"Cough cough cough—"
This time, it was Michael who awkwardly pulled himself out of the ice and frozen earth. But Kevin wasn't faring much better. Both his sword-wielding arms were completely broken, the two sections of bone jutting out from flesh and blood. Even though the Garuda factor worked diligently to repair them, it ultimately wasn't easy to set the bones straight. He could only waste the opportunity to press his advantage, watching helplessly as Michael stood up again.
In fact, Michael's recovery was even a step faster than his. By the time Michael straightened his body, Kevin's arms were still in the process of healing.
But Michael gave him another chance.
"Careless..."
He let out a long sigh, his voice devoid of resentment, sadness, or mockery, as if he were merely reciting these three words mechanically.
"I told you, wherever the eclipse can be seen, I am currently immortal. This is a consequence I forcibly established. However, however, Kevin, fifty thousand years, it's still you... who can bring me some different amusement. Alright then, I'll play with you a bit longer. But isn't it a bit unfair for you to bully me, an unarmed person, with a weapon?"
Under Kevin's wary gaze, he raised his right hand, reaching towards the side... But then he seemed to change his mind, raising his right hand higher, extending it straight towards the eclipse ring overhead.
"This is!"
Kevin's pupils contracted. He immediately understood what Michael was summoning, but he had no way to stop it. He could only follow by raising his head, watching as a small red dot lit up on the pitch-black lunar surface that mercilessly obscured the sun.
Accompanied by a sharp sound of something tearing through the air, a thin, thread-like red line pierced the darkness. Kevin lowered his head. Just as he thought, Michael held a red long spear shaped like a fork.
"Alright, now we can play fairly."
The long spear spun several times in Michael's palm before being slung diagonally across his back.
Crack—Crack—
Kevin's arms happened to recover at this exact moment, as if every passing second had been meticulously calculated.
"Hoo—"
Both took a deep breath simultaneously. The scattered white vapor was exceptionally conspicuous against the pitch-black background. Snowfall also arrived inadvertently, but all of it was torn apart by the rushing airflow a tenth of a second later.
Their figures collided, yet they didn't pierce each other's hearts as they had fifty thousand years ago. Both seemed slightly more rational than back then, though only by a tiny margin.
Weapons clashed continuously. Exploding sparks melted a snowflake that hadn't yet landed. The one following close behind didn't even have time to rejoice before being sliced in half by the rapidly passing red spear.
Compared to the heavy Might of An-Utu, the slender, branch-like long spear was clearly more agile. In Michael's hands, it twirled, swept, chopped, or thrusted, while Kevin could only constantly shift his footing, using it to maneuver the greatsword and continuously parry.
This certainly wasn't a simple duel between spear techniques and a two-handed sword. Even if their weapons were swapped, the result would likely be the same. While a long spear was more fluid and agile, a greatsword generally held an advantage in strength. The spear wielder might achieve a crushing advantage in speed during a short battle, but the greatsword wielder could completely overcome it with force—well, that's how it should have been.
But the reality was the exact opposite. For Michael, who possessed the power of Finality, or even further, was Finality itself, Kevin, even in his Mara state fused with the Hundred Beasts of Brahma, was ultimately lacking in physical prowess.
Therefore, despite Kevin's repeated attempts to deflect the incoming spear tip, he invariably failed to move it even an inch.
Clang—
The long spear and An-Utu clashed again. Kevin held the greatsword horizontally with both hands, but his knees involuntarily sank, causing cracks to appear in the ice surface where his feet stood, indenting downwards.
Michael's spear technique was actually just a simple attack pattern. First, a downward chop. Kevin naturally couldn't parry horizontally, because Michael's spear was extremely fast. Even if he thrust An-Utu forward a step earlier, the red, twin-pronged spear tip would definitely reach Kevin's head before An-Utu's crescent-like blade tip.
Besides, Michael still had one hand free.
He wielded the spear with a single hand, suppressing Kevin's strength. But he seemed unwilling to get caught in this meaningless struggle, and also seemed to deliberately avoid using his other hand. With a flick of his wrist, the long spear slid along An-Utu's blade to the side.
