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Apollo does not have mercy on them that day. Sword’s only relief is the trident that sits in his hand and the water it can summon; an occasional respite from the burning heat of the sun bearing down on him. Sweat makes the shine of his enchanted armour just that much brighter.
It’s like all the gods are watching with keen interest. Artemis has done nothing but feed Avoma’s bloodthirst to hunt him down and Ares has been spurring on their fights, brewing war between factions so they could get to this point. All the others? Picking sides and cheering on with thunderous applause they won’t hear over their adrenaline and their hearts beating in their ears.
He can’t really blame them, they’re a spectacle after all.
But Sword only has Poseidon’s favour now. He wields his weapon with valor, striking with the force of the ocean itself where Avoma swings the fire from the gods in the form of a hammer. A hammer that, since the very moment it’s been crafted, has done nothing but given him endless trouble. He bears the marks of a beatdown, his armour dented and abused by onslaught after onslaught.
Avoma’s teeth bite through the skin of a glistening apple, his eyes ablaze with fury and revenge. His greed and the apple’s juice seep from his chin as he regards him with a foul look. He barely finishes it before the core is tossed into the abyss of the cavern behind him.
“Just me and you, it’s just me and you!” he says, and he grins as if he’s already won. An uneven fight is what he’s wanted since the start, but they both know he’s just as happy with a grapple like this. Either way, he’s poured his heart and soul into preparing for this, weeks upon weeks of working to his goal. He wants him dead, Sword knows the only way out of this is death.
“Alright, let’s run it!”
He takes a golden apple of his own, swaps out his trident for his netherite sword with the flick of his wrist and dives towards Avoma to hit him across the chest first. Netherite hits netherite armour with an awful screech and the other backs off a step, if only to bait him out. The second Sword jumps after him, a heavy boot connects with his protected stomach and shoves him back—with force he would never have expected from him before this.
He stumbles. A curse slips from his lips. Cobwebs cling to his leggings, the damn things dragging him back when he tries to take advantage of Avoma’s revealed weak spot.
It’s a painful reminder of what he did to him. Avoma could’ve been anything else. If he hadn’t killed him in the previous game … Sword and him could’ve been friends, allies even. Who knew how powerful they’d be, side by side?
The hammer that bears down onto him is an even more painful reminder. It’s the weight of everything he can’t get himself to regret, not more than a little. He’s sent flying, ripped free from the webs. The enchantments decorating his armour protect him from breaking his ribs in an instant but he’s still left gasping for air, fighting the urge to reach for his throat and give himself time to recover.
Instead, he twirls the trident back into his hand, swinging it just in time to nick Avoma’s leg. The weapon lights up, flashing yellows and blues, and a tidal wave is summoned from the heart of it. It drowns out the other’s scream before he can even get it out and throws him back. Sword has to revel in the cool water that laps around his ankles before it’s sucked back into the trident, and he takes the chance to bite down onto another golden apple, the effects that heal his wounds make the sting of saltwater just a little easier to bear.
Then they’re back to rushing each other, meeting head-on. Blows are traded. A constant back and forth, a game from the very start of the event.
Avoma taunts and jeers, his laugh crazed from the heat of battle. He takes every opportunity to strike him down. Fury drips from his every attack, beating him down further and further until Sword has to deplete his healing resources. He knows what he’s doing.
There is no pause. Sword can feel the blood gushing down his bare skin, sees the red taint his armour, a harsh contrast to the magic infused in the diamonds that give it a soft sheen. His body is littered with bruises that sting and ache with every move he makes, and he knows Avoma can tell, can tell very well.
Yet Sword refuses to pray for help. It’s up to him to strike his enemy down, no matter what. This is the fight to end it all. If he dies here, he’ll be a failure, and if he wins there’ll be not much more than the fleeting approval of the gods. And no, he’s not doing this for them.
Avoma wanted him, so he’ll get him.
The burst of strength he gets from that thought gets a damn good cut across Avoma’s cheek. He grins at the exasperation thrown his way, twists the trident over his head and goes in for another attack to get them back to trading blows with fervour ablaze.
His satchel feels emptier and emptier. There is no stop to the endless onslaught of attacks, as much as he returns them. It’s when he only feels two more of his golden apples that he realises he’ll have to turn this around … or suffer the consequences. Avoma knows it too, and the shining apple he bites down into is like a cruel taunt, the glee glimmering in his eyes.
Sword doesn’t feel as immortal as he’s made out to be. If anything, his mortality is starting to show more than ever. He wipes a gauntleted hand under his nose when he tastes blood, sees it come back red, and sneers at Avoma.
If there’s any time to get rid of him, it’s now. He hits him with the brunt of his trident, takes advantage of his stunned expression by swapping to his blade and hitting a well-aimed stab to the gut, then turns on his heel to run into the cave he’d used earlier to get rid of other teammates before him. Surely, it’ll serve him just as well now. If anything he can use it to flee to better battleground.
