Project:Imagine

The hallway seemed to close around Eliza, darkness swallowing every inch as Faker’s new form emerged. His armored body radiated an aura of pure malice, the air thick with it. Pitch-black feathers flowed off him like a living shroud, cascading to the floor in a river of shadow. Each feather seemed to pulse with energy, burning her skin and sapping her strength whenever she brushed against them, as though the very essence of death clung to them.

Eyes—countless, glowing eyes—blinked open within the abyss, each one fixating on her with a sinister, predatory hunger. They watched, unblinking, surrounding her, their gaze relentless. The weight of Faker’s transformation was oppressive, his presence consuming everything in sight, drowning out even the faintest hope of escape.

But Eliza stood firm. Though battered, though bleeding, though the suffocating darkness drained her energy, she refused to yield. Her grip tightened around the shattered hilt of Excalibur, the broken blade still glowing with defiant light, as if to remind her that hope still existed within the cracks.

She took a deep breath, steeling herself as the oppressive atmosphere pressed down on her. Each breath felt heavier than the last, the weight of Faker’s power threatening to suffocate her. But even with her body worn and ravaged by the battle, her spirit remained unbroken. The flame of her resolve burned as fiercely as ever.

Arthur’s voice echoed in her mind, regal and commanding, yet with an edge of disdain. “I want you to win. Destroy this damn creature. Even my previous master couldn’t. My ego has awakened for this purpose. He is one of the few enemies who still walks this era, and I will make you the one true king of this world, as I once made that man.”

Time seemed to warp and stretch around Eliza, the battlefield fading into nothingness as reality shifted. The oppressive darkness of Faker’s transformation melted away, and suddenly she found herself in a vast, ruined throne room. The air was thick with the smell of blood and decay, the stone walls cracked and crumbling under the weight of time. Scattered across the floor were the corpses of knights, their armor rusted, and their bodies long decomposed, painting a grim picture of the past.

At the center of the room, slouched upon a throne drenched in blood, sat a young man. His long hair flowed in waves, and his piercing azure eyes glowed faintly in the dim light. A crimson fur coat draped over his shoulders, the remnants of regal attire clinging to him like faded memories of grandeur. His crown sat crooked atop his head, and beside him, leaning casually against the throne, was Excalibur, pristine and untouched by the surrounding decay.

“I truly have the worst luck with my champions,” Arthur muttered, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “First, there was a man whose powers constantly killed him, and now you—battered and broken.” He let out a bitter laugh.

Eliza blinked, disoriented by the sudden change in scenery. “Where am I?” she demanded, trying to steady her racing thoughts.

Arthur sighed, gesturing lazily to the throne room. “The world of my subconscious, or perhaps a memory—one I’m forever trapped in. This was the place of my greatest failure. The place I died.”

Eliza’s eyes scanned the gruesome scene, taking in the fallen knights, the shattered remnants of a kingdom that once was. “What a sad scene,” she said coldly.

Arthur’s eyes flickered with a mix of amusement and sorrow as he stared at the corpses. “He told me the same thing.” His voice softened for a moment. “Sad, indeed. That blade Faker wields? It’s my daughter—her ego crystallized. She was the one who killed me, but that story is from a time long past.”

The revelation struck Eliza, but there was no time for shock or questions. “Can I really win?” she asked, her voice quieter now, her determination wavering just slightly.

Arthur’s gaze hardened. “By shattering the blade, you’ve unlocked my true power—one even stronger than merely releasing the artifact. But there’s a price. Our souls will be bound until the day of your death.”

Eliza didn’t hesitate. “I’ll do whatever it takes. I accept the pact.”

Arthur smiled darkly. “Good. My test is simple. Survive.”

With that, he rose from the throne, lazily grabbing Excalibur. His movements were slow, almost mocking, but there was a deadly grace to him. He raised the sword high above his head, and in an instant, brought it down in a devastating arc. A radiant light exploded from the blade, obliterating Eliza where she stood.

For a moment, there was nothing. No pain, no sense of time—just a blinding void. Then, just as quickly as she had been destroyed, Eliza found herself whole again, standing exactly where she had been before.

Arthur’s laugh echoed through the room. “I wonder how many times you’ll die before I’m satisfied.”

Eliza barely had time to blink before Arthur lunged forward, moving with an elegance that belied his mocking demeanor. Excalibur glowed with an otherworldly light in his hand, a symbol of absolute destruction and power. His grip was firm but effortless, as though the sword was simply an extension of his body.

The moment his blade descended, Eliza’s world exploded into light and pain.

