The fight between Umbra and Zhor had reached its climax. The infinity of universes, dimensions, and barriers they had created were now beyond their memory, as if swallowed by the heat of the last moments of the fight between them. Umbra, an immortal of unimaginable powers, finally betrayed signs of tiredness: slower movements, heavier breathing.
Then, in one swift, violent motion, Zhor lunged forward and drove his sword deep into the chest of Umbra with a sickening crack. The universe seemed to hold its breath as Umbra lurched backward, his eyes wide but always composed. Blood welled from the wound, spreading in the vacuum around him, but his face showed nothing-nights overshadowed, intent, as if he had been expecting this all along.
"Enough," Zhor said; his tone veined with triumph and regret intertwined. "That should look real enough. But. can you promise me one thing?"
