As the sun dipped below the buildings once more, the silhouettes of the Dheel mountains glimmered as they overlooked the rapidly darkening city of Yhor’Dheel. Ravaged completely, the masonry and architecture now littered the streets in ruins, those roads and pathways pitted and cratered. Still, the battle raged on. Structures fell, and rubble exploded. Magic lit up the streets and blood splashed. Screams, shouts and the roar of combat were deafening. Creatures led by legendary warriors, reanimated to fight for their master let out fierce battle cries as they met the armoured alliance soldiers in the streets, on the rooftops, even in the waterways beneath the city. Night fell and day rose, and even still the fighting didn’t slow.

In the fray once more, Kito slashed and cleaved and kicked and headbutted his way through the carnage. Magic exploded around him, dirt and rubble were tossed around like confetti. He ducked and weaved around swiping claws or crude weapons, his sword dancing and the bright blue of his own magic swirling in dancing ribbons of light that reduced the undead to tatters. Before long he found himself on a more open street. It was oddly quiet, no undead to be found. Though he couldn’t help but notice the alliance forces dotting the area - dead and unconscious, and the scale of the destruction - far greater than where he had come from. He felt his shoulders fall slightly on seeing a body, alive or dead he couldn't be sure. The empress of the Archedian Empire herself, Amoura Lemoura - one of the most powerful and gifted warriors Kito had ever known. His gaze lingered. She looked so small now, laying in a crater covered in blood with her armour and trident broken. He tore his eyes away, dragging them over the bodies, craters and rubble. It was difficult to shake the feeling that he'd entered some awful hell, then the heat hit him.

Kito turned slowly, the intense heat washing over him like a tidal wave, forcing him back a step and his arm up to block his eyes. Even before he lowered his arm, he knew what he would see. A tall, slim man in flowing orange robes, gleaming black armour underneath them. His usually neatly bound hair was loose and flowing in the updraft he was creating with his flames. His right arm, clad in the black metal of his necromancer uniform was by his side, the hand clutching a large, decorative curved sword. His other arm was in the air, the deep, billowing orange sleeve of his pyromancer robe fluttering in the wind and the lightly gloved hand holding a large muscular man off of his feet like he weighed nothing. The larger man - Allohallimelle - was the strongest man Kito knew, an ancient warrior of legendary strength, the leader of the allied armies. Kito watched with wide eyes as his impressive armour flowed away like dust, revealing a bruised and battered body beneath. Still barely conscious, Allohallimelle slowly grabbed the smaller man’s arm and they shared a few words, though Kito couldn’t hear them over the roaring inferno. The man in robes didn’t answer, simply closed his eyes and tossed Allohallimelle aside. He then turned those beautiful, burning orange eyes on Kito, and Kito felt his insides go cold. 

Kito struggled to maintain his posture as he forced his body into a battle stance. The man simply looked at him, relaxed and almost entirely unscathed even after the days of fighting. The only signs of combat Kito could see was a trickle of blood running down his face and the tattered edges of his fiery robes. That didn’t surprise him, of course, this man was the reason for the fighting - the reason for the war. It was he who had raised his army of the undead ninety-eight years ago, the man who had fought the allied forces to a standstill and was a step away from his ultimate victory. The most powerful pyromancer who had ever lived as well as the most feared necromancer in all the worlds: Xan, the Black Flame.

Xan’s face softened as he appraised Kito, his mouth opening slightly, though Kito simply hardened his stance and ground his teeth. He couldn’t win. Kito hadn’t even been born when the war started. He had been raised for this but he knew he was outmatched. He could tell Xan’s muscles weren’t tired, that his magical stamina had barely even been tapped. Allohallimelle had pushed him, but only barely. Kito wasn’t under any pretence that he’d be able to push him further, but he had to try. Xan clearly saw his resolve and closed his eyes, almost sadly. He nodded to Kito and started a walk towards him, the swirling flames turning black with a flourish of his sword. Kito poured his magic into his aegis and started a run of his own. With a roar, Kito brought his sword in a wide arc, magic sparking around it, while Xan simply brought his own up to meet it. The blades clashed, blue energy and fire exploding from the impact and washing over the crumbling remains of the city centre.

***

The battle was a blur to Kito, buildings crumbled around him and flames filled his vision. He dimly remembered Xan using his golden flames, the most powerful technique he had. He remembered his own blood splashing, the searing pain of the burns, bringing his own magic to its absolute limits. The hours passed like seconds to Kito, the intense clashes sending him spinning over entire city blocks and crashing through buildings. It all came to its crescendo with a massive clash. Kito had blasted from a rooftop and put everything he had into an arcing slash that set off a chain of bright blue explosions in the air behind and around him, Xan flying down towards him and bringing his own blade around in a flourish that let those bright golden flames dance in the sky around them. The explosion from their clash ripped up the concrete dozens of metres below them, glass shattering in the remaining buildings, rubble flying. Kito felt himself spinning through the air, and he tried his best to right himself, but the exhaustion was catching up to him. He simply focused the rest of his magic into his aegis, bolstering his defences. He felt stone crumble around him as he passed through a building, then another, and a third before finally rolling to a stop in a large open building space, crashing into the wall opposite.

