Chapter 233: It’s Over (3)
Sometimes with shoulders, sometimes with heads, sometimes with knees, and sometimes with elbows, we clash.
My disgust, rage, pity, and resolve towards him take the form of destructive power and extend outwards.
He and I, already halfway assimilated, exchanged not just destructive power, but emotions as well. Words were unnecessary, a conversation more impactful than words took place.
Since the act of fighting itself is a display of denial towards each other, even as we converse, our hearts and minds embodied in our physical forms, we cannot acknowledge each other.
This is not simply xenophobia. It’s not because he and I are the same person, down to our very core. This has already transcended biological matters and become a spiritual issue.
I hate the phrase, ‘It can’t be helped.’
I hate the phrase, ‘It’s impossible.’
I loathe the phrase, ‘It can’t be done.’
That’s how I’ve lived.
There was nothing I did that couldn’t be helped, I challenged the impossible, and I turned things that couldn’t be done into things that could.
Living a new life, holding onto those beliefs, I’ve determined my own path thus far, and I have no regrets about that past.
But he’s different.
He says he lives ‘because it can’t be helped,’ that living any longer is ‘impossible,’ and that he ‘has no choice but to choose death.’
Yes, I can understand that sentiment.
However, I cannot accept it.
There’s a difference between understanding and acceptance wider than the east-west span of the continent, and the moment you concede, that act becomes right.
What he’s doing is right? Some might say that. If I told them everything that’s happened so far, they might even nod their heads, saying it’s possible.
But it’s not right!
It can’t be right!
“Haaaap!”
My fist lodges deep into his abdomen. The moment one strike lands, it becomes easier to land the next.
Pull your body forward.
Elbow to the same spot, chase after him as he retreats, and ram him with your shoulder. Pull back your lower body, which had fallen behind, and strike his chest with both hands as if throwing away someone you despise.
Thud!
I will never become him.
Levidian said so.
If she felt I couldn’t become him, she would have spoken more vaguely. She’s bad at lying, and bad at embellishing her words.
She, someone I didn’t even know a few years ago, believes in me that much. And even without saying it, Lucy, Joey, Al, Namias, and even Aila would believe the same.
For the sake of those who believe in me.
“Chaaat—!”
A cross punch aimed at my neck comes in with a shout. I try to twist my body sideways, but the leg he extended simultaneously with the cross disrupts my balance.
Without even the time to let out a short curse, his cross turns into a fist and lodges itself in the center of my chest.
Ugh!
Those who believe in me will disappear after they die and live a new life. If you experience that emptiness repeatedly, hundreds of times, you, anyone, would become like me.
Those who only live once, or you, who have only lived twice, don’t know that. You can’t know.
He ‘spoke’ like that, landing blows one after another. An elbow to the solar plexus while my back was turned, a shoulder to my lowered chin, grabbing my collapsing body and driving a knee into my abdomen.
Thud!
“Huk!”
My vision momentarily whites out. But almost reflexively, I raise my left hand. My instincts told me where he was. When I extended my fist towards that spot, he and I ended up striking each other’s right cheeks.
Crack!
“Eugh?!”
“Ugh!”
The two of us, having a primal conversation through our bodies, stumbled and fell apart. My knees were already trembling, and my breath rose to my chin. Muscle aches started to set in, making my arms feel as heavy as if someone had stuffed wet cotton inside them.
He was the same. Bruises bloomed purple across his face, one side of his lip was split, and a trickle of blood flowed down from his head. The way he breathed raggedly while moving his shoulders was like looking in a mirror.
Unacceptable. Unacceptable.
Our meeting gazes, our intermingling breaths, our rising and falling shoulders all declare so.
We are the same. We are the same.
Unacceptable. Unacceptable.
We know that fact. We know that fact.
More than anyone. More than anyone.
We know each other. We know each other.
This is already. This is already.
A fight against myself.
Legs, move! Arms, extend! My enemy is there, an enemy I must strike down.
Blood splatters. Drops of blood, whose origin is unclear, float in the air and fall. There’s no more room for words, and my mouth isn’t intact enough to even open.
I hear the sound of bones dislocating. I don’t know whose bones they are. If I have time to check, I should land one more blow in that time.
Both fists are stained with blood, an unidentified liquid, half blood and half saliva, spews from my mouth, occasionally accompanied by white chunks.
There’s no time for tricks, advanced techniques, or looking for openings. Just being close to each other, if we can swing our arms and legs, if we can inflict even one more wound on each other.
The wheels of the carriage heading towards its predetermined death no longer stop. The wheels rolling down the steep slope won’t stop until they break.
Like the continuously turning carriage wheels, he and I continued our mud-slinging fight, pushing each other towards death.
There’s no one to stop us, and even if there were, we don’t need them.
The conclusion will be reached by our own hands!
The survivor is the victor!
The future belongs to the victor!
Fight! Fight and earn your life!
A life earned without bloodshed is nothing more than a hollow tale on a piece of paper!
Thud!
Once again, we strike each other’s faces simultaneously. How we mustered such strength is a mystery to both him and me, but what’s certain is that it caused us to stumble back several steps and fall simultaneously.
Hoo— Haa—.
Deep breath in, deep breath out.
Take in as much oxygen as possible. The fire within me might consume me further, fueled by the oxygen, but if it allows me to move, I don’t mind being burned.
