Conor dashed through the shadows, desperately evading the relentless onslaught of arrows. The shafts embedded in his body began to disintegrate as his shadows fought to snuff out the blazing light. Pain coursed through his nerves with every move, his jaw clenched in silent endurance.
Emerging from the last shadow, his vision was consumed by the blinding brilliance of a colossal arrow.
"Was he leading me here?" Conor questioned, his brow creased in realization.
He attempted once more to retreat into the shadows, but an unknown force blocked him, cutting off his abilities.
Closing his eyes, Conor raised his arms in a futile attempt to shield himself from the arrow's imminent impact. Before he could prepare for the blow, a feminine figure materialized before him, her gaze fierce and unwavering as she stood her ground.
Marie stepped in front of Conor with defiant resolve, her arms outstretched. The blood of her fallen enemies clung to her uniform, creating a crimson aura as she braced herself against the arrow's advance.
"MARIE!!!" Conor bellowed.
BOOOOOM
The arrow struck with the force of a cruise missile, silencing Conor's cry and flinging him backward. He slammed into a building, leaving a human-shaped crater in its wall. The impact reverberated through his body like a tolling bell, forcing blood from his mouth as he lay still on the ground.
Moments later, he began to stir, struggling to rise and check on Marie. But when his gaze fell upon her, his eyes widened, and another mouthful of blood escaped his lips.
Marie remained standing, her arms still outstretched, but her body was charred almost beyond recognition.
Suddenly, her legs gave way, and she began to collapse, her strength utterly drained.
Conor gritted his teeth and reached out his hand just as Marie's shadow started to ripple like liquid, engulfing her as she began to sink into its depths.
With blood pooling in her mouth, Conor summoned the shadows to transport her swiftly to a secure area within the GDA facility, aiming specifically for the infirmary.
Conor pushed himself upright, each breath a ragged rasp tearing through his chest. Dust and smoke swirled around him, cloaking the battlefield in a haze of destruction.
His trembling hands curled into fists, nails biting into his palms until rivulets of blood streaked down. The metallic tang of iron filled his mouth as he staggered forward, his gaze locked on the luminous figure standing atop the rubble.
Knight Apollo.
The archer of divine judgment.
The one who had just tried to obliterate the only person who still believed in him.
Conor's vision wavered, colors bleeding together in a surreal blur. The whites of his eyes darkened, veins pulsating like living threads beneath his skin. His irises shifted, deepening from shadowy gray to an eerie crimson, faintly glowing in the dust-laden air.
A low hum resonated across the world, not sound, but vibration. Something ancient and insatiable stirred within his subconscious.
In the depths of his mind, a voice broke the silence, smooth, low, serpentine.
"Now you understand, don't you?"
Conor's breath hitched, and for a moment, the world froze. He stood within himself, in that shadowy inner plane, a realm where the air shimmered like liquid ink.
Amidst the void, a smiling silhouette awaited. Its eyes gleamed with molten ruby light.
"Loss," it murmured, its tone almost tender. "That's the key. That's when our power ceases to ask permission."
Conor remained silent, his fists clenching tighter as rage and pain coalesced into something sharp, something alive.
In the real world, his body began to exude a suffocating pressure, shadows coiling and writhing around him as if eager to serve. The ground beneath his feet splintered.
The remnants of the arrow's light still flickered in the distance, but for the first time, even the divine radiance of Knight Apollo wavered.
Conor took a single step forward, slow, deliberate, and unyielding.
"You will pay for that," he declared, his voice calm yet unwavering, carrying a profound resonance that seemed to originate from deep within. The shadows around him began to writhe and ripple, enveloping him in a shroud that was both form-fitting and fluid, giving Conor the foreboding air of a reaper stripped of his signature scythe.
BOOSH!
Conor's left foot struck the asphalt with force, leaving a deep imprint surrounded by thick spiderweb cracks as he surged forward. In a burst of darkness, he appeared before Knight Apollo, whose bright blue eyes narrowed into piercing slits as Conor's hand reached menacingly for his face.
Conor's grip closed firmly over Knight Apollo's face before the radiant warrior could react, the divine glow that once seemed unassailable now dimming under the crushing weight of Conor's wrath.
