12 Miles Below

“Draw your blade, Winterscar.” A voice hissed behind me. Full of old history and emotion.

I turned to see the Shadowsong prime with his Occult longblade, extended out. Tip pointed in my direction.

I took a step back, “If you’re looking for a spar, you know Occult blades aren’t allowed. We can schedul-”

“I’ll halt at twenty. You’ll find no safety against me until then, Winterscar.”

That meant the fight would end once one of us hit twenty percent on shield reserve. A very dangerous margin. Shields don’t last long against occult edges, it only took a few seconds of overall contact before they broke.

And Occult weapons were still weapons of destruction capable of cutting through anything, even the ancient relic armors. “Why are you doing this? Why now?” I hissed. “This is stupidly dangerous, even if we aimed to stop at fifty! Twenty is a thread’s edge away from dismembering something.”

“You’ve managed to fool Ironreach and the Clan Lord himself somehow, but I know your kind, Winterscar. Each time Ironreach fought it was scheduled and upon your estate grounds. Whatever trick you’ve come up with, it requires time and location.”

Ah. He thought Kidra’s skills were a trick. To be fair, I could see his point of view in this. This would be exactly the sort of ploy some of the old Household members would pull off for clout. Fooling the clan lord was not something easily done given that his eyes and ears were all over the clan. Shadowsong imagined whatever we’d pulled off, it would have to be some delicate contraption of a plan that required everything to be set up just right to work.

A surprise duel could easily throw a wrench into such a plan like that.

“Only fools trust your kind.” The prime waved around himself. “There is no one here to save you. No tricks you can prepare. There is only yourself and whatever worth your mettle is. Draw your blade, Winterscar. I’ll not ask again.” His voice was ice with an undercurrent of rage.

Duels using real Occult weapons were far different compared to regular crucible swords. Those were weapons meant to kill with. Up here, true combat between knights is split into two main phases. Wearing down the shields and then going for the ending blow. So of course, both have completely different styles of combat.

Against the shields of a relic armor, location didn’t matter, and neither did speed of the attack. The only rule that mattered was the amount of overall time the destructive edge of an Occult blade could be held against the shield.

Once the shields were no longer a factor, the fight would radically change back into a style everyone was more used to. Targets were the hands, legs, head and throat. Fights were brutal and over in seconds at that point. No one else had shields, so this was the tried and true.

This style was one I wouldn’t be seeing today, not if the fight ended at twenty percent shields. Hopefully.

There wasn’t any more time to negotiate with Shadowsong. Before I could figure out what else to say, he lunged forward. Tip extended out.

Reflex took hold of my movements, forcing me to draw my blade and parry the strike. My movements were slow, the soul-fractal not active. I’d trained with it, but never in any situation like this. I didn't exactly expect a fight here.

Kidra practically walked everywhere while within the soul-trance, maybe even took her naps with it on. I didn’t have that kind of discipline in me, though if I made it out in one piece after this event that might change. Sinking into that trance was a lot like putting on the under armour leggings. It was never done all in one go, I always had to take my time to wiggle in the right way, use my hands to clump up section after section and roll it into position. Time I wasn’t going to get against him.

“Stand and fight, coward.” The prime spat. “Show me this technique of yours, if it exists.”

“Look, it’s not that simp-”

I hardly even had time to say a word out, before he was attacking again. This time in a three pronged blow of strikes I belatedly recognized came from the Makiskeru style. Not being fast enough to batter away all three of those, I wisely took several steps back with each strike, rapidly running out of room in exchange. “What do you want?”

“What I want is to confirm my only daughter wasn’t sent out to die, all for some convoluted Winterscar plot to curry favor with the clan lord!” This time it was an impressively quick uppercut, followed by a swift double slash. Tetsu form, ashina cross. No followup lunging swing as the move traditionally could continue into. He was angry now.

I continued backtracking, relying heavily on the spacing to keep me out of danger, searching the hangar for anything I could use. His attacks hadn’t been made to truly strike at me, rather force me away.

Ikusari stopped, helmet glaring down at me. “There is no technique you’ve developed in secret is there?” He lunged forward, a vertical strike that would have cleaved through me from head to chest had I not outright jumped and rolled out of the way. Another move from Tetsu, upper heavenly strike.

I made a second saving roll for it, leaping across with all Journey was capable of. The prime walked slowly towards where I recovered.

“I shouldn't have even hoped. It was obvious from the start. You’re a boy in over your head and now my daughter will pay the price for your arrogance. I should have put you and your sister in your place the moment I heard your house was on the move. Should have seen the signs. If I had acted earlier, the clan lord would have seen reason.”

