The Dauntless stares upon the stars, glaring at me with harsh disdain. His eyes drift to the black tear in the spiritual plane, knowing to avoid it if one would fall into the Veil, trapped between planes.
It didn't take long for reality to mend the tear. Strands of reality from all split ends sway, pulling toward the center until one strand connects to another, until reality is flush once more. Truly a beautiful and marvelous sight.
The Dauntless frozen stance halves my wonder, slowly shifting towards ugly anticipation. The blade in his hand is wrapped in chains, reattached soon after his battle with the Somata.
The light in the Dauntless's star-like eyes dims, losing some of its azure color. The grip on his blade falters, the sword dropping to the rooftop, piercing the tiles.
Why did he drop his sword? I never heard of a Dauntless discarding his weapon? What is he plotting?
The chain tethered to the sword never detached, allowing more of the chain to fall from the Dauntless's sleeve, piling near his feet.
There's dread layering over that roof, surrounding the Dauntless as moments pass by. But the seconds do not pass, nor do quarter seconds. Time is still, standing until then, Dauntless makes his move.
Fire runs off the Dauntless's coat, dripping onto the chain as rain does. It crawls at no speed while, at the same time, falling at maximum velocity. Centuries pass in the next moment, the fire swallowing every link in that lengthy chain until the pommel of the blade ignites.
Then time resumes. The past moment running through my head, with all events occurring in a single moment instead of over centuries.
The azure light returns to the Dauntless's eyes. His glare ceases, staring past my shoulder into the twilight. A grin crawls over his expression, spreading the dread to me, where it hangs over me, attempting to enter my mind.
The blade begins to float its lonesome, pull itself from the roof tiles, the flames flaring. It points in my direction, and fire erupts. The blade flings across the space between, jetting toward me, wanting to sink its metal into my chest.
But I don't flinch. Although the Dauntless had the intent to run his sword through me, the trajectory is off.
The blade flies near my head, the edge slightly grazing me, flying past me, flinging into the stars. It pierces the twilight, but not tearing into reality. It simply becomes an anchor.
The chains are taut, trailing from the twilight behind me to the Dauntless' hand. He begins to hold the chain with two hands. The chains pull up the Dauntless, returning to his sleeve.
He's attempting to come at me by closing the distance. While there isn't much Radiance near me, I cannot fight him that close.
I won't let him do that.
I grab an orb, transforming it into an arrow, notching it onto the bow. The Dauntless is already halfway. The arrow fires, launching from the bow, rocketing toward him.
I see Dauntless's eyes widen, seeing the coming arrow. His foot strikes reality, gray swirling from the sky as he uses it as a foothold, bouncing out of the arrow's path, barely avoiding it.
The arrow curves around, fixating a new angle of attack. Fire pours from the Dauntless back as he glares at me for a moment before refocusing on the arrow.
He isn't slowing down. The arrow won't hit him if he can move through the arrow.
Reality folds beneath my fingers. I pinch at the space around me. I push myself away, dashing over the night sky. It ripples as if I were walking over water.
The Dauntless reaches his blade, pulls it from reality, fire consuming its edges. He lunges, bouncing from his spot, following me.
We race over Bruis's sky. I grab the orbs of Radiance, shifting them into wings of golden-white, bursting away. I need more space—more time!
I look back, watching for the Dauntless, except he isn't behind me. No flames or dread anywhere near.
The more I glance around, the emptier the plane is—just a sick imitation of the mortal plane.
Pale-white light flashes through the stars, blinding me momentarily, and I feel a searing hot blade slicing my back.
Then I begin falling.
The wings of light are gone. My body struggles adjusting. I grab against the gray, using the leftover Radiance of the wings to keep myself from falling, staring upward. There I see the Dauntless wrapped in divine arcs of fire.
Now, I feel as if I've been disgraceful to the Dauntless. No, not simply Dauntless, or Purgemaster, or Forsaken.
Ikaris.
A halo of roaring fire crowned over his head, wings crafted from ethereal flames create gray ripples around them, commanding the reality around him. His azure star-like eyes shine brighter than before. They were twin suns bearing down on me as he held an inferno in one hand and an executioner's blade in the other.
Truly a being beyond my comprehension. How magnificent.
And yet, he is my foe.
I only have a quarter of the Radiance that I began with. I managed to conjure a few others, but it's inconsequential compared to Ikaris's power. But I'll resist anyway.
Grabbing all of my remaining Radiance, I collected them into my palm, shifting around, pushing my conviction into them. My eyes glance to the flying angel above me, burning with brilliance. His glare toward me is more of annoyance now.
The arrow finally descends from the dark, slowing before it reaches my hand. Ikaris is watching my next move. Such an experienced man of war, deciding his next course of action upon what I do. He's watching so dutifully. He needs to keep on watching.
He's majestic as a python. In comparison, I'm a lowly mongoose.
I feel the cut on my back. There's no blood. Of course, I'm using my spiritual body, it has no flesh. I can feel the injury thick with my Essence, the wound turning silver, resembling a cracked root. When I wake up, there will be a new scar and immense pain. But the pain doesn't compare to the shortening of my lifespan.
It's all worth it. I am a man of the Saints, I'll experience all the horrors for the Seven Greats.
The arrow in my hand shifts in shape, lengthening, the arrowhead becoming more distinct, the fletching mirroring the head as it turns into a spear.
The Radiance in my hand sinks into my palm, flowing through my body. The Radiance rids me of any pain and doubt, strengthening my mind and soul. It steels me, readying for the pawn's gambit.
My eyes lock onto the floating angel that is Ikaris, and readying for war.
Our eyes meet level, the gray roaring like a raging sea.
In my pocket is a mirror. I take it and point it outward. I let it settle on Ikaris.
In the spiritual plane, perception is reality. The laws of the mortal plane aren't similar. If I show reality a certain perception, it will change as it has now.
Ikaris doesn't see it yet. His back is turned to me, unopposed.