Garden Of The Abyss

"This is getting boring," Andraste suddenly said, "You're boring me, spirit."

All at once, utter, unwashable bloodlust emitted from the knight as the divine spirit's guard was raised instinctively.

I must kill this man!-- Astraeus thought.

--However, like a flash of light burrowing through darkness in an instant, Andraste broke the distance between them without any telegraph to his movements; simply appearing right in front of the divine spirit with his blades already reared back.

Astraeus' sable eyes widened as he stepped back, but he already realized there was no evading the man from the range they sat at.

Instead, he lightly flicked his hand, conjuring endless chains from the ground between the two, erupting forth like a wall of interlinked steel.

Even with the mystical, multi-layered chain wall, a single swipe of Andraste's blade eviscerated the defense.

But, it was enough time for Astraeus to regain himself:

"Draco!"

Following the command that parted from the commanding spirit's lips, silver orbs reeled from the steel roses, forming into the shape of the mighty ruler of the skies--an astral dragon. It inhabited the sky, moving its far-stretching wings as it possessed a size rivaling a royal keep.

Despite lacking flesh, it roared out with a sky-rending call that shook the entirety of the jungle, flicking its colossal tail that whipped the air.

"Mm…?" Andraste looked up in that still moment after having rent the chains.

Above him, he saw the coalescence of the stars, building within the parted maw of the astral dragon--pointing directly down at the knight.

It was not dragonfire, born from its bowels, but something beyond--something that sent a chill over the back of the white-haired knight as he watched in inexplicable awe.

Astraeus shielded himself, forming a cocoon of hundreds of tightly-wrapped chains around himself, further fortified by steel roses.

"AAAGGGHHH---!" Andraste yelled out, realizing it was a moment too late to evade.

From the astral dragon's maw, a beam of the stars' light crashed down atop the wicked knight, filling the land with a melting steam that withered the surrounding foliage.

--But, even that could not reach Andraste.

The end point of the starfire stopped just short of meeting the man's flesh, being held back by the edges of his tightly-held blades as he stood his ground.

Below his boots, the abyssal mud boiled under the divine heat of the starfire, causing him to wince as he stood at the forefront of the heat inhabited by the star's purified form; still, he smiled, enjoying himself despite the terrifying attack he held against.

"Yes! This is it, spirit! If this should meet my flesh, I will turn to cinder! Ha-ha!" Andraste laughed out, "however, unfortunately for you, that outcome is impossible!"

After savoring the battle of strength between his blades and the starfire, his smiling expression faded into something remarkably serious.

He moved one arm away from his struggle against the beam of blazing iridescence, holding it back with a singular blade as he held the other up to the sky.

"Die."

Swiping his blade down firmly, he swung only against the air; unleashing not even the usual, visceral air pressure as per the norm of his monstrous strikes.

However, an agonized screech emitted from the astral dragon as a disembodied slash bisected its body in full.

Inside the claustrophobic cocoon, the snowy-haired young man found himself squished beside the black-eyed butler.

"Master."

"Astraeus…?" He gasped out, wincing as even speaking came with pain.

Though as he looked at the form of the mysterious butler, he could see his physical form quickly dwindling.

The tall-standing spirit nodded slightly, looking at the steel walls of the cocoon with a cautious eye, "My time is up. It will be up to you from here on out. I don't believe you need me to tell you this, but...defeating that man borders on impossible."

He nodded, "Yeah...I know."

Throughout his entire body, it was caked in agony; his ribs shattered, blood leaving from seemingly every orifice--even speaking just a few words reeled a bloodied cough from his lips.

A pained look came over Astraeus' expression as his eyebrows contorted, "...I would never advise of this, but there is a path to victory...while not guaranteed, it is your best chance."

"...?" He looked up at Astraeus.

"...A "Geass Exchange", a pact between oneself and the gods; choose what to sacrifice, and gain what is needed to win, Master," Astraeus told him.

Just as the begrudgingly spoken advice left the spirit's lips, he fully faded away into shadowy particles, leaving the young man without a proper answer.

Just as the spiritual dragon born of constellations dissipated, the starfire vanished as well, leaving the surrounding area illuminated by the particles of silvery-white while Andraste set his gaze on the metallic cocoon.

"You forced me to resort to using my innate ability," Andraste said, "that is worthy of praise. However, once those fangs are bore, your defeat is destined."

The knight watched as the metallic cocoon unraveled; the chains dissipated into shadowy particles before all that was left standing in its place was the half-dead, bloodied otherworlder. As the cocoon left, so did the veil around their battlefield, returning the semblance of light, and the mud to its original form.

Andraste furrowed his eyebrows with a look of disgust, "Oh, it's just you."

