The Descending Tide

  The tri-sword rose like a tidal wave—a towering wall of destruction about to drown everything beneath it. The Crown Horn King smiled, a harsh, creeping expression that held no warmth, only the promise of annihilation.

  "DIE."

  Kuro stood motionless, gripping Mosvmora tight. A glimpse—a flash—of every battle crossed his mind. One by one. His military days. Comrades falling, His fight in aethelgard.Enemies broken beneath his hands.

  How did I survive so far?

  Why did I survive so far?

  Was it only to wait for this? For my inevitable death?

  No, as he says it, the curse mark screamed with power, bright enough that you could see the glow through his sleeve.

  The tide came.

  Fenric closed his eyes, praying, believing.

  Ella rushed forward, trying to intercept the attack—but the orcs blocked her path, weapons raised.

  RINGGGGGG.

  The sword whistled its death song.

  Doom struck.

  BOOM.

  The earth shattered. Dust enveloped the land like a funeral shroud. Just like that, everything came to a stop.

  The Moment After

  Ella was still fending off her attackers the dread fell over her like a shroud seeing kuro. An orc seized the moment of her distraction and swung its club. The blow caught her temple, sending her flying. She crashed into nearby trees with bone-breaking force—an impact that would have been fatal to any normal human.

  From the ridge, Fenric watched Kuro get buried beneath the descending blade. He looked ready to pass out from fear, his body trembling—but if someone had looked closely at his face, they would have seen a slow smile creeping across his features.

  The King relaxed, confident in his victory. His massive blade had fallen. The human should be—

  His sword hadn't sunk.

  "AH!?"

  He pressed down harder. The monument of a tri-blade began to shake.

  "OH?"

  The dust began to settle.

  There, beneath the tri-sword, Kuro stood.

  He was blocking the massive blade with Mosvmora held in one hand, his feet sunken deep into the crater from the impact. His arm trembled with the strain, tendons standing out like cables, but the sword held.

  Kuro spoke to the king Are you...wondering..

  how? No—you're..not. After all, you...anticipated this... throughout the...battle, didn't you,...Bird?

  The King's smile transformed into something genuine—the first real expression of joy he'd shown. He spoke, his voice carrying across the devastated battlefield like rolling thunder.

  "FINALLY. LET'S END THE PLAY, SHALL WE? DON'T DISAPPOINT ME NOW."

  Kuro struggled to speak, his voice coming in gasps between the crushing weight above him. "Oh... I want... nothing more... than that."

  The King lifted his right leg, preparing to press down on the sword and crush both blade and man beneath his weight.

  Kuro's left hand moved.

  Still holding Mosvmora with his right, he reached for the knife tucked in his boot. His fingers closed around the handle. With every ounce of remaining strength, with the desperation of a cornered predator, he gripped it tight and threw.

  The blade flew like a bullet.

  It pierced the finger of the hand gripping the tri-sword.

  The King's leg came crashing down at that exact moment—but the sudden pain in his hand loosened his grip just enough.

  Kuro used that instant. Still blocking with Mosvmora in one hand, he placed his other palm against the flat of the tri-blade and pushed—not away, but sideways. The massive weapon twisted, following his force. One of the three blades rotated upward just as the King's foot came down.

  The descending leg impaled itself on the King's own sword.

  The Crown Horn King screamed.

  Kuro rolled clear as the massive body crashed down, the King falling to one knee, his own weapon piercing through his foot. Blood—thick and dark—poured from the wound.

  The King looked up at Kuro through the pain.

  And smiled.

  "Creepy bastard," Kuro muttered.

  The orcs began marching toward Ella's fallen form, weapons raised to finish what they'd started.

  Footsteps emerged from the woods before them.

  She walked out, unscathed.

  Ella rolled her shoulder casually, loosening the muscles, her movements betraying no sign of the impact that should have broken her. She looked past the approaching orcs and saw Kuro—alive, standing, fighting.

  "Something tells me he'll be alright," she said to herself. Then, louder: "Meaning I don't have to get distracted."

  She raised her voice, calling out: "Fenric!"

