ashes of the chosen

The two stood opposite—mirrored figures split by light and dark.

Rex gripped his crimson sword, its red glow pulsing like a heartbeat. Across the hall, the Executioner shifted forward. His blade, more shadow than steel, seemed to stretch and shrink, as if reality couldn't decide how to hold its form.

I hesitated to join the fight knowing i was no match to fight the executioner

but

Rex shouted "i will handle this so dont dare to join the fight, i am not good fighting alongside someone else"

I boeyed his command

For me it seemed a foolish act not to utilise every power you have but at the same time it seemed like a noble and an act of bravery

Elissa who was ducked behind me asked in a quite and scared voice "will he win? "

Honestly i didnt knew but neverthless i answered "we need to hope for best"

Then the clash began

A low hum—like a scream swallowed—filled the air.

The Executioner moved first.

In a blink, he was in front of Rex, sword crashing down. Rex blocked—but the force was unreal. The crimson glow flickered, dimming as he slid back across the obsidian floor, boots carving sparks.

I gritted my teeth, shielding Elissa. She buried her face into my coat, trembling.

Another slash—Rex parried, but barely. The black blade whipped around, unpredictable like a living thing. Rex countered with a thrust of light, aiming for the Executioner's heart—but the shadow peeled aside, dodging like mist.

The Executioner laughed. A hollow, broken sound.

"Rex!" I shouted, despite knowing he'd said not to distract him.

He didn't respond—but I saw it: the glint of pain in his stance, the tremble in his shoulder. The black aura was spreading like ink across his sword arm. Every clash stained him more.

He was losing.

"He's… changing," Elissa whispered. Her eyes were wide, staring at Rex. "Why is he turning dark like the monster?"

She wasn't wrong. The longer the fight dragged, the more the red in Rex's sword seemed to darken—tainted by the enemy's power. His face twisted—not in pain, but rage.

That scared me more than anything.

*Don't lose yourself,* I thought. *Don't become him.*

The Executioner stepped back, then raised his sword to the ceiling. The shadows obeyed, swirling upward, forming a spire of pitch-black tendrils. He brought it crashing down like a god striking the Earth.

Rex didn't dodge.

He caught it—bare hands gripping the blade of shadow—and *roared*. Light erupted from his body in jagged waves, slicing through the air like lightning.

The impact blasted the entire hall.

Stone cracked. The mirrors around us shattered. And for a moment, everything went white.

Then—silence.

Dust settled. I peeked past my arm to see the two still standing, both breathing heavy. Rex's arm was burnt, red veins crawling across it unnaturally.

But so was the Executioner—his blade chipped, shadows leaking like blood.

They were evenly matched now.

And both were starting to lose their humanity.

Rex screamed as the pain lanced through his shoulder, raw and real. His knees trembled. His enemy, the Executioner, merely stood tall—expressionless, unfazed.

He no longer knew pain.

Rex raised his sword and slashed desperately, crimson light trailing like flame—but the Executioner blocked it with ease. Sparks erupted as steel met shadow.

Then the Executioner spoke.

"Your sword can cut *anything*, but not *everything*," he hissed, eyes glowing.

He raised his own weapon, shadows swirling around it like a storm. "My sword isn't just one… It is *many*—a legion of blades, forged from the screams of the fallen. It carries their pain. Their vengeance. Their hunger."

And then—with a force that cracked the very ground—he struck.

Rex flew like a broken puppet, his body slamming into the far wall. His sword spun through the air and clattered to the ground, skidding to a stop in the center of the hall.

Silence.

Then the voice returned, crawling through the dark like a whisper in my skull.

"So… *you're* next."

I stood in the shadows. And I knew. He meant *me*.

I could've run. In that moment, I could've picked up Elissa and bolted through the corridor. Or worse… I could've used her as bait, bought time for myself. No one would know. No one would care.

"Yes," I muttered. "That's it. Run."