He didn't respond, as he was busy gasping for the little bits of air he could squeeze into his agonized lungs, standing there with slumped arms as he barely held the handle of his blade between his weak fingers, that were sticky and laden with his own blood.

"That was all you had, wasn't it?" Andraste asked, holding no guard as he expressed complete disappointment.

Breathe...breathe, slowly...breathe, he told himself.

He didn't listen to Andraste's abrasive words; he couldn't. His ears simply rang far too loud for words to reach him, and his half-closed, exhausted eyelids continuously attempted to close even as he fought to stay conscious.

"What a letdown you were, Ren Nakamura. I would've thought one of the Outlanders would give me a slaughter worth remembering," Andraste spoke solemnly.

The knight kept only one sword drawn as he sheathed the other, slumping his shoulders as he lifted his black-handled blade up, pointing the end directly at the young man that stood a half-dozen meters away.

Sacrifice what I must to win…? In what world is that fair? He thought.

He struggled to lift his own longsword in response, feeling as if coaxing the weight of a mountain up. Eventually, through his trembling grip that held the handle of his sword only through the adhesiveness of his own blood that clung to his fingertips, he held his blade up.

"Amusing. I love ones with strong, stubborn wills...it makes breaking them all the more enjoyable," Andraste said.

I can't hear him. I can barely...see him. I'm blacking out. The air is so thin...he thought.

A cough escaped his lips, spewing droplets of crimson before heaving into a full expenditure of his bowels as he vomited his scarlet essence; he fell to his knees, only remaining upright as he stabbed his blade into the mud below.

Andraste laughed cruelly, devoid of empathy, "It seems I don't even need to lift a finger to kill you! Is this the state of the Outlanders?!"

Unable to hear the knight's taunts, he sat there, attempting to regain enough strength in his legs to stand as scarlet dripped from his chin.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Rain began to fall once again, starting as a light sprinkle before shifting into a full blown shower that washed against the mud continuously.

It was cold. So cold, in fact, that the brisk rain felt almost warm against his body–it wasn't that his bodily temperature had dropped to such pits, but he felt as if he was detached from his own flesh–fading, slowly, but surely.

Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

In his ears, his heartbeat slowed, resounding like a clock that counted down his last moments through his faint breaths.

After looking upon him for a moment in disappointment as the rain fell plentifully, Andraste took his time, slowly marching towards the fallen Outlander.

It was bleak; he knew that much.

But, even in this state, he wasn't without hope.

Inside of his body, swirling in his gut, he felt the gilded flames spinning, whirling like a torrent of light within him.

Even if it didn't manifest itself yet, its near existence fueled him with enough strength to return to his feet, adjusting himself as his knees wobbled.

"Don't want to die on your knees?" Andraste scoffed.

The wicked knight stopped just in front of him, pointing the tip of his blade against the young man's forehead.

Meeting against the skin of his forehead, the sharp tip created a small cut as blood trickled alongside the rain and mud present on his face.

With his left hand, he slowly reached up without moving his unblinking eyes, gripping the knight's blade, much to the surprise of the one who wielded it. Grabbing the knight's immaculate blade came with a sharp laceration being etched across his already bloodied palm.

"What're you…?" Andraste raised an eyebrow at the half-dead adolescent in confusion.

"Geass Exchange: form," he commanded faintly.

The moment he spoke the words that came naturally to his mind as a mage, a magical seal bearing a seven-pointed star branded itself into his chest.

You taught me about this one, Meinhard. Exchanging one thing to gain another. You used it in order to gain the ability to heal others, but not yourself.

I guess…I'm about to do something a bit more reckless, he thought.

"A 'Geass Exchange"?! You wouldn't…!" Andraste contested.

Though the immaculate knight attempted to draw his blade from the otherworlder's grip, his blade didn't budge. Despite the half-dead, blood-laden appearance of the hardly breathing young man, he possesses strength unfit for his state.

What's going on…? What's this strength? Andraste thought.

Through his bloodied lips, he breathed slowly in that last moment between conviction and action.

It doesn't matter how painful it is. I'll continue until I save you, Iris, everyone…he thought.

"He who has a why to live can bear almost any how." - Friedrich Nietzsche.

For some reason, he remembered that quote he encountered by chance, years ago. It didn't stick into his mind but for mere moments, but now, it resurfaced.

Hopefully this is the last time I have to say this, but…it's do-or-die, he thought.

Once more, he breathed into his compromised lungs before exhaling outwards with his left eye, clear and open as the rain fell in bleak serenity.

"I, Ren Nakamura, hereby relinquish five years of my life…in exchange, grant me the full-potential of that ability, just this once."