The asphalt beneath their feet fractured and split as Conor lifted Apollo high into the air, shadows writhing around his arm like sentient chains.
SKRRRSH!
With merciless strength, Conor swung Apollo through the air, slamming him across a series of rooftops with bone-rattling force. Stone and metal crumbled under the impacts, bursts of divine light erupting as Apollo's golden armor scraped and shattered against the surfaces.
Each collision carved craters into the landscape, sending debris cascading into the streets below like lethal fragments.
At last, with a primal roar, Conor hurled Apollo downward, the radiant knight plummeting toward the ground like a fiery comet.
KRAKOOM!
A deafening shockwave surged through the city as Apollo's form descended, leaving a blazing trail of gold in his wake, but just before the devastating impact, his body flickered and vanished in a radiant explosion of light.
Conor's piercing gaze tracked the fading brilliance, revealing Apollo hovering in the distance, his bow drawn and ready.
"Impressive," Apollo's voice echoed, steady but laced with strain.
As his fingers released, the air cracked.
THWIP-THWIP-THWIP!
Three radiant arrows whistled through the smoke, streaking toward Conor with deadly precision.
But Conor didn't flinch. He moved in a way Apollo couldn't have predicted.
As each arrow approached, his form dissolved into shadow, reappearing meters closer to his opponent with each flicker. The transitions were marked by deep, resonant booms
BOOM… BOOM… BOOM
As the displaced air rippled in shockwaves around him, the first arrow sliced through an incorporeal wraith.
The second pierced only formless darkness.
The third halted mid-flight, suspended in the air as Conor materialized before it, one hand raised.
Shadows rippled outward like a tide, and the arrow disintegrated in his palm.
Apollo's eyes widened in disbelief. He staggered back, raising another arrow, divine light blazing ever brighter around him.
But Conor was already there.
The shadows surged upward in a cascade, swallowing the distance between them. In an instant, Conor stood just inches away, his crimson eyes glowing with relentless, silent resolve.
Their faces were mere breaths apart, the fiery red of Conor's gaze cutting into Apollo's golden radiance.
"Your light," Conor intoned, his voice a low, resonant growl, "no longer touches me."
The world seemed to freeze, the tension thick with the clash of light and shadow, divinity and darkness, balanced on the edge of obliteration.
While Conor clashed with Knight Apollo elsewhere, War-Woman engaged another knight in a fierce duel, their movements a harmonious blend of skill and precision. Knight Lugh's spear whirled with incredible speed, striking War-Woman's shield with a resounding clang.
The sharp ring of metal on metal echoed as War-Woman, a seasoned and battle-hardened warrior, expertly redirected the blow at an angle, using the opening to launch a powerful counterattack. Her mace arced through the air with devastating force, aimed at Knight Lugh's side, its power capable of reducing buildings to rubble.
Before the mace could connect, Knight Lugh drove the butt of his spear into the ground, releasing a radiant wave of light that surged outward indiscriminately, striking everyone in its path. War-Woman, along with the zealots forming a human barrier around them, was thrown backward. Unlike the zealots, however, War-Woman twisted gracefully midair, landing on her feet and using her mace's head to anchor herself and halt her momentum.
Rising to her feet, War-Woman surveyed the battlefield, her expression growing grim as she observed the tide turning. Despite the immense strength of the GDA, the overwhelming numbers of the enemy were gradually overpowering the regular soldiers.
In the distance, her gaze fell upon Immortal, impaled by Knight Nuada's sword, which protruded from the hero's back even as he delivered a brutal headbutt to the knight's face.
War Woman tightened her grip on her mace, its shaft pulsating faintly in response to her touch and emotions. Across the desolate plaza, Knight Lugh spun his spear with an elegant, almost hypnotic grace. Each deliberate step he took was a calculated display of precision, poetic rhythm, and perilous intent. Their gazes locked, ancient souls housed in mortal forms, and then, without a word, they surged into battle.
CLANG!
Their weapons collided with an earth-shaking crash, unleashing bursts of light and shattering kinetic energy in every direction. The ground quaked beneath their feet, fractures spidering outward as the shockwave obliterated the remnants of nearby zealots. War Woman spun, harnessing the force to arc her mace upward in a powerful sweep. Lugh countered fluidly, their weapons entwined in a fierce clash of strength.