"Hey!"
"Hiss—"
Friction created a shower of sparks. Kevin quickly withdrew his left hand to prevent it from being severed by the spear. Without the support of the other hand, the greatsword naturally couldn't remain horizontal and began to fall towards its tip.
The long spear swept across. Michael's body twisted along with it. By the time Kevin plunged his sword into the ice to steady himself, the spear tip had already rotated a full three hundred and sixty degrees, attacking from Kevin's right.
Fortunately, he was somewhat familiar with this sequence, having shifted his center of gravity to the left a step ahead. Faced with the current situation, he seized the opportunity to dodge half a step to the left. The spear tip grazed the tattered cloth of his torn shirt and struck heavily against the Might of An-Utu.
This time, Kevin's strength was no longer suppressed. The greatsword, plunged downwards into the ice, wasn't easily moved. Although Michael was physically stronger, he was only wielding the spear with one hand.
But he still had the advantage of speed. Why bother with a contest of strength?
The spear tip was quickly retracted. Just as Kevin was about to pull out his greatsword, Michael thrust forward with his spear again. The twin-pronged spear tip struck An-Utu's blade, delivering an impact force incomparable to a single-pronged spear—Kevin, leaning on An-Utu, slid back over a hundred meters across the ice plain, carving deep marks, before barely halting his retreat. But he had just raised his head when he saw Michael attacking again, without even a moment's pause for breath.
"Tch! Rise!"
An-Utu instantly burst into raging flames. Kevin held An-Utu in a reverse grip and swung it upwards with all his might. The flames traced a crescent shape in mid-air. Michael seemed to have crashed into this crescent himself, his body easily bisected, the severed edges even showing the charred blackness left by the celestial fire's devastation.
"Ugh!"
Kevin's eyes widened in disbelief at the scene before him—was it that simple? Could it be, his long-cherished desire to kill Michael, was it truly this simple?
Could it be that fifty thousand years ago, this single sword strike was all that was needed to end everything?
Time slowed, slowed, and slowed further, finally seeming to stop completely. This was the so-called moment of victory, also the thing Kevin had been most infatuated with from beginning to end. But now, Kevin stared blankly at Michael's bisected corpse falling to either side, without a shred of joy in his heart.
Quite the contrary, what flooded his entire body like a tide, like countless hands reaching up his body to ultimately clutch his throat, was an unspeakable absurdity and sorrow.
The things he had regretted for countless days and nights were now achieved in such a simple, such an unbelievable way. It was hard not to find it absurd, and hard not to wonder if the same could have been achieved fifty thousand years ago, if only his own despair and retreat hadn't led to a worse outcome, hadn't led to Mei's death and the world's Samsara.
As for sorrow... how could he not be sorrowful? Was the one he killed merely a simple enemy? No, not at all. He killed the comrade he had pursued for fifty thousand years, the family he had once promised to walk towards the future with, and also the object of his search for answers for so many years.
Killing Michael, he certainly longed for it day and night, but it didn't mean he would be happy, would enjoy it, would feel avenged, would feel his wish fulfilled.
What appeared afterward was an even more desperate emptiness.
After all, the last thing he urgently wanted to do out of his own volition was finally accomplished. But... but...
It was like that scorching noon, when he was alone, practicing shots on the basketball court at Chiba Academy. He certainly had athletic talent, but it was more about overwhelming opponents with physical prowess. Technical skills like shooting, it wasn't that he was untalented—it was more like he was completely clueless.
He was unwilling to be like that; he couldn't accept being like that. He could certainly become an indispensable presence on the team with his extreme physical strength and breakthrough ability, but if that decisive shot wasn't made by him, he always felt something was missing. He always felt it wasn't a true victory, at least not the victory he wanted.
That's why he had to compete with himself, why he trained alone on the basketball court under the scorching sun, even forgetting his appointment with Mei... But the result of so-called diligence making up for lack of skill was that he didn't make a single shot the entire morning.
