The tribe gathered, forming a circle around the dueling warriors. Their faces were a mix of fear, anticipation, and hope, illuminated by the flickering light of the burning village. Mothers clutched their children close, shielding their eyes from the horrific sight while others whispered prayers to the gods. The wind howled through the encampment, adding a haunting melody to the tension that crackled in the air. The moon hung high, casting a ghostly glow over the scene, and shadows danced wildly, mirroring the inner turmoil of those who watched. The scent of smoke and the distant cries of the wounded filled the air, making the atmosphere even more oppressive. Every breath felt heavy, laden with the weight of countless unspoken fears.
Gamesh, encased in gleaming metal armor that caught the moonlight, looked every bit the formidable warrior. His armor, polished to a mirror finish, reflected the eerie glow of the fires around him, making him seem almost otherworldly. The intricate designs etched into the metal shimmered, telling tales of battles fought and victories won. His regular sword, though less impressive than Gail's magical one, was held with a confidence that spoke of his strength and training. The blade, sharp and deadly, seemed almost alive in his grip, ready to claim another life.
In stark contrast, Gail stood bare-chested, his upper body a horrific tapestry of burns and scars, a testament to the suffering he had endured. His skin, marred and twisted by past torments, shone dully under the moonlight, each scar a silent story of pain and survival. The jagged lines and raised welts crisscrossing his torso told of fires, whips, and other unimaginable torments. Yet, his spirit remained unbroken, his eyes burning with determination. They were the eyes of a man who had faced death countless times and emerged stronger each time.
The duel began with a thunderous clash of steel, the sharp, violent sound slicing through the still night air. Sparks flew as their swords met, momentarily lighting up their fierce expressions. The crowd gasped collectively, the intensity of the first blow setting the tone for the battle. Gamesh's brute strength was evident in every powerful strike, each one aimed to end the battle swiftly. The ground beneath him seemed to tremble with each step he took, his presence a force of nature.
But Gail, despite his injuries, moved with a nimbleness that belied his condition. He dodged and parried, his movements fluid and precise, honed by sheer willpower. Each step, each breath, was a testament to his indomitable spirit. His bare feet moved silently over the dusty ground, his muscles rippling under his scarred skin as he matched Gamesh blow for blow.
Gamesh launched a series of rapid, devastating attacks, his sword whistling through the air with deadly intent. The sheer ferocity of his assault was breathtaking, a whirlwind of steel and fury. Each blow came with the force of a sledgehammer, and the ground seemed to shudder with every impact. Gail's arms vibrated from the force of his parries, but he held his ground, his eyes never leaving Gamesh's. The intensity of his gaze was unwavering, a beacon of hope for those who watched.
"You'll never win, Gail," Gamesh sneered between strikes, his voice dripping with contempt. "You're a relic of a forgotten time."
Gail said nothing, his focus absolute. He danced around Gamesh's attacks, looking for an opening. His silence was more powerful than any retort, a silent declaration of his resolve. With a swift sidestep, he dodged a particularly vicious swing and countered with a quick slash to Gamesh's leg. The blade bit into flesh, drawing blood, but Gamesh barely flinched. Instead, he roared in anger, his swings becoming more frenzied and less controlled. His fury was palpable, a beast unleashed upon the battlefield.
The wind picked up, swirling dust around them. For a moment, it obscured Gail's vision. Seizing the opportunity, Gamesh delivered a powerful blow, his sword connecting with Gail's side and sending him sprawling to the ground. The magic sword was released from Gail's hand and fell to the ground, its ethereal glow dimming. Gail couldn't find it in the dust, his eyes blinking furiously against the particles stinging his eyes.
Disoriented and vulnerable, Gail blinked through the dust and pain to see Gamesh looming over him, the magical sword in his hand. With a look of triumph, Gamesh swung the blade downwards. But as if recognizing its true master, the sword halted mid-swing, refusing to strike Gail. Gamesh's face twisted in fury and disbelief. Enraged, he hurled the magical sword away, its light dimming as it landed out of Gail's reach. Drawing his own sword, Gamesh thrust it into Gail's chest, the blade sinking deep.
Gail, on his knees, felt the cold steel pierce his flesh, a new agony to add to his litany of pain. He gasped, blood bubbling up at his lips, but even now, he refused to surrender. With a monumental effort, he wrapped his hands around the hilt of the sword embedded in his chest and wrenched it free. Blood poured from the wound, staining the ground beneath him.
His vision blurred, but through the haze, he saw Gamesh moving towards the discarded magical sword, intent on claiming it once more. Half-dead, with a burnt body and a deep chest wound, Gail pushed himself to his feet, driven by a single, unwavering purpose. He staggered forward, each step a battle in itself.
Gamesh reached the magical sword and tried to lift it, but it seemed to resist him, recognizing the unworthy. In that moment, Gail reached him. In stunned silence as Gail, holding the bloodied sword with a grip of iron, approached Gamesh. The tyrant's eyes widened in fear, and he raised his hands in a futile gesture of defense.
Without a word, Gail drove the sword into Gamesh's stomach. The blade sank deep, and Gamesh's eyes bulged in shock and pain. He gasped, trying to speak, but no words came. Gail twisted the sword, ensuring the blow was fatal, before collapsing to the ground beside his vanquished foe.
As the dust began to settle, the onlookers held their breath. The battlefield, once a maelstrom of chaos, was now eerily quiet. Gail and Edward's allies, having extinguished the fires, reached the edge of the battleground. As a sign of respect for the ancient tradition, Gamesh's companions did not fight and were watching the duel. All of them strained their eyes, trying to discern the outcome of the duel through the lingering dust and smoke.
When the air finally cleared, just a single body lay in the center of the battlefield!