I know myself.

  The villagers said that he devoured the pets of the city, that cats died when stroked by him. Elron persevered in his imbecilic kindness, risking being contaminated by unproductive conversations with a being who did not even know how to be conscious. He ignored the rumors and sayings, the legends and curses, that he spoke to the moon and attracted dangerous spirits. And then it happened.

  People impaled on the streets, burning on the flaming rubble of the fight between two demonic gods. Sieghart may not have cared to notice, but the village was almost a city before it was destroyed.

  To be fair, he also ignored the things they said about me. I have always been a scoundrel, a coward, a tramp, a boor, and a cheat, and I have never made a point of hiding it. Popular wisdom exists for a reason, and I didn't mind being told an exaggerated truth about my character. One way or another, everyone already knew what he was. But it's not going to be me who will try to play hero and kill a being that can destroy the whole world.

  It's idiotic. Imbecility. I can be many things, but I'm not dumb. I know myself. I'm going to stand up for an empty, meaningless life, be some random bum, and make one excuse or another to always get away with it. It's just the way I am. That's what I do. At least, that's what I did when I was smart, or when I wasn't actually lying to myself.

  If it were still the same, it would not be rushing towards the second sun that hovers on the horizon and ignore the Crimson aura. The demonic power that gushes like blood from an artery is as obvious as a fire in a world of darkness. I wouldn't be with the spear in my hand and almost destroying my stretched legs from so much running.

  Why?

  I don't care why anyone would reach out to me. But he did, and I wasted it. Although I find 'meaning' a nonsense, I can not let his will be in vain. I will accomplish one goal, at least one.

  I will avenge Elron.

  I can feel the red eyes staring at me. I will never take you by surprise as long as they exist, but I don't have to. The more wounded your body is and the more exhausted the spiritual muscle that allows you to channel, the lower the emission. It was difficult to gather the necessary mana, my emission will decrease with each step I take, but I am still stronger than I should be for my state.

  It's Sieghart who's at his worst, and as long as I have that advantage, I can win.

  I accelerate. The demon raises a black shield, I run around it and lift honey from the ground with my steps. The pressure of my feet on the ground creates tremors, the terrain becomes unstable. I maximize my emission a second before the boy points at me. I throw myself on top of the sorcerer as the chaos distorts my emission, but I'm already heading in his direction, carried away by the impulse. I step like a blur from one side to the other and hit the shield with my spear.

  It breaks. Metal corrodes, wood rots. However, the barrier also collapses. The impact makes a sound in the air and throws Sieghart through the wind, the pressure almost makes me fall, but I cannot afford to miss this opportunity.

  I almost break my leg while spinning to not lose momentum, I feel my mana fluctuate because of the chaos. I accelerate, keep accelerating as the boy rolls across the floor and punches his jaw. An audible pop explodes through the air. He is again launched—He was not prepared for the damage that the blow would cause—and I follow him. But when I go to punch for the second time, my feet sink.

  I throw myself on the floor and roll, preferring bruises to losing acceleration. I spin until I'm on my feet again, shifting shadows infest the battlefield and smoke and darkness gush out.

  A minefield!

  I rotate in a circle and deform the terrain. I let a few pieces of honey sink in here and there, calculate the trajectories as I intensify the acceleration of my brain. It's good enough. I just need to avoid the wreckage and keep accelerating. I inhale and prepare myself again, the demon holds the air like a rag and wraps itself around. My attack goes through the wind and I miss, then slow down so as not to throw myself off balance and spin to avoid another puddle.

  Shit! Has he adapted already?!

  I will die if I use the same strategy against him more than once. The pile of sugar and honey collapses to the ground and sends a tsunami from which I jump over at super Speed, monsters run as I try to find it.

  “Don't hide!”

  I turn on my own axis and avoid a fireball that was looking where I was going. I change the trajectory and watch dozens more spells fall from the skies. A dense and heavy aura envelops the ground like smoke. I jump against trees and piles of corpses so I don't get caught, hide behind a candy, and use the vacuum seconds between attacks to advance.

  Another attack. My fist crashes into the barrier he has raised and throws it, but the damage doesn't go through. My fist burns. I grit my teeth and keep accelerating.

