Bloody Challenge

Raigen could taste his own blood, a hot, salty mixture that burned his tongue. Baring his teeth in a wide grin, he displayed his approval. He liked that taste; it told him his opponent would not disappoint. ‘Good,’ he thought, knuckling at the red, stinging haze in his left eye. ‘I won’t lose to you, Raykin!’

Sparing a glance over his shoulder, Raigen saw Myriil collapsed on the ground again, her energy spent on giving him this chance. He would not waste it, not after what Drayken had done. A cough expelled blood into the twilight, spraying the rusted earth. As Raigen pulled out of his slouch, he could feel the curse in his body awaken: bones knitted, vessels fused, skin grafted; none of it felt pleasant—or warm like Myriil’s gentle hands—but he was used to such nuisances, twisted the inconvenience into more motivation to pay the assailant back. His neck cracked, the muscles loosened, and Raigen took a fighting stance. His bulky frame seemed larger in the darkening eve; sunlight  snuck past the trees and glared off his glasses, spelling his challenge in bright orange.

Drayken scoffed, drawing his sword to the thickened air, eyes trained solely on Raigen, his burden, his target. He had not anticipated this bounty to be such trouble but was past seeing Raigen as a paycheque. Now it was personal, a fight he had no intention of losing. At his left, Drayken whirled the longsword about, casting his reply in deadly silver. ‘I was tired of holding back anyways…’