He shot again and again, disappointed again and again. But failure couldn't crush him; it only made him more resilient, only made him crave the final, true victory even more. This almost meaningless madness continued until he made his first shot of the day—standing right under the basket.
Then, Su and Mei arrived. It was a holiday; they had arranged to have a meal together. What did Su and Mei say back then? Kevin's memory was exceptionally hazy; he could no longer accurately grasp those words. But he remembered saying something extremely childish, something like the "moment of victory"—a victory that had no past, no future, existing only in that instant. He seemed to recall saying something like that.
Afterward, Su urged him to leave the sports field. He agreed verbally, but his body defiantly stood outside the three-point line, closed his eyes, and casually tossed the ball, mimicking the posture of a star player on TV.
However, when he opened his eyes, he saw the basketball swishing through the net and landing softly—Swish!
His throat tightened. He turned excitedly to call out to Su and Mei, wanting to share this moment of victory with them... But there was no one behind him.
To this day, had all this truly happened, or did it only exist in his constantly blurring memory, a memory constantly losing its boundary with fantasy? He really couldn't figure it out, nor did it matter.
His current mood wasn't entirely the same as back then—back then, he could still feel a moment's joy from making the shot. Now, even that insignificant joy no longer existed.
But generally, there was still a commonality: the endless emptiness truly won after the so-called "moment of victory."
Everything he truly wanted to achieve out of his own one hundred percent volition was successful. What followed would be a long, arduous journey of living for Project Stigma, for Mei, for everything in the past, a journey worse than death.
But... but...
"But ah, Kevin, what makes you think victory is such a simple matter?"
Kevin looked up at the sound. Michael's bisected body still hung in mid-air. His own hands still gripped An-Utu high above his head. Every wisp of flame was as still as solid ice, as if only his gaze transcended time.
And, of course, Michael's voice.
The next moment, the severed ends of Michael's two halves suddenly began to writhe. One after another, large and small tumors sprouted, each bearing Michael's features.
Until hundreds, thousands of "Michaels" spoke in unison:
"Kevin, oh Kevin, you are ultimately somewhat self-righteous. However... you actually feel sad for my death, that's really surprising... and also quite heartwarming."
Regardless of his Elysia-like tone, Kevin pursed his lips. After confirming he could speak, he merely replied coldly:
"I should be immune to mental influence."
"Oh?"
All the "Michaels" opened their mouths into an "O" shape simultaneously, their expressions playful.
"I told you, Kevin, you're somewhat self-righteous. What makes you think everything happening now is just a hallucination under mental influence?"
"Is that so."
Kevin wanted to nod, but seemed unable to.
"And then?"
"Tsk!"
Michael clicked his tongue, and then time reversed once more.
"Don't forget, Kevin. Under this eclipse ring, you cannot kill me. Of course, even without this precondition, the result wouldn't change."
Time flowed backward. Everything replayed itself, only this time, Michael's body stopped at an unbelievable angle, at the point where the leaping flames were about to lick his bangs.
"Hmm, is that so?"
Kevin raised an eyebrow, but the voice didn't come from his mouth. Of course, he hadn't learned voice mimicry; he likely couldn't produce a girl's voice.
Michael turned his head in some surprise, seeing a girl with a resolute expression. The girl was unarmed, merely forming a sword seal before her. Her long hair flew with the wild wind. It was unclear if it was dyed by the snow, or if it was like this at this very moment; her head full of black hair had turned into pure white silk, just like her name—Ling Shuang (Clear Frost).
Her eyes were spirited yet merciless, merely staring at Michael with extreme indifference.
Then, she slowly and firmly uttered words that weren't particularly obscure:
"Divinity is the apex of change, subtly encompassing all things, indescribable by form—Taixu Sword God!"
There was no sword in the girl's hand, but an even more resplendent greatsword, so massive it almost obscured the entire sky, descended from above. Airflow parted to either side along the blade's edge. And where the blade's edge pointed was Michael, and only Michael.