The Contender only modified at the depression in the ground left by his beloved Seminaris and her teleportation. It was a scarily smooth, half-orbital thing, as if someone had scooped an ice-cream spoon full of dirt from the world. It was really fortunate that this power couldn't be used to cut people in half, otherwise Seminaris could make short work of any challenge that came her master's way.

And Sigmund wouldn't have wanted that.

His weight caused his feet to sink several centimeters into the dirt with every step. The segmented armor was heavy on his already massive body. Although he couldn't wait to fight, he almost slowly. The anticipation in the air was palpable. The storm of blue energy whirled from within and extended far above the arena of stone and ancient trees.

Never had Sigmund felt so close to ultimate victory. Yes, every fiber of him was ready for fulfillment. This was the place of his final challenge. Whatever opponent waits for him, it will be the fight of a lifetime and his victory will ascend him to his ultimate form. Once he won? The Contender didn't waste time thinking about it. Something was to be found. A hero such as him, someone who overcame adversity after adversity, never faltering in the eyes of an enemy, with strength and the power of his will, there would be something he could direct his greatness towards once he had maximized his potential.

He still remembers that day. When the enchanted knife lay heavily in his hand, the wizard that had dragged him from the mundane world weakened by Gaia's curse. A difficult fight though. One that he wouldn't even have fought were it not for the sweet whispers of Seminaris in his ear. His guiding light through it all, the woman that had seen him ascend from a weak-minded boy to a legend.

One more step and his feet carried him over the solidity of stone. The raised platform had that artificial smoothness that, in this dimension of a single melded unit of stone, was hardly found anywhere. Soon, it would all be splintered under the might of his conquest. He approached the massive trunks. They vanished into the ground without a single root in sight. Still smooth, the stone clacked when the obsidian boots collided with it.

One, two, three, four full steps it took Sigmund to pass the tree. ‘They might just survive this battle,’ Sigmund marvelled at the mighty plant before finally passing into the heart of the battleground.

It was perfect. No obstructions anywhere, an empty arena where their fight could be etched into the surroundings. The pottery with unknown purpose and primitive design hung from the many branches like strangely vigilant acorns.

“DO-n…’t fee-“ a disembodied voice spoke to Sigmund. The whirls of blue energy pulled together into human forms, strangely elongated. Only their faces manifested in their entirety. An endless stream of visages, each adding a scramble to one of several ongoing, confused sentences. “Die…” “Don’t…” “You must...” “…feed…” “Why must you be here?” “…her… don’t…” “Why is he…” “feed…” “Her…e?” “…blind…?” “You made the little lady…” “Die…” “Sad…” “Feed…” “Our little…” “Lady.”

“Die. Sigmund. Do. Not. Feed. Her. Why. Is. Our. Lady. Sad? Freedom. Was. So. Close. Turn. Around. And. Die. For. Our. Ladies’. Painting. You. Will. Be. The. Next. Of. Us. Die. Sad. Feed. Free. Die. Sad. Feed. Free. Die. All that’s human will be set ablaze.”

Sigmund waved his hand when he no longer felt like listening to the rambling spirits, their warning just faint nonsense in his ears. There had been dragons that had tried to persuade him to kill their rivals instead on his journey. Ancient mages guarding secrets, protected by a maze of riddles. He wouldn’t be dissuaded by feeble illusions like this. The wave of his arm caused the blue mist to tear and gave him a glance at his opponent. A moment later, he was able to see her more clearly.

She was a small woman. Not the smallest, not by far, but below average. Her hair was shaved off, white stubbles on a sickly pale head. The bluish tones of her skin were only elevated by the tendrils of luminescent blue that connected her with the storm around. A storm that seemed to slow down when she turned towards Sigmund.

She had a cute face, despite the somewhat corps-y colouration of her features. Simultaneously, her opened robe and leather wear barely covered more than the bare necessities. Purplish lips and eyebrows contorted in confusion. The true purple were her eyes, which Sigmund spied even from the dozen metres now between them to have the look of shattered crystal to them. Seven golden dots surrounded a golden ring around the iris of the right eye. In the left, four of them had transformed into lines, piercing that ring. On both sides, they were slowly spinning.

