Thousands of years ago a war broke out on a distant island, splitting its occupants into factions. Alifero, Cornucopia, Querencia and Aranea. The tension between them that has been unyielding for centuries only grows when their precious water starts...
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There was the briefest moment, whilst our swords touched, where I felt that time and all sense of the world had left me. Nothing existed besides our swords, perfectly angled and glinting gold in the lava's light, and our rivalry, which burned hotter than a brand on my chest. My heart beat... once... twice. I take a breath.
Typhon strikes first, lunging at me with his sabre. The air is filled with metallic clacking and clanging as I'm forced to stay on defence. His attacks are sheer speed and power and I struggle to keep track. I bite my cheek. Get a grip. I angle my block, pushing him back just enough to give me room to attack.
Once the advantage is in my grasp I refuse to let it go. My chest heaves with pants as I fight as hard as I can to push him backwards. Typhon doesn't conform easily, he swings for my head and I duck, barely managing to block his next swing. To a bystander, our fight would look like two side-stepping maniacs surrounded by a mesh of silver swipes. Inside the cage, the two of us can see everything the other is thinking. The slightest twitch of his foot, the most subtle shift of his weight, I see all of it and allow my muscle memory to respond accordingly. Each swing, parry and block come to me faster than second nature.
Unlike my fight with Amélie, I couldn't zone out completely and let my body do the work. No, Typhon was far more creative than what academics are taught. Like me, Typhon had trained himself. Each attack was clever and calculated, using angles that I never would have been able to catch if I hadn't spent hours upon hours training at home.
In my brief lapse of concentration, Typhon takes over. The wide pipe that was steady before felt smaller. I step back again and again. Before I know it the stairs are just behind me. A single hit strikes my sabre, harsher than before, sending vibrations into my hand. My pulse kicks into another gear as we push against our swords.
Something clicks inside me and the rage I had trained with for years finally returns. With a cry, I push Typhon back. He stumbles slightly, surprises evident on his face. I bare my teeth like an animal and lunge at him.
As my rage grows my wings tuck tighter against my back making my movements swifter. Every muscle is clenched and anxiously waiting to be used whilst my thoughts work faster than wildfire. I'm lighter on my feet than Typhon and he knows it. He tries to compensate with hard blows but I retaliate with just as much force. A different muscle memory guides me now. One that is lacking precision but is full of rage-driven power.
Everything that has happened to me in the last few months runs over my mind. The heat from the lava makes my skin glisten with sweat and I feel the stares of the phantoms prickling my wings. I let them fuel me. Typhon would take all of the happiness that I have found if I didn't win this fight. He would tear it up and crush it into a ball before throwing it into the lava below us. My friends would die and everyone would be devastated by the war. Then Typhon would arrive at everyone's weakest point, with an army stronger than any other, and enslave the entire island under the name of justice and revenge.
