Tomas's sword slashed down fast and heavy, glinting in the gray dawn. I jerked my blade up, hands slick with sweat and blood.
My arms shook from his last bone rattling hit. Claire's laugh flickered in my mind, stolen, and my chest burned with it.
Steel crashed against steel, the screech jarring my skull. It shoved me back, boots scraping stone.
My knees prepared to give up but I couldn't let them, this world, this body, this pain, I'd make it answer to me.
Alaric's voice barked in my head, shift now. I twisted, clumsy but sharp, his instincts steadying my grip.
My rage at the duke, at Vivien, at this cursed life poured into my hands. It felt like fire, begging to be let loose.
Tomas's blade grazed my shoulder, tearing cloth, nicking skin. Pain flared hot and quick. I bit it down, jaw tight, and stumbled back. In this fight, I could let it all out.
He circled with a loose, cocky stance. His green eyes gleamed with confidence. "Too slow, young lord," he sneered.
"Thought you'd keep up this time?" His voice stoked my anger, daring me to crush it.
The knights watched, ten shadows against the stone walls. Their eyes were hard, Sir Dren's faint smirk fixed on me.
Lirien leaned to the side, arms crossed. Her gray gaze bet I'd fall again.
Silver cracks pulsed in the sky, scars from that portal fifty years ago. The air hummed, then stilled, but tension pressed down.
My breath came jagged, blood dripping from my palms. Today, I wasn't their pawn.
The hilt felt sticky, stained red with my blood bleeding through the bandages. Claire's warmth, Ethaniel's shame, my own failures churned inside.
They demanded release. Alaric's cold personality merged with mine, sharp and unyielding.
I lunged, letting it all spill out. My swing was wild, sloppy, but fast. Alaric's echo twisted my wrist, tracing a brutal arc. Everyone who'd sneered, everything I'd lost, fueled that strike.
Tomas flinched, green eyes flashing surprise. His blade snapped up too late. Metal clanged, sparks spitting into the air, I managed to land a shallow strike on his chest.
It made him bleed, for once, I wasn't just taking blows, I was giving them back.
He grunted with surprise and anger, boots sliding as I pressed forward. Fury pulsed through me, raw and alive.
His smirk faded, arm trembling under my force. This moment was mine, a chance to break free.
He ducked low, breaking free. His sword slashed at my ribs, quick and vicious. I stumbled back, Alaric's voice whispering, block. My grief roared louder, refusing to yield.
I swung down, catching his strike mid air. The jolt rattled my teeth. His swing wavered, balance off. I saw a crack in his pride, my chance to hit back.
I kicked out, aiming for his knee, a dirty trick Alaric favored. My heel connected hard. Tomas swore, staggering, his leg buckling. The knights muttered.
I wouldn't stop, couldn't stop. All the weight, the suffocating loss, poured into my blade. I lunged again, aiming for his chest.
My breath scorched my throat, I felt alive with a purpose for a moment.
He twisted away, too quick, my sword slicing air. His elbow slammed into my jaw. Pain exploded, blinding. Blood filled my mouth, metallic and thick.
I hit the dirt, rolling, spitting red into the dust. The world spun, gray and hazy.
Tomas loomed above, anger apparent on his face, sword raised. I'd made him bleed, marked him, and that kept me going.
"Done already, young lord? Pathetic," he said. His blade dropped to pin me. Alaric growled, move. I scrambled, rolling aside as steel bit the ground.
Dirt burst around me, dust choking my lungs. My chest heaved, heart pounding. I roared, dragging myself up. This fight was my answer to their scorn, my pain.
My blade swung blind, raw force driving me. It caught his arm, a shallow cut. Blood seeped through his sleeve. "You," he spat, clutching it, eyes blazing with fury.
I grinned, thin and bitter. Alaric's cold mind pushed past the ache. Claire's absence clawed at me, but here I could fight back, against him, against it all.
Tomas charged, furious, his sword blurring. Left, right, forcing me back step by step.
I parried, barely, arms screaming, hands slipping on the bloody hilt. Each block was defiance, each swing freedom.
His blade grazed my thigh, ripping muscle. I gasped, stumbling, sword dipping low. He lunged for my chest. I ducked, Alaric barking, counter, and swung up.
My blade's flat smacked his wrist, knocking his strike off. He cursed, reeling. I rammed my shoulder into his gut, hard, messy. We hit the dirt, rolling, grappling.
