They stood facing each other in a corridor damaged by their fight. In their hands, their respective weapons: one held a large kitchen knife — he didn't seem to know how to wield it and was clearly struggling. The other held a sword, which he handled like no one else, as if it were bound to him.
Each stared intensely at the other…
They began to walk toward each other. The final blows of their battle would decide the young man's fate.
The entity struck first with his sword. Mike dodged, and with a deafening crash, the blade destroyed another section of the wall.
Mike — That was close… If I get hit even once, I don't know if I'll still be alive.
Entity No.260 — You're dodging better and better, but if I hit you, it's over.
With those words, he pulled the sword out of the wall and followed with another strike — even faster than before.
Voice? — You won't be able to dodge this one… But blocking it is impossible too.
Mike tried to dodge, but the blade grazed just under his ribs. A searing pain shot through his side, followed by a deep, spreading ache.
He was violently thrown against the wall with a muffled crash. The impact knocked the air out of his lungs. His head buzzed, his ears rang.
He slowly got back up, legs trembling, breathing shallow. Blood was dripping from beneath his torn shirt.
Mike — Ahhh… It's… not over… yet…
He gripped the knife tightly and struck, only for it to be parried with a casual flick of the wrist.
Entity No.260 — Your strikes are too weak. You won't beat me like that!
Mike clenched his teeth and struck again, harder, faster. The entity's sword blocked it effortlessly, almost lazily.
But Mike continued, letting out a hoarse cry, unleashing a storm of desperate blows. Each one clanged against the enemy's blade, easily deflected.
His arms grew heavy, breath short, vision blurring under the strain. Still, he kept swinging — out of instinct, out of fear, out of rage.
Voice? — You're losing strength. Fall back, now!
Entity No.260 — This is disappointing. Maybe you don't have what it takes to go any deeper. In the end, this is just boring…
Mike staggered back, struggling. He could barely move his right arm and was having trouble standing. But he refused to fall — because falling meant death, the end of everything.
Mike — I can beat you. I'm sure of it. And I don't have a choice!
He slapped his arm and legs hard, trying to wake himself up, to find motivation, then got back into a fighting stance. Determined to see this through.
The entity watched him, as if simply waiting for the right moment to finish him off. He stepped forward and, with a clean motion, struck him directly in the stomach.
Mike took the full force of the blow, but still tried to fight back. His blade glanced off, doing nothing. Yet he held onto it tightly… until his consciousness faded.
Voice? — Maybe this is the end for us… but maybe he can still do something…
A complete silence fell in the corridor, broken only by that same constant, droning sound that had echoed from the beginning.
✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧
He slowly came back to himself. His body hurt even more. He was still standing in that corridor, the now-broken knife still in his hand.
In front of him, the entity was still there. He noticed light escaping from the entity's body.
Entity No.260 — Well done. You managed to wound me. That was quite impressive. The fight is over.
The light came from his wounds. There were about ten of them. Yet he didn't seem to be in pain.
Mike tried to get back into a fighting stance, but he no longer had the strength.
Voice? — Mike? Is that really you? You actually managed to wound him!
Mike — Really? I did that?
His body was on the verge of collapse. He staggered and collapsed to the ground.
The entity approached and placed his sword in front of him.
Entity No.260 — Here's my gift… for the one who wounded me with just a knife. I'll be waiting for you below. You'd better survive.
He walked toward the door. As he touched it, a bright white light appeared. The entity vanished… and the door opened. It was no longer sealed.
Mike was now alone in the corridor, lying on the ground, unable to get up. He hadn't won. But he wasn't dead. His fate, then, was… to keep on living.
Or rather… surviving.