A Bored Lich

Alexander smirked at both his disciples. "There we go. Get deeper into the Flow. Now I can see some semblance of determination, you pathetic wastes of skin!" He kicked away the rose spear. "Use the javelins. They're more suited for you."

Frey bolted towards Alexander, his lightning fast Kopis flashing and his thunderous, clanking steps echoing off the cavern's walls. Alexander either twisted out of its trajectory or slapped the weapon away at the blunt edge with his bare hands.

"I've lowered my life essence to your level." Alexander said with all the encouragement a mentor could give his disciple, and a small semblance of taunting.

'Up,' a simple commanding voice in Thomas's head echoed louder than Frey's steps. It was more like a feeling, an instinct that brought Thomas to his feet and made him take aim with his javelin.

'Duck. Roll. Swipe. Hack.' A voice propelled Frey through each and every movement. Alexander didn't bother with attacking after his weapon had been split in two, although Frey feared that was because of another reason. The only semblance of Frey's progress was the gradual retreat of the general, his back nearing a wall.

"Use this," Alexander said. In a flash of golden life essence, Frey's Kopis had been replaced with his spear. He shrugged off the momentary confusion, switched his stance, and kept up the assault, refusing to let Alexander offset his focus. The general ducked under a javelin, then another.

'Curve them,' Thomas's voice ordered. 'Closer to his head. Further from his armor. Flick the wrist at an angle.' Sweat dripped down his burning limbs but he pushed forward. 'Not yet. Continue. Persevere.'

"Your friend is going to die at this rate!" Alexander yelled as he weaved through the attacks. "Push yourselves to death!" His clothes had ripped but there wasn't a mark on his flesh nor a bead of sweat on his undamaged skin.

Alexander shifted his stance and drove a fist into Frey's gut. Frey almost keeled over then and there, but there was no pain. No sound either. "This is how you feint." The general said as he took a step forwards, away from the wall the duo had spent so long pushing him into. He stamped on Frey's injured foot, but yet again no pain arrived as he stopped within inches of the wound.

The cold wind that followed with each feint made the hair on the back of Frey's neck stand on end. 'He could kill me with a moment,' he thought. 'How am I supposed to beat him?'

"Just keep going," Alexander said, as if he could read Frey's thoughts by the look of defeat written across his face. "Or are you holding something back?" Frey stabbed at his chest only for him to catch the spear by its shaft. "You're trying to think too much."

Alexander squeezed hard, sending cracks down the shaft of the bloodwood spear. "I bet that's not like you." He swatted a javelin out of the air, resulting in a curse from Thomas. "Whatever you fear, I promise you that regret is much scarier. It just might get your comrades killed one day." He snapped the spear over his knee and knocked Frey to the ground.

A javelin whistled by and this time, Alexander delayed ever so slightly in deflecting it, resulting in a bruise at the back of his hand. "Timing, that's how you do it. Give me more of that."

Frey lay on the ground for a couple moments, staring at the half-broken spear in an exhausted daze. 'I can't put weight on my front foot,' he thought as he went to stand, flinching at the pain shooting through his crooked toes.

'Because of that, I'm letting him take my spear. He's ruthless in exploiting any openings.' He stood up and drew his Kopis. 'But he has been showing hesitation when we are off balance. He wasn't kidding. The hardest challenge is not to kill us, so what if I give him something to hesitate about.' Thomas yelped as he was thrown into the ceiling and wheezed as he bounced off, fresh blood streaking down his sweaty form.

"I need some help here." Thomas said as he sprinted behind Frey and gathered some of the thrown javelins. Alexander walked to meet them, a bright golden beacon of power in the dim chamber. Even the shadows stretched to get away from him.

"I got a plan." Frey said. "Wait for when I show openings." He purposely reeled the Kopis back just a little too much as he burst towards the general, prompting the man's hesitation. In the time it took for Alexander to rip his eyes away from Frey's vitals, Thomas launched the javelin and the Kopis streaked forward.

Alexander took a deep breath, expanding his chest, and let out a sigh that rivaled nature itself, pushing Frey, the javelin, and Thomas into a wall. "Just don't." Alexander hissed with thinning patience. "I can have Oliver piece you back together if I need to."