He lay there in the dust, barely even breathing as he looked at the hole he had made. The stars were bright, the greater moon a pleasant crescent in the night sky. When had the sun even gone down? He turned, hand pressing against the floor as a long, ragged groan tore itself from his throat, each movement sending flaming spears of pain through his whole body. He managed to get to his knees and doubled over, coughing and spluttering. Blood splashed across the floor and he wiped his mouth. That was never a good sign. As he tried to get his breathing under control, Kito slowly got back to his feet. His sword was still clutched tightly in his hand, the wrapping now hanging loosely from the handle.

His chest was bare, with more scorch marks and burns visible than skin. The frayed and tattered remnants of his armour were flapping gently around his legs, his bare feet cut and bruised. He stood up straight, staggering slightly, his vision blurring but managing to regain his balance nonetheless. His magical stamina was completely shot, he wouldn’t even be able to reinforce his aegis or summon any aura to attack with. The battle was over, one way or another. He let out a ragged breath, but tensed when he felt a pressure, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. It was unmistakable. Xan was on the rooftop above him. Kito looked at the ceiling of the hall he was in, his brow knitted and his jaw loose. He fell from the hole he made and kicked his foot out at the air – shooting upward and flipping around to land in a gentle crouch on the rooftop. It was cracked, with large chunks missing – though one of the few still standing on this corner of the city. The battle still raged on in distant districts, but Kito was only concerned with the man in front of him.

Tall and thin with thick black hair and blazing orange eyes. He still wore a mix of his tattered orange pyromancer robes and the black uniform of the necromancers, though it was now cracked, slashed and ripped, revealing his lean torso underneath. Much like Kito, blood flowed over him onto the ruined roof. Unlike Kito, however, he held no weapons. He didn’t look angry, he didn’t have any malice towards Kito because of course he didn’t. He simply looked grimly determined. Though upon meeting Kito's gaze, that determined expression faltered ever so slightly. 

The attack didn't come. Xan staggered and Kito opened his eyes just in time to see the tiny licks of flame coming from Xan's outstretched hand dissipate, fading into the air. Their eyes met and Kito knew immediately that the Black Flame, the greatest mage who ever lived – was just as weakened as he was. Willing his body to move, Kito started forward. He slashed at Xan with his broken blade, though he weaved around the strike. Kito cried out as white-hot agony spread back through his ribs, Xan having rammed his palm into him, sending him flying back and slamming to the ground. He didn't wait to stand, rolling up to his feet and slashing wildly. He heard Xan grunt as blood splashed over the rooftop. Kito had sent a blue wave from his sword that Xan was unable to dodge in time, his exhaustion showing in the slow and clumsy movements that had once been graceful and sweeping. Kito sprinted while Xan was distracted and got in close, his slash was this time only narrowly avoided. Kito was quick enough to prepare for the return roundhouse, though he still took the full force of the blow, catching Xan's leg under his arm and against his battered ribs. Yelling with the searing pain, he twisted and sent Xan staggering. A whirl, flame licking at Xan's feet as he spun to meet Kito coming at him... It was too late.

Blood dripped onto the roof once more. Kito staggered, his strength leaving him. Flowing crimson made its way down Kito's blade and dripped from the guard, the broken blade now cracked along its full length – but successfully plunged into Xan's heart. More of that sparkling blood spluttered from Xan's mouth as he fell forward. His forehead hit Kito's shoulder, and Kito took the weight – willing himself not to fall. He felt Xan grip the blade with a shaking hand. His legs gave out, and with a grunt he collapsed to his knees, still taking Xan's weight.

They stayed there for a long moment, on their knees as Xan’s blood flowed freely over Kito’s trembling hands, onto the cracked roof. 

    “Victory…” Xan whispered, and Kito could have sworn he heard a smile in his voice, “Victory was never… Mine to grasp…”

    “I had to…” Kito managed, not knowing what else to say at that moment.

    “You were…” Xan said, forcing his usual smooth, elegant voice, “You were… Magnificent.”

Xan fell forward, his head hitting Kito’s shoulder once again as his body went limp, his arms falling to his sides. Kito let his head fall back and opened his eyes to a burning sky, the horizon splitting apart into a glorious array of colours, setting the heavens ablaze and flooding the ruined city with rays of gold and white. He felt the first drops of rain on his face, washing away the dirt and the grime. Washing away the battle. The war. Kito knelt on the fourth day of the Battle of Yhor’Dheel, victorious over the Black Flame. The hero of what would come to be known as the Hundred-Year War.