  "Yes!" he shouted back from the ridge.

  She whispered, knowing his enhanced hearing would catch every word: "Watch if anyone's around looking."

  He nodded.

  Then Ella moved.

  Faster than before. Faster than she'd moved the entire battle. Not holding back anymore. Something changed in her, like she was about to unleash something she'd hidden the entire battle.

  The Crown Horn pulled the tri-sword from his impaled foot with a wet, grinding sound. The moment the blade came free, he noticed something shift in the air—a disturbance in the battlefield behind Where Ella fighting.

  His lips moved, whispering something in a language older than stone.

  The orcs confronting Ella stopped mid-charge. Their eyes began to bleed black, the darkness spreading across the whites like spilled ink. Their skin hardened, taking on a stone-like texture. They became more fierce. More dangerous.

  Enhanced.

  Kuro noticed. "What are you doing? Cursing me?" Shit. "It must hurt."

  The tri-sword came at him in a blur.

  Kuro blocked it, Mosvmora meeting the massive blade with a metallic clang that echoed across the battlefield. The King placed his wounded foot back on the ground as if it had never been injured. Kuro's eyes widened—the foot had healed. Completely. As if the impalement had never happened. The massive wound on the King's back was closing as well, flesh knitting together like time reversing.

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  The tri-sword came again.

  And again.

  And again.

  A rhythmic dance of death. Kuro blocked, deflected, swung Mosvmora in defensive arcs that barely kept the onslaught at bay. Metal rang against metal. Sparks flew. The battle looked like the passage of time itself—endless, cyclical, inevitable.

  But Kuro held his ground.

  Fighting equally.

  "YOU STARTED TO BELIEVE IN YOUR BESTOWED POTENTIAL ONLY NOW," the King bellowed, his voice carrying approval and challenge in equal measure. " CAN YOU MASTER IT?... KARL."

  Kuro's eyes narrowed, smiled.

  "If it means finding you in whichever hole you're hiding and killing you, bird," Kuro responded through gritted teeth, "I will master it."

  The sequence of sword clashes intensified, each impact destroying what little remained of the village. The King still had an edge—his sword play was masterclass. After strike after strike, Kuro began to feel numbness creeping into his hands.

  Then came the thrust.

  The tri-sword came to impale him. Kuro blocked it in time, but the force sent him flying backward, his feet carving trenches through the earth as he was dragged across the ground into the open field beyond the village.

  Kuro straightened, sword held ready for the next attack. His body still vibrated from the impact.

  Then he noticed it.

  A sigh. Exhaling behind him.

  He turned his head to the right, looking back.

  Ella stood there, showing him her back. In front of her, only three of the enhanced orcs remained standing. The rest had been sliced into pieces, their bodies scattered across the bloodied earth.

  She turned her head left, glancing back at him.

  For a moment, Kuro and Ella locked eyes. Both panting. Both exhausted. Both still standing.

  Ella wondered how he'd survived the King's assault and was standing there looking relatively intact. But Kuro's expression revealed nothing—just a small, almost unnoticeable acknowledgment forming in his dark eyes.

  Then they both turned back to their respective battles.

  And charged.

  Kuro sprinted toward the King, Mosvmora held high at his side. The massive tri-sword came in a side swing. Kuro raised his blade and struck the tri-sword head-on, redirecting it downward, burying its point in the earth.

  Kuro didn't stop.

  Using his momentum, he climbed onto the embedded sword, using it as a step. The King lifted the tri-sword from the ground, pulling Kuro upward with it. Kuro running downwards reached out and grabbed the handle of his knife—still embedded in the King's finger from before—and pulled it free.

  Now he was running down the length of the arm as the King raised it.

  The King's other hand came swinging across his body to swat Kuro like a bug climbing on his hand.

  Kuro jumped.

  The massive hand slapped the arm where he'd been a heartbeat before. While airborne, Kuro drove his knife downward into the slapped palm of that hand, dragging the blade as he fell, cutting deep.

  He landed on the King's wrist and kept running.

