He hadn’t won.
Khaine had resorted to treachery.
The world seemed to slow to a crawl. Khaine’s death grin face bore down upon him, the glowing red blade coming closer with every second that ticked by. It was at critical mass – there was no way that D’Arden would be able to draw his sword and block the attack. In the face of his power, his former mentor – the most honorable man that he’d once known – had opted out of losing in the Ether battle and had come back here to drive the sword through D’Arden’s unwitting heart.
There was no honor, no power in Khaine’s desperate attack.
It pained D’Arden deeply to be defeated by it.
He could not be defeated by it.
Drawing on every ounce of strength he possessed, D'Arden twisted aside and the blade merely sliced along the flesh of his collar and the base of his neck, drawing blood and cobalt flames from the wound. It was no fatal blow like Khaine had intended, but the pain that flared in his chest disrupted his concentration. He stumbled away, rolling along the ground before regaining his feet, somewhat unsteadily.
They circled each other for a moment, and then D’Arden stepped in with his manna blade and cut downward at Khaine. It looked like a simple downward cut, and Khaine gave a horrible grin as he moved to parry. Instead, D'Arden changed his sword's trajectory at the last moment, slicing under his opponent's guard. Khaine tried to block, but could not bring his sword to intercept in time. The blade sank deep into the flesh of Khaine’s shoulder and alit with the azure flames. The larger man stumbled backward with a shriek of agony that rumbled the very foundations of the building as blood flowed and the blue fire consumed the droplets.
He pressed his attack then, aware of his growing advantage. Short one arm, which now hung limply by his side, Khaine’s parries were slower and his attacks less effective. D’Arden was as clearly winning the sword battle as he had been winning the Ether battle.
A perfectly-timed swing by D’Arden disarmed his opponent. The red manna blade skittered across the floor to rest several feet away, and D’Arden planted one heavy boot in his opponent’s chest, sending him to land backward on the marble floor. Blood was flowing now both from the deep wound in his shoulder and from multiple other shallow wounds that D’Arden had inflicted.
He stepped up then to stand over his former mentor, whose eyes still blazed with the red flames of the corrupted manna. “I’m sure you’re very proud of yourself, Tal. That was quite the tricky attack with your sword. Where did you learn something like that?"
“I’m not proud at all,” D’Arden said, staring into the eyes of his former master, ignoring the jibe at his swordsmanship. “I am disgusted, humiliated and disappointed that the man who once trained me and taught me everything that I know has fallen to such a low level.” He placed one boot firmly on Khaine’s chest as he began to struggle and pressed downward until he felt the sternum begin to snap. “I am revolted by you. This is your elegy, Khaine. If the Arbiter’s Tower wasn’t already aware of what you’d become, thanks to the Ether battle, I would come back to them singing your praises about how you had waged a war against the corruption and fallen bravely to it, fallen in battle like a true warrior. I alone would have carried the burden of your madness, your corruption – the burden of all of those who have died under your watch. Your arrogance has driven you to this, your hubris was your downfall. I am not proud. I do this only because I must.”
“Then you will rot in Hell itself!” Khaine said, grabbing hold of D’Arden’s boot and shoving him backwards. Khaine scrambled back and once again took up his blade, fighting with renewed vigor. He was drawing again on the power of his palace, and D’Arden could see the wound in his opponent’s shoulder healing. Soon Khaine was fighting with two arms, and D’Arden found himself in the losing position once more. He cursed himself for talking instead of taking the chance he had to end this madness.
This time, it was D’Arden who found himself disarmed. His manna blade clattered to the ground, and though it was not far from him, there was no way that he could retrieve it without Khaine impaling him.
“As it should be at last,” Khaine said, lowering his blade only slightly. “The master has outperformed the student. I win, Tal. It’s over now. You and your little bitch die today, and I will personally cut the hearts out of every one of the Arbiter’s at the tower. Your power will feed mine, and when I finally control an army of undead Arbiters, the world will fall at my feet!”
D’Arden felt despair rising in him. How could he have failed, when he had come so close to victory? It seemed hopeless.
He could feel the corrupted mana flowing over him, seeking a way past his defenses. It had been hours since his last spark from the heartblade, and he feared that the corruption might find a crack in his mental armor.
Could he beat Khaine, he wondered, if he let the corruption in? Was it possible to use Khaine’s own power against him?
For the briefest of moments, he considered the possibility.
Then it was too late.
Khaine’s curved manna blade drove through his chest. Explosive agony filled his world. He tried to scream, but it only came forth as a ragged cough. Blood and traces azure flame danced on his lips.
He could feel the life draining out of him as Khaine’s power surged through him, consuming the blue fire that drove his life-essence.
His mind became suddenly clear. If he was going to die here, he did not intend to let Khaine win.
With one hand, D’Arden grasped Khaine’s blade, close to where it had entered his chest. He forced his other hand to wrap around the blade farther up.
“What are you doing?” The corrupted Khaine stared at him, red eyes wide.
Using every ounce of strength he could muster, D’Arden dragged himself along Khaine’s blade. He felt the crystal scrape against his ribs, and more blood and azure flame poured from the wound.
“When did this happen to you, Khaine?” D’Arden gasped. “What changed you from the man who taught me?”
Khaine was so shocked that he hadn’t moved. He simply stood there, dumbfounded, staring at D’Arden.
Once again, D’Arden dragged his body along the blade. Closer.
“What evil touched your heart so deeply that you chose the path of corruption?” D’Arden’s voice was ragged, labored. He stared into the eyes of the man he’d known and cherished, searching for some sign that he might still be in there.
There was nothing. Only madness.
“I have done nothing but open my eyes to the truth of the universe,” Khaine sneered, though D’Arden could see a flicker of panic in the elder man’s insane glare.
“I don’t believe you. What happened to you, Havox? ”
“Just die!” Khaine shrieked.
Khaine wrenched his sword around and released the handle, dumping D'Arden and the blade onto the ground. D'Arden wrapped his hands around the hilt and tried to wrench it from where it had lodged in his breastbone, but the conflict between the red energy that flowed from Khaine's crystalline sword and the pure blue manna which filled D'Arden's veins was too strong. His fingers were weak, slipping along the edges as he tried in vain to pull it free.
"My power will consume you in short order, Tal," Khaine said, turning away. D'Arden looked up weakly, watching as crimson flames crept over Khaine's body, healing his wounds and restoring his strength. The blade lodged in D'Arden's chest burned with the corrupted power as it sought to overcome his will. The pure manna which pulsed within him refused to succumb, battling against its opposite. He gasped desperately, trying to pull air into his damaged lungs, but he could not breathe.
Khaine turned to the immobilized Elisa, and with a gesture, released her from her prison. D'Arden watched helplessly as she collapsed to the ground on her knees, breathing heavily. She struggled to rise, but he could see that Khaine's power was beginning to overwhelm her.