For a fleeting moment, time seemed to pause. Muscles strained, veins bulged, and divine determination met mortal resolve in a perfect, tense equilibrium. Then War Woman shifted her stance, dropping low with seamless precision. Her shield rose like a blade, deflecting Lugh's spear shaft just enough to expose his defense. Her mace followed with ruthless efficiency, slamming into his side and fracturing his radiant breastplate.
Lugh staggered back, expelling light instead of blood, yet his grin widened with unyielding resolve. "You've grown sharper," he said, his tone a blend of admiration and solemnity. "But tell me, how long can flesh contend with faith?"
War Woman remained silent, her only response a determined swing of her mace.
The air resonated with the clash of their weapons, the sound a symphony of power and precision. Sparks... no, stars, burst with every impact, casting the battlefield in fleeting bursts of white-gold brilliance. Each strike from War Woman was a testament to sheer determination, her strength born not from divinity but from an indomitable will. Lugh's counters were a display of divine agility, his movements flickering with unearthly speed as his spear became a streak of golden light.
Their combat reached a crescendo as they collided midair, Lugh ascending with a graceful leap while War Woman propelled herself upward with a ground-shaking stomp. Against the backdrop of the moonlit sky, their silhouettes converged, a divine being and a mortal warrior meeting in a clash that seemed to defy the heavens.
Lugh spun with blinding speed, his spear creating a cyclone of golden afterimages before striking War Woman's shield with unrelenting force. The impact hurled her backward, smashing her through a crumbling column and showering the ground with jagged stone fragments. Yet, even as she hit the ground, she rolled to her feet with practiced ease, her blazing eyes betraying neither defeat nor hesitation. Blood trickled from her lip, but the fire in her gaze burned brighter than ever.
With unyielding resolve, she surged forward.
BOOM!
Her shield crashed into Lugh's chest before he could react, forcing the air from his lungs. Seizing the moment, War Woman swung her mace in a vertical arc, the strike landing squarely beneath his chin. The force propelled Lugh skyward, his body a radiant comet streaking toward the heavens in a dazzling trail of golden light.
Elsewhere.
The battlefield constricted around Conor's crimson gaze, the chaos of collapsing buildings and distant screams receding into a muted hum. Everything funneled into the space between him and Apollo, the golden archer of divine judgment. The air grew dense, vibrating with the energy of their inevitable confrontation.
Conor exhaled, feeling shadows pulse through his veins, writhing like serpents along his limbs. At his command, they coalesced into a weapon: an obsidian bow, sleek and perfectly curved. Its limbs were as dark as midnight, polished yet matte, devouring the scant light around it. The string shimmered with living shadow, undulating and twisting as though imbued with a consciousness of its own.
The bow hovered before him, an extension of his will, both ethereal and tangible. Conor flexed his fingers, and the shadow-strings hummed softly, taut and alive, feeding off the energy coursing through him.
A grin split his bloodied lips. Today, he would do more than fight; he would humiliate Apollo.
Apollo's piercing blue eyes narrowed as his divine bow materialized in a flash of radiant light. "Impressive."
Conor drew back the shadowy string, the tendrils of darkness coiling like smoke around his fingers. He released an arrow forged from pure shadow. The projectile ripped through the air toward Apollo, a streak of writhing darkness.
Apollo responded instantly, loosing a radiant golden arrow. The two projectiles collided mid-air, exploding into a blinding eruption of light and dark. Dust and fragments of stone rained down, the fractured rooftops trembling beneath the impact.
Through the billowing smoke, Conor surged forward, shadows flowing beneath his feet, propelling him with impossible speed. Every movement was calculated, a deadly dance driven by instinct and fury. He spun beneath a slash of golden light, debris warping around him as shadows rose to form temporary walls, tendrils, and platforms in his wake.
Apollo moved with godlike grace, his every motion calculated and precise, arrows streaking through the air as he dodged and predicted even Conor's most intricate maneuvers. Yet Conor defied prediction.
