Legacy's Wake

Desmond and Temoshí remained locked in their relentless duel, neither willing to yield as fire and light clashed violently around them. The flames roared, their heat distorting the air, while Desmond's radiant energy gleamed across the battlefield, illuminating the ruined town in an eerie glow. Neither had yet to gain the upper hand, but one thing was clear—this battle wouldn't end easily.

Temoshí narrowed his eyes, keeping his stance firm as he watched Desmond closely. "You're playing both sides, Desmond. A mole for Hollow and the Marines. What the hell are you really after? You don't even know if Hollow cares about your actions, and the second the Marines catch wind of what you've been doing behind their backs, they won't hesitate to lock you up."

Despite the accusation, Desmond remained as composed as ever, his expression unwavering. It was as if nothing could shake him.

"What I expect from Hollow, and what the authorities choose to do with me, is none of your concern," he replied, his voice as measured as always.

"Hollow remains ignorant of the full truth, and the Marines will tolerate my actions so long as I fulfill the conditions set for my mission. There are things that must be uncovered—the fate of the royal household, the true purpose behind Hollow's existence, and the hidden forces manipulating the Cascade Cradle and its mainland. These matters are far greater than you or your crew."

His golden eyes flickered in the firelight as he continued, "You, however, are nothing more than a wandering outlaw. A criminal of the sea. Right now, you stand in the way of justice—justice that demands I eliminate those responsible for the chaos that has unfolded here."

Temoshí's grip tightened. He had taken in Desmond's words, but even with everything laid out, something still didn't add up. There was a deeper game at play, one that Desmond was keeping hidden. Why would he willingly align himself with Hollow while taking orders from the very people meant to oppose him? What was his real objective? And how had he managed to secure a position of trust within both the royal guards and the Marines? Did either faction truly know the full extent of his deceit, or was Desmond simply playing them all—Hollow, the Marines, and Phalris' own forces—for his own ends?

There were too many unanswered questions. And with every passing moment, the mystery surrounding Desmond only grew darker.

In the depths of his mind, Temoshí worked tirelessly to piece together the truth, analyzing every clue, every inconsistency in Desmond's words and actions. The puzzle was beginning to take shape, and the implications were more dangerous than he initially thought.

"Maybe Hollow does know about Desmond and the other so-called 'royal guards'… What if all three of them have been working for him from the very beginning?" The possibility sent a shiver down his spine. If that were true, it meant everything had been a lie from the start.

But then another realization struck him—a much darker and more alarming one. "Wait… if they're all aligned with Hollow, then the real victim in this isn't us… It's Phalris."

His mind raced as the pieces finally clicked together. "That means Phalris isn't just misguided—she's being deceived! She thinks we're the enemy, but in reality, the real threat has been standing beside her this entire time."

A sharp breath escaped him as his gaze locked onto Desmond, and for a brief moment, it was as if he could see the truth unfold before his very eyes. In his mind's vision, three shadowy figures loomed behind Desmond, their presence undeniable—the royal guards. They weren't the noble protectors Phalris believed them to be. No, they were puppets under Hollow's control, working against her from within.

"The royal guards… they're the real enemy! They're the ones feeding her lies, leading her astray, and ensuring that she sees us as the villains!"

The weight of the revelation surged through his body, igniting a fire deep within him. There was no time to hesitate. He had to act.

With renewed determination, Temoshí lunged forward at breakneck speed, his body cutting through the smoke and heat of the battlefield. His muscles coiled like a spring, preparing to deliver a devastating strike. This was no longer just about survival or the duel itself—this was about uncovering the truth and putting an end to the deception that threatened to engulf them all.

The battle between Temoshí and Desmond intensified within the burning town, their fists and feet clashing in rapid, brutal exchanges. The roar of flames mixed with the sharp crack of impacts, each strike echoing through the abandoned streets. The air shimmered with heat, the fire reflecting off Desmond's golden aura as he manipulated light itself to enhance his speed and power.

Temoshí's mind raced as fast as his movements, his thoughts caught between the revelation he had just uncovered and the immediate danger in front of him. He sent a fierce right hook toward Desmond's jaw, but the man twisted his body with unnatural grace, avoiding the blow with minimal effort. In return, Desmond countered with a blindingly fast elbow strike aimed at Temoshí's ribs. The impact was barely avoided as Temoshí leaned back, feeling the air shift as the strike narrowly missed.

"He's fast. Too fast," Temoshí realized. His flames crackled around him as he adjusted his stance, watching Desmond with sharp eyes. He had to keep talking—to make Desmond reveal more.

"You keep talking about justice," Temoshí panted between strikes, dodging another swift jab. "But everything you've done so far points to the opposite. The royal guards aren't protectors—they're deceivers, aren't they? You've been playing Phalris this entire time."

Desmond's eyes didn't waver, but for a moment, his expression tightened, ever so slightly. It was enough for Temoshí to see that he was onto something.

