The battlefield had not changed.
But Alpha had.
His breath came steady. His body felt light. The exhaustion that had weighed him down moments ago had vanished, erased as if it had never existed. His wounds no longer bled, and the pain had dulled into a distant memory.
And in his hands, Vanitas pulsed with quiet certainty.
It was unlike any blade he had ever wielded. Weightless, yet heavy in meaning. The black metal drank in the dim light, its silver veins pulsing with slow, steady energy. It wasn't just a weapon. It was a presence. It was alive.
The enemy had noticed.
The warrior in obsidian armor took a step back. Their blade, once raised in casual certainty, now hovered in wary calculation. Their stance had shifted. No longer the posture of a predator toying with its prey, but of a duelist facing something unknown.
Alpha exhaled slowly.
He could feel it.
Vanitas carried more than just an edge. A cold current of power ran beneath its surface, deliberate and knowing. Holding it was like gripping frozen fire, a contradiction that made perfect sense.
His instincts whispered that this was no ordinary sword.
His survival instincts screamed something else entirely.
"This is probably cursed," he muttered under his breath.
The enemy moved.
A blur of motion rushed toward him, impossibly fast. Their sword carved through the air, black fire wreathed around the blade, cutting through the space between them in a single deadly arc.
Alpha's body reacted before his mind caught up.
The clash of metal rang through the battlefield. Sparks erupted as steel met steel. The force of the strike pressed against him, but he did not stagger. Did not buckle. The attack had landed, but it had done nothing.
The enemy's eyes flickered with surprise.
Alpha didn't give them time to process it.
Vanitas moved in his hands, a swift and perfect counter. The blade whistled through the air, slicing toward his opponent's ribs. The enemy twisted, dodging by a breath.
They were no longer untouchable. No longer invincible.
Alpha pressed forward.
Each strike flowed into the next. He wasn't just keeping up anymore. He was winning. His movements were sharper, his reactions faster. Every motion was precise, deliberate.
It felt familiar. Like he had fought this battle before.
The enemy feinted left and lunged. Their blade shot toward his throat.
Alpha blocked it without effort.
That was the first sign something was wrong.
Vanitas wasn't just responding to his commands. It was anticipating them.
The silver veins along its surface pulsed brighter. A whisper slid through his mind, soft as falling ash.
"Balance is an illusion."
The battlefield wavered. Flames flickered in unnatural patterns. The ground seemed less real. The very air held its breath.
The enemy unleashed everything.
A dozen strikes rained down on him, each one wreathed in searing black fire.
He met every single one.
Not through skill. Not through instinct.
Vanitas guided him. His body moved too well. His reactions were too fast. Every parry was perfect. Every dodge was seamless.
It was unnatural.
It was effortless.
It was wrong.
The realization came too late.
His body wasn't his own.
Something cold slithered through his veins. A presence crept through his limbs, curling around his thoughts. He had assumed Vanitas was aiding him.
But it wasn't just helping.
It was overwriting.
His hesitation lasted only an instant. It was long enough.
The enemy feinted, then struck deep.
Pain flared as their blade carved across his chest. The force sent him stumbling back, breath ragged.
Blood splattered onto the ground.
His blood.
His vision blurred. His heartbeat thundered. The strength Vanitas had granted flickered and faded. The sudden weakness sent his balance tilting.
The enemy stepped in and drove a brutal kick into his ribs.
Alpha flew backward.
The world spun around him. His body hit the ground hard, rolling across the dirt before coming to a stop. His limbs refused to move. His chest ached with every breath.
The cold inside him had vanished. Only exhaustion remained.
Above him, the enemy loomed. Their blade was raised.
This was it.
For a moment, he had won. It wasn't enough.
He had failed.
Again.
The blade descended.
Before the world turned dark, the whisper returned.
"Do you understand now?"
Everything faded.
Darkness.
Not unconsciousness.
Something deeper.
This was the void again.
Weightless. Breathless.
Vanitas floated before him, silver veins pulsing. It felt patient, as if it had been expecting him.
Alpha clenched his teeth. "You could've warned me."
A whisper curled through the void.
"I did."
His sword was smug. Fantastic.
Alpha sighed. "Alright. What the hell just happened?"
"You fought."
"Uh-huh. And why did I suddenly feel like I was starring in a fight sequence I wasn't trained for?"
"Because you were."
He scowled. "Cryptic and unhelpful. Great."
Vanitas pulsed slightly. He could almost feel amusement in the silence.
"You are not the first to wield me."
The words settled into his thoughts, slow and deliberate.
"You will not be the last."
Alpha frowned. "That's comforting."
A pause.
"But you are different."
That stopped him.
He narrowed his eyes. "Different how?"
"You resisted."
The moment the words formed, Vanitas pulsed once. The void shattered.
Pain rushed back.
Noise. Light. The battlefield.
Alpha's eyes snapped open. His lungs dragged in air.
He was alive.
Still lying in the dirt. Still bleeding. But alive.
A shadow loomed over him. The enemy had not moved. Their blade remained raised, but their eyes watched him carefully.
They had noticed something was wrong.
Alpha inhaled and forced himself upright. His body screamed in protest. Blood dripped from the wound on his chest, but he was still breathing.
Good enough.
He looked down at Vanitas.
The blade pulsed once.
Alpha exhaled. He had no idea what had just happened.
But he had a second chance.
And this time, he wasn't going to waste it.