“Who the fuck are you?” she asked in a voice that started at an almost painfully high pitch and ended in an unsteady deep. As she spoke, Sigmund caught a look at her teeth. Perfectly white, set in perfect order and glistening with immense sharpness. “The ritual was working, so why the shit do they send you in now?”

“I am Sigmund…” the little lady froze, her eyes going wide, wider, until the white framed the brilliant violet. “…and you must be Eliza.” The Contender felt like at least that introduction was the little bit of courtesy he owed an enemy. If there was a heaven, they deserved to know what man had slayed them. “I am here to chal-“

“Sigmund?” a whispered word robbed the Contender of his voice. The air suddenly changed; the howling storm of souls began to change. Into… laughter and sobs, as the black swordsman realized after a few moments. Mad laughter and sobs of the deepest sorrow. “Sigmund?!” the little lady’s hair began to grow rapidly as her convulsing jaw snapped closed repeatedly with chopping sounds. Everything about her seemed tensed to the point that her body was trembling. Trembling with rage and hate.

The spinning gold came to a complete halt. All dots and lines seemed to shift between those two stages for several seconds, as if they couldn’t decide in what shape to stay. Confusion settled upon the entire place. Laughter and sobs merged. Eliza’s fingers curled into bizarre figures. Bones cracked under the surface. White, white, her hair flowed on, then, suddenly, it shifted into azure, just past the jawline.

With a terrible ripping sound her jaw unhinged, ripping open her cheeks. No blood splattered, only forming needle like protrusions that surrounded her still bone-white teeth, as she screamed a single word. His name. “SIGMUUUUUUND!!!” It had something wolfish about it, something hungry, vengeful and as clean as the ash settling from an inferno.

The Contender was ripped out of his paralysis and charged wildly. Whether it was fear that guided that action or the usual reckless abandon, there was no telling. Tietan soared through the air, mithril singing as Sigmund’s mana flowed through the handle. He had a lot of it, too much in fact, with no idea how to use any magic himself aside from that which his equipped elementals granted to him. Like his strength, he used it with little refinement. His sheer willpower and might carrying him forwards.

Still, the attack seemed so incredibly slow. The two-hander left its place across his shoulders, described a large arc, and while it descended, Sigmund could see the change in the little lady’s eyes. The quivering of the dots came to a stop. They looked the same as they had before she had heard his name. Then one more of the dots turned into a line. Then the entire thing inverted, only five dots existing. Then those began to spin slowly. The edge of Tietan reflected in them.

Then the weapon sunk into her. Slicing bone as cleanly as skin, brain matter or anything else. Through her head, throat, collarbone, shoulder, the blade went, then exited from her side. The right part of her body slumped to the ground like butcher’s meat left off the hook.

For a moment, Sigmund was relieved. The challenge he had wanted had turned out to be disappointing, but that fear was gone. He inhaled joyfully, keeping his eyes on his blade and waiting for the sound of the rest of her flesh to fall to the floor. No such sound came. No blood soiled the floor. Except for the body part he had just cleaved off. Slowly he raised his gaze.

Air clung to the inside of his lungs. Blood pumped quicker and quicker through his veins. Terror permeated him and his entire vision got stuck on that smile. Half a face, one eye, a ripped open cheek, it was looking at him with such absolute glee that it was hardly fathomable. With every beat of his heart, the edge of his vision seemed to grow darker. His body felt like it was decaying next to her, his tissue ailing, his cells exploding, his organs failing. Only because he was bent forwards from his strike were they even on the same level, yet he was feeling like a bunny before the wolf.

A gurgling sound echoed from her cut-open windpipe. Short bursts of it, repeating quickly. Sigmund was still staring only at her face, his vision reduced to a black tunnel were the only baleful light was the gold of her eye. Eyes, moments later, as the crimson life flowed from her intact skull outwards, shaping what was missing, turning into bone, muscle fibre, finally skin and details. The gurgle became a giggle, became laughter, as the sickly skin of her regenerated half turned entirely white. Liquid bone spilled out of her pores, covering the right half of her face in some sort of mask, smooth except for the holes over the eye.