She died again—this time, the sword cleaved through her chest with such precision that she was gone before she even felt the pain. Her vision faded to black for what felt like the briefest of moments, and then, just like before, she was back. The throne room reassembled itself in her vision, Arthur standing before her, calm and unfazed.

“Again,” Arthur said with a casual tone, his eyes gleaming. “This is hardly worth the trouble.”

Eliza clenched her jaw, summoning her strength, but it didn’t matter. Before she could even take a step, Arthur was upon her once more. His movements were fluid, faster than any mortal sword fighter she had ever encountered. He stepped to the side with a graceful pivot, his sword slashing upward in a perfect arc, cutting through the air with a sound that resembled a whisper of death.

Excalibur sliced cleanly through her neck, severing her head from her body. The world tilted, her vision spun, and in the span of a heartbeat, her consciousness blinked out again. Darkness consumed her.

And then, she returned.

Eliza gasped, her hands instinctively reaching for her throat, finding it intact—whole, as though the previous blow had never happened. She staggered slightly, but there was no time to gather her bearings. Arthur was already moving again.

“This is the extent of your will?” Arthur taunted, his voice echoing through the ruined hall. “I expected more, but I suppose it takes time for a champion to be born.”

He thrust Excalibur forward, its tip piercing through Eliza’s heart. The burst of energy was instantaneous, obliterating her completely from existence. Her body disintegrated, the raw, pure energy from the blade vaporizing her in an instant.

Again. She was dead.

Again. She returned.

Each time her body reformed, her breathing grew heavier, her heart pounding faster. Eliza’s mind raced, trying to anticipate the next attack, but Arthur’s swordsmanship was unparalleled. He was relentless, his strikes coming with such speed and precision that even her heightened reflexes couldn’t keep up. His technique was flawless—beautiful, even. Every movement of his blade was like a carefully choreographed dance, and she was the unwilling partner, caught in an endless waltz of death and rebirth.

Arthur’s eyes glimmered with a cold amusement as he spun on his heel, Excalibur slicing through the air like a deadly ribbon of light. The edge of the sword cut across her midsection, splitting her body in two. Eliza didn’t even have time to scream as her vision faded once more.

And again… she returned.

“I wonder,” Arthur mused as he twirled the sword lazily in his hand. “How many times do I have to kill you before you start learning? Perhaps you’re just not cut out for this.”

Eliza’s breathing was ragged now, her body aching from the constant deaths, but her will refused to falter. Each time she came back, she felt her determination hardening. Her mind screamed at her to find a way—any way—to survive longer than a few moments.

Arthur raised Excalibur again, this time moving in for a clean, diagonal cut aimed at her torso. Eliza gritted her teeth, barely managing to sidestep the attack, but it wasn’t enough. The sheer force of his swing sent shockwaves through the air, and the edge of the blade still grazed her arm, severing it completely.

Eliza's vision blurred as she reformed again, her body whole but still aching with phantom pain from every death. She rose to her feet, breathing heavily, eyes locked on Arthur. He stood there, waiting, almost bored, Excalibur gleaming in his hand, ready to strike her down again.

But this time was different. This time, Eliza wasn’t just surviving—she was learning.

Arthur moved in a blur, Excalibur cutting through the air as it aimed for her throat. Yet, for the first time since this brutal test had begun, Eliza saw the attack coming. She didn’t think—she reacted. With a sudden burst of movement, she ducked, narrowly avoiding the lethal blow. The blade grazed her cheek, but she was still alive.

Arthur raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “Impressive. You're adapting.”

Before she could respond, Arthur swung again, faster this time, his sword arcing toward her torso. Eliza leaped back, her draconic reflexes kicking in. Her feet barely touched the ground before she had to dodge once more—another deadly strike aimed for her legs.

She twisted, her body moving with instinctive precision. Each swing of Excalibur was met with a dodge, a sidestep, or a desperate roll. The once-perfect sword strikes that had killed her instantly now had to be repeated. He was faster, stronger, and immeasurably more skilled, but she was no longer helpless.

Arthur's strikes grew more aggressive, his attacks more unpredictable, but Eliza could sense the rhythm in his movements. Her draconic senses heightened with every dodge, each miss sharpening her reflexes, like a predator learning its prey’s pattern. His form, once an impenetrable wall of perfection, now had subtle openings, minor gaps she could exploit—if only she could find the strength.

Excalibur came down in another deadly arc. This time, Eliza spun on her heel, barely avoiding the strike as the sword cleaved the stone floor beneath her. Without a weapon, without even a scrap of armor, she continued to fight back—moving, ducking, dodging, and enduring. Her body was covered in cuts and bruises, but the fire in her heart was stronger than the pain.

