Peace is a lie. There is only Passion.
Through Passion I gain Strength.
Through Strength I gain Power.
Through Power I gain Victory.
Through Victory my chains are Broken.
[Your death] shall free me.
- The Sith Code
Inexperience was rife in this dwarf. Rather than blocking the kick with her leg, a sturdy post that could withstand large impacts, she opted to block with her wrist, a joint prone to injury and fracture. When blocked in such a way, his kick should have bruised her ribs or shattered the wrist at the very least.
Luck played a part in battle, too, though. Just as Scherazade was lucky enough to redirect his first strike in his first battle, and just as Marcos was lucky enough to avoid the dwarf’s previous attacks unscathed, so too was she lucky enough to not suffer serious damage from his blow.
However, she also proved she was attempting to think outside the box, searching for the single thread that could grant her the much needed advantage. With a swift sweep of her sword, she slashed towards his feet, evidently seeking to break his stance.
That single thread she desperately sought was nonexistent-
Darkness once again overtook the pair of them, snatching Marcos’ focus from his nimble footing. As the spotlight flashed on, igniting the stage, he realized his lack of focus would cost him. His body froze midair, his feet an inch from the ground as he pushed himself back. The dwarf’s rapier was millimeters from contact, and there would be no way for him to withdraw fast enough to completely avoid the strike.
More pressing, the flames encasing the curtains were overtaking more and more of the stage, replacing the curtains as the nooses’ dripping blazed holes into the floor beneath them. The heat singed his fur as it flickered ravenously, and there were screams - so many screams - as Kozzar presented himself.
He mocked the pair of them. He mocked them as he locked them in position. Disappointment. Boredom. Believing they did not take this battle seriously. The longer Kozzar spoke, the more Marcos’ demeanor shifted. The cold, calculated fighter of before chipped away with each icy phrase lacing the demon’s tongue. For the first time in this battle, with her eyes locked to his, his opponent would see rage. Rage and fear.
He misjudged his audience.
He made a fatal error, and as the frozen chill of death itself clawed across his being, there would be no redemption. Before, he had disregarded the oozing noose with the belief that death always hung around his neck.
He was wrong.
The threat of death shadowed him before, not death itself. That grinning reaper presented itself only now, slinking through his skin, stealing his breath, and snatching his vision. It stripped the life from his being inch by gluttonous inch, hollowing him from the inside out.
He was going to die.
…
…
…
He didn’t want to die.
No. He wouldn’t die. He refused to. He did not come this far only to fail now! The one true victory of his was his ability to survive, and he refused to allow anyone to take that away from him.
The stage revealed its true state, assuming the appearance of abandonment and Decay, as though untouched for years. With the absence voiding the area, Marcos began to believe his audience and judge never existed in the first place.
However, the remaining chill of death and the holes burned into the silent stage warned him otherwise, and the emptiness only irritated Marcos more. His audience. His judge. They left him to rot and perish, the smoke and peeling heat from the fire a mere murmur on his memory.
Peace is a lie. There is only Passion.
Deemed unworthy, this truly was his execution. In this moment, no place remained for respect or showmanship. The rage consumed him, replacing the hollow void of death.
Through Passion I gain Strength.
The rage flipped a switch within Marcos, awakening the dangerous beast in his genes as he relinquished the need for careful tactics.
Through Strength I gain Power.
Abandoned, attacked, executed, it mattered not. The prosecution fueled him now, allowing him to push through pain and direct his innate agility.
Through Power I gain Victory.
If he died today, he would ensure he wouldn’t leave alone. Even if small, the victory would be his when the dwarf lied lifeless before him.
Through Victory my chains are Broken.
With the blood of the dwarf on his hands, he would grin at Kozzar, wherever he was. Even that defiled creature could not take this from him, the final thing he could control before his demise.
“Sua morte me libertará.”
Marcos landed a short distance away from his opponent, the sting of the rapier’s strike across the front of his shins failing to register. Apathetic to what damage befell him, his only wish was to end the woman in front of him as efficiently and as brutally as possible.
The moment he landed and he spoke, he leapt forward, sweeping his katars down in a wild, raking slash. He targeted the center of his foe’s mass, uncaring to where he injured her. A finger or an eye might be the first to go, but eventually, it would be her limbs, heart, and head that perish.
Geared with blind-sighted determination to live, Marcos would continue to push, unleashing a flurry of blows with a disregard to defense altogether, no matter the actions his opponent took against him. The friendly, honorable fight. The showboating. The respectful exchange of names Scherazade received. It all faded beneath Marcos’ desire, and it would take an incredible display of skill or luck to prevent him from destroying her before his death.
This would be the second time Bri would lose her life at his hands. That, he was certain of.
*Sua morte me libertará. - Your death shall free me.
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