When she opened her mouth, it shattered along her nightmarish maw. Three rows of teeth went along that side, human, needle-shaped blood and cracked, jagged bone. Now the ghoulish colour of her left half seemed so pure. Sigmund was petrified, not even moving when a hand gently touched his left cheek, a hand that should have been cut clean off. Claws penetrated his skin as naturally as the sun set.

“No,” the rage was cold now. The hatred was still there, the utter disdain for his life, it all was as evident in the monster’s face as it had been before. Indeed, it seemed to have been refined, tempered, into a tool meant to cull him down. “Thana.” The word sent shivers down Sigmund’s spine, the creature continued to laugh, amused, happy, ecstatic about his fear and something else.

Then the expression suddenly changed. As if she had realized how impure her conduct was, she pulled her hand away so quickly that five trenches were shallowly dug into his skin. Sigmund’s skin cells began to itch, as if they were dying off one by one. Blamidy was supposed to heal him, why didn’t she? Was she too frozen in terror?

“You made me a mistake,” Thana growled through clenched teeth. “WRONG, I AM WRONG NOW, I FEEL… I FEEL…” She looked at Sigmund, as if he was the source of this problem, air whistled between mask and jaw as it was sharply inhaled. Crimson light flared up around the creature, an aura so potent that it looked like a drop of heavy oil in the water of reality. Wordless, the terrifying thing screamed at the sky. Screamed that it almost ripped Sigmund’s eardrums apart. Screamed that he was catapulted backwards with winds that carried the iron stench of blood. Screamed that the earth around her cracked.

Gracelessly, Sigmund tumbled over the floor and every metre that he was thrown back turned out to be a blessing in disguise. His skin stopped itching, his vision returned to normal, fear retreated into his subconsciousness. One more tumble, he pressed himself off the ground with one arm and then stopped with his back against a tree. The tendrils of blue light still connected to that creature, but the storm was dispersed by whatever magic she had just used. The souls were distant, shackled to Thana still but far away.

A moment of respite, as Thana’s aura disappeared again like an unsteady flame. That was what Sigmund needed. “Of course, my final challenge will be terrible, threatening and the worst I ever saw!” he talked to himself, clenching the grip of his weapon tighter. “WHAT CHALLENGE WOULD THIS BE IF NOT!”

Now guided only by convictions and his own will, the Contender charged. The elementals awoke as well, fuelled by their master’s boldness. ‘Go, go, Siggy, slay that beast!’ Erihana cheered him on like always.

Blamidy offered a more down to earth reminder. ‘The wound on your cheek… it’s impossible to heal. I can keep you from bleeding out, but the wound will remain.’

‘I will nail his body together if I must!’ Temturia growled in his spirit, the obsidian elemental the second he closed his contract with. The very first, Ifrit, was silent, but his torching presence filled Sigmund’s mind nevertheless. Urging his chosen contractor, his champion, to present him a fight of legend. The god of demons suppressed the fear that flared up again, growing stronger with every step, letting Sigmund fight like he normally would.

The separated part of Thana laid bloodless on the floor. New, bone plated flesh had replaced it, blood pulsating without the confinement of veins through the cracks. The destroyed cloak and what had passed for her top slid to the floor as the creature met Sigmund’s charge with a simple raise of her hand.

Cursed mithril was stopped short, grinding against the white protection of her palm, but Sigmund didn’t take the time to be surprised by this turn of events. Immediately, he took a hand off the hilt and drew it back. A terrible punch of his black gauntlet crashed into Thana’s face and smacked her to the floor.

Frustrated growling was the only reaction when Tietan sliced through her body once more. What was covered by bone, the weapon didn’t penetrated, but everything below that was fair game. Two slices, as quick as a flash, and the Contender had separated another large chunk of Thana’s body from her. Right leg, lower body, it was all left on the floor as Sigmund narrowly dodged a wild kick by jumping backwards.

The result was the same as before. Before the monster had even gotten back up, she had regenerated, the new segments of her body improved with the same carapace. Sigmund wasn’t disheartened by this. What did he care about an expected outcome. Society was full of expected outcomes. It was expected that a weak kid in class would get bullied. It was expected that he would follow the same path as everyone else. It was expected that his strikes would be useless. None of it mattered! He was above it all, he was the Contender, the man, the hero, that would reach out and defeat adversity no matter its monstrous reincarnation!

