Legacy's Wake

The Duel of Light and Flame

Desmond stood tall within the blazing ring, unfazed by the inferno surrounding him. His posture remained regal, his expression composed, as though he had already determined the outcome of this battle. Despite the unexpected display of fire manipulation from his opponent, there was no sign of admiration in his gaze—only quiet evaluation.

"A rare sight," Desmond mused, his voice carrying a dignified weight. "An elemental wielder standing against me… No wonder you've lasted this long. The ability to command fire is formidable, but fire alone cannot hope to rival light." He extended a hand, and in an instant, radiant energy gathered at his fingertips, shaping itself into a slender, gleaming spear of light. He spun it effortlessly before letting it dissolve into nothingness, demonstrating his absolute control. "Elemental power is not a privilege many possess, but it seems you do. A pity. Had you been born under the right banner, you might have amounted to something greater than this farce."

Temoshí narrowed his eyes. He had expected Desmond to acknowledge him—not just as an opponent, but as a warrior. Yet all he sensed was arrogance. There was something off about the man before him. His speech held the weight of nobility, but his presence lacked the essence of true royalty. There was no reverence, no honor in his words—only condescension.

"This guy..." Temoshí thought, his hands curling into fists. "Is he really a royal? Nothing about him gives off that vibe. He talks like he's above us, but there's no real weight to it. Something's off..." His thoughts trailed for a moment, trying to piece together the contradictions, but that brief lapse in focus was all Desmond needed.

The air cracked.

In a flash, Desmond was upon him.

Temoshí barely had time to react before a knee, boosted by a burst of golden light, slammed into his ribs, sending him skidding backward. He gritted his teeth, his boots scraping against the stone ground before he stabilized himself. The impact had been heavier than expected—Desmond wasn't just enhancing his strikes with light; he was amplifying their force beyond human limits.

"You're slow," Desmond remarked, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeve like he had just done something effortless. "Perhaps I expected too much."

Temoshí rolled his shoulders as flames coiled around his forearms. "And I thought royals would be a little more patient."

Without warning, he lunged forward, closing the gap in an instant. Flames burst from beneath his feet, boosting his momentum as he feinted a punch before twisting mid-air, swinging a flaming heel toward Desmond's head.

Desmond tilted his head ever so slightly. A shield of light flickered into existence at the last second, deflecting the strike. Before Temoshí could adjust, Desmond shifted his weight, twisting his body and delivering a palm strike enhanced with concentrated light straight into Temoshí's chest. The force erupted outward in a shockwave, launching him through the flames and onto the stone floor.

"Still too slow," Desmond said as he walked through the fire unscathed, the light around his body negating its heat. "And still too predictable."

Temoshí coughed, rubbing his chest before exhaling sharply. The strike had been clean, but not enough to slow him down. "You talk like you've already won," he muttered, pushing himself up, flames flickering along his arms.

"I do not need to assume victory," Desmond stated, slowly lifting a single hand. "It is simply the inevitable outcome."

The air brightened.

Temoshí barely had time to brace before beams of concentrated light shot forth from Desmond's fingertips, arcing through the air like spears. He dodged the first, twisted past the second, but the third grazed his side, burning through his coat and leaving a searing mark.

Tch. His attacks don't just burn—they cut, Temoshí realized. He didn't have the luxury of taking too many hits. If light could be forged into solid forms, then Desmond's arsenal was basically unlimited.

Deciding to shift his strategy, Temoshí inhaled deeply before slamming both hands onto the ground. A surge of azure flames erupted outward, twisting violently before forming a spiraling vortex. Desmond raised a brow at the sudden spectacle before realizing its purpose—Temoshí was changing the battlefield itself.

Within seconds, the flames condensed into several thick pillars, rising from the ground and boxing them in, creating obstacles between them. The fire flickered wildly, casting erratic shadows across the battlefield.

"Hiding?" Desmond mused, summoning a thin rapier of light. "Disappointing."

A shadow moved.

Desmond's eyes darted left, but it was already too late.

Temoshí burst from behind a pillar, using the cover of the flames to mask his movements. His fist, wreathed in blue fire, connected cleanly with Desmond's side, sending him crashing into one of the burning structures.

"Not hiding. Just setting the stage," Temoshí said, flames twisting around his arms. "Now let's see if you can handle the heat."