  As he sprinted along the massive arm, he slashed continuously—quick, precise cuts across the hardened skin. The wounds opened. Blood flowed.

  The healing was slower now. The regeneration struggling to keep pace with the damage.

  Can't use this body fully, can you, Bird?

  The King swung his tri-sword across toward his own arm, trying to knock Kuro off. Kuro jumped backward into open air. The tri-sword stopped with an unlikely brake exactly where Kuro had been standing a moment before—then reversed direction, swinging upward to catch him while he was airborne.

  Kuro twisted in mid-air, positioning Mosvmora to deflect the strike. The impact sent him flying—not down, but forward, directly toward the King's head.

  Toward his eye.

  Toward his brain.

  Mosvmora's point aimed for the kill.

  The King's wounded arm moved with unworldly speed despite the damage and grabbed Kuro mid-flight. The blade stopped mere inches from the King's eye, close enough that the monster could see his own reflection in the dark metal.

  "TOO BAD," the King rumbled, his voice carrying something like regret. "YOU ALMOST GOT ME. IF ONLY THAT WOMAN HAD STOPPED INTERFERING, YOU'D BE DEAD SOONER. NOT THAT IT MATTERS NOW."

  The massive fist began to close.

  "DIE."

  The fingers tightened, crushing Kuro. He groaned in pain, but kept his mouth closed, fighting to stay conscious as his ribs began to crack.

  And smiled.

  The King's eye widened.

  At that moment, Kuro turned Mosvmora's handle slightly, triggering a hidden mechanism. With a soft click, the handle extended in a swift, telescoping motion—and the blade drove forward, impaling the King's left eye.

  Thanks senior

  The sudden pain forced the King to release his grip. Kuro, still holding onto Mosvmora's handle, used the leverage to drive the blade deeper. The King jerked his head violently to the side, and Mosvmora tore free, slashing across the ruined eye as it came.

  Kuro was airborne again, falling, about to land

  A leg came with full force—a football kick from a geological titan.

  The impact launched Kuro like a projectile. He flew across the battlefield and crashed through the upper floor of a destroyed house, the structure collapsing around him in a shower of broken wood and stone.

  Kuro groaned, pain radiating through every nerve. He sat up slowly, tasting blood Adjusting the sword.

  And smirked.

  A massive shadow covered him—descending, growing larger.

  BOOM.

  Something huge crashed down beside him, digging through what remained of the house. The impact sent tremors through the ground. When the dust cleared, it revealed a massive, bloodied foot of the king.

  The King had fallen unable to stand on one leg.

  He sat in the ruins of the house, unable to stand, his right foot gushing blood his remaining eye finding Kuro across the wreckage.

  Both warriors stared at each other.

  Both were smiling.

  The three remaining enhanced orcs coordinated their assault with tactical precision. Ella fended off every strike, but her exhaustion was showing. Some attacks began to land—glancing blows that would have killed a lesser fighter but only bruised her hardened body.

  She fell back, breathing hard. The continuous fighting and energy drain from the magic crystals had taken their toll.

  An orc charged, swinging its axe in a killing blow. In a blink, Ella sidestepped with minimal movement and swung her sword upward, sending a wind-blade slicing through the creature. It fell in two halves.

  She dropped to one knee, gasping for air.

  Just two more. Then it's over.

  She readied herself for the approaching orcs.

  Then they stopped.

  As if struck by an invisible force, both creatures froze mid-charge. They turned toward the King—toward the main battlefield—and began running in that direction, abandoning Ella entirely.

  Ella watched, surprised. She tried to follow, to finish them—

  Fenric caught her as she stumbled.

  "Fenric," she gasped, still trying to move forward, "let me go, they—"

  "It's okay," Fenric interrupted gently. "You did good. Rest. My partner will take care of the rest."

  Ella looked into Fenric's eyes and saw absolute certainty there. Complete faith.

  Her eyes began to close.

  Fenric watched Kuro across the battlefield and whispered, "End it. One for all."

  Kuro walked toward the fallen King, who was struggling to rise, his massive body trembling with the effort.

  "Looks like it's the end," Kuro said. Then, quieter, almost to himself: "Bird?"

