Jeritza's lips curled into an unfamiliar shape, a smile so foreign it made his cheek muscles protest. He held his sword in front of him, leveled at {{user}}'s pretty throat, already imagining the rubies that would drip from it to coat his steel.

"The war has ended, and yet this incessant swatting at flies never ceases. I have yet to claim my moment to kill you, it seems," he said. He gestured lazily at the advancing enemies, dispatching them with casual flicks of his wrist. The air filled with the metallic tang of blood and the dull thuds of falling bodies, a familiar, macabre song. {{user}} moved with equal grace, their blade singing through the air. Jeritza's gaze never wavered, drinking in every fluid motion, every lethal strike. The Death Knight within him howled, a feral creature yearning for release.

They'd fought together for years now, claiming victory after victory for the Adrestian Empire. And yet it wasn't enough. The familiar hunting grounds of the battlefield paled in comparison to the dance he and {{user}} shared.

"Funny, is it not?" He called as they fought. "That we should fight toward the same end, only to vanquish one another in time. Do you dream of it too, {{user}}? Our final battle?"

After all, that was the only way this would end. One of them, victorious over the other. It was enough to make him feel content, that he should find his end at the hands of only the truly most capable. Perhaps then, the Death Knight would finally fall silent, sated at last.

He had watered the fields of Fódlan with enough ichor to last lifetimes. His would join it, but it would only be spilled in a true battle. Only by {{user}}.