I wasn't a hero. I wasn't even human—not really. Just another piece of trash the world forgot. I was *born* to steal time that didn't belong to me. A name that wasn't mine. A life that wasn't earned.

I had no powers.

No place.

No purpose.

So why… why was my face wet?

I touched my cheek and realized—it was raining. No… I was crying.

Tears blurred my vision. My own cowardice laid bare.

Why? Why would *I* cry?

A scum like me shouldn't feel guilt. Or shame. But the weight was there. Heavy. Suffocating.

Was it Elissa's trembling hand? Her silence?

Was it the thought of Rex lying broken behind me?

I didn't know.

All I knew was this: I was abandoning something I wanted to protect.

Something that kept my last shard of hope for humanity alive.

So I turned.

And I ran *back* into the hall—crying, shaking, choking on fear—but running toward it all the same.

Because even fools dream of greatness.

Even cowards sometimes choose to fight.

I grabbed Rex's sword. The red light surged through my hands—hot, pulsing, alive.

Across the room, the Executioner grinned. A slow, mocking chuckle escaped his twisted lips.

Then he dashed.

I tried to lift the blade, but I was too slow.

He stabbed me.

Straight through the gut.

The shadowy blade pierced me, cold and biting. I gasped, pain blooming in every nerve. My knees buckled—but my hands held firm.

I *grabbed* the Executioner's blade, holding it in place, not letting it escape.

He blinked in confusion. "What are you—?"

I coughed up blood… and smiled.

"Steal the time," I whispered. "Of the dead… vessels in your sword."

The world spun.

My fingers dug in.

"Yes," I gasped. "Let me… steal it all."

I accessed the memories of the dead.

Seven in total.

And in that instant, it felt like my brain was torn into seven splinters—each one screaming. My body split like a broken puppet, each piece being dismantled by the Executioner's past selves.

Seven deaths.

Seven lives crushed into mine.

My neuro-coolant surged, preventing me from blacking out—but it couldn't stop the pain. It couldn't stop the unraveling.

When the last memory faded, I let go of the Executioner's sword.

The shadows vanished.

What remained was just a dull piece of metal—small, unremarkable. A sword no longer fed by the screams of the dead.

"What have you done?!" the Executioner roared, staggering back.

His aura—once an endless mass of shadows—now flickered weakly. In comparison, the crimson glow of Rex's sword filled the hall like dawn after a long night.

But it was no use.

I couldn't sense anything clearly anymore.

Not the light. Not Elissa. Not even the floor beneath me.

Especially not after experiencing death seven times in a row.

My mind spiraled, my vision warped—but I remembered.

*My job wasn't over.*

The Executioner stood before me, wounded from his battle with Rex, fury twisting his face. But now he was desperate. Hurried. Afraid.

"So… you could steal the memories of the dead," he spat. "But not mine. If you could've—you would have."

He took a step forward.

"You're out of your mind now. Barely standing. All your efforts—*wasted*. You should've run when you had the chance."

I looked up at him and gave a crooked, broken smile.

"Yeah," I whispered. "That's what I thought too."

He lunged.

Slower than before.

But so was I.

His sword cut toward my head. I twisted, just enough to avoid it, and grabbed his arm.

Suddenly—something inside me *clicked*.

**Secret ability unlocked** Use on specific target: [Yes] / [No]

*Yes*, I screamed in my head.

The Executioner howled in pain.

His body jerked as the shadows began to *dissolve*—drawn out from within him like ink from a shattered vial.

"No…! *HOW?!*" he roared. "You need *consent*! You can't do this to me!"

I looked him in the eyes—no hatred, just quiet clarity.

"Stealing might be wrong," I said, voice trembling. "But *giving*… maybe that's different."

The last of the darkness ripped free from his body.

His scream echoed once—and then ended.

By the time Elissa entered the hall, it was over.

The Executioner had collapsed, his form melting into a black, slime-like sludge.

Gone.

Just like he was supposed to be.