Thy battle of a god and a human, an immortal against a mortal, had reached its climax. A climax she had not expected.

They clashed blades, ducked under swings of those very same blades, and even spilt each-other’s blood. It had infuriated her, fed into her own boastful ego and the rot fueling her more and more, and so her power simply grew and grew, the rot more powerful and consuming her more and more, and yet they kept fighting! Kept keeping up!

How was that so? How is this lowly Tarnished, an undead, a single cinder fated to die out, how are they keeping up with her? A goddess of rotting destruction? It confused and angered her to no end, even as she bloomed for another time in battle, unleashing the full might of her rot. And still, they kept fighting, they kept up. A tinge of respect infected her.

And it grew as finally she wasn’t fast enough, she was too slow to get away, or to swing her blade at them. Their blade stood still at her neck, it was foolish, you’d never do that in battle as you would lose all momentum. But she understood the gesture, as she lowered her long golden blade. Her respect for them was at its highest, just like the rot inside her too. “I do not know what to feel about you, Tarnished.” She said, voice as silent as the silence.