Crouched down, my hands reached out and grabbed a rogue toolkit box from under a table, which I turned and chucked at him immediately. Right on time, he was about to strike again at me just as I lobbed the heavy thing at him. As the toolbox arched through the air, I bolted forward from my crouch, following the trajectory and executing a fast sideways cut cobbled together from Nagareru flow style, a school of combat highly adaptable to any recovery movements. Movements like water, capable of being used from any situation.

The box was swatted away with an extended left hand, backhanded down into the ground where it spun and bounced away wildly, dented. With his right hand, he cut straight up at nearly the same time, guiding his blade to intercept my attack. Both our blades were knocked up with the telltale harsh ping of occult edge on edge.

In that window of time, he twisted on his foot, nailing a powerful knee into my chest. Journey absorbed the shock without issue, but the hit still forced me to bend over. With that, he had full control over my movements and leveraged it to throw me backwards, in the direction of the white wastes. The moment I raised my head back up, all I saw was an incoming kick coming straight at my center mass. It launched me out of the hangar, flying out into the harsh wind and exposed surface.

Here the snow billowed around, already obscuring the battlefield. The gathering storm closing in from the distance, a massive wall of white.

I recognized the mercy. In the span of a few seconds, this fight could have been over a few times over already.

How did I know this? Because he chose to kick me instead of taking the obvious advantage after that parry and shredding Journey’s shields then and there. Don’t rightly know what I expected. This wasn’t a real fight for him. Shadowsong was the best duelist in the clan, likely a step above my sister even with her newfound skills. What hope did I even have?

"What in the gods has gotten into you?!" I sputtered out. There was something unhinged about Shadowsong.

The prime stalked out of the hangar, walking with intent. “Stop running. Show me Winterscar! Give me something. Anything.” There was a hint of desperation leaking into his voice.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen the Prime behave like this, at least in the few times I’ve seen him. He’d always professed a steely control over emotions, and yet he looked absolutely furious now. I stared at him, mutely.

My silence seemed to have been the wrong thing to say.

“Four novices with only Windrunner to protect the fledglings? Do you realize what you’ve done?!” He bellowed, voice lined with desperation and anger. “Think! Windrunner's been ordered to escorte the delegate down to that city. Everyone else in that mission is expendable. My daughter is expendable.”

He stalked forward in my direction, anger boiling off his strides, as I scrambled back up on my feet. “He’s trusting that your sister knows how to fight, and when the moment of truth comes and it’s revealed she doesn’t - someone will die. Show me, damn you, that there is still hope.”

He’d kicked me away thinking it gave him more room to crush me. Perfect window of time for me to dive into the soul fractal.

I cleared my mind, while Shadowsong continued to close the distance. The soul fractal burned at the side of my helmet, waiting for me to merge with it. A breath in, a breath out, I searched for the calm I needed to organize myself correctly. If I messed up, I’d have to extricate myself and start over.

“Pitiful.” He snarled across the wastes. “In the end, you’re only another dog like the rest of the mutts that spawned you.”

“You’re wrong. I’m nothing like them.” I hissed back, taking the first step into the soul fractal. The world began to blur, distance receding in and out of focus. Colors appearing and disappearing as different parts of my soul shifted around.

“Am I?" He spread his arms out. "Without time to set up your convoluted plots, to get everything perfectly controlled, you’re nothing. Unable to stand against even a sliver of my attention. You’re a traitor to the clan, Winterscar. You’ve doomed innocent lives for this farce.”

I took the second step into the soul fractal. Thoughts become more lucid as the adrenaline and fear taking hold of my brain lost grasp. I sunk deeper into the soul-trance, each step being easier than the last.

“Tenisent was the only exception in your House, and his line ended with him. I’ll honor his memory and remove the rot from your House, starting with you.” He brought his blade up, giving a salute. “You’re too dangerous to be left alive. Your entire house is. I’ll accept whatever consequences come, what I do, I do for the good of the clan.”

Frantically, I doubled down on the soul fractal. The last few roots clicked into place. Just in time.

"You’re wrong about my House. And about me.” I said again, standing to my full height. “But you’re not wrong about the danger. I’ll show you exactly what my Father left behind.”

My sword rose up, the speed causing the wind to break it’s pattern for a moment, flakes of snow billowing in confused directions. The Shadowsong prime instantly halted in his steps. His head ever so slightly tilted to the side, an unworded question. He knew something had changed. Could feel it. Maybe years of instinct and fighting had drilled things deep within him.

A deep calm settled between us. A moment before a tempest.

It’s odd how memory works. Maybe it’s because he mentioned my Father. Maybe it’s the way he made his way across the white wastes. His stance, his posture, all of it threw me halfway across memories.

Back to the very first time I’d seen Father truly fight.

