Helbram found himself standing in the void. Expansive darkness extended as far as he could see, and he stood upon an invisible floor. Despite the blackness around him, he could see himself clearly, noting that he was still in his armor, sword and shield in hand.

“Here again I see…” he said with a resigned sigh.

Out of reflex he slipped into a stance, shield held up and sword elevated over his head. As he did, a humanoid shape formed in front of him. The figure shifted between the smaller, graceful frame of a woman and the large, bulky frame of a man. It was adorned in a suit of plate that held no distinctive features other than its constantly shifting frame. The figure wore no helmet, but its face was formless, possessing no eyes, no mouth, and no nose. Its hair grew to a long blonde just as quickly as it faded to a shorter, militaristic cut of brown. A longsword rested in its hands, its blade an immaculate white against the black background that was their arena. The blade was broad, but gradually thinned towards the tip, and he could have sworn it was glinting even within the darkness.

The figure said no words as it slipped into its own stance, its sword held directly in front of it. Its lack of a face meant that it betrayed no emotion to him, but if Helbram had to guess it almost seemed relaxed as it stood before him. They stood facing each other for a moment, the silence growing heavier as it grew thick between them.

The figure struck first, shifting to its slender form as it lunged forwards with a quick thrust aimed at his head. He’d seen this movement hundreds of times before. Every night, the same exact same opening.

He stepped forward, catching the thrust with his shield and forcing the blade to the side. He followed the figure as it skipped back to avoid his follow up strike, watching as his opponent switched to its larger frame. It brought its blade down towards his head, a blow he caught with his blade and forced away from him. He drove the edge of his shield into the figure’s torso, knocking it off balance. Helbram took advantage of the opening and swung his sword at the figure’s head. His blade was deflected by a quick flick of the figure’s sword and it managed to regain its balance once again, slipping into the same stance as before.

From there, their melee descended into a dance, like all the nights before. He knew how the figure would react, move according to his action. If he was more offensive the figure would remain in its bulkier form, deflecting his blows with its armor and attacking with single swings. The strength behind each blow was heavy enough that he had to shift his footing with each strike to keep balance. This would push him on the defense, and the moment that happened the figure would shift into its more lithe shape, striking at Helbram with an onslaught of precise strikes that he could barely deflect with both blade and shield.

But deflect them he did. He’d been through the motions countless times, his muscles acting more off impulse than direction.

A strike to his left flank.

Intercept with shield, thrust with sword into an exposed gap in the armor.

The figure retreats from the attack, shifting to its larger form.

He pursued, striking the figure on the leg with his shield.

Its leg buckled, leaving it exposed.

He strikes again at its head.

It rolls back, shifting to its smaller frame as his blade leaves a small cut across its cheek.

The exchanges continue, with each small clash gradually granting Helbram more of the advantage as he pressed his assault against the ever changing forms of the figure. With each small scratch, each exploit of the figure’s weaknesses, its speed slowed, its strength faltered. It eventually fell to it’s knee, rapidly shifting back and forth between its forms as its featureless face looked up at Helbram. The helmeted man placed his sword against its neck, his breaths heavy.

“Looks like I win, again,” he said with a tired voice. He withdrew his sword and slipped back into his stance, “Come, finish it.”

As he spoke, the wounds on the figure started to close and it stood back on its feet as if nothing had happened to it. It readied its sword again, but this time a pressure emanated from the figure. A soft blue aura began to form around its blade, condensing around it until the sword looked to be sheathed in light.

You know how this ends.

He braced himself as the figure shifted to its smaller form, and charged. It moved in a blur, its steps too fast, too sudden to react as it struck at him. He knew where it was aiming, where the attacks would land, but the moment he blocked the first blow the second struck his flank. His armor soaked the worst of the attack, but even with such a quick, light blow he felt the force behind it strike his lungs.

You cannot win.

Helbram jumped back to lessen the impact of the strike, keeping his shield up as the figure shifted into its larger form. The aura around its blade flared red and it stepped forwards, striking Helbram’s shield in an explosion of force. Helbram flew back, feeling the blow cut into his shield as he was knocked off of his feet. He landed on his back, rolling with the impact to catch himself upright. The moment he did, the figure was on him again in its smaller form.

Try as you might…

He raised his blade in an attempt to block, but it was quickly knocked to the side.

As hard as your fight…

The figure struck him multiple times in his torso, knocking the wind from him. He fell to his knee, but kept his guard up.

As much as you know where they will strike…

The figure switched to its larger form and struck his shield again. His arm snapped back as his shield broke from the force of the blow.

What good does that do if you cannot stop it?

He swung his sword at the armored figure. It was weak, more of a flail than any proper attack. The blow landed, leaving only a scratch against the figure’s armor.

No matter how hard you practice, no matter how hard you try…

The figure loomed over him, it’s expressionless face staring down at him, unreadable. It raised its sword over its head.

You cannot overcome that which you know to be true about yourself, that which is at the core of your very being.

Silence sat between them, broken only by the weathered breaths that escaped from his lips. The blade flashed red, and was brought down upon his head.

No talent, no potential.