Perceived Fate

They splint first into twos and then again to just themselves. Malum could see Jameson over the river but the crossing was a few hundred metres back so helping was off the table.

They walked down further where they found the narrowest point on the choke. Malum then saw how Jameson began to set up his supplies so he did the same.

He checked for the time and saw he had little over half and hour left so he got to laying out his gear and seeing what he would need in the next 24 hours.

Two sword strapped which would need their sheaths to be hung around his belt. His amour was light leather which wrapped around his entire body leaving spaces in only areas where he wouldn’t need it, for instance under his armpits. With a few metallic plates sown on important areas, on his chest, on his forearms and in his knees.

It had several pockets which he placed as much of his alchemical potions as they could hold. Once he ran out of potions, he placed in first waterskins, then a few dense foods, then some bandages.

He left out a sharpener for his swords and then began to place around him some torches. Daylight would soon leave him and that’s when the difficulty spiked.

Lighting those he left a few unlit torches in case he needed to set up anymore. He then ate whatever was left and drank a few spare skins of water.

He didn’t overdo it, but he had to make sure that he didn’t underdo it either.

A few stray demons came in whilst he set up but they only acted as a warm-up. The real thing was only a few minuets away and with the time he had left he tried to calm himself down.

His heart was beating, and sweat was well beyond his brow. A marathon was a daunting task, but Malum had already done similar and stressing about it wasn’t going to help.

He took a breath, and then breathed out.

He cleared his mind of all the clutter. All the worry about his future plans, all the worry about his potential death. All that was left was calmness.

He was interrupted by a demons growl, Malum smiled as he pulled his sword and began to swing. Blood was shed and with much more soon joining it, the land was sure to be stained its crimson colour.

Dancing, he moved from right to left. Swaying as he moved.

The sword was a extension of his arm, and such it danced with him. The flow, the rhythm, Malum was trying his best to master the skill.

What used to be diagrams in a book, they were slightly tweaked to match his change of equipment but the essence stayed.

The poses could be seen as he danced from diagram to diagram.

Mistakes were slowly becoming rare, Malum found himself no longer having to spend so much time fixing them and now he could work on mastering them.

Mistakes however rare, were adding up eventually. Cuts became hindrances and if accumulated became a worry of blood loss.

With a calm in the storm, Malum pulled a potion from his pocket and drained the bottle. He felt strength return to his body and his wounds slowly lost their painful feeling.

He threw the glass towards the chokepoint and continued where he left off.

The headache, which had been plaguing him for months, had calmed down. Fighting was now his meditation. His focus completely on the dance and not on the pain.

Malum could not help but smile. Life had been returned to him, and whilst death lingered around him always he still managed to get back on the path to immortality.

Now he just had to tread it.

The dance become more minimal. The extravagance switched for efficiency and the melody lost in favour of harsh awareness.

His eyes became strained as he starred for enemies. Blood acting more as moistener than his own eyelids.

The blades that once carved through opponents now only went half way through. Such effects had to adapted to and the dance took it into account.

A few bigger opponents had caused some injuries but nothing his potions couldn’t numb. Bandages were applied when he could, and sharpening was left to whatever time he had left.

Corpses were now becoming the large issue. They were thankfully being eaten by its own brethren but those that weren’t created obstacles and that caused issues with his dance.

The flow couldn’t stop, it was like a river. Malum avoiding these bodies caused more issues as he found himself back peddling towards demons who had made a run for human land.

His muscles ached. His eyes ached. His brain ached. It was a better question to ask what didn’t and that came with the easy answer of nothing.

Even his nose wasn’t spared, having to breath nothing but blood and raw meat for the last 8 hours.

At least the sun dimming. That meant he was onto the next stage of the fight. Now he had to worry about the torches. Not only that but his eyes would also have to strain themselves even more.

He took a breath, and then breathed out.

“I will adapt, I will overcome!” He shouted the last part as he cut down another demon.

Darkness fell and soon torchlight was all Malum could use to fight against the endless swarm. His endurance was taking a beating and a half but there was a reason they called him the endurance monster.

The dance could never end and slowly Malum felt that he had got something about the flow.

He understood something and it was slowly showing itself in the way he fought. Enemies now moved so predictably that he could just guess where they were and he was correct.

His senses always agreed with him, in fact they even seemed to be the cause of it.

But it wasn’t any particular one, it was the combination of all of them and his memories of previous battles.

It allowed for Malum to take his mind off of everything for a second or two and in the hell of hells, then those previous seconds were worth everything.

He focused on honing this combined sense, he felt the skill was the next step on his path and he would always move forward.