Chapter Text
Initially, I thought we were sparring. It didn't seem out of the ordinary, we were partners in every way, after all. With my fist clenched around the hilt of my sword, I expertly block each and every one of Xinghui's blows, giving him a smug little smirk whenever our blades clash. He may be the best swordsman I know, but I trusted my own capabilities just as highly. If there was anyone in the universe who could keep up with him, it would be me.
Strangely, Xinghui didn’t make conversation. Usually when we spar, there's at least an exchange of words as our eyes meet. Some sort of "Where do you want to have lunch after this?", or "You've improved since last week, well done." Any sort of remark that reminds me of our intimacy outside of being colleagues. Today however, his eyes are trained, focused. There's a level of polish that comes across too refined, too precise, his face so deep in concentration I don't get a response to any of my quips. Even the sweet endearments that I sometimes use to get the upper hand didn't seem to work, the blue in his eyes seeming to be void of the sparkles that usually reflects off the ocean's surface. While Xinghui was always up for a good challenge, this was too quiet, even for him.
And then, the exhaustion sets in. I'd like to think after my experience with the Deepspace Hunters, my stamina had built up pretty impressively. Sometimes, my endurance surprises even myself, and I need to be reminded to let myself take it easy. Hunters still need to relax, after all. There's usually no better person for this task than Xinghui, who seems to always be keen to take care of me after I've taken care of everybody else. We often balanced each other out this way, keeping our bodies and health in check.
That is why, as my limbs begin to ache, and I find my movements growing sluggish, do I let Xinghui know it's time to stop. Even I have my limits, and the fire burning in my tendons really was not appreciating the exertion right about now. We likely still had hunts scheduled for the night, not that I could remember when exactly, and I didn't want to incapacitate myself before then. When Xinghui refused to put his blade down, I thought he was toying with me. My sword lazily parried his blows, thinking he would drop the act any moment now, until he thrusts the sharp edge right towards my chest, my body only managing to jump out of the way in the nick of time.
I grew alarmed as I realised he wasn't being so humorous after all, and as I began to parry each blow, I scanned over his form, noticing he hadn't broken a sweat. Not a single misstep in his movements, calculated and decisive, as though we had merely started our training, and he was still spry and energetic. While undoubtedly a skilled hunter, there is certainly no way the exhaustion hadn't taken a toll on his body, especially after none stop sparring for hours on end. We hadn't even taken a water break, which I had presumed was due to his concentration. As my limbs flailed my sword on auto pilot, I began assessing my partner once more, calling out to him and searching for any sign of life in his eyes.
I found myself cornered, hours later. It could have been hours, or days, but there was no way of getting out of this eternal spar, which had begun to feel like an infinite level in a video game. Except instead of experience or coins, you get burning muscles and cuts and scratches. I haven't had the chance to take a look at the minor injuries I had sustained, locked in a never ending duel with my own lover. While I continued fighting to the best of my ability, Xinghui’s figure never seemed to falter, still as sharp as the moment we started.
What struck me as odd was the lack of hunger I felt. We had been duelling for what felt like days, and I hadn't had a single sip of water. By all accounts, I should have collapsed from exhaustion, or been defeated by now. Even as I absorbed every bit of information around me, trying to adapt and solve the predicament I found myself in, I couldn't help but see that small detail as strange. My mind couldn't fathom how we were still going, and it really did feel as though I was losing my mind.
Between what could have been weeks or years, my panic arose as more and more things strayed from it's norm. The training grounds we started in had faded, first into monochrome, before becoming an endless vast of white. There was no ground, no sky, no walls, and no sounds, save for the clashing of metal as I dodge and return each and every clang of our weapons. I had no clue where we were, and I did not get a chance to stop and find out, relying instead on the periphery of my retinas to take in the world around us, now reduced to a blinding, empty white.
“沈星回，喂。。。喂！你听的见吗？我们在哪儿。。。”
“Hey, Xinghui? Hey… hey! Are you listening to me? Where the hell are we…”
But the same as he had been doing the other countless days, nights, and everything in between, I received no response, not even a spark of recognition in his face. I found myself growing desperate, calling, yelling, screaming into his face, my frustration and devastation bursting forth as angry tears that blurred my vision as I continued deflecting his moves. It didn't matter how much this thing fought or looked like him, there was just no way this could be Xinghui. That somehow brought me solace, for if these cold, chilly eyes aren't Xinghui's, perhaps he could come save me once more.
There is a complacency that comes with living through this eternity of misery. Left with little option, I pushed through my aching muscles, practising my sword fighting until I was numb. This was a robot in the shape of my partner, and I had nothing but time on my hands as I waited for a miracle to save me. The timelessness of this hollow, vast containment was enough to drive anyone to the brink of insanity, but I persevered, hour after hour, decade after decade.
Xinghui's not coming to save me.
That was my conclusion, hundreds of years into this hellish landscape. Any remnant of hope had been dashed, as I continued to glare into the emotionless expression of the false Xinghui before me, still striking me with dangerous accuracy. This robot was a well oiled machine, and it definitely had every single one of Xinghui's battle qualities, including the stubborn refusal to die. While I had successfully staggered it a couple of times, there was never a way to truly keep it dead. Like Xinghui, it bled and wounds could be torn through it's synthetic excuse for flesh, while unlike Xinghui, those wounds would disappear in the blink of an eye. Anything more than a slice of my eternally sharp sword only seemed to speed it's healing up faster, all attempts at decapitation, amputation, and incapacitating the wicked robot turning out unsuccessful.
And of course, I gave it its chances. While I physically could not stop sparring, I had the intelligent idea to open my palm, dropping the sword onto whatever ground that could possibly exist in this void. Defenceless, I merely watched as his sword speared my heart, digging the knife into my ribs and making sure I bled, hard. Yet with a blink of an eye, the sword would be back in my grasp, my body moving on its own accord as I continued this mindless symphony, waltzing this dangerous dance that had long overstayed its welcome.
I tried, over and over, to be killed, or to kill him. Either one would be semblance of progress after what could've been a century, the form of torture only refining itself as both I and the robot learnt new ways to counter one another, therefore being forced to learn new moves and strikes. My sword, which should be well worn down, still shone brilliantly, executing my every attack with far too much practised ease. Xinghui's likeness did the same, not having stopped for even a beat since day one.
The noises, too, begin to eat away at my senses. Even if I did manage to escape this hell, I would forever be haunted by the echoes of my hoarse, anguished cries, screaming his name while metal clashes and strikes. Perhaps, in a cruel twist of fate, I had become part of this well oiled machine, forced to still be duelling my own lover after so many lifetimes.
For what little solace it was, the brief milliseconds between each blow was spent looking at his face, the usually soft and gentle features of his fond gaze or his kind smile all feeling as foreign as the harrowing cycle I was enduring. Still, he found a way to stay by my side, being my comfort, making sure I never forgot his face, and somehow, that gave me respite.