Frey cursed and went in again, this time letting the voice guide him. Each of Thomas's attacks were closer than the last, and the timing got better as well. However, their wills dwindled. The seconds crawled to a slow. Each breath of the stale, putrid air became a monumental task. Each attack was an eternity of effort and pain that only resulted in the biting feedback from striking the solid stone.

Just as Frey lost feeling in his swinging arm, he noticed a single bead of sweat drip down the side of Alexander's cheek. Momentary glee filled him; a fleeting feeling soon replaced by dread.

Thomas winced as his arm erupted in pain. The javelin was a few feet short of the General. Alexander's smile faded: "Don't you dare slack off!"

"I didn't," Thomas wanted to say but the only thing that rose out of his now-dry throat was a mouthful of vomit. Alexander wasn't one to miss that opening, and lept over Frey. 'Duck!' The voice urged but Thomas's legs locked up. 'Move,' Thomas thought as Alexander reeled his fist back. 'Move damn it!' Three of Thomas's ribs weren't the only things that snapped, but he didn't know what. All he knew is that one moment he was standing, his muscles burning, and the next he was splayed on the ground with both a throbbing headache and a dull pain in his side.

"Thomas, don't black out!" Alexander ordered as he yanked the javelin out of Thomas's lax grip. "Get up." The general braced himself for another of Frey's assaults. The Bloodwood spear stabbed and stabbed and stabbed. Alexander blocked each time by literally flicking the tip of the spear away.

"Get up," Thomas accidentally sputtered the words. His legs wobbled as he pushed himself up to a knee. Next, he leaned against the wall to bring his torso up, making squishing sounds as the sweat painted the jagged rock wall. "Keep. Head. Up." He no longer cared if he said or did things. He needed to stand. That was his goal, his purpose.

He brought his head up by pulling his sweaty blonde hair. The world spun. He had energy even though every inch of his body was in pain from the exertion and the jagged stone. He willed it but his body slogged as if he was drowning into a pool of muck. The voice. He waited for it. Surely it could help him like before. It never did. Slow. Painstaking. He reached a javelin, trying not to let it slip in his sweaty hands. "I can still…fight." His hand refused to curl up.

Frey rolled out of the way of a strike but slipped on the glossy, uneven floor. His eyes stung as sweat dripped into them. He blinked the blurriness away and found his nearly broken spear lying in front of him. 'Grab the spear.' Frey grabbed both ends of the spear, barely holding on by a few bent pieces of wood. 'Stab.' The two broken ends sent pain through Frey's body as he stabbed them into himself. Blood drained away, condensing around the spear which snapped into place. 'Use everything.'

'Everything?' Frey thought as a white aura sprung from his chest and condensed around his skin. He jumped to his feet, coming face to face with a wide-eyed general.

Golden life essence surged around Alexander and a sword appeared in his hand, the blade inches away from Frey's throat. "Shut it off." Primal fear or overwhelming bloodlust, Frey didn't know which of the two made his power vanish, like snuffing out a candle. Alexander reached out, grabbed Frey by the front of his helm, and slammed the giant down hard enough to crack the stone.

Thomas was still trying to get up by leaning against the wall but the general shook his head. "It's over. You've both lost."

"That," Thomas coughed. "Wasn't fair."

"It wasn't supposed to be," Alexander said. "I never intended for you to beat me. I whole-heartedly think that the both of you lack the ability to change her mind."

"But it's not fair if you're standing in our way!" Frey coughed, exhausted from the sparring session.

Alexander shook his head. "Life isn't fair. The only person that can change Elero's mind is herself. If I were to let you two interfere, she would resist and dive deeper in her path."

Thomas let his body relax and slide back down the wall, where he put his head in his hands. "Then it's too late. There's nothing we can do?"

The general gave a weary smile as he took out a water sac and downed the contents: "It's not too late. I already told you two about what happened to Jameson. In the end, it was his decision. So, what do you think will happen now? This sparring session was just to stall while Elero made her decision." He glanced over to the front of the cave, where a winged figure had just stepped in: Elero.

"By the goddess, you guys look like shit," she said.

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