The Citadel at the End of Time

You’re waiting by the vestibule before the thundering against your door arrives—blades drawn, cape unfurled, polygraphene mask fitted tightly.

The mask.

You check it again. It’s on. It must never come off.

When she finally bursts through the reinforced titanium with a roundhouse kick sending shrapnel and debris towards you, you stare at her.

Unfazed. Unflinching.

Melting ice snakes across her face as she pants. “Heavens … it’s awfully—.”

“Cold?”

She glares. You stole her words.

You continue, blades glowing, slicing through darkness. “That’s the heat death of the universe for you. Lovely, isn’t it? How silent it is? How empty?”

She scoffs, readying her greatsword. “I’m not here for you. I’m here for him. The sooner we get this over with—.”

“The sooner you’ll get to traipse over my corpse like a velvet carpet?” you finish, chuckling. “Oh, how uncouth of you, Princess. Your experiences across time have soiled your innocence.”

Blade pointed upwards, her fingers shudder in anticipation around the hilt. “You … How do you know that?”

You shrug, circling her. “You tell me. You’ve found your way here. Surely, you know what I’m—.”

She slices you. A burst of pink energy from her greatsword. But you simply flicker out of the way. Return to your initial position before her.

Untouched. Unblemished.

You click your teeth. Wag a finger. Tilt your head. “Foul play. Very unbecoming of royalty.”

“Millennia of existence has shaped me to be more than that,” she hisses, weapon readied one more. “Let me show you, The One Who Remains. That I might pry an answer from your salacious lips before your demise.”

You chuckle again. Taunt her with one sword. “Enough banter. Let our blades do the talking.”

“Let’s dance.”

She lunges—

How have you been?

—and cleaves—

It hasn’t been long, but … it feels like forever …

—stabs under your guard—

I wish we had more time …

—parries than ripostes—

… but this has to be enough for me.

—but you overwhelm her with a final flurry. Sweep her legs. Kick her in the back.

Dragging your blades against one another to clean her blood off them, you sigh. “And here I thought you’d gotten better. Your footwork is still terrible. Whoever taught you how to fight must be truly pathetic—.”

She nicks your mask. Chunks a portion of your cheek.

“Don’t you dare … besmirch … my lover’s … NAME!”

You don’t yell.

You interlace your fingers and weave symbols in rapid succession. Soon, your gashed muscle and flesh morph into an engorged fist that sacks her in the face, sending her skidding across the floor.

Gripping her aching cheek, she trembles. “What on … that was—?”

“Surprised?” you taunt again, digging your blades into the tiles, muttering another incantation, stitching up your wound. “I know many tricks—.”

A vortex of wind rips from her throat. You part it with a shockwave from your hands.

“I said, I know many—.”

Bracers slamming together, she blasts you with columns of fire, but you pinch the air, reduce them to tongues, snuff them out.

“I know a lot of—.”

A carpet shoots from her pocket, tries to smother you, until you tear it in half with your bare hands.

“I know—.”

Desperate, she charges towards you with her greatsword, and you lift your arm to shield with arcana, but she stops.

She stops when she witnesses how you bolster your magical targe.

She drops her weapon.

“You …”

She reaches for your face—for your mask.

“You’re …”

A spider lily blossoms across her stomach when her fingers graze over the polygraphene. She gasps, chokes up, but you hold her waist, maintaining the shadow dagger plunged in her.

You gaze at her one final time. While she still sees you.

I’ll always miss you.