The Defeat

And there I sat, backed into my corner, staring at the victor with empty eyes. His visage, a silhouette itself, as the sun cowered behind his body, towered over me it seemed. He was relaxed, however. His sword, dripping my ebbing life force, dangled at his side in a way indicative of no defense. He knew I was done. Even as the light blinded me, and not just that of the sun, I could feel his grin. His smug confidence. Not even a scratch on him. I looked at my own blade, a few feet away, still gripped laxly in my hand and thought of the ferocity with which I'd swung it. How he'd parried and, at one point, grabbed it barehanded. His bearing demanded reverence, even amongst my premature reveries, so I glanced up to where I figured his eyes would be. But neither of us could see anything. I, because of the blinding lights and the darkness that was beginning to settle in. He, because there was nothing left in my eyes to see. But he hesitated. I had matched him in skill, even if I had failed to scathe him. In truth, he had failed to scathe me as well. We both knew how to kill, so it was only one misstep on my part, one swing with too much recoil, one limb lost, that decided this battle. Then I'd backed away and fell, defenseless, as prey to the eagle. And just as an eagle, he was swift as the wind and just as nature in battle. So he hesitated, and I too smirked. No words were exchanged, but respect was acknowledge, and, crackling through the air, through the tension, was a twinge of regret. But not from me. I embraced the darkness and the light. And with the last flash of light, dashing off of a flying edge, the darkness became eternal.