He’d been a dead drunk my whole childhood, having started his binge the day I was born. I’d heard stories about his skills, and never believed a single one of them. After all, how could a drunk like him do any of that? He could barely stand on his feet most of the days.

Every now and then, tradition and honor would require him to wear the armor for cultural functions but that was the only time I’d seen him ever appear anywhere near a proper relic knight. Everything everyone told me may as well have been about a stranger.

And then the raid happened, and something settled into his soul that shook him free of the drink and vapid days spent.

A week after we’d settled into the new empty Winterscar estates, Father challenged Shadowsong for the title of First Blade.

I’d gone to that arena expecting a professional knight to beat down a belligerent drunk, or at least a recovering one given I hadn’t seen him with any bottles up to then. Only quiet reservation and meditation anytime I got an eye of him. It had certainly been a jarring change of behavior, but even so I couldn’t possibly imagine someone like him beating the Shadowsong prime.

He had walked into that arena, still and silent. Crucible sword drawn and ready. Winterscar doned, the ancient family armor all polished up and presentable. And then he’d moved in ways I’d never seen a relic knight fight. I never saw Father the same way again from that day onwards.

I’d trained for years with him after that, not by choice. It had been hard and grueling, but deep down were the fundamentals he’d taught me. I knew every move in the book - and all the extras he’d penned out.

I remember the opening attack Father had used at that first trial. The very first attack I’d ever seen come out of him. The blade in his hand whistled through the air like a chorus. His movements had looked like flowing water, a precise torrent that overwhelmed all.

Each strike, each step - they were all different techniques woven together. And individually I knew them all.

Memory passed through, and only the present remained. The enemy before me. My mind overlayed the movements I’d seen Father perform. I took a final breath, it was now or never.

Nagareru form, lunging tide.

Journey blurred forward, squishing my body against the armor by sheer inertia. My hands raised up, bringing Cathida’s longsword tip first, arms extended out. In a heartbeat I’d already passed his defenses, striking directly at his chest. Occult blue sprang up across his relic armor, stopping the blow with his armor's shields.

Journey’s heads up display showed the percentage on his end drop significantly from that. One hundred down to seventy three. It forced him to take a step back, grunting in sheer surprise at the impact.

I didn’t end there, instead re-directing the blade into a sharp downwards swipe from my extended position, knocking the back of his blade out of the way and opening him up for another strike. Sixty five percent. I flowed through it, a diagonal cut across his breastplate, dragging the cutting edge of the occult blade across the entire shield, twisting my body around, leg extended out for the followup kick.

In the original duel between Father and Shadowsong, he had managed to twist away from that kick at the last second. Be it because I caught him by surprise, or that I had exceeded the speeds even Father had reached, this time the kick connected. It lifted him up and off the ground, then sent him sailing away, a dozen feet.

Ikusari twisted in midair, like a cat, using the proper recovery movements to land on his feet. Thirty seven percent left. I needed one more solid hit and his shields would surely barrel past the twenty percent mark.

“What was that, Winterscar?” He said, almost in a whisper, head whipping back up, keeping me in sight at all times.

“You keep thinking it’s a trick. I said it before, you’re wrong. It was never a trick. I'm just not as good as my sister is.” I replied.

Ikusari didn’t answer, staying mute for a moment. Processing the discovery. “And you didn’t think to start the duel with this?”

“You know, it takes a good moment to center myself for it. Not exactly easy to find that calm when an angry man is waving a razor sharp blade in your face.”

Especially one with murderous intention.

The prime stood still for a moment. Then his head tilted down and he laughed. A loud, wild thing. It sounded more like a torrent of emotions violently leaving him behind, a howling cackle. When he finished, his sword rose back up, pointed right at me. “I thought myself clever. Seems now I'm the onw humbled.” He gave another weak chuckle, shoulders dropping slightly, before straightening once more. “Odd. Never have I felt more relieved in my life to have been wrong. Come then, Keith. Finish what you started. Show me all that Tenisent left behind.”

He didn’t need to ask twice. Journey lunged at him, crossing the distance in a blur, rocketing into his position.

I tried to follow Father’s set of attacks, but the fight quickly deviated. My initial hits had done well due to shock and surprise, but now that Ikusari knew what to expect, his true skills were brought out.

My own speed overshadowed him by a strong margin. My body could move at the same speed my mind could - except my mind wasn’t as quick as my sister’s. Every parry I made was a belated realization. Every dodge was one I only thought of at the last second. There was still that mental delay inside me between seeing the attack, categorizing what it was, and remembering the correct defense against it. It was dragging me down, making my motions more like a belated patch fix rather than an intuitive leap.

I was spending too much time thinking, not enough time moving.

