Page 87 of Sundered By Fate

Aric's muscles burned as he parried Malekith's relentless assault, the demon prince's weapon a typhoon of shadow and steel. The courtyard stones were slick with Aric's own blood now, the coppery scent mingling with the acrid tang of brimstone from the rift.

Power thrummed beneath his skin, the golden fire that had erupted from him unbidden, the wings, the energy to destroythe rifts, and now, the sigil searing his flesh with each passing second. It would be so easy to give in, to let the darkness consume him and unleash a torrent of destruction upon the demon realm.

Aric braced himself and spun out of the way of a vicious slash. Malekith's blade kissed the air an inch from his jaw, and Aric felt the chill of the Void's touch on his skin. He stumbled back, his boots skidding on the blood-slicked stones, and barely managed to bring his sword up in time to block the next strike.

The force of it sent a jagged bolt of pain up his arm, and Aric's fingers spasmed around the hilt. For a moment, he was terrified he would lose his grip, that Malekith would sense his weakness and strike the killing blow.

But Malekith merely smiled, a cruel twist of his lips, and stepped back. The violet glow in his eyes seemed to pulse with cruel amusement, as if he knew Aric's every thought, every fear. "You're holding back," he purred, his voice a low, seductive rasp. "Why is that, I wonder? Afraid to hurt me?"

Aric's heart clenched at the words, at the ghost of the Malekith he had known in that honeyed tone. No, he told himself fiercely. That's not him. Not anymore.

But even as the thought formed, Aric saw an opening. A bare second of hesitation in Malekith's next strike, a fraction of a heartbeat where his guard dropped and his throat was exposed. Aric could do it, could end this nightmare with a single, swift thrust of his blade.

And yet he hesitated. His arm trembled with the effort of holding back, but he couldn't do it. He couldn't strike down the man he loved, no matter what Sylthris and Zaxos had done to him.

Malekith's eyes narrowed, and then his lips curled in a sneer. "Fool," he hissed, and lashed out with his blade.

Aric tried to parry, but he was too slow, his movements sluggish from exhaustion and pain. The black steel bit deep into his arm, parting flesh like butter, and Aric shrieked in agony. Blood welled from the wound, hot and sticky against his skin, and for a moment the world swam around him in a dizzying spiral of color and sound.

The rift behind them pulsed, a sickly violet glow that seemed to mock him with its very existence. This was what he had come here to stop, what he had risked everything to prevent. And now, because of his own weakness, his own unwillingness to do what needed to be done, it might all be for nothing.

Aric gritted his teeth, his vision clearing as the pain in his arm sharpened into focus.

But Aric had seen where that path led, the twisted mockery of Malekith that stood before him now. He couldn't let that happen to him, couldn't become the monster that Malekith had become. No matter how much it cost him, no matter how much it hurt, he had to find another way.

Aric raised his sword, the golden flame dancing along the blade in time with the frantic pounding of his heart. Malekith's eyes glinted with cruel amusement, and he stepped forward, his own blade poised to strike.

"You should have killed me when you had the chance," Malekith seethed. "Now it's too late. Now, I'm going to make you pay for your foolishness."

Aric met his gaze, his own eyes hard and unyielding. "I won't let that happen," he said, his voice steady despite the fear that gripped his heart. "I won't let you become this monster. Not without a fight."

Aric changed tactics, his mind racing as he searched for anything that would stop Malekith without striking him down. He couldn't bring himself to end the life of the man he had once loved, no matter how much of a monster he had become.

Instead, Aric focused on his magic, the golden flames dancing along the length of his blade as he feinted and dodged, trying to create distance between them. He knew he couldn't match Malekith in a straight-up fight, not with the demon prince's newfound power and the advantage of the rift's energy.

Malekith anticipated each move, cutting off Aric's attempts to reach the tear in reality.

Aric's mind flashed back to the countless hours he had spent sparring with Malekith at the Ebon Spire. He remembered teaching the prince this very defensive pattern, Malekith's movements fluid and graceful as he mastered the technique. The memory hit Aric like a physical blow, throwing him off balance and leaving him vulnerable to Malekith's relentless assault.

Malekith's blade found its mark once more, the black steel slicing through Aric's tunic and biting deep into his side. Aric cried out in pain, the coppery scent of blood filling his nostrils as he stumbled backward, his vision blurring at the edges. The courtyard stones seemed to tilt and shift beneath his feet, and he feared he would collapse under the weight of his injuries.

But the searing agony in his side brought a sudden clarity, snapping Aric back to the present with the force of a slap. He couldn't afford to lose focus, not even for a second. Exhaustion was seeping into his bones, his muscles screaming in protest with each parry and deflection. If he didn't find a way to end this quickly, to stop Malekith before his strength gave out, he would be at the mercy of the demon prince's blade.

Malekith laughed, the sound cold, emotionless, as if he sensed Aric's flagging strength and was seizing on it. But Aric refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing his weakness, refused to let him know how close he was to breaking.

The combat took them in a wide circle around the rift, neither gaining a decisive advantage. Aric's heart pounded in his chest as he parried and deflected, a marrow-deep exhaustioncreeping through him. But he pushed through the pain, his mind working furiously to find a solution, a way to turn the tide of this battle.

Because in the end, it wasn't just about him and Malekith. It was about the fate of two realms, the lives of countless innocents hanging in the balance. Aric had come too far, sacrificed too much, to let it all slip away now. He had to stop Malekith, no matter the cost. He had to.

Aric launched into a flurry of strikes that drove Malekith backward. Each blow was calculated to force the demon prince onto the defensive, to create the opening Aric needed to reach the rift. The rift pulsed and swirled around them, the violet light casting eerie shadows across the ruined courtyard.

Malekith's eyes narrowed, his face a mask of cold concentration as he met each strike with a parry or deflection. But even with his enhanced power, he was beginning to falter under the relentless onslaught. Aric's magic poured through the sword, the blade resonating with the raw energy of his golden flames.

Their blades finally locked, the steel kissing in a shower of sparks as they strained against each other. Aric's face was inches from Malekith's, close enough to see the flecks of violet in his eyes, the twist of cruel amusement on his lips. For a moment, they held there, two warriors locked in a silent struggle of wills and strength.

And then, in a flash of desperate hope, Aric searched Malekith's eyes for any spark of recognition, any hint of his prince. But there was nothing there, only the cold, pitiless gaze of a stranger. Malekith sneered, and he spat out a single, venomous word: "Fool."

With a sudden, vicious twist, Malekith wrenched the blades apart, sending Aric stumbling backward. The human mage caught himself on one knee, the sword still clutched in his hand.Blood dripped from a fresh cut on his cheek, mingling with the sweat and grime of battle. His chest heaved with exhaustion as he staggered onto his feet again. Aric was running out of time, that his strength was fading with the dying daylight. But he couldn't give up, not now, not when he was so close to his goal.

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