  Silence.

  "Not talking anymore, huh?" Kuro's voice hardened. "So... some answers. I think I deserve them."

  The King just stared at him, saying nothing.

  The afternoon sun had turned to ember orange as it began to sink toward the horizon, painting the devastated battlefield in shades of blood and fire.

  "Speak, bastard," Kuro's voice rose. "I've been wandering this world not knowing why I came here. FUCKING SPEAK!"

  His composure—so carefully maintained—finally cracked.

  Two shadows crept behind him.

  TINGGGGG.

  Two blades came for his back. Mosvmora met them both in a perfect defensive arc, the enhanced orcs' weapons stopped cold by Kuro's instinctive block.

  The two remaining orcs double-teamed him with a coordinated series of attacks. But unlike their king, they were slower. Kuro parried every strike, his movements sharp with focused rage.

  "Fucking shit-eaters, move!"

  He sliced through their weapons, shattering the blades. As he moved in for the kill, both orcs charged for a final body slam—

  Something sharp and massive came from behind them, cutting through both orcs in a spray of blood and viscera.

  BOOOOOM.

  The tri-sword struck the ground where Kuro had been standing, the orcs' bodies reduced to a bloody paste beneath its weight.

  The Crown Horn King stood on one leg—as if nothing was wrong with the other—he pulled back his tri-sword and rested across his armored shoulder.

  He smiled victory

  But his eye watered.

  Tears.

  He was crying, looking at the bloodied remains of his brethren.

  The King whispered, his voice breaking: "It's... over right? Leave me. Leave my body. Or kill me. I'll... demise with my fallen comrades."

  He struggled to speak, his voice becoming his own again—no longer the entity controlling him.

  Then, as if in response, one of his horns—the one he'd used to block Kuro's earlier attack—sliced and fell from his crown, landing in front of him with a heavy thud.

  A voice came from his right side.

  "Fine. I'll kill you. You've endured enough."

  The King's single remaining eye widened in shock.

  He rotated his remaining eye to the right.

  There, like a vengeful ghost with a blood-stricken face, Kuro crouched atop the massive tri-sword's blade, Mosvmora resting across his shoulder.

  He turned to look at the King.

  For the first time in the entire battle, the Crown Horn King's face showed fear.

  He lifted his tri-sword in a desperate swing—

  But Kuro was already gone.

  Suspended in the air above him, Kuro spoke two words:

  "Goodbye, Commander."

  He swung Mosvmora in a crescent arc—beautiful, precise, final.

  He landed on the King's armored shoulder, blade hanging down at his side.

  Blood dripped from Mosvmora's edge.

  A line formed across the Crown Horn King's face, droplets of blood marking its path. Slowly, the front half of his face slid downward, blood flowing like a river.

  Kuro had cleaved his skull in half.

  The soulless body fell backward with a thunderous crash. Kuro stepped onto solid ground as the corpse hit the earth.

  He took a moment realizing "Dammit," he muttered. "I forgot about the answers. Shit."

  He stood there, breathing hard, staring at the corpse. Seconds passed. Maybe a minute. The battlefield was silent except for the wind through broken buildings.

  Then—

  A black, thick substance began emerging from the fallen King's body. It rose into the air like thread, but with purpose—traveling upward toward the sky.

  Like a blackened, cursed soul trying to reach heaven to cleanse its mistakes.

  Then a familiar voice spoke—not from the thread, but from everywhere and nowhere.

  "KARL. YOU WILL GET YOUR ANSWERS. BUT AS OF NOW, YOU'VE ONLY MOVED A SECTION OF A MOUNTAIN. PROVE MORE. UNTIL THEN."

  Kuro's jaw tightened. He looked up at the dissipating darkness and spoke through gritted teeth:

  "Fucking bird. Wait till I find you. You'll regret your choice of bringing me here."

  His vision blurred.

  Exhaustion crashed over him like a wave. His legs gave out.

  He fell.

  His eyes closed slowly as consciousness fled.

  The last thing he saw was the ember sky bleeding into darkness.