“Do you feel it?” Arthur called out, his voice echoing across the ruined throne room as he lashed out with another lightning-fast strike, which Eliza narrowly sidestepped. “That primal fear of death? It drives you forward, and sharpens your every sense. It’s exhilarating, isn’t it?”

Eliza growled through her teeth, feeling the rush of adrenaline coursing through her veins. “No matter how many times I’m killed, I won't give up, you can't kill me in any way that will matter.”

Arthur’s smirk turned into a grin. “Good. That’s what makes a true king.”

He lunged at her again, Excalibur aimed straight for her chest. Eliza moved to dodge, but this time, Arthur anticipated her. The tip of his blade caught her in the side, slicing deep into her ribs. She gasped in pain, her vision dimming as blood poured from the wound.

For a moment, she thought it was over again—but then, something inside her flared.

She twisted away, wrenching herself free from the sword before Arthur could finish the job. Her feet found solid ground as she stumbled back, clutching her side. The wound was deep, but it wasn’t fatal. Not this time.

Arthur frowned, clearly displeased. He moved in again, his attacks coming faster and faster now, each one meant to overwhelm her. He swung for her legs—she jumped. He slashed for her chest—she twisted aside. He aimed for her throat, but Eliza ducked, rolling out of the way before rising to her feet again, her breath heavy but determined.

“I’m not going down like this,” Eliza growled, her voice low but full of fire.

Arthur stopped, tilting his head in curiosity. “You’re surviving longer than I expected.”

In a flash, he lunged at her again, Excalibur gleaming with lethal intent. Eliza braced herself, ready to dodge, but this time, Arthur’s speed caught her off guard. His blade grazed her stomach, and she felt the searing pain as blood poured from the fresh wound. But instead of crumpling to the ground, she kept moving.

Arthur’s next strike came faster, aiming for her head. Eliza ducked low, the blade passing harmlessly over her. She pushed forward, rolling to the side, narrowly dodging another deadly slash. Each move she made now wasn’t just survival—it was instinct. Pure, unrefined battle instinct, honed by countless deaths and rebirths.

Arthur swung again, this time with more force. The sword was a blur, but Eliza saw it—just for a moment—a flicker of an opening. She dodged, her body reacting on its own, moving like water as the sword narrowly missed her by inches.

And for the first time, Arthur faltered.

Eliza grinned, blood dripping from her lips. She had pushed him. He wasn’t invincible.

Arthur snarled, his patience wearing thin. “You’re prolonging the inevitable. You cannot beat me like this.”

“I don’t need to beat you,” Eliza panted, her voice defiant. “I just need to survive.”

Arthur’s face twisted with annoyance. He rushed forward again, his blade slicing through the air with deadly precision. But Eliza was ready this time. She dodged the first strike, then the second. His attacks, while still impossibly fast, were no longer as flawless. She could see the cracks in his form, the frustration building in his movements.

With a furious roar, Arthur swung Excalibur downward, but Eliza leaped to the side, avoiding the blow entirely. His sword struck the ground with a deafening crash, sending debris flying in all directions. Eliza used the momentary distraction to roll forward, narrowly escaping another lethal strike aimed at her back.

She was battered, bloodied, and on the brink of collapse, but each time Arthur tried to kill her, she grew faster. Stronger. More determined.

Arthur’s eyes burned with a furious light as he raised Excalibur high once more. “Then let’s see how long you can last!”

Arthur swung Excalibur with blinding speed, the blade cutting through the air like lightning. Eliza, drenched in sweat and blood, dodged to the side with all the strength she could muster. Her body screamed in agony, each move pushing her beyond her limits. But her focus was razor-sharp. Every time she had been struck down, her resolve had only grown stronger.

Arthur’s attacks came faster, his frustration boiling over. “I forgot how much fun this was, fighting someone else” he roared, Excalibur slicing downward in a powerful arc.

Eliza ducked at the last moment, the sword narrowly missing her by inches. She felt the wind from the blade graze her skin, her heart pounding in her ears. She was running on pure instinct now, her body a blur of motion as she dodged, weaved, and evaded each strike. Arthur was relentless, his attacks unyielding—but they were no longer perfect. He was losing his composure, and Eliza could see it.

And then, she saw her opening.

Arthur swung wide, Excalibur arcing too far to his right. Eliza lunged forward, her body moving on pure adrenaline. She was weaponless, and exhausted, but she had one last ounce of strength left in her.

Her fist clenched, muscles tensed, she thrust her arm forward.

