweat on their forehead. Close enough that the blood splashes on him when he cuts through the leather covering their chest and delivers a deep gash across their torso. Rather than cry out or back off, the Warrior of Light pushed forward, which drags Zenos' blade even further across their chest.
The cut Zenos sustains as he disengages mirrors that of the Warrior of Light. How deeply appropriate. If he had the time he would rend himself to make them match as closely as possible, but he cannot afford to do so in a battle against this opponent.
But there is a moment of relative piece amidst the raging storm of battle. A moment that the Warrior of Light uses by swiping a finger across their bloodied blade and bringing it up to their mouth. The sight sparks a strange heat deep within Zenos. Yes—yes, they will rend each other and gorge themselves on their blood, that their thirst may be slaked...
Time and again they bring their full strength to bear against one another. Time and again, one of them retreats sporting a new wound. They are that evenly matched; no defense can outsmart the other indefinitely. It is as it should be. The opponent he has been seeking his entire life.
Oh, how he wishes to freeze time, remain in this moment forever.
But all things must come to an end; all plays must end in a curtain fall.
Just as Zenos rears back for another strike, the Warrior of Light unexpectedly lunges forwards. Zenos throws himself to the side and avoids his throat getting speared by the tip of the sword. Instead, it takes him in the shoulder. Carried by the weight of the Warrior of Light still pushing forwards, he staggers back, then topples.
The Warrior of Light is on him in a second, straddles his torso and drives the sword deeper and deeper through his shoulder, pinning him to the ground. Ah, sweet sweet pain...
Zenos' heart soars as he beholds the feral grin that spreads across the Warrior of Light's face. "Got you now," they whisper.
There's a glee to their voice that sends a shiver running down Zenos' spine.
He tries to bring up his own blade, but his arm won't move properly, not with his shoulder impaled like this. And then his one opportunity at resisting passes.
The Warrior of Light carries knives in addition to their sword, though Zenos has never seen them use any of them before. Now, one of them plunges down into his immobile sword arm, further pinning him to the ground. He could rip himself free, at great damage to the limb, but for what reason? His arm won't be of any further use afterwards. He tries kicking, but can't find the leverage to dislodge the Warrior of Light.
So he stills. 'Tis unbecoming of one such as him to flail aimlessly. "And what will you do with me now?" he asks, gazing up at them.
"The Scions would expect me to take one of these knives and slit your throat right away," the Warrior of Light says. "But that's boring, isn't it? They say you're not supposed to play with your food, but I've a mind to make an exception..." Almost gently, they brush the hair out of Zenos' face. Then they grab onto a lock, yank his head to the side and sink their teeth into the side of his neck.
Zenos can't quite stifle the gasp that escapes from his lips. Or maybe he doesn't want to. This is a delicious kind of pain the likes of which he has not experienced before. Is the Warrior of Light drinking his blood? That... that is unexpected.
Something stirs within him at the thought. At the feeling of it.
But he will not make it quite so easy on them. He still has one functioning arm. Now it is his turn to grab ahold of their hair and yank them free. He feels his skin tear as their teeth rake through his flesh. Blood flows freely from the wound; already it drenches the fabric on his shoulder. Good. Good. This is how it should be.
With as much strength as he can muster up, he tosses them to the side, pulls the sword and the knife from his body and leaps to his feet ere they can retaliate.
How beautiful the sight—the Warrior of Light standing tall, blood dripping from their lips, hunger gleaming in their eyes. Mayhap he should partake of them in like manner. Yes, he too will slake his thirst...
But they are unarmed now; Zenos holds their weapon. That will simply not do. And so Zenos kicks his own blade over to them. They pick it up, gazing at him in confusion.
"Let us see how we fare with each other's armaments," Zenos calls out. Already he can tell this sword is too short for his liking, while his own is far too long for the Warrior of Light. But he can see in their eyes that they, too, understand the appeal of doing this. To learn about one another in a way no other method could provide...
Yes. This is the way it should be.
And as they charge each other anew—battered and bleeding, but still upright—Zenos feels his heart sing in a way it never has before. This is it. This is his moment.
And he will savour every fraction of a second, until his candle finally flickers and then burns out.