“Weak… weaaaaak… what is holding me back?!” Thana growled punching herself, distracted and open for another assault. Whatever that creature’s problems were, Sigmund was going to capitalize on them. Again and again, he assaulted the creature. Their exchanges were quick, splintered the already shattered floor and sent shards flying. Without form, they measured their agility and strength against one another.

Thana was his inferior in every way but defence. Sigmund pushed on and on. Every bit he sliced off her was replaced with something he couldn’t hurt again. Yet, he seemed to be doing something right, the creature growing more and more bothered. Even its regeneration must have had a bottom, an end point, and Sigmund would never stop until he had found it, if he had to fight for several days or not!

‘This is the conviction I want!’ the burning voice of Ifrit yelled in his mind, and suddenly crimson fire joined the scattered blue souls in the sky. Arabic signs seared themselves out there. More even than during the encounter at the White House, way more. ‘Your lust for battle, your unwavering will, your POWER!’ at the last word, the band of signs had successfully created a circle. A portal ripped open with the smell of sulfur, and for the second time in his life, Sigmund heard Ifrit’s voice in the physical realm.

The god of demons had a head that was a mixture of goat and bull, with three yellow eyes and four curved horns. Its muscle-packed body was covered by red fur, except for the torso and the bony claws. Reaching out through the portal, the god screamed his approval.

“Yes, finally, you have the power to rip this accursed seal that holds me!” Ifrit was beyond ecstatic as he reached down. The moment the golden ring that pierced his black snout passed into real space, golden chains sprung out of nowhere and wrapped themselves around the ascended fire elemental. “RAISE YOUR BLADE, MY CHAMPION, RECEIVE MY BLESSING, DEFEAT THIS CREATURE AND GROW EVEN STRONGER!”

Sigmund smacked Thana across the arena and raised his weapon as he was told. A beam of hellfire flared from his first contract’s four-fingered hand and imbued itself in Tietan. The hollow middle segment was suddenly filled with malicious mana. Framed by the two black blades that grew from the ice-flower-like guard, the manifested fire of the demon god unified it all into one solid weapon.

Complete like the Contender was. “My greatest challenge stands before me, I am hindered by past injuries no more, I will fight and fight AND FIGHT BECAUSE THAT’S WHAT THE GIFT OF THE ABYSS IS! COME, THANA, CREATURE, LET’S SEE HOW LONG YOU CAN LAST BEFORE ME!”

With raw rage, the monster took the bait and jumped at him. Their wild fight continued, flailed swings and overemphasized movements that could have ripped anyone apart. Yet still, Sigmund had the upper hand, dodging her every attempt to strike back at him. However, she also managed to evade his blows. Until one fateful strike.

A missed jump at his face had allowed Sigmund to raise his sword up high. Now he was whirling around and setting after the creature. Thana barely turned around before he was on top of her. From the heavens, his sword came, with the entire weight and force of his body. She caught his blade in her hand, but the impact forced her on one knee, and the Contender pinned her down with his legendary strength.

“You’re going to die here,” Sigmund growled to the approving laughter of Ifrit, staring Thana in her face without fear.

Above all, that seemed to make the creature furious. “Die…” she hissed, a sound underlined by the melting of her bone plating. Hellfire scorched and made the white material blister. “Die?!” the repeated word came with a blood red flicker around her. “DIE?! KILLED BY A HUMAN?! I, THANA, GODDESS OF GENOCIDE?! KILLED BY… by…. Sigmund…” her voice trailed off into dark places, that azure mirrored ocean inside her inhabited by two thinking souls. “Sigmund must die… Sigmund the human must die… Sigmund the one who blinded John must die…” she suddenly mumbled with two slowly overlapping voices, two very similar voices, one insane, recovered from the depths of pain, the other greedy, devouring, the one that Sigmund had been fighting. Two voices, one mouth, nine lines in her eyes. Two voices, a masked and an unmasked face, five lines in her left eye. Two voices, one hatred, fourteen lines in her eyes. “The idea that you human can defeat me is fucking ridiculous.”