With every bit of force she could summon, Eliza's fist connected with Arthur’s face.

The impact was staggering. Arthur's head snapped to the side, his grip on Excalibur faltering for the briefest of moments. The look of shock in his eyes was unmistakable as he stumbled back, momentarily disoriented.

Eliza stood there, panting heavily, her fist still raised, as if she couldn’t believe she had landed the blow. Her body screamed in protest, but she stood firm, eyes locked on Arthur.

Arthur straightened, rubbing his jaw, his expression a mix of rage and amusement. “You… actually hit me.” His voice was low, and dark, but there was a hint of something else beneath it—respect.

Eliza’s chest rose and fell in ragged breaths, her body trembling from the exertion. Blood dripped from her lips, her muscles screaming in agony. And yet, she stood—alive, defiant. “I told you…” she gasped, voice raw but firm, “I'm not going down… without a fight.”

Arthur stared at her, eyes narrowing for a moment. Then, he chuckled—a low, deep sound that echoed through the ruined throne room. He wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, the faintest trace of a smirk forming. “Perhaps…” he murmured, his azure eyes gleaming with a new light. “Perhaps you're not as hopeless as I thought.”

Eliza blinked, still struggling to stay on her feet, confusion mixing with her exhaustion. Then, Arthur straightened, gripping Excalibur with both hands, a sense of finality in his gaze. “Fine. You pass,” he declared. His voice was calm, almost regal. “I will allow you to wield my full power.”

Eliza's legs buckled beneath her, and she collapsed to the floor, utterly spent. Despite the ache in every fiber of her body, a small smile crept onto her face—victory. She had earned his respect. She had survived.

Arthur looked down at her, the smirk fading as he raised Excalibur high above his head. “Goodbye,” he said softly, almost tenderly.

Her eyes widened as she watched, helpless, as an overwhelming light began to build at the tip of the blade. It wasn't just light—this was something far beyond anything she'd witnessed before. It felt like the very essence of power, raw and pure, burning with the fury of an ancient king’s might. It surged outward, filling the room with a radiant, almost holy energy.

Eliza, weakened but still conscious, could only stare in awe. The light enveloped everything, erasing the darkness, the corpses, the ruined throne, and even Arthur himself. For a split second, as her vision blurred, she could see the world around her disintegrating in that blinding brilliance.

“Behold,” Arthur’s voice echoed like a divine command. “The true power I wield. The power to shatter worlds. A light that burns the heavens, and purifies the hells.”

And then the sword came down.

The light consumed her completely. Every atom of her being felt as though it was burning, yet the pain was fleeting. She didn’t have time to scream or resist. The obliteration was instant, total. And in that final moment, just before everything dissolved into nothingness, Eliza's last thought was not of fear or despair.

In that fleeting moment, Eliza had experienced awe—pure, unfiltered awe. The brilliance of Excalibur's true form was unlike anything she could have ever imagined. It wasn’t just power. It was perfection, an ancient beauty that transcended mortal understanding. Arthur's strength was limitless, a force that could reshape the world, and she had touched it, if only for an instant.

And then, like a dream fading, she returned to the battlefield.

No time had passed for Faker. He loomed in the oppressive darkness, his grotesque form still wrapped in shadow and feathers, eyes glaring at her from every angle. Eliza stood, battered and broken, her right arm still severed, the shattered remnants of Excalibur clutched in her remaining hand. Her body was at its limit—one of her horns was shattered, and her energy was nearly depleted. Yet something had changed. Inside her, she felt Arthur’s presence. His strength, his power, was now hers to call upon.

But only once.

She knew it. She could feel it in her bones—calling upon Arthur’s full power would cost her everything. If she unleashed it, she would collapse. But it would be enough. Enough to end this fight, to obliterate Faker's body. The trick was finding the right moment. She had to wait for him to expose all of his weaknesses, to catch him completely off-guard, and destroy every fragment of him in a single, devastating blow.

Faker’s voice broke the tense silence, his tone low and mocking. “I’ve been thinking,” he mused, his twisted face curling into a cruel smile. “You look familiar. I wonder… have we met before?”

Eliza’s eyes narrowed, her grip tightening on the broken hilt of Excalibur. “No,” she replied coldly. “I’ve never been on any missions that involved you.”

But Faker’s smile only widened, dark amusement flickering in his many eyes. “Wait a minute,” he sneered, his voice dripping with malice. “I remember now. You look just like your mother.”

Eliza’s heart froze.

Faker leaned forward, his gaze predatory. “It’s a shame I didn’t get to kill you that night.”