Osrick launched himself at Vencian without hesitation. His blade-hand boot swung low, smashing against Vencian’s ankle. Vencian’s leg buckled and he went down hard, plunging to his knees and then onto all fours in the snow.
The edge of the ground here broke away into a dark split in the chasm only a footstep away.
One slip in the wrong direction and there’d be no climbing back out.
For a heartbeat, the world reeled, his sight breaking into a storm of white specks as he struggled to get back on his feet.
Finally he managed to push up a bit, desperate to keep distance, but Osrick was already on him. "You’re finished, Vicorra," Osrick muttered. His tone was indifferent.
Vencian lunged with his good arm, fist swung wide, trying to knock Osrick off. Osrick shrugged it off. The larger man caught Vencian’s arm and twisted it.
The pressure brought a fresh wave of agony to Vencian’s shoulder. He cried out and tried to twist free. Osrick slammed a knee into Vencian’s back, knocking the air out of him again.
With a last surge, Vencian spun, trying to bite or claw at Osrick. His fingers grazed Osrick’s side, but the stronger man barely even flinched. Osrick pushed harder, forcing Vencian down.
Vencian hit the ground hard on his back. Torment shuddered through every bone. He lay chest-up on the iced slope, arms splayed. The cold numbed his skin. Blood pooled in his mouth and he spat it out.
Osrick loomed above him. Vencian blinked up at him, vision blurred by suffering. The moonlight gleamed off Osrick’s cold, unsmiling face. He was clean-shaven and his gaze was as dark as night.
Osrick hooked a leg behind Vencian’s knee and forced his leg sideways. With a grunt, Vencian’s body was pinned. Osrick’s knee came down on Vencian’s torse, holding him flat against the frozen ground.
Before he could gather any further resolve, the butt of Osrick’s blade pressed against Vencian’s collarbone. Osrick leaned close and whispered, "It’s over."
Without lifting his knee from Vencian’s chest, Osrick shifted his grip, twisting the hilt and drawing the blade back just enough to rotate the point downward. The steel came to rest against Vencian’s throat for the second time tonight. ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪs ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ʙʏ NovєlFіre.net
His breathing was ragged. His vision flickered open and closed, heavy with exhaustion. He could feel the steady beat of Osrick’s heart through the pressure.
"You lost," Osrick said softly. "I’ll make sure your sacrifice isn’t remembered, Vicorra."
Vencian lay completely still. Only the wind sighed around him. His body was spent; snow pressed cold against his skin.
Perhaps the chill was already seeping into his bones. He offered no resistance. His strength had failed him. He exhaled one heavy breath, then closed his eyes.
Is this the end? the thought lingered. After everything, what a fraud of a transmigrator I’ve been. I couldn’t even survive a week.
A faint echo pushed through the rushing in his ears. Quenya’s tone—high and crackling—came from somewhere that felt far from here.
He could hear her, yet it was as if the words belonged to a place where he was absent.
"It can be different this time. I want to believe in him," she urged, her words raw and fragile. A pause. Then her desperate plea, whispered into the void: "Please... let me try."
Vencian’s eyes were shut. His body lay limp. It felt as if Vencian was split in two: one half buried in defeat, the other half listening to Quenya in another world.
"Lucian... you have to stand," Her voice cut into the frigid air- trembling, too close this time to be only in his mind
Quenya’s words made Osrick freeze. He was mid-breath, stare narrowing in the darkness. "Who’s there?" he demanded, voice low and urgent. He swung his gaze left and right, boots crunching on the frost.
He glanced toward the empty wasteland, scanning for movement.
It registered with Vencian subconsciously before consciously. A pull from deep in his chest, the same point where his illusions had always begun. This time it was heavier, digging through him as though dragging something out.
His fingers twitched, the cold between them thickening with a weight that pressed against his skin.
Osrick stepped away, one foot crunching over frost, his focus fixed on the unseen voice. "Show yourself."
"Now," Quenya whispered, breaking at the seams.
The pressure in Vencian’s hands broke and solid weight filled them. A double-ended weapon took form, each side holding a straight, narrow blade. The central shaft was metal, set with raised bands and clean geometric lines.
Faint inlays caught the light as it moved. Its weight felt balanced, the grip steady, as if it had been made for his hands.
Instinct took over. Vencian’s eyes snapped open and he moved. He rose to his feet, twinblade spinning in a single arc.
Osrick turned in time to see Vencian’s blade fly. Horror flashed in his eyes too late. The strike drove one end of the weapon straight through his mail and into flesh. Osrick’s scream died in his throat. The bastard collapsed into the snow, dark blood pooling around him.
The haft of the twinblade was icy in Vencian’s grip, but all the pain in his ribs suddenly faded under the surge of triumph. Breath rushed back into his lungs. He stood unmoving over Osrick’s body, his chest heaving as he looked down at the man.
Vencian could feel the weight of the blade still embedded deep within Osrick’s flesh. The task was not yet finished.
Without hesitation, Vencian placed his boot on Osrick’s chest and pushed. His foot slid against the slick surface of Osrick’s armor, forcing the body to shift. The blade remained stuck, but with a grunt, Vencian gave one final, forceful shove. The body gave way, and with it, Osrick’s form tipped backward, sliding toward the edge of the chasm.
Vencian focused on the blade still embedded in the man’s body. With a flick of his foot, he nudged it free. The weapon fell from Osrick’s body, clattering in the snow, but the man was already gone. His body disappeared into the chasm, swallowed by the darkness below.
Quenya was at Vencian’s side instantly. Her light flared brighter. Pale and glowing, she crouched beside Vencian, eyes wide and shining as she looked from the weapon to him.
A sudden warmth surged through Vencian’s body, then drained away in cold waves. His knees wobbled. The ground rose to meet him.
He collapsed to one side. The twinblade slipped from his fingers and hit the snow with a clatter.
"Lucian!" Quenya gasped, panic in her voice as she caught him. The world tilted.
Through blurred vision, Vencian saw Quenya’s face leaning close, panic and concern in her glowing eyes. His mind was a haze of exhaustion. He felt nothing but numbness and tiredness, as sleep pulled him away.
Light and pain and everything drained away. Vencian’s heart slowed. His last thought was relief that it was over, and then oblivion took him.