0149 Avatar vs. The Loch Ness Monster

The night was black and silent, the sky swallowed by dense clouds. Only the faint glow of the moon spilled across the earth, tracing the cold edge of a sword in a lone warrior’s hand. Even he did not know what fate awaited him beyond the darkness.

Across the open ground, figures moved like shadows. They had been waiting for this battle for a long time. The night soldiers stood in formation, their armor glimmering beneath the pale moonlight, their weapons raised as they waited for the final command. In the distance, the forest stirred restlessly, as though it too sensed that war was about to begin.

The first clash came without warning.

Steel struck steel. A violent ring tore through the darkness, followed by a burst of sparks. One warrior staggered backward, while another pressed forward with merciless speed. Their blades collided again and again, each blow carrying enough force to split bone.

Blood ran from a wound beneath one fighter’s ribs. It soaked through his clothes and dripped onto the ground, where it vanished among the dark stones. His face remained expressionless, but his breathing had grown heavy. The other warrior was no better. A cut across his shoulder had opened wide, and blood flowed down his arm, making his grip slick.

Around them, countless battles erupted at once. Swords flashed in the moonlight. Men shouted and fell. The earth trembled beneath the impact of magic.

Then the water began to move.

A vast surge rose from the river beside the battlefield, twisting upward like a living creature. Water elemental power gathered within it, condensing into a towering blade that reflected the moon in a cold, silver sheen. The current spiraled faster and faster, driven by an invisible will.

With a roar, the water blade swept across the field.

The warriors scattered. Some were too slow. They were struck and hurled through the air, their bodies crashing into the mud. Others raised their weapons to defend themselves, only to be overwhelmed by the crushing force of the flood.

One swordsman stepped forward instead of retreating.

His eyes were calm. He tightened his grip and met the descending torrent head-on.

The impact shook the entire battlefield.

For one breath, the blade of water and the sword of steel remained locked together. Then the swordsman twisted his wrist and slipped beneath the attack. The water blade tore past him, splitting the ground and sending a wall of spray into the air.

He moved like a shadow.

His sword pierced the gap between two strands of flowing water and struck the mage behind them. The mage’s expression changed for the first time. He tried to draw the current back, but the swordsman was already upon him.

Steel flashed.

The mage retreated, forming a shield of water before his chest. The sword shattered it in an instant. Fragments scattered like crystal, spraying across the battlefield before dissolving into mist.

The two men faced each other amid the rain.

Around them, the battle continued with terrible intensity. Yet neither paid attention to anything beyond the other. Their eyes met, and in that moment the noise of war seemed to fade.

The swordsman lunged.

The mage answered with a wave that rose from beneath the earth. It crashed forward with enough force to break a stone wall, but the swordsman leapt over it and landed on the mage’s flank. His blade descended in a clean arc.

The mage barely escaped.

The sword cut through his sleeve and opened a deep wound along his side. Blood spilled into the water at his feet, staining it crimson. He clenched his teeth and forced the surrounding currents to gather once more.

The river answered his call.

Water surged from every direction, rushing toward him in a vast spiral. The air grew cold. The ground beneath the warriors’ feet disappeared beneath the rising flood.

Then the mage vanished inside the torrent.

The swordsman stood alone in the shallow water, his clothes drenched, his sword hanging at his side. For a moment, nothing moved.

A ripple spread across the surface.

He turned sharply.

A spear of water burst from behind him.

He twisted away, but the attack grazed his back and tore open his armor. Pain flashed across his face. Before he could recover, another spear emerged from the river, followed by a third and a fourth.

He dodged them all.

His body moved with impossible precision, slipping between the attacks by the narrowest margins. Water exploded around him, throwing up mist and foam. Beneath the surface, the mage shifted constantly, striking from every direction.

The swordsman closed his eyes.

He listened.

The river roared. The wind hissed through the broken trees. Beneath it all, he heard the faintest disturbance in the current.

There.

He opened his eyes and drove his sword into the water.

The blade pierced the surface and struck something below.

A muffled cry rose from the river. The water around them convulsed, then collapsed inward. The mage emerged with blood on his lips, one hand pressed against his side.

The swordsman pulled his blade free and advanced.

Neither man spoke. They no longer needed words.

The mage lifted both hands. Every drop of water in the river rose into the air, gathering above him into a colossal sphere. It grew larger and larger, swallowing the moonlight and casting the battlefield into darkness.

The soldiers nearby looked up in fear.

The sphere descended.

At the same instant, the swordsman charged.

His sword shone with a pale, cold light. He crossed the flooded ground in a single breath, leapt into the air, and drove his weapon straight toward the heart of the descending mass.

The collision came like the collapse of the sky.

Water exploded in every direction. A wall of spray swept across the battlefield, extinguishing torches and knocking warriors from their feet. The forest groaned beneath the force of it. For a moment, nothing could be seen except white mist.

Then the water began to fall.

The swordsman stood in the center of the flooded ground, one knee pressed into the mud. His sword remained planted before him. Blood ran from his back and arms, mingling with the rainwater around his boots.

Several paces away, the mage lay motionless.

The battle had not ended. All around them, steel still clashed and men still shouted. But the two fighters had exhausted themselves, and the silence between them was heavier than the noise of war.

Slowly, the swordsman rose.

The mage opened his eyes.

They stared at each other through the thinning mist, both understanding that the next exchange would decide everything. The moon emerged from behind the clouds, casting a pale path across the river.

Then, from somewhere beyond the battlefield, a horn sounded.

The warriors on both sides turned toward the distant hills.

A new force was approaching.

The swordsman tightened his grip. The mage struggled to stand. Though bloodied and exhausted, neither was willing to surrender.

The night had only just begun.