In a hunt for the enthusiast

The battlefield stretched before us, scarred and bloodied, a grim testament to the fury unleashed by both sides. Crumbling under our assault, the Blackwood Legion's resolve had not entirely shattered. Even in the face of our relentless push, their ranks fought with a fierce, almost manic desperation. Each strike I made was like losing something: time, energy, a piece of my soul that I couldn't afford to lose. But there was no turning back.

They fight like shadows, their moves graceful lethal strokes. They move with some form of unhuman synchronization and their painted faces make up a terrifying mask of death. And I couldn't help but wonder if they were still human at all, or if the forest had changed them into something else. Something far more dangerous.

"Push! Push!" Sir Alden roared above the din, his voice cutting. "We break their spirit. Then we break their army!"

I glanced to my left, where Lira was battling a pair of Blackwood soldiers. Her blade was a blur, swift and deadly, each strike an elegant dance of death. She caught my eye for a moment, her face tight with concentration, and then she was off again, cutting her way through the enemy like a storm.

But the price was beginning to tell. Our troops were thinning out, fatigue creeping in. The Blackwood Legion was battered, but they were nowhere near done. We had the high ground, but for how long? How many would we give before this day was over?

I forced the thoughts away. There was no room for doubt now. I pushed forward, cutting my way through the enemy lines, feeling the weight of my blade with each swing. It wasn't just about survival anymore—it was about vengeance.

There were other commanders I'd encountered in my previous life, but those ones had been broken. But this one, the one who stood before me, he was as ruthless as the rest, as determined to see us broken. I heard heavy armor clattering behind me, the sound of another officer rallying his forces. A tall man, dark hair streaked with silver, his eyes sharp as he barked orders to his soldiers.

I kept going into the mess, my eyes glued to him. He was the one I needed. He was the one to crack.

But as I moved into the battle, something had my eye—movement at the edge of the field. A glint of steel.

No.

A figure.

And then, a voice—a haunting, familiar voice.

"You can't hide from me forever."

I turned just in time to see him—Anden. His figure emerged from behind the cover of a shattered wall, his armor glinting in the dim light. His face was no longer the one I remembered; it was colder now, harder. His eyes met mine, burning with a hatred that seemed to claw its way through the air and grasp at my chest.

Anden was alive.

For a moment, time seemed to stop. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, my thoughts whirling. How could he be here? How could he have survived?

"Thought you'd seen the last of me, did you?" Anden sneered, drawing his sword from its scabbard with a fluid motion. "You were always the weak link, weren't you? Always hiding behind your friends, your army. But it's just you and me now."

I swallowed hard, raising my blade. No time for questions. No time for explanations. Only the fight.

"I don't know how you're alive," I said, my voice steady against the storm of emotions boiling inside me, "but it doesn't matter."

"You were always the hero," Anden sneered, taking one step forward, his stare cold as ice. "Now you're just another corpse waiting to happen."

His sword flashed past, almost too fast to follow, but I was prepared. Our blades clashed in a violent flash of steel, the shock of the impact reverberating through my bones. He was stronger than I remembered, his movements fluid and precise, as if he had been preparing for this moment his whole life.

But I wasn't the same person I'd been when I'd last seen him.

I felt the wood around me, the Wraithwood warriors' echo through my head, and then the land was so quiet and I stood on it, completely silent. This was no longer battle for Anden but fighting for everything I'd ever lost.

I managed a block against his next punch, just barely enough hold. The air around our faces was heavy with malice, with recollection, with regret.

"I didn't want this, Anden," I hissed, shoving him away. "I didn't want any of it. But you made me do this."

He laughed. It sounded hollow, cold. "No, you did this. You and your weakness. You couldn't save me, couldn't save us. But I'm here now, and I'll finish what you started.

The battle raged around us, yet in that moment it was merely the two of us, the rest of the world fading into the clash of swords, the weight of our past.

I pushed forward, my sword slicing with a vengeance, fed by everything I had lost. But Anden was merciless. His sword came down in a brutal arc, forcing me to retreat. My heart was racing, but I refused to give in.

And then, as if by instinct, I saw it. The opening. The crack in his defense.

I struck.

My sword had gone through his side; the steel had sunk deep into his flesh. Anden's eyes went wide as he stumbled backward, releasing his sword from his grip.

"You were always too slow," I whispered, my voice full of emotion.

He sank to his knees, struggling for air, the life seeping out of him. His eyes met mine, a spark of incredulity still dancing in their depths.

You… you were always the better one," he whispered, his voice strained. "I never… I never stood a chance…".

His words trailed off, and like the shadow he had become, he was gone.

I stood over him, my chest heaving, the weight of the moment sinking in. The war was far from over, but one ghost had finally been put to rest.