The joints throughout my body are like rusted gears. They creak and struggle against movement, but just as they eventually move with a terrible sound, I rise unsteadily from my spot.
As if looking into a large mirror, he rises from the other side, mirroring my movements.
I instinctively felt it.
This is the end.
Whoever it may be, the one who falls first dies.
Crack.
As I clench my fist, a sharp pain shoots through my right hand, accompanied by the screams of my bones, as if several had been shattered. It was a dizzying pain that almost made me pass out, but thanks to it, my mind cleared, if only for a moment.
Hoo— Haa—.
I see him. I see his utterly exhausted form. But like me, he too clenches his fist tightly. The only difference is that he’s looking down, but even that difference soon disappears.
His eyes and face. Determination settles on his face, identical to mine. It must be the same as my own.
Artshever and I kick off the ground simultaneously.
It was too pathetic to be called a charge, merely a fast walk, but even that was enough to close the distance between us.
The same voice flows from the same face.
“Haaaaaaa……!”
“Haaaaaaa……!”
At that moment, I was seeing myself through his eyes, and I could see him seeing himself through my eyes.
Proof that we, having exchanged countless emotions through our bodies and engaged in primal conversation, are trying to become one.
He, looking at me, and I, looking at him, intersect frantically. Like flipping through a book rapidly, the fluttering scenery becomes a terrible chaos, covering my vision.
If there’s a single heart that pierces through that chaos, it’s the will to live and the smiles of those waiting for me.
The same momentum continues in the same way.
“Aaaaaaaa—!”
“Aaaaaaaa—!”
I throw a punch towards Artshever’s face.
At that moment, the world tilts.
“Uh……?”
I knew, or perhaps I didn’t.
Stepping on the blood spilled during the fight, blood of unclear origin, I slip, and as if catching up to my falling body, his fist lands squarely on my temple.
Crack!
The world shatters.
The scenery flies away as fragments, my consciousness flutters and drifts away. Everything in front of me triples, quadruples, and I feel like I’m going to leave this place far behind.
Hoo—.
My body falls towards the cold floor.
Haa—.
The seemingly endless fall comes to an end.
Thud!
I can’t even budge. I squeezed out the last of my strength, but ridiculously, I slipped on a fragment of bone, spilled by me or perhaps my other self.
Laughter tries to escape, but I can’t even laugh. My eyes simply gaze towards everywhere and nowhere in the blurry world, unfocused.
Hoo……
Shallow breaths continue.
Is this the end?
Is my life, which I’ve clung to so desperately, ending here?
Is my world, which I truly loved…… about to meet its end with this?
Haa……
No, I can’t die like this.
This is my death?
Like everyone else, I too……
Unacceptable!
I force my eyes open. I gather all my remaining strength, the last vestiges left in my entire body. It’s already bottomed out, but there must be something left somewhere.
Even if I use the strength to blink, the strength to breathe, it’s fine!
Even if this becomes the last flicker of the candle that is me, it’s fine!
I feel something on my fingertips. Something is caught there, within reach without having to turn my head.
My sword, Brandione, broken, leaving only the hilt.
Memories flash back in an instant. My distant consciousness hurriedly returns.
Brandiego said, this sword……
“It’s over now. I understand you still desire to live, but…… I won. I struggled like that countless times in that state, but eventually gave up.”
Artshever’s voice reached my ears, but I paid it no mind. I moved my fingers, trying to somehow pull the hilt towards me.
Pain as if my fingers and arm would tear off. I wish they would just be cut off. Did I have so little attachment to my limbs?
It moves little by little. It moves and comes to me.
Yes, come. Just a little more!
“I’ve killed myself many times, but this is the first time I’ve killed like this. I received your feelings well. Now sleep, my other self.”
I grabbed the hilt.
“Restoration.”
“Huh?”
After that, I don’t know how I moved.
All I know is that the sword in my hand was restored with terrifying speed, the weight in my hand gradually increasing, and with the explosively surging strength, I thrust the sword into his heart.
Swish!
The feeling of the blade cutting through flesh. There was nothing else obstructing it. Brandione, having pierced through the gaps in his ribs, pierced and penetrated his heart.
“Kuhuk!”
His eyes are filled with disbelief. But that expression soon turns into a smile. A smile of relief, that he can finally die. He’s the kind of guy who makes you want to punch him in the face until the very end.
I grip the hilt and push him away. His body is pushed back without resistance, his arms spread out as he collapses.
Clang! Splash!
The tip of the sword touched the ground first, followed by his body. Brandione gradually slid out as he fell, tilting slightly.
But he didn’t move at all.
“Haa……! Ha……! Haha……!”
Laughter escapes me.
I remember what Brandiego said at the end. That sword had a one-time restoration ability. I only heard it once and forgot about it because it seemed unlikely to break. To think I’d remember it now.
“Hahahaha……! Hahahahaha!”
My chest feels clear. I don’t know how my body regained its strength, but I could laugh. Perhaps the sword, as it was restored, also restored my body’s strength.
I laughed, and laughed.
I won.
I won against myself!
“You won.”
“Yes! I won…… What?!”
At the sudden voice, I hurriedly turned my head. There, Artshever’s arm was moving, pulling out the sword.
How?!
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