  At this pace-

  No. I won't think. I don't have to. Keep running and spinning. Dodge obstacles, get closer. Blind him with the debris of the environment, spin and attack. One more time. Just one more-

  My vision darkens. I lose consciousness for a second, and the next, I wake up spinning in midair. I build up my stamina before impact and crash into a mountain made flesh. I spin around on the floor. Where I was, a black tree.

  He invoked that… halfway?

  Something moves inside of me. It's not important. I keep absorbing the mana from the environment and force myself to get up. Acceleration has been discontinued, so I'll have to build speed again. I cough up blood, check to see if my foot is broken, and then stare at him.

  Red eyes shine on pale skin. Apathetic, dead. Immovable, indestructible. I never knew what was going on behind them. The Demon King responsible for destroying the world.

  An isolated boy in the middle of nowhere. Disapproved and cursed. They envied his power, and did not even have the courage to admit that they would do what he did. We had a lot in common, and yet I never bothered to understand him.

  The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  My hands tremble. Am I scared?

  I spit out a laugh.

  “What bullshit…”

  I grab the edges of the hole I made when I collided with the mountain. I bend my knees, get ready to run one last time. An accurate hit is all I need. I accumulate mana, intensify the stretched pieces of my body to attack. He will not run away from the impact.

  I accelerate.

  The air resistance almost tears my skin. I feel my organs crash into each other as I approach subsonic speed. My power evolves, hysterical strength runs through my veins. Maintaining strength and acceleration is all I require. Sieghart waits for contact, solidifying the amorphous mass of aura into a wall.

  One second. The ground shakes, then heats up and explodes at the slightest moment of collision. The air explodes, and the impact throws tons of honey over the horizon. I roll across the floor and fall forward.

  I breathe in. My arm burns, my shoulder is dislocated. I grit my teeth and put it in place. In front of me, the pressure rips a hole in the aura and throws Sieghart through the air. But just like me, he also stands up.

  Emotionless eyes. No pity, anger, or contempt. Nothing.

  “… Why…?” I frown. “WHY DON'T YOU DIE?!”

  Sieghart coughs and wipes his blunt lip. A second of silence.

  “I can't die now. I have a destiny to fulfill.” He inspires. “And you too.”

  “…?!”

  Sieghart raises his arms in front of his face and firms his feet on the ground. “Come. Fight.”

  I spit out a laugh, then stop. I clench my fist. My nails dig into the flesh, so hard they bleed.

  I advance. Unfortunately for Sieghart, he never fought like me. The boy strikes first, I duck to avoid the punch and hit his chin with a right hook. He wobbles back and raises his guard, then I hit his stomach with a straight one. I firm my feet to follow up with another straight, but I feel the pressure sink into my head.

  Sieghart ignores the pain of the attack and hammers my skull with both fists. My vision spins and my feet tingle for the second it takes me to regain my posture. Red. Blood falls from the cut he made on my forehead. Gritting his teeth, Sieghart inhales and returns his guard.

  An unprepared person would not be able to react to this. What happened..…

  I rush. I prepare a low kick, but he dodges back and lunges at me. I dodge down the punch and throw another hook, but Sieghart punches my hand before contact. I return to the guard and gain space, prepare to launch another low kick, but-

  Sieghart lunge in my direction and grabs my waist. He forces himself up, then throws me to the ground. The demon gives me an elbow in the stomach, but I don't fall for the trick to let my guard down in the face. Instead, I punch his chin and grab his neck, spinning on the floor and pushing him down.

  I jump on him, then push him to the ground, punch his nose, then his eye. He grabs my hands, then headbutts me on the chin, escapes one of my legs and kicks me in the chest. The impact knocks the air out of my lung, I roll on the floor and stagger to my feet.

  That's impossible. He should be slow and weak. There is no way to get this good in such a short time. No, that's not technique. It's a trick. What is it?

  Whatever it is, he doesn't want to wait for me to find out. The demon rushes again, light steps and confused plans behind the empty gaze. He plays a forehand, and I step back rather than deflect underneath for the second time. Sieghart almost punches the air out of instinct, already adapted to my instinct.

  I rush. One punch to the side, one deflection down. Punches against the liver, mouth and forehead, a crawl brings us to the ground, we roll and fight until my shoulder snaps. I apply a guillotine, he bites my leg until he almost tears it off.

  Rush. Rush. Rush. I keep moving forward, our blows keep meeting halfway. I feel my stamina drain with each attack. I'm stronger, I'm faster. Still—teeth fly, blood gushes, my lip bursts, your ear tears.

