Decisive Blow

"She doesn't like using it, and say I can't blame her. As the name implies, it's a technique that's based solely on breathing," the older Valkyrie begins describing.

Perun dashes with zero hesitation. Every little muscle on his face is stiff as a rock, to the point it hurts. He can't remember the last time he's smiled this sincerely, this blissfully. It's not hard to imagine the state of his opponent's arms after those hits. Yet despite that, she's still fighting. Despite her human nature, her fragility… she's strong!

But the god doesn't even make it halfway before Khutulun replies with a move of her own. The air drawn in through her teeth makes a sharp, whistle-like noise. She lifts her hand off the grass and, almost at the same time, stomps. A calm, alarmingly nonchalant movement. But not weak. Her left foot smashes into the ground with enough force to shake the whole battlefield, stopping Perun in his tracks and causing more than a few panicked screams to break out.

"Second Breath," Khutulun says, this time audible.

Loud crackles fill the air, and small cracks appear on the ring's walls. Flecks of dust fall from the trembling stone pillars. Perun's pupils flare. His fingers twitch, as if searching for a non-existent weapon. But the god squeezes his hand back into a fist. "There's no reason to panic," he thinks. Unleashing attacks of such magnitude couldn't possibly come without drawbacks, and he is well aware of that. Plus, it made the fight a little challenging.

Not one second later, however, Khutulun lunges again. The god contemplates directing a kick at the attacker, but instantly realizes it won't work. She's fast. Too fast. No matter how he strikes, it wouldn't land. Left with no other choice, Perun switches to a defensive stance. Khutulun's dash ends abruptly, and she rams her fist into his forearms.

"Third Breath."

Her first hit deflected, the princess presses on. Before Perun can adjust his guard, she slams a right hook in the side of his head! The god stumbles backwards, letting his arms fall to his sides. It hurts. And he's dizzy. And it hurts, it hurts so badly!

"Those were some nice hits! You can't even fathom the fun I'm having right now, girlie! Nice, indeed!" Perun roars, battling nausea. The spots Khutulun hit are already beginning to bruise.

"Fourth Breath," she responds dispassionately.

The god scowls. As much as he's enjoying the fight… it's grinding his gears. No matter how much time passes, how many hits they exchange, he can't figure it out. He can't understand that woman. Her fighting style says it all, yet it doesn't say anything. Unlike the previous representative, she's not protecting anything. Winning or losing makes no difference to her. She's not fighting for the hell of it either. Unleashing wild attacks, but not going all-out. Not desperate, but not confident. Despite her enormous strength… it's like she has no drive. Like she's fighting because that's all she knows, an endless nightmare called 'battle'. She's trapped. "But would a mere victory break that cage now?" Perun wonders.

"Is there any value in fighting like that?" he voices, but, of course, receives no answer.

Khutulun stares into her opponent's eyes. They're both looking for a decisive blow. More numbness. So far, Perun hasn't landed any good hits, but that can change at any moment. And if a strike to the head didn't do the trick…

"It channels all the power she has into her skeletal muscles," Herfjötur continues her explanation as she bites a nail. "The simplest abilities are the deadliest. As a consequence, though, her internal organs end up being deprived of energy. She's already used the Fourth Breath, too. Against a human… no, even against an army, it would've been an instant win. But who knows how long she can last in that state when facing a god?"

"Then, her brain, her heart… She's doing all that just to have a chance at winning? And even after those hits, Perun still got up." Hrund slams her fist down on the balustrade. Her own powerlessness angers her. Was this what her sisters felt like during the first round? Out of a sudden, her eyes go round. Struggling to keep her voice from shaking, she says, "Sister, what if she doesn't win even with the Tenth? W-what happens then?"

"That's our gamble," the other Valkyrie replies sharply. "I can say this with utmost certainty. Khutulun has never used the full Ten Breaths. She's never needed to. That's why we can't possibly know their extent. In terms of both damage… and resilience."

More and more sparks engulf Perun's arms as his eyes dart up. Mokosh sure has a nerve, to reprimand him like that and then rock such a pitiful expression. Seeing her worried like that makes his skin itch and his stomach turn. In fact, he's not sure how much longer he can tolerate this mixture of excitement and annoyance.

Unaware of the enemy's internal conflict, however, Khutulun continues to fight. The same insanely fast dash, followed by the same abrupt brake…

"If it ain't broke, don't fix it, eh?" Perun thinks.

"Fifth Breath."

No, her movements are slightly different. It's not a right hook this time, but an uppercut. It's barely visible, but she's grown in size yet again. Though, to him, it makes no difference. The god braces himself, clenching his teeth and tensing every muscle he can think of. A wave of electricity escapes his body, an ominous static disrupting everything around. Khutulun strikes.

"Gak!"

The sound of blood being coughed up imbues the horrified spectator's ears before the wet liquid splashed on the grass. At that moment, something awakens inside them. No, perhaps it was never dormant, only consciously suppressed. It's fear. A primal fear, so deep it makes their teeth chatter, sweeps over the mortals.

Reddish steam rises from Perun's palms as he continues to clench Khutulun's arm. She coughs again, sending splatters of blood flying at his face. The god relaxes his grip. Slowly but surely, he puts those very palms on the woman's shoulders… and pushes her away.

"Good thing I managed to block that in time," he mentions gloomily, staring at his hands. A hit strong enough to completely burn the skin and flesh, almost to the point of reaching the bone, so fast he didn't even feel any pain. "Nicely done!"

Khutulun stumbles for a few moments before falling flat on her back. Blood continues to flow out from the hole in her chest, drenching the ground underneath. Dark clouds hang low over the arena.

The humans reluctantly turn their eyes to Perun, like they don't want to accept it. He wipes his hand on the waistcloth, carefully ridding himself of every speck of blood. The rattling of bones can be faintly heard through the static. Perun's concern isn't directed at either of the arms he used to deflect Khutulun's blow… but at a third, skeletal one, stemming from the right side of his torso. The arm that pierced the princess' chest. Suddenly, the source of their fear becomes apparent. How could they not be frightened? Because… it's not just one. Four additional arms have sprouted from his body, devoid of any flesh and skin, yet clad in odd symbols.

"B-but there are no records of Perun having six arms!" Hrund shouts, clutching her chest. She can't calm her breath. That's the only thing she can think of. "No stories, no files, nothing! It can't end like this! Khutulun was doing so well…" she argues, angry tears flooding her eyes. "They were winning…"

Next to her, Herfjötur wraps her arms around herself, unable to utter any words. She wants to cry too. She wants to bawl her eyes out too. At least… she wants to at least mourn their deaths. First Hannibal, now Khutulun and Herja. But she knows how selfish that desire is. Those deaths hold much more meaning than that. Even if the whole world were to mourn, it still wouldn't be enough.

Yet, in spite of that desperation, on the other side of the arena, the gods rejoice.

"So that's where it was!" Zeus blurts out, slapping his knee.

"Zeus-sama?" Hermes shoots him a questioning look.

"His weapon, his weapon. I thought he sealed it away somewhere far away, silly me. I should've figured he'd put it inside himself! He's always been possessive, that guy."

"Those arms are Perun-sama's axe?" Hermes snaps his fingers. "Then, the marks would have to be his... what were they called again? Ah! Gromoviti Znaci, the symbols of lightning. I see." So Perun had turned his rigid weapon into something more flexible, fit for a fast-paced battle. Altering its shape but maintaining its attributes. A godly weapon, attuned to its owner's nature. "Crafty, if I dare say so myself," he adds with a chuckle. "Wonder where he found such a skilled blacksmith."