The Occult trail of light streamed behind our blades, interrupted only occasionally by a punch, kick or spinning elbow. We traded blow after blow in that frozen tundra, weaving a dozen different strikes and counters all within seconds. I tried to turn my head off, to simply leave my reflexes to do as they were trained.

It wasn’t enough. Sheer speed couldn’t overcome experience and skill. Shadowsong was rapidly adapting, I could see it in the movements and stance.

Calm calculation, testing my defense and attack, narrowing down how I moved and thought. He wasn’t taking me lightly anymore, this was his true breadth of skill, fully applied.

Soon he would begin to predict my strikes, and then he’d set traps and lead my reactions. Kidra had gone through the same process. It took her three minutes of non-stop combat before she’d finished her analysis and turned the tables on me.

Shadowsong and myself had been trading blows for just about the same amount of time and I could tell the turning point was rapidly approaching from his end. Despite my advantage in speed, and him being one hit away from defeat, I just couldn’t land that damn last hit. And time was running out.

My saving grace was the storm.

Rapidly approaching, a billowing blanket of snow. The winds weren’t strong enough to throw relic knights around, but that wasn’t the true danger - It was the snow being pulled and churned inside the blizzard. That snow would cover everything like a blanket, and cut off the sunlight. In that darkness, the field of combat would be changed.

I didn’t know how I was going to take the advantage yet, but whatever chance for victory was left - the answers were somewhere inside that storm.

I changed my tactics from trying to earn that last strike, to trying to buy time for the approaching storm. He noticed immediately and pressed the attack, not letting me out of his range.

Another minute passed and finally the tables turned. A sweeping kick was instantly countered. He’d begun jumping over the kick before I’d even decided the action. His sword was already cutting into my shield halfway through the sweep. Journey pinged me, showing on my HUD as my shields dropped from one hundred down to sixty eight. He sailed past me, Occult blade whistling around, approaching back right at me.

My own sword raced out, only to belatedly realize it was futile. He’d predicted my defense and switched his strike to the single most optimal location to counter my expected defense. He hadn’t been wrong.

Fifty three percent shields were left after that.

I tried to shore up my defense. He seemed to know that’d be exactly what I’d do, his attacks shifting directly into the Makiskeru style of full aggression, with little defense.

Forty one percent.

The moment I thought to try to attack and abuse the weakness of that combat form, he’d ended his strikes right into Tetsu, already prepared to handle my ill-thought of offence, easily parrying my belated blow and retaliating with his own.

Thirty three percent.

I was losing. He allowed me to scramble back, resetting the fight. Ikusari hadn’t done that to give me any time. No, I saw him crouch into the traditional stance of Nagareru.

If I hadn’t been calmed inside the soul-trance, I would have likely started laughing uncontrollably here. I knew what he was doing.

Nagareru form, lunging tide. Father’s own opening attack, the very same one I’d used earlier.

I brought my sword up in the traditional counter move to that, and of course it had been a trap. His lunge instantly diverted into a feint, his body twisting around on himself, narrowly avoiding my counter strike, the Occult longblade unerringly striking down on my throat, wrapping around, and tossing me back as he flowed past.

Twenty seven percent.

Had he held down the sword at my neck for a fraction of a second more, my shields would be dropped past the mark.

He stood slowly, turning around, blade whistling back up. As if surprised I was still in the fight. “The gods favor you, boy. It seems you still stand.”

“You know what they say, luck favors fools.”

The blizzard was fast approaching. Seconds away.

“Your sister, this is what she’s used against Ironreach?” He asked.

I gave him a slow nod. “She took it, and elevated it past anything I could possibly do myself. Fighting was never my strong point. It’s hers.”

He returned the nod, glancing up as the white wall of snow fast approached. “Then I have nothing to fear for my daughter.” He said. “Gods willing, perhaps your House truly has changed colors. I can hardly believe it.”

“Are we good then? Done dueling?”

His head tilted to the side at that. “The winner remains unknown. I was wrong once already, I may be wrong again. So fight me with everything you have. I expect nothing less.”

Just as well. Time was up. I spread my arms to both sides, with confidence I hardly felt as the white blizzard wall surged past and engulfed me from behind, rushing over both of us in an eyeblink and plunging the world into a dim twilight, fading fast away. Soon the only thing that could still be faintly visible was the glowing edges of our occult blades.

Inside that pitch black darkness, the solution came my mind. It was almost obvious in hindsight.

I knew exactly how I could win.

His blade swept up, flowing into a defensive form. I could see the glow through the snowstorm but no other details of his armor.

"My turn." I said, turning off my own blade and taking a step backwards, vanishing into the darkness that surrounded us.

Next chapter - Defeat Means Friendship

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