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The air was thick with snow, and the ground below was red with blood.
The knights of Ardonia and the forces of the Nether and the Voltaris clashed, feet trampling the unloved bodies of the fallen. Grief would come later, but now… their only focus was to win. Kill or be killed, and surely, the former option was better?
Or maybe not.
In amongst the chaos, the flashing blades, firing songs, flying fists, two legends dueled.
One scorned by most, and practically worshipped by others. Hated by fate, and by those he fought, he was destined to lose in the end, wasn't he? But right now, he was winning. But as in all things, one person's win is another's loss, or perhaps, the loss of many. And sometimes, a win is the same as a loss, for the same person. They called him the Deathsinger, but his real name was Ingressus.
Ingressus Voltaris.
Perhaps that second word, those eight letters, were all that made the difference between loved and despised.
The other was hailed as a hero, beloved everywhere he went, but rife with turmoil on the inside. They called him the Tidesinger, a name forced upon him, but his real name was Achillean Nestoris. Perhaps fate was against him too, after all, one would never dream of trying to kill the one they called their brother. Or being killed by him.
For Achillean, it was almost ironic. He remembered the days he spent, training with wooden swords in their secret little clearing in the forest near Nestoria. An idyllic scene, he thought. One could almost replace the raging blizzard with a clear sky, the snowy ground with long blades of grass, the warring combatants with sturdy trees.
And for Ingressus…well, he wasn't really in control. The Deathsinger was, wreathed in pure Prime Song energy which drowned out his screams.
Achillean fired his Aggrobeam, and the Deathsinger deflected it with his sword. The heat from the ray of pure energy made his hands slick with sweat, and he almost dropped his only defense. Struggling forward, Ingressus tilted the sword so that the beam moved up and toward Achillean.
The onslaught of energy stopped and the Tidesinger spun his staff and stabbed at Ingressus, who activated his Protearmor and blocked the staff, slight wisps of blue energy remaining as the shield dissipated. A shockwave blasted from the site of impact, the force from the attack converted and reversed, and Achillean was almost thrown backwards, however he regained his feet. Noticing a short moment of weakness, the Supporium prime was triggered, and Ingressus wrenched Achillean's staff out of his hands. He threw it into the masses, where it vanished under trampling feet, and advanced upon the Nestoris.
A brief moment of triumph evident on the Voltaris' face, the Deathsinger went on the offensive, Voltar in one hand and his broadsword in the other, a flurry of diamond and red flaming enchantments. Achillean's Mobilium song activated and he bounced around on golden platforms, evading the Deathsinger's attacks.
It was almost like a dance, save for one of the steps never came.
Achillean and Ingressus both seemed to notice at the same time, one looking down and the other looking up. Voltar pierced through the former's chest, and Achillean stared, almost in surprise, and in acceptance at the same time.
"LET ME OUT!" Ingressus' sudden rage swamped the Deathsinger who let go, on purpose or by force Ingressus didn't know.
"Ingressus…" Achillean dropped to his knees, his weight pulling Ingressus' arm and Voltar down with him. The flesh above the staff tore, and while he was numb to most of the pain, it still hurt. Ingressus reached out, and Achillean flinched away.
"I- I didn't mean-"
But you did, whispered the Deathsinger.
"But you did." Achillean sighed, and looked down.
"Th- that- it wasn't ME! It was- him-"
It was you. It was you at the beginning, and I am but a product of your actions.
"It doesn't matter who it was, Gress," Achillean said, his voice fading into a weak whisper, and the nickname brought back memories of happier times. "I'm tired," The Nestoris gave a crooked smile, and Ingressus didn't know what he felt anymore. Even the Prime Song's consciousness seemed to be still for once, almost waiting. "Gress, I'm so tired…"
"You can rest now, Achi," said Ingressus, softly. "I'm sorry, I really am."
But Achillean didn't reply. His golden markings flickered once, and faded to black, a black that would have had consumed Ingressus was it not for a sharp mental tap from the one that controlled him.
The Prime Song's consciousness allowed Ingressus one final look back at the broken body that was once his brother, and then the Deathsinger retrieved Voltar and vanished off into the fight.