Too late! The black sword surged forward with enough momentum to easily push past the zenblade. Miro tried to fall back further, but he was against the ground, with nowhere to go. The black sword hit Miro low in the abdomen, piercing his side.
The gush of blood told Miro the cut was deep. He rolled to the side as the black sword came down again. With a firm grip on his zenblade he blocked the next attack and leapt to his feet.
Chest heaving, Miro sought refuge behind a thicker column, this one as wide as three men. Gasping for breath, he put his hand to his chest and pulled it away, dripping with blood. His song faltered, the sword lost some of its colour, the runes fading to silver.
The golem strode towards him. Its runes flared bright — red, blue, green. Miro had been taught to track an enemy’s actions by his eyes. The emotionless red glare told him nothing.
The black arms rose.
Miro prepared for an overhead cut. The golem suddenly feinted, sending a sweeping cut towards Miro’s chest. Miro blocked it with the zenblade. He felt the weakness in his sword; he had to do better. Miro lunged into the golem’s backswing. The attempt was blocked, almost casually, before the construct sent a steel fist crashing into Miro’s face.
Miro’s skin split, and red filled his vision as blood filled his right eye. The pain was indescribable, excruciating. He felt like he had just fallen from the highest cliff onto the hardest stone. The golem followed up with the hilt of its sword, smashing it against Miro’s chin.
Miro’s lip broke open, he tasted his own blood. The force of the two successive blows sent him reeling, he fell backward, barely staying standing. He almost dropped his sword.
The golem came on.
Miro knew he was going to die.
His voice was hoarse, the runes coming in staggered syllables through thick lips. The zenblade was faintly silver now. Miro closed his eyes for a moment. He wiped the blood from his right eye. He straightened his back.
The tip of the golem’s sword waved back and forth, like a snake preparing to strike.
Miro began his song anew. It was all about the zenblade. He realised, with a start, that since he didn’t have to maintain the armoursilk, he had the ability to truly use the zenblade, to add as much as possible to its song.
He first added strength and lightness. The sword grew bright, the runes shining white. As the sword grew lighter, so Miro’s arms felt stronger, he grew more confident. He added sharpness, and a searing heat, hot enough to melt iron. The blade’s colour moved from white to yellow.
The song was coming strong from his lips now, his breathing continuous.
Miro could feel the runes, the chanting pouring forth as if it were a natural thing. He reached the state he had achieved in the great Battle for Mornhaven, then passed it, the song coming easier. More inflections. More runes. More power. He didn’t know what he was singing now — it was visceral, something from within him.
The zenblade turned from yellow to red. A bright and fiery red, as red as fresh arterial blood.
Miro flew at the golem, his blows coming one after the other, again and again. The golem blocked each in turn, but its movements weren’t fast enough; there was a small delay, growing with each blow. Miro kept up the continuous barrage until he saw his opening. He would need to be fast, faster than he had ever been before.
The zenblade lunged out.
It hit the metal of the construct squarely in the shoulder, almost shearing off its arm. The clashing of the runes sounded like an explosion of lightning, and for a moment the entire cavernous room lit up brighter than day. Several of the runes around the golem’s upper chest went dim.
The iron creature faltered. Miro saw an opportunity, he lunged in again.
It had been a trick, the black sword lashed out, straight at Miro’s head. Miro tried to turn but he felt the searing heat as it sliced across his face.
In rage and frustration, Miro’s song entered a new depth. He simply knew where to add the inflections. He didn’t think about them; he simply felt them. The song was part of him; he was the song.
The zenblade shifted from red, through violet. It turned blue.
In the final ecstasy of his song, Miro added the sequence to dim the runes. The blue grew softer, ghostly and ethereal.
Then Miro added shadow.
The zenblade all but disappeared, becoming a thin beam of light, rising and falling. The golem’s head turned from side to side as it ducked and weaved, as fast as anything Miro had ever seen.
In one great swing, the zenblade came searing through the air at the golem’s head. Faster than Miro would have thought possible, the black sword came up. In a great clash the vaporous blade hit the black sword.
The black sword sheared into two pieces.
The zenblade kept going, hitting the golem squarely on the neck. Sparks sprayed out, the din deafening. Metal twisted. The head lifted from the shoulders and fell with a clang to the ground. A moment later the heavy body followed.
There was silence, but for the sound of Miro’s heaving breath.
Then there came a clapping sound, from the end of the chamber. The animator stood.
"Well done, Bladesinger" the animator said.
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