Ignoring how the walls close in on him like jaws snapping shut, he fights. He’s by no means claustrophobic but now? His weapons hit the stone of the walls whenever he’s not careful enough with a strike, screeching awfully, and he has to stop himself from flinching.
“Oh, it’s over now!”
Sword tries not to flinch at his words. “It’s never over.” His voice is low, tainted with tension.
“It’s over now, I’m finally getting my revenge!”
Cobwebs in here cling even worse to them, trapping Avoma in the entrance while he curses, trying and failing to get rid of them with his hammer. And it’s then that Sword feels the trident shudder under his touch and he knows.
Water flushes from the trident. Avoma’s eyes turn wide as the moon when his head shoots up, a yell cut off from his lips when he’s once again swept away.
His feet take him out of the cave. He can run, escape out of the ravine, find Pharolen and come up with a better plan than this— but a flash of panic overcomes him when Avoma’s there above him on the hill, blocking the path, dripping with water and hissing at the damage he did. He draws an exhausted breath and steels himself, hammer over his shoulder. Then it turns vindictive, excited, when he catches sight of Sword’s shock.
His attacks become clumsy after that. Avoma deflects his attack with too much ease, and drives Sword back until he’s backing up the hill himself, stumbling over his steps where the other’s growing more and more confident.
In the end, the hammer coming down from above him, blocking out the sun for an eternity, is what does him in. His knees buckle under the weight and he’s thrown back against the harsh rock. He makes a last ditch effort to stab his sword forward, but it’s knocked clean from his hands—it clatters down into the ravine, to be lost to the caves.
“You’re not killing me,” is said to him, a mockery, victory loud in his words.
Blood stains his gauntlets. He slips when he tries to push himself up, and the trident sits much too loosely in his hands. Avoma laughs and sets his hammer down with a loud clank. With ease, he rips the trident from Sword’s grip.
He blinks, and it’s all over.
Avoma steps back. He laughs, fists pumped into the air, a cry of victory yelled up to the gods. But his eyes remain on Sword. Vindictive, he crouches down to meet him eye to eye.
Sword looks down. The three points of his trident disappear between two plates of armour, the seashells and golden decorations growing redder and redder. A breath in turns into a cough. He tastes blood.
He sits back down, falls down. His hand curls around the handle, a last ditch effort to pull it out and keep fighting. If he can just grab a golden apple …
Avoma wraps his hand around Sword’s, effectively stopping him from pulling it out any further. He tuts in the most condescending way, and he doesn’t have to look to know he’s greatly enjoying this. His hand crushes him around the trident before he pushes, driving the weapon deeper and suddenly Sword can feel the bladed tips slowly cut through, drawing agony and a soundless scream from his lips. Blood drips from his lips onto his armour.
“Well, that settles that.” When Avoma lets go, Sword’s own hand falls off the weapon to his side. “I won.”
He can’t come up with the words to shoot back. There’s no coming back from this, there’s nothing he can do that’ll save him any kind of dignity. He’s waiting for the inevitable shadow of the hammer again to end it for good while he fights to even breathe.
He … failed. He failed and Avoma won, after everything.
The fingers that work to remove his helmet are shockingly gentle. He looks up to see Avoma concentrated, the bloodlust ebbing away. That expression of vengeance finally dissipates into something more peaceful. It’ll never be that hopeful one again, the one Sword saw for a minute or two before he murdered him in cold blood last time. He doubts it’ll ever come back. And yes, he’s disappointed in himself, but the fight seeps out of him now, he’ll just have to try harder next time.
“You fought well,” Avoma says, when he swallows down the apparent disgust at the words. He rests the helmet on the ground next to him. Removing a gauntlet of his own, he swipes the blood from underneath Sword’s nose.
There, he hesitates. Sword looks up at him, head falling back against the stone. The sting from the trident is starting to turn into a numb kind of noise. Avoma shuts his mouth with a click and gets back up, the warmth of his hand leaving only the icy cold to seep into his skin. The loss swirls in his mind, something he doesn’t even want to name, let alone admit.
“I’m going to need this, sorry.”
Though the apology means little to him, it’s all he can cling to as Avoma grabs onto the trident and yanks it back out in one swift pull. Sword slumps further against the rock, a final gasp of pain escaping him as the sting and the pain wrecks his whole body.
Then, there he stands. Proud and tall, the weapon in hand that’s haunted him most, a look undecipherable to him now. With his other hand, he picks up his hammer. He looks unstoppable.
“GGs, bro.” With that, he leaves Sword to climb up the hill and out the ravine, his kill already marked for death. It means the dying man misses the look Avoma sends over his shoulder at him at the top, a frown casting his face in shadow.
All he’s left with is the growing black edges to his vision. Everything blurs. He can’t quite feel how the blood pools around him, nor how his armour digs into his limbs anymore. It’s … nice. He can finally rest. Until he closes his eyes, dies, and opens them again to the next game. Because that’s how this goes and he knows he doesn’t actually get any rest.
Quietly now, he wonders if he’ll meet Avoma again. In the next game, or the one after.