Nero threw a punch at the Templar’s chest plate and imdiately regretted it as his knuckles shattered against the tal. He scread from the sharp pain, but followed up with a kick to the Blitzer’s knee joint where he had stabbed earlier.
His boot connected with the cold steel. Not even a mont later, Sergeant Vane’s fist caught him in the side and he felt more of his ribs crack, the broken ends grinding together to produce a symphony of glaring, sharp pain.
He stumbled sideways, his body barely responding to his commands as the Templar grabbed him by the throat with one armored hand and lifted him off his feet.
Nero clawed at the gauntlet with his good hand, his feet kicking uselessly in the air as his windpipe was slowly crushed. Black spots appeared in his vision, spreading like ink drops in water, and he could hear his own heartbeat thundering in his ears.
Through the haze of oxygen deprivation and pain, a thought crystallized in his mind.
’Fuck! How is any of this fair?!’
Granted, he was no pushover himself. He had torn powerful Abominations to ribbons before. However, he was barely at his peak strength, perhaps only at about thirty percent of his original strength due to all the conditioning he had been through the last few days.
And even then, he doubted he would be able to do much against this walking tower of red pain without Gungnir.
So why in the Seven Hells was he being made to fight against a fully armored, fully equipped Templar with nothing but a cheap tal sword and his bare body?!
He could at least have been given so armor as well!
Nero gritted his teeth on rage.
The rage that sparked was cold and vicious.
Nero’s eyes snapped open, golden light flooding his vision as the Heretic Eyes activated involuntarily. The world shifted, and suddenly he could see everything. The flow of Ein Sof through Sergeant Vane’s body, concentrated in the chest where the Seal of Blood pulsed like a beating heart. The corruption woven through the Templar’s flesh, visible as dark threads that had rged with muscle and bone. The weak points in the armor...
He could see it all.
And for a mont , as fleeting as it was, he could see the Templar’s next move.
The subtle shift of weight that indicated Vane was about to slam him into the ground.
Nero stopped clawing at the gauntlet and instead reached up with both hands, ignoring the screaming protest from his broken fingers, and drove his thumbs into the gap between the helt and gorget.
He felt them sink into sothing soft. He pushed even harder, letting them dig even deeper, his nails tearing through. Sergeant Vane’s grip loosened just enough for Nero to suck in a desperate breath.
The Templar threw him.
Nero hit the ground and bounced, his body tumbling across the packed dirt before finally sliding to a stop face-down in a pool of his own blood. He lay there for a mont, savoring the taste of iron and dirt, his entire body enveloped in one continuous stream of agony.
He pushed himself up onto his elbows, then his knees, then sohow, impossibly, back onto his feet. His legs shook violently, threatening to give out at any mont, and he could feel warm blood running down his face from sowhere on his scalp. The golden glow of his Heretic Eyes was still active, and through them he could see Sergeant Vane standing across the arena, seemingly unfazed by his desperate attack.
Nero looked down at his nails. He grimaced and spat out a mouthful of blood then retook his stance.
Sergeant Vane took up his stance as well.
a bead of sweat rolled down Nero’s face and into his eyes. The sting was like a shot of vigor right into his bloodstream.
Nero roared out loud as he charged forward.
The Templar brought his fist around in a downward blow and Nero ducked under it, the cold tal fist passing so close he felt it kiss the top of his head, and drove his shoulder into the Templar’s midsection.
It was like running into a stone wall. The armor didn’t give at all, and the impact sent fresh waves of agony through Nero’s broken ribs, but he wrapped his good arm around the Templar’s leg and pulled with all his remaining strength.
Sergeant Vane stumbled backward, taken back a bit as he was thrown off-balance, and Nero used the montum to drive them both toward the arena wall. They hit it together with a trendous crash, Nero sandwiched the four hundred pounds of steel between himself and the solid stone.
Then he felt his back give way with a wet crunch.
The golden glow of his Heretic Eyes flickered and died as his concentration shattered completely, and the world went grey and distant.
He was still standing sohow, his body propped up by Sergeant Vane’s weight pinning him against the wall, but he couldn’t feel his legs anymore.
He couldn’t feel much of anything really. Except a cold numbness spreading through his chest.l and back.
The Templar pushed away from the wall and Nero collapsed like a puppet with cut strings, his face hitting the dirt, his body refusing to respond to any commands.
Through his fading vision he saw armored boots approaching, then Lyon’s face appeared above him, the doctor’s expression unreadable.
"Well," Lyon said quietly, "that was certainly instructive."
Nero tried to respond but only managed to cough up more blood, the wet sound of it filling his ears.
Lyon gestured to soone out of view. "Get him to the dical bay. Quickly now."
Hands grabbed Nero and lifted him.
The last thing he saw before unconsciousness took him was the Templar standing in the center of the training ground, the darkness behind the visor unshifting.
Nero couldn’t help but wonder if the battle would have gone differently if he was fighting at full strength.
Then the darkness swallowed him whole and there was nothing but the cold...
***
When Nero woke, he was back on a dical table in Lyon’s facility, his body wrapped in bandages and his mouth tasting of bitter dicine. The pain had reappeared, which was a good thing.
Lyon sat in a chair beside the table, writing notes in a leather-bound journal. He looked up when he noticed Nero’s eyes were open.
"You lasted a whole minute," Lyon said conversationally. "Not too bad. Hopefully, when we get you back into shape, you’ll be able to go on for longer."
He closed the journal and set it aside.
Nero tried to speak, but found himself far too weak.
As though he could read his mind, Lyon chuckled,
"You need not worry. The weakness you feel will be, only for a ti. However, do not be disillusioned. Sergeant Vane is a seasoned warrior. He has taken down many powerful Abominations and holds two stars. Just a little shy away from becoming a Captain of his own squad."
Nero finally found the strength to say sothing,
"W... Why?"
Lyon raised a brow, acting completely clueless,
"Hm? Why what?"
"Why would you let fight like that, when the odds were clearly to my disadvantage?"
Lyon was silent for a while.
The sound of so strange machine in the room whirling and humming filled the air.
Then, he spoke,
"Because you will need to begin getting used to that feeling now. Most of your future battles, you will be at an overwhelming disadvantage. It is therefore, up to you, to decide how to move forward. Do you let the disadvantage be the reason for your death? Or do you rise above it and drive your blade through the heart of wickedness? Either way, those tis are sure to co."
Nero was silent.
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