THE SPACE REQUIEM PART ONE : GENESIS

Chapter 11 : Confrontation on Kronos

Tristan was struggling to keep pace. Blood spattered from his mouth as he narrowly dodged the violent swings. Mark's blades slashed mercilessly; one found its mark on the side of Tristan's face, while another pierced along his left arm. Tristan fought fiercely, his movements desperate and strained as he tried to ward off the ceaseless barrage.

Two of Mark's blades struck simultaneously, their combined force sweeping Tristan aside. Mark pressed his advantage with a brutal thrust, forcing Tristan back and driving him back. With a powerful leap, Mark hurled a blade in an arc toward Tristan. The edge of the blade cut deeply into Tristan's chest, and Mark used the momentum to swing Tristan around the room, the arc of the blade carving a vicious path through his skin.

Finally, Mark flung Tristan across the room, sending him crashing through a jumble of chairs and tangled wires. As Tristan struggled to his feet, he quickly swallowed a pill.

"Five minutes," Tristan thought to himself, his grip tightening around his blade. "Five minutes is all I need."

He closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath as electricity surged through his body once more. When he opened his eyes, they blazed with a fierce blue light. With renewed determination, he charged at Mark.

Mark, still disoriented from their earlier clash, swung his swords with a frenzied, chaotic rhythm. This time, Tristan's heightened senses allowed him to dodge each swing with precision. He slashed at Mark's arm, severing it once again, only for it to quickly regenerate. Undeterred, Tristan pressed his attack, his strikes relentless and calculated.

Mark staggered back, and their blades met in a furious close-quarters battle. Both warriors advanced with blistering speed, their weapons a blur as they clashed. Tristan moved with swift grace, expertly blocking, and deflecting Mark's relentless assault. He seized an opening and landed a decisive slash across Mark's chest.

Mark recoiled, his roar of pain fuelling his rage. He swung his remaining swords with even greater recklessness, his fury making him more dangerous than ever. Tristan, aware of the ticking clock and the impending collapse of his strength, matched Mark's reckless aggression with his own increasing intensity.

With a powerful swipe, Tristan severed two of Mark's arms and thrust his blade through Mark's chest. Mark's scream of agony was palpable as he desperately swung his remaining limbs in a futile attempt to counterattack. Tristan withdrew his blade and stepped back, preparing for the final blow.

Mark, trying to emulate his brother's flight capabilities, began to grow wings from his back, his dark energy swirling around him. But Tristan was quick to react. He slashed at the emerging wings, severing them with a precise cut before delivering a powerful kick that sent Mark sprawling to the ground.

Before Tristan could strike the finishing blow, Mark, still determined, grew two more limbs and forcefully shoved him across the room. Tristan was knocked to the ground but sprang up with renewed urgency. He charged back towards Mark, their blades meeting once more in a fierce exchange of slashes, blocks, and deflections.

Mark's movements grew sluggish, his energy waning with each failed strike. Tristan took advantage of the weakening defences, delivering a powerful slash that forced Mark to use all four blades in a desperate block. Tristan's assault broke through, slicing across Mark's body and severing his legs. Mark collapsed; his strength spent.

Tristan, barely holding on as his body weakened, staggered towards Mark. He lifted his blade, preparing to deliver the final, fatal strike. As he aimed for Mark's heart, a wave of exhaustion overwhelmed him. His vision blurred, and he fell to the ground.

His 5 minutes were up.

Tristan regained consciousness on the cold floor, every inch of his body wracked with pain. His legs, arms, and especially his head hurt. Gritting his teeth, he struggled to rise. The effort was excruciating, but he managed to use his blade as a makeshift crutch, pushing himself up with it.