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Previous Chapter: ENDLESS Chapter 62: Fall

Next Chapter: ENDLESS Chapter 64: One Dragon

All Chapters HERE .

Watch the Trailer: ENDLESS Trailer

CHAPTER 63: CRUSADE

Malia was strong: her senses were at their peak, her movements were swift and decisive. She was a formidable warrior. Her head was clear, her eyes fixed on observing her opponent’s actions.

It was because she was rationally and methodically monitoring their combat that she realized something was wrong with the white maiden. The woman was clearly a less experienced fighter; her patterns of movement were predictable, her stance unbalanced. Her long loose hair and airy dress were liabilities in battle. More than once, Malia was certain she had landed a hit on the pearly woman… But she hadn’t.

Each time her fist should have connected with the maiden’s body, the woman’s breezy form eluded her. Her thin white figure moved at inconsistent speeds, sometimes slow and weightless, sometimes abruptly nimble beyond belief.

Even so, Malia knew she had to stay focused and calm. She couldn’t afford to panic, she couldn’t let her mind stop. She had to stay determined, keep her attacks incessant, or the maiden would take advantage of any small crack in her will. If she glanced into the black eyes for a second too long, if she lingered on the alluring smile, she would succumb to the maiden’s charm.

She could hear Gorken and the dragon contending around her, but she had no attention to spare. She trusted Gorken. She trusted Hedera. The princess’ duty was to concentrate on the maiden and to find an opening to break the stone seal. That was all.

Gorken’s awareness was also densely consumed by his fight with the Demon King.

“I have no ill will towards you, child.” The dragon had said before their clash.

“Neither do I. But if my body and my sword have any purpose at all, it’s to be able to stand against you.”

Gorken’s taunting words had proven to be truthful. The dragon was terrifying; even in his human shape, the heft of his arms, the strength of his legs, the density of his flesh were like nothing Gorken had ever seen. His dark body was near invulnerable, and yet the human didn’t feel hopeless.

The impregnable creature made his blood rush. Every motion was life or death. Every narrowly avoided blow, every failed kick, all of them were steps down a deathly, exhilarating ladder. Gorken’s body was lighter and stronger than ever. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t managed to hurt the dragon yet. It didn’t matter that his skin was covered in sweat, that the air felt cold and stinging in his lungs. It didn’t matter that his left arm had been broken while blocking one of the dragon’s hits. It didn’t matter that his energy was being rapidly drained by his sword changing size and shape constantly… For the first time in years, in the midst of a desperate struggle where there was no room for restraint, Gorken remembered that he loved fighting, that he enjoyed being powerful.

He couldn’t afford to stop.

He had to keep the dragon occupied. That was his mission. He believed in Malia, he knew the best way to assist her was to focus on his own foe. He could hear her panting as a distant chant, almost reassuring him.

Hedera’s quiet presence also gave them strength. They knew she was watching them intently, waiting for any chance to turn the tide.

As the minutes passed and stretched, Malia’s body started to fall behind. Her mind was still unclouded, but her arms were becoming heavier, her legs slower, her chest tighter. A quick glance at Gorken confirmed her fears: his left arm was hanging limply from his shoulder, his head was bleeding, his breathing was ragged. They couldn’t go on forever.

The maiden and the dragon on the other hand, seemed to exist beyond the touch of time. The white woman was unchangingly pristine, and her dark partner was unbothered by the blows Gorken had dealt him, his firm posture unaffected by the bleeding gashes.

Malia inhaled deeply, allowing her breathing to ground all that she was. The princess was determined to settle the duel before their temporal disadvantage could harm them any further. She fixated on grasping her core, on letting it expand through her veins until purpose became both her armor and her fuel. Her wishes, her hopes, her fears, she needed to turn each and every one of them into vigor, and wisdom, and perseverance.

It was strange, to try to think about everything and about nothing at the same time. But it was in that strangeness, in that awareness that was as detached as it was intimate, that she would find the inner peace to break someone else. That thought, too, was strange.

Malia’s instincts guided her. An opening would come. She was certain of it. Don’t overthink. Don’t stop thinking. Be patient. Look. Observe. Wait. Wait. Feel. Think. Wait.

And the opportunity came. The maiden had a habit of glancing towards her dragon every time the metallic sound of Gorken’s sword hitting the ground reverberated through the shimmery cave. The rhythm of conflict had unveiled that tendency for Malia to see. When the sound reached her once more, she knew what to do and what would come. She would only have a split second, doubts were an unwanted hindrance.

Malia compressed her resolve, her regrets, her dreams of a future and her memories of warmth into one single action: one solid, brutal fist. As if to deride her, time slowed down as she thrust her arm forward; she could feel every drop of sweat on her body, every blood vessel mid-throb, every hair sticking to the sides of her face.

And in that shared long instant, the maiden realized she wouldn’t be able to dodge. The white woman smiled, relieved and satisfied. Malia couldn’t help but grimace at the thought of her hand viciously crushing the maiden’s ribcage, but it was far too late to stop.

Malia closed her eyes and felt her blow land, shattering bone and flesh in its wake.