His fist split my cheek, my elbow slammed his ribs, bone nearly crunching. The knights yelled, boots stomping closer. My grief, my rage, spilled out in blood and dust.
I scrambled up, blade gripped tight. I swung, wild, heavy, for his shoulder. Something to end it, to prove I could stand. To claim this moment as mine.
Tomas rolled free, popping up. Blood streaked his arm, face twisted, no smirk, just rage. "Enough," he growled, hand clenching, mana crackling sharp and alive.
My stomach sank. Alaric's voice flared but too late against this. He thrust his blade, a gust blasted out, raw and hard. It slammed me back, air gone.
I crashed down, sword bouncing away. Dust clogged my throat, chest locking up. I'd fought, pushed past their sneers, past my breaking point.
The knights shouted, "Tomas, ease off!" Dren's voice cut through, boots pounding near. Tomas didn't stop, eyes locked on me. Mana swirled, his blade rising again.
I wouldn't lose here. I grabbed at my mana, a faint spark in this broken body. It flickered into my hands as I coated my sword. Thin, barely there, heat along the steel.
It was weak, sputtering out. This body couldn't do it, not yet. My anger didn't need mana to burn. I charged, a yell ripping free.
Tomas swung, mana howling in a gust. I ducked low, Alaric's footwork weaving through me. I dodged the wind's edge, hair whipping wild. My blade flashed up, mana flickering faintly.
It cut a thin red line across his neck. Blood dripped fast before my spark died, drained out. He staggered, hand clutching the cut. Shock, then fury filled his eyes.
"You, damn you," he snarled, voice shaking, blade jerking up. Mana flared bright and wild as he lunged. Blood trickled down his collar. "I'll teach you," he growled.
I braced, chest heaving, my mana gone, body too weak. The knights piled in. Dren seized Tomas's arm, holding it back. Two others grabbed me, hands clamping my shoulders.
"Enough," Dren barked, shoving Tomas down. His scarred face was tight.
"You're done, both of you." I'd done it, marked him, and claimed something back.
Tomas thrashed, barking, "I had him, let me finish!" Fury cracked his voice. Blood smeared his neck, soaking his tunic. I stood panting, sword shaking in my grip.
I'd fought, not just to survive, but to let it out. Claire's loss, Ethaniel's shame, my failures, they poured through me. This pain was mine to wield, and it felt lighter now.
Lirien stepped up, braid swinging. Her gray eyes were wide, not cold, but startled. She scanned me like I was something new. "Ethaniel," she said, low, almost lost.
Her voice snapped sharp. "Inside, get those cuts patched, now. Back here tomorrow, six sharp, don't test me." Her tone wavered, unsteady, as she turned away.
The knights dragged me off, grips bruising my arms. Boots crunched stone, no smirks, just heavy quiet. My head buzzed with Tomas's snarl, "I had him."
Those thin red lines, my mark, burned bright. I'd pushed past their sneers, past what they thought. This fight was my grief breaking open, a piece of me set free.
Alaric's mind held me up, cold, unyielding. I hated it, but it helped me survive.
Ethaniel's pain burned deeper. Years of their fists, their glares, endured in silence, it mixed with mine.
If it was just me, Ethan Carter, who'd lost everything, I'd have stayed down. Let the dirt win. Alaric's will, Ethaniel's pain, they wouldn't let me quit.
They kept me going, step by bloody step. I drew blood, stood when they figured I'd fall. This wasn't just a brawl, it was my anger finding a voice.
Inside, they patched me, rough hands jamming cloth on cuts. Sharp stings as they wiped blood. No one spoke, their silence heavy. My jaw pulsed, thigh ached.
Blood crusted under my nails. Lirien's "six sharp" stuck with me, a rope I couldn't cut. Something else lingered, a spark, faint but real. I'd let it out, all that rage and loss.
It wasn't gone, but unfastened, like a knot starting to unravel. I stumbled to my room, floor cold under my boots. The air was thick with dust and quiet.
The bed looked too soft, mocking me. I collapsed after setting an alarm for five. The ornate bedside clock reminded me this was a different world.
Sheets tangled around my busted frame. My eyes drifted shut, the fight flashing back. Steel screaming, Tomas's rage, that red line blooming on his neck.
A faint echo hit me, Claire, soft, slipping. I cursed, fists clenching, pain spiking through my hands. Tomorrow, six, I thought, breath slowing, heavy.
I'd stand again, not just for them, but for me. Darkness rolled in. I let it take me, too tired to push back.