  I rush, and so does he. Sieghart ignores the impact of the punch to return another. His guard is ineffective, but he had stopped defending long ago for that to matter. Instead, it plays nonstop on offense, returning each attack with an even stronger one.

  Red eyes glow like blood contrasting on pale skin. My vision darkens, my chest weighs. He should stop. After so many blows, he shouldn't move like that. Still, Sieghart goes on, and on, and on.

  Why?

  How?

  Pain.

  I inhale, barely keeping my guard up. He lost his arm against Aldwyn and fought dozens of monsters alone. It's not that he doesn't feel pain, but he doesn't seem to care about it either. His expression is angry, his face is stained, but his eyes remain focused, empty, unchanged even on the verge of death.

  He's not human. His cold skin no longer behaves like mine. The weakness of the flesh, however, slowly overtakes me. Exhaustion and injuries combine to sink me into the sweetened mud. In the end, even the certainty of the metal was disintegrated by power that peasants will never be able to understand.

  Still, I remain standing. All that man ever had was his own will and the capacity for change. Forged swords were only instruments; those who kill are my hands.

  I defend a direct hit, he kicks my leg and forces me to change the base. I lower my hands and move my head, deflecting the blows to get closer and land a hook. I throw myself to the side to dodge the hammer and land another punch in the rib, he returns an elbow and completely blinds my right eye.

  I know myself. Smart enough to cheat when I need to, too wise to avoid when I shouldn't. But now that my brain waterfalls inside my head and my thoughts warp, all the excuses I've used to hide have been broken. All that remains is the roar of the chest, which stabs me with the shame of reality, which spits in my face when realizing my hypocrisy and beats me every time an attack hits me.

  I'm proud that I'm not an asshole. Still, I lived as one all my life. I created walls and excuses to keep going, and finally, I projected them all onto an invincible enemy. The immovable and indestructible wall that is the figure of the Demon King, who advances and advances with divine fury to counterattack. An immovable object, ruthless, and so, so useless.

  The boy or the devil—both their faces don't matter to me anymore.

  My foot falters. I fall against the ravine of the hill and spin for honey. I slide until it reaches its end, lights swirl around my good eye. I hear Sieghart's footsteps get louder, then thud. He also fell.

  Quiet. For a second, I hear the bees and the dying wind blow. The things I hate the most are the ones I can't punch.

  Not like winning makes any difference.

  “It hurts, doesn't it?” Sieghart says.

  Quiet. I drag my face to face the boy. Sieghart looks up at the sky, still. “… Having to justify your existence.”

  “…”

  I wander my eyes to the ground. “He… He gave me a goal. He was the first one who trusted me with that. I failed. I was scared! I went back to try to find him in the pile of rubble, but I knew he wasn't alive!” I nod to myself. “I was afraid that I would have to overcome all this alone. I needed … something. Duty. Revenge. Something. Anything. If I could do something…”

  I force myself up. I grit my teeth, but even with tears forcing out of my eyes, I'm still on the floor. “If only I could make some sense of it all… So at least… A pathetic life in the middle of a bunch of strangers would be… He would be…”

  His words would be thrown to the wind, since Sieghart's death would only be an excuse to do me good. It would not be avenged, for there is nothing to avenge. For how long would that lie give me any satisfaction?

  Lying to myself. I never thought it would come to this, and yet I was imprisoned by myself not to look at the alternative.

  Sieghart gets up. “I know. It's alright.”

  I lower my head, then press my face to the floor.

  “… Elron knew that you are not what you should be. He trusted you for a reason. Even someone like you—like me-has a way to go.”

  He gets up. “Your mission was never to kill me. Maybe I should have stayed in Dufae. But I was also afraid. That's why we're here. Your failure is not the end. After all, the burden of preventing the apocalypse is not on your shoulders.” Sieghart coughs up blood. “But it's okay. You know what has to be done. This leaves him with the advantage over most. It must have been the reason Elron chose you in the first place.”

  “…!”

  “Wander is in the north, in a few kilometers. We need to find him. What does your fate think of this?”

  I breathe in. Now that I realize how bad the smell of this “honey” is. I force myself up, and Sieghart grabs my shoulder and helps me up.

  I stare at him, then nod. Men don't apologize. We let the silence speak for itself, limping and staggering north.