Description
You can also follow ENDLESS on TWITTER !

Previous Chapter: ENDLESS Chapter 62: Fall

Next Chapter: ENDLESS Chapter 64: One Dragon

All Chapters HERE .

Watch the Trailer: ENDLESS Trailer

CHAPTER 63: CRUSADE

Malia was strong: her senses were at their peak, her movements were swift and decisive. She was a formidable warrior. Her head was clear, her eyes fixed on observing her opponent’s actions.

It was because she was rationally and methodically monitoring their combat that she realized something was wrong with the white maiden. The woman was clearly a less experienced fighter; her patterns of movement were predictable, her stance unbalanced. Her long loose hair and airy dress were liabilities in battle. More than once, Malia was certain she had landed a hit on the pearly woman… But she hadn’t.

Each time her fist should have connected with the maiden’s body, the woman’s breezy form eluded her. Her thin white figure moved at inconsistent speeds, sometimes slow and weightless, sometimes abruptly nimble beyond belief.

Even so, Malia knew she had to stay focused and calm. She couldn’t afford to panic, she couldn’t let her mind stop. She had to stay determined, keep her attacks incessant, or the maiden would take advantage of any small crack in her will. If she glanced into the black eyes for a second too long, if she lingered on the alluring smile, she would succumb to the maiden’s charm.

She could hear Gorken and the dragon contending around her, but she had no attention to spare. She trusted Gorken. She trusted Hedera. The princess’ duty was to concentrate on the maiden and to find an opening to break the stone seal. That was all.

Gorken’s awareness was also densely consumed by his fight with the Demon King.

“I have no ill will towards you, child.” The dragon had said before their clash.

“Neither do I. But if my body and my sword have any purpose at all, it’s to be able to stand against you.”

Gorken’s taunting words had proven to be truthful. The dragon was terrifying; even in his human shape, the heft of his arms, the strength of his legs, the density of his flesh were like nothing Gorken had ever seen. His dark body was near invulnerable, and yet the human didn’t feel hopeless.

The impregnable creature made his blood rush. Every motion was life or death. Every narrowly avoided blow, every failed kick, all of them were steps down a deathly, exhilarating ladder. Gorken’s body was lighter and stronger than ever. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t managed to hurt the dragon yet. It didn’t matter that his skin was covered in sweat, that the air felt cold and stinging in his lungs. It didn’t matter that his left arm had been broken while blocking one of the dragon’s hits. It didn’t matter that his energy was being rapidly drained by his sword changing size and shape constantly… For the first time in years, in the midst of a desperate struggle where there was no room for restraint, Gorken remembered that he loved fighting, that he enjoyed being powerful.

He couldn’t afford to stop.

He had to keep the dragon occupied. That was his mission. He believed in Malia, he knew the best way to assist her was to focus on his own foe. He could hear her panting as a distant chant, almost reassuring him.

Hedera’s quiet presence also gave them strength. They knew she was watching them intently, waiting for any chance to turn the tide.

As the minutes passed and stretched, Malia’s body started to fall behind. Her mind was still unclouded, but her arms were becoming heavier, her legs slower, her chest tighter. A quick glance at Gorken confirmed her fears: his left arm was hanging limply from his shoulder, his head was bleeding, his breathing was ragged. They couldn’t go on forever.

The maiden and the dragon on the other hand, seemed to exist beyond the touch of time. The white woman was unchangingly pristine, and her dark partner was unbothered by the blows Gorken had dealt him, his firm posture unaffected by the bleeding gashes.

Malia inhaled deeply, allowing her breathing to ground all that she was. The princess was determined to settle the duel before their temporal disadvantage could harm them any further. She fixated on grasping her core, on letting it expand through her veins until purpose became both her armor and her fuel. Her wishes, her hopes, her fears, she needed to turn each and every one of them into vigor, and wisdom, and perseverance.

It was strange, to try to think about everything and about nothing at the same time. But it was in that strangeness, in that awareness that was as detached as it was intimate, that she would find the inner peace to break someone else. That thought, too, was strange.

Malia’s instincts guided her. An opening would come. She was certain of it. Don’t overthink. Don’t stop thinking. Be patient. Look. Observe. Wait. Wait. Feel. Think. Wait.

And the opportunity came. The maiden had a habit of glancing towards her dragon every time the metallic sound of Gorken’s sword hitting the ground reverberated through the shimmery cave. The rhythm of conflict had unveiled that tendency for Malia to see. When the sound reached her once more, she knew what to do and what would come. She would only have a split second, doubts were an unwanted hindrance.

Malia compressed her resolve, her regrets, her dreams of a future and her memories of warmth into one single action: one solid, brutal fist. As if to deride her, time slowed down as she thrust her arm forward; she could feel every drop of sweat on her body, every blood vessel mid-throb, every hair sticking to the sides of her face.

And in that shared long instant, the maiden realized she wouldn’t be able to dodge. The white woman smiled, relieved and satisfied. Malia couldn’t help but grimace at the thought of her hand viciously crushing the maiden’s ribcage, but it was far too late to stop.

Malia closed her eyes and felt her blow land, shattering bone and flesh in its wake.