Chapter 5 – The Duel Beneath the Tomb (Extended)
The hall beneath the tomb trembled as if the air itself feared to breathe.
At its center sat a massive throne of blackened gold, carved with runes that shifted like living script.
And upon it, motionless—until now—was the guardian.
A voice, neither wholly metallic nor human, crawled across the chamber.
"Mesich."
The syllables echoed, distorted, like the clang of a blade striking the ribs of a bell.
Then the knight rose.
Every joint of his armor shrieked as the ancient metal flexed for the first time in centuries.
Golden plates glimmered under the dim torchlight, each etched with moving filigree, while his shoulders were clad in dark armor so black it devoured the light around it.
The mask—Spartan-shaped, featureless save for two horizontal slits glowing red—hid whatever might remain of a face.
Johan's throat went dry. That name… Mesich. So it remembers.
One by one the knight unarmed himself:
CLANK—two black daggers hit the floor, their edges rippling with residual energy.
THUD—a long sword followed, its scabbard sliding from his hip.
Then the bone horn, traced with gold patterns, rolled to a stop at Johan's feet.
Mesich's voice dropped lower.
"Duel. Once more."
Johan's pulse stuttered. He knows me… or the version of me that fought him before.
But this body—weak, still recovering, lungs wheezing—wasn't that same one.
No gifts. No awakening. No secret heritage like in those webnovels I used to read.
Just me, and a half-rotted body that hurts when I breathe.
He straightened anyway. "Fine. Let's see if ghosts still bleed."
Mesich didn't answer.
He moved—a blur of red light and clashing metal.
WHOOM—!
The first punch landed before Johan even saw it.
CRACK! Ribs on his left side splintered. He flew backward, skidding across the floor, stone dust and blood mingling in his mouth.
Pain folded him in half.
Fast… faster than before. That thing's reading me like a book.
He spat blood, forced himself to stand, half-blind. His mind churned. Think, Johan. How did you disintegrate that armor before?
The memory flickered—touch, pressure, a kind of inner vibration, not fire but collapse.
Not heat. Order unbinding.
Another step—SHOOM! Mesich reappeared. Johan twisted, barely avoiding the blow, felt the wind tear at his shirt.
His hand brushed against the knight's greave.
He focused—not on burning, but on undoing.
The atoms in the armor trembled, seams brightening.
Then, with a faint hiss—SHHHHHH—the metal powdered into gold dust that vanished into the air.
Mesich staggered. For the first time, it made a sound almost like a growl.
"An Entropy Manipulator… made flesh?"
Entropy. The word stuck in Johan's mind. So that's what this is?
He looked down at his trembling palm. Tiny motes of light swirled between his fingers before fading.
Not creation. Not energy. Decay. I unmake things by touch.
The realization barely formed when Mesich was upon him again.
THUMP—!
A knee to his gut.
CRACK—!
A gauntlet slammed into his jaw.
He crashed into a pillar; fragments rained around him.
Breathing hurt. Standing hurt. Thinking hurt.
You'll die here again, a voice whispered in his skull.
Just like before.
No—Not again.
He ducked another strike; the edge grazed his shoulder, slicing cloth and skin. His shirt hung in ribbons, revealing the faint mark burned into his chest—the golden sun sigil, once bright, now dim.
It pulsed weakly as if mocking him.
This thing isn't giving me power. It's just a residue from that relic… useless.
He clenched his teeth. But I can still use it to live.
Mesich warped—VWHOOM—blurring into a streak of dimensional distortion, like a rift tearing across a TV screen.
Johan caught the shimmer of the knight's astral form beneath the armor—blue and violet light swirling like galaxies.
That body… it's not flesh. It's some kind of condensed cosmos.
The knight reappeared behind him. Johan felt the air twist, ducked, and swept low.
His palm grazed Mesich's ribcage.
ZZZZT—!
Disintegration again—but not complete. He couldn't hold it long. The power burned through his nerves like acid.
He screamed, pulling back, his hand smoking.
So it eats away at me, too.
I'm not its master. Just another thing it'll eventually erase.
Mesich retaliated, his strike caving Johan's chest inwards.
THUD! THUD!—a barrage of blows.
Bone cracked; pain burst white behind his eyes.
Instinct took over. Johan reached out, half-blind, and seized the knight's side again—but this time he absorbed the golden shards he'd destroyed earlier.
They fused along his ribs, glowing faintly, replacing what his body had lost.
His breathing steadied. Barely.
Mesich stepped back, bleeding—blue-violet fluid oozing from cracks in his armor, revealing the vast cosmic body underneath, studded with flickering stars.
The sight was beautiful and wrong.
> "You borrowed the powers of seed," Mesich intoned.
"But how did you accessed the powers of that...Great One Seed."
Johan coughed out blood, laughed hoarsely. "THE GREAT...what? I didn't hear you!"
He staggered toward the dropped sword—a black blade glinting with voidlight.
The knight tilted its head, red eyes narrowing.
Then the world split again—
VVVRRMMM!
Mesich warped forward, dimensional glitches exploding in his wake, streaks of violet tearing the air.
Johan didn't think. He just lifted the sword, its tip catching the red glow—
and Mesich's throat.
CRASHHHH!
Armor shattered.
Blue blood sprayed out like light.
The sword trembled, fracturing the air around it—crimson and black lightning sparking along the cracks.
Dimensional space glitched violently. The entire chamber flickered, ghost-images overlaying one another: past, present, and something beyond.
Johan fell to his knees, panting.
Mesich stood a moment longer, then collapsed, his aura still raging like a dying star.
If not for that mark keeping me together… I'd be gone too.
The tattoo on his chest dimmed further, flickering out almost entirely.
Temporary strength. Nothing more. Same luck as before.
He looked down at himself—barely clothed, body broken, blood seeping from dozens of wounds.
Still breathing. Somehow.
He limped to the far end of the chamber, each step echoing through the silence.
The golden gate loomed ahead—embedded in a wall of deep violet metal veined with black light.
Its patterns were impossibly fine, like circuitry built by gods.
He touched it.
WHOOSH—!
Air surged out, warm and clean. No rot, no mold. A scent like rain after lightning.
He blinked, whispering, "How… does it smell like the sky down here?"
He stepped through, half dragging his leg.
No treasure glimmered this time. Only emptiness—and at its center, hovering above a pedestal, the card.
Violet and gold, humming softly, waiting.
Johan laughed once, bitterly. "You again."
He reached out.
The moment his fingers brushed its surface—FLASH!
Every color collapsed inward.
His vision filled with fractals of pure noise, and then black cloth—like living shadow—spiraled out, wrapping around him, sealing him off from light, air, even thought.
The last thing he felt was the weightlessness of falling through nothing.
Then the man called Johan seemed to escape from that reality.