The shadow-strings of the obsidian bow stretched taut, unleashing a barrage of arrows infused with writhing darkness. Each projectile charted its own unpredictable course, curving, disappearing, and reappearing to strike Apollo from all angles. But Apollo, with his divine precision, met them head-on, his golden arrows slicing through the shadows, dispersing some and deflecting others.
"You fight well," Conor said, his deep voice carrying a resonant edge. "But your faith blinds you to what lies before you."
Apollo's expression hardened. "And your hatred blinds you to what you stand to lose."
Words faded into insignificance. Only the clash of motion held meaning.
Conor leapt skyward, shadows coiling around his legs like stilts, propelling him higher. Twisting midair, he loosed another arrow from his shadowy bow, the strings vibrating with dark energy. Apollo countered with effortless elegance, his golden bow responding in kind. Their arrows collided mid-flight, bursts of shadow and light igniting in miniature explosions like celestial fireworks.
BOOM!
The impact of their powers sent both warriors hurtling across the rooftop. Conor landed in a controlled roll, shadows absorbing the force and springing him upright. Apollo touched down with flawless balance, golden bow poised, his divine aura blazing.
In Conor's hands, the shadow bow seemed almost alive, its obsidian surface drinking in any stray light, while its pulsing strings elongated arrows into fluid streams of darkness that snaked through Apollo's defenses. Apollo retaliated with a rapid burst of arrows, each one glowing with divine brilliance, twisting and weaving to counter Conor's attacks. The opposing black and golden streaks intertwined, a dazzling display of clashing forces.
A sly grin spread across Conor's face as he exaggerated his movements, mocking his opponent. One arrow split apart mid-flight, transforming into dozens of smaller shadow bolts that spiraled toward Apollo in a chaotic swarm. Apollo spun deftly, unleashing a radiant flurry of arrows to meet the onslaught.
The two clashed again in midair, spinning and twisting as their strikes collided with explosive force. Sparks and shadows erupted, casting the fractured cityscape alternately into searing light and consuming darkness. Conor's shadow bow unleashed its strikes with relentless fury, each one met by Apollo's divine precision, their movements a seamless exchange of attack and counter.
They landed on the jagged edges of crumbling buildings, momentum propelling them across broken rooftops. Conor's obsidian bow expanded into a massive arc of darkness, its shadow-strings stretching impossibly to release volleys of arrows in unison. Apollo raised radiant walls of golden light, the arrows weaving and bending through intricate paths to meet their counterparts, creating a mesmerizing spectacle of intertwined trajectories.
"Your moves are… predictable," Apollo remarked, his voice taut yet composed.
"Not predictable. I simply invite you to the dance," Conor retorted, his crimson eyes blazing. "Every step is yours to answer."
The shadow bow morphed in his grasp, a living weapon brimming with energy, unleashing arrows that warped the air as they flew. Apollo countered with golden arrows, their arcs defying logic as they twisted to clash mid-flight with Conor's projectiles, their battle an impossible display of precision and power.
They collided midair once more, spiraling like celestial dancers caught in a gravitational pull. The impact propelled them across rooftops, leaving craters and debris scattered in their wake. Conor's shadow-strings shimmered, morphing into phantom limbs and tendrils that unleashed volleys of dark arrows. Apollo's radiant projectiles split and curved effortlessly, responding to the shifting dynamics with precision, tracing impossible arcs through the air.
The battle unfolded like an endless, fluid rhythm. Neither could gain the upper hand. Each strike was countered, every offensive met with equal parts precision and ingenuity, every movement seamlessly blending attack and defense.
At last, they hovered midair, faces mere inches apart. Crimson eyes locked onto blue, shadow-strings quivering with tension, golden strings drawn taut. Their heavy breaths mingled with the dust and energy swirling around them, blood and sweat marking their relentless struggle. In that moment, an unspoken truth passed between them: this fight was far from over.
Conor allowed the shadow bow to linger at his side, mist curling from its strings like smoke. He murmured under his breath, "I could do this forever. And you'd never see me coming."
Apollo remained silent, his golden string unwavering, his gaze sharp and unflinching.
Without warning, they clashed once more, spinning, striking, and evading in a mesmerizing, lethal ballet of light and shadow. The city beneath them groaned under the strain, its structures cracking, burning, and trembling, a stage for a conflict destined to endure.