The two lunged at each other again—Desmond shaping a short blade of pure light in his hand and slashing forward. Temoshí met it with a flaming forearm block, sparks and embers bursting from the clash before he twisted into a spinning kick. Desmond ducked, vanishing into a flicker of golden light and appearing behind Temoshí, throwing a crushing knee toward his spine.

Temoshí barely managed to throw himself forward, rolling with the force of the attack before flipping to his feet. His breaths were heavy, but his mind remained sharp.

"Phalris thinks the artifact was supposed to save this land," Temoshí pressed, launching forward again, delivering a rapid series of palm strikes. Desmond expertly deflected each one, weaving between the attacks with almost unnatural ease. "But you knew better, didn't you? You made it. That artifact was never meant to save anything—it was meant to trap her."

Desmond's smirk finally faded. The glow of his body flickered for the briefest moment as he took a single step back.

Then, without warning, he surged forward with a burst of speed, closing the distance in an instant. His fist connected with Temoshí's stomach, driving deep into his core. The force sent a shockwave through Temoshí's body, forcing the air from his lungs as he staggered back.

Desmond didn't let up. His footwork was precise, weaving through the flames as he launched a spinning back kick toward Temoshí's ribs. The attack landed with brutal efficiency, sending Temoshí skidding across the scorched pavement.

Coughing, Temoshí pushed himself back up, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth. But his glare never wavered. "I was right, wasn't I?" he spat. "You tricked Phalris into thinking that artifact was her salvation, when in reality, it was a cage."

Desmond exhaled slowly, straightening his posture. The light around him pulsed, reforming into twin daggers in his hands. "You're perceptive, I'll give you that," he admitted, twirling the blades between his fingers. "Yes, the artifact was my creation. It was never meant to 'save' anything. It was designed with a single purpose—to contain divinity itself."

Temoshí's eyes narrowed as the weight of Desmond's words settled in.

Desmond continued, circling him like a predator. "Phalris believed in its power, believed it was the key to restoring balance. But balance was never the goal. Control was." He pointed a glowing blade toward Temoshí. "Phalris, in all her so-called wisdom, was blinded by her desperation. She accepted the artifact without questioning its origins, without realizing that once she used it, she'd no longer be a goddess, but a prisoner."

Temoshí clenched his fists, his flames roaring higher around him. "And who were you planning to hand her over to?" he demanded. "Hollow? The marines? Or were you planning to keep her power for yourself?"

Desmond's response was another attack—a high-speed lunge, his daggers flashing in arcs of golden light. Temoshí barely had time to react, twisting his body to dodge the first slash while raising an arm to deflect the second. The force sent vibrations through his bones, but he held firm.

Their combat grew more vicious, Desmond using his enhanced speed and precision while Temoshí countered with raw strength and controlled fire. The town burned around them, yet neither fighter paid it any mind.

Desmond finally spoke again, voice calm but laced with something darker. "Phalris is a relic of an old world," he said, pivoting into a low kick aimed at Temoshí's legs. Temoshí leaped over it, twisting mid-air to avoid a follow-up strike. "And old gods have no place in a new age."

Temoshí landed, glaring at him through the rising heat. "So that's what this is about? Power? You think taking Phalris out of the picture will give you control?"

Desmond shrugged, rolling his shoulders. "It's not about what I want. It's about who deserves to rule." He adjusted his stance, raising his daggers again. "And it sure as hell isn't her."

Temoshí exhaled, steadying himself. He had gotten the truth out of Desmond, but now came the hardest part—surviving long enough to do something about it.

Temoshí stepped forward with force, his foot slamming against the charred ground as his flames flared higher. His voice cut through the roaring inferno, sharp and unwavering. "Your mission… is to ensnare Phalris, to strip her of divinity and erase her name from history!"

Desmond reacted instantly, his movements like a flash of gold as he shot forward, driving his knee toward Temoshí's jaw. But the pirate anticipated it—twisting to the side in a fluid weave, pivoting sharply on his foot. His muscles coiled, and in the same motion, he spun into a brutal roundhouse kick aimed for Desmond's temple.

Desmond smirked, his body lowering effortlessly as he ducked beneath the incoming strike. He barely even needed to look—his instincts carried him as he skidded backward, feet sliding across the cracked stone.

"Not bad," he mused, eyes gleaming with amusement. "So, your brain does work after all. But you're only half right."

Before Temoshí could press forward, Desmond's body flickered, vanishing in a radiant burst of light. Then, in the blink of an eye, he reappeared mid-air, launching himself like a golden comet. His foot slammed forward, striking Temoshí square in the face with devastating force.

"But Phalris didn't weaken because she stepped into the mainland," Desmond continued, his voice ringing out even as the attack sent Temoshí hurtling backward. "She was already cursed!"

The sheer impact sent Temoshí flying, his body smashing through the burning streets until he collided violently with a stone wall. The structure cracked and crumbled around him, dust and embers billowing into the sky as the force of the blow shook the ground beneath them.

Desmond landed gracefully, standing amidst the chaos, his golden aura flaring like a god's judgment. His grin widened, his eyes brimming with cold certainty.

"Hollow has already claimed her mind. She's been under his spell long before she ever set foot here."

To be continued...