Desmond exhaled, brushing ash off his coat as he stood. His body shimmered for a brief moment as the light around him mended the impact. Then, slowly, he rolled his shoulders, an almost amused expression crossing his face.

"So," he said, lifting his hand, light gathering into a pulsing sphere of radiance, "you do have some fight in you after all."

The battle had only just begun.

Temoshí barely had a second to react before Desmond vanished.

A golden flash cut through the inferno.

Then—impact.

A crushing force slammed into Temoshí's gut, knocking the air from his lungs. His instincts screamed at him to counter, but before he could even process the first blow, another struck—a light-infused elbow crashed into his ribs, launching him sideways. His boots scraped against the stone streets, kicking up embers from the fires consuming the abandoned town around them. He tried to steady himself, but Desmond was already there.

"Too fast!"

A knee, glowing with golden energy, struck his chin. The force sent him airborne. The ruined buildings and flickering flames blurred past as his body lifted off the ground. Then—hands gripped his ankle.

Then—gravity.

Desmond twisted, using the momentum to slam Temoshí downward like a meteor.

The ground shattered on impact. Cracks spiderwebbed outward, dust and debris scattering into the air. Temoshí gasped, his body convulsing from the shock. His vision swam. His flames flickered weakly.

Above him, standing amidst the burning ruins, Desmond exhaled through his nose. "Predictable."

Temoshí gritted his teeth, struggling to push himself up. His limbs felt sluggish—his body battered. Every attack had landed cleanly. He had been outpaced from the start.

Desmond took a slow step forward, his golden glaive materializing in his grasp, its surface pulsing with radiant energy. He spun it once before planting its tip beside Temoshí's head.

"Tell me, pirate," Desmond's voice was calm, almost casual, "have you ever witnessed divinity at work?"

Temoshí forced a smirk, despite the pain. "Yeah… and it ain't you."

Light.

Blinding.

A boot wreathed in golden energy crashed into his ribs, launching him across the street. His body tumbled through broken stalls and scorched debris, crashing hard against a half-collapsed wall. Blood dripped from his lip. His body screamed in protest.

Desmond approached, his stride unhurried. "Still defiant? Interesting."

He raised a hand. Light condensed into a dozen blades, hovering in the air like waiting predators. With a flick of his fingers, they shot forward.

Temoshí forced himself to move, rolling just as the blades struck. They embedded into the stone where he had been lying a moment ago, the impact sending cracks racing across the ground.

"I can't keep up—he's too fast!"

Desmond's image flickered, then—

Another impact.

Temoshí barely saw the fist before it crashed into his stomach, sending him skidding back. His boots dragged against the stone, flames sputtering from his body. His breathing was labored, his vision blurry.

But he refused to go down.

With a snarl, he clenched his fist. The flames around him roared to life, fueled by sheer willpower. He pivoted sharply, sending a blazing kick toward Desmond's side.

It missed.

Desmond ducked effortlessly, his body moving like liquid light. His own counter came immediately—a blinding palm strike to the chest.

Temoshí coughed as he staggered back. He couldn't react fast enough. Desmond was reading him like a book, predicting every movement.

"I see it now," Desmond mused, twirling his glaive lazily. "Your flames are strong, but you lack refinement. You burn brightly… but wildly. Uncontrolled. Sloppy."

Temoshí spat blood onto the cracked ground. "Yeah? And you talk too much."

Summoning what strength he had left, he surged forward, fire coiling around his arms. He feinted left before twisting his entire body into a spinning strike.

Desmond caught his wrist mid-swing.

Temoshí's eyes widened.

With a flick of his own, Desmond twisted Temoshí's arm behind his back, locking it into place. Then, with a burst of light, he launched him skyward.

Temoshí soared through the smoke-filled air, momentarily weightless.

Then Desmond was there.

He appeared in a flash of gold, above him, his leg already descending.

Temoshí had no time to react before the heel crashed into his stomach.

The force sent him hurtling back down, straight through the roof of a burning building.

Wood shattered. Dust exploded. Fire roared.

Temoshí groaned as he lay in the rubble, struggling to push himself up. He could hear Desmond's footsteps above, approaching the hole in the ceiling.

"I expected more from you," Desmond's voice carried through the smoke. "Perhaps I was mistaken."

Temoshí coughed, finally rising to his feet. His body ached. His flames wavered. But his eyes still burned with determination.

"Shut up and fight," he growled.

Desmond smirked. "As you wish."

To be continued...