Chapter 46: The Showdown

Chapter 46: The Showdown

Mo Fei didn’t have an opportunity to think when the mimic lunged. He threw the mask away which floated in the air. Then he raised his Glaive to block, but the force was jarring. The impact pushed his feet back as the mimic’s Glaive collided with the haft.

The avatar’s expression turned neutral. The grin disappeared, leaving only the hard face of the mimic. Mo Fei pushed the Glaive forward, but then the avatar shoved him back.

Mo Fei stumbled backward, his boots sliding across the mist as he fought to regain his center. He didn’t wait for the mimic’s attack. He lifted the haft of his Glaive upward, aiming for the avatar’s chin, then pivoted on his heels for a wide, horizontal slash to chop the mimic’s head.

The slash hissed through the mist, but the mimic stilled without flinching. The avatar waited as the blade closed the distance. With the same precision, it mirrored his rotation, dodging the blade.

The mimic took advantage of Mo Fei’s overextension. It quickly launched itself forward, stepping into his guard. More than a Glaive user should allow, and then it curled its hand into a fist... Mo Fei noticed—it had iron knuckles. He tried to step back, but the fist moved faster, and it punched Mo Fei right on his chest, knocking the air out of him. Mo Fei retreated to his steps, gasping for air.

He narrowed his eyes. "Ergh. I-I can’t see it clearly..." He quickly ran toward the mask. The mimic rushed behind him, preparing for another strike.

Mo Fei caught the mask in his hands, and wore it. His eyes flared up, but just as he did that. The mimic also put its own mask on its face. Mo Fei prepared himself. "Tch, just throw me in hell already." Both of them rushed toward each other, raising their hands.

A metal shriek tore through the mist as Glaive met Glaive. Through the mask’s eyes, Mo Fei saw the spirit threads clearly. They were tainted with gray color, not completely silver.

Mo Fei spun, his blade blur aimed directly at the spirit thread. The avatar, anticipating that, mirrored his rotation. Their shafts clashed together with a shower of sparks. Mo Fei dropped low, sweeping his leg to break its rooting, but the mimic jumped. It used Mo Fei’s shoulder as a stepping stone, landing behind him.

"How am I going to beat this thing...?"

A heavy kick slammed into Mo Fei’s back, rolling him forward. The mimic didn’t stop; it swung its Glaive behind him.

Clang!

Mo Fei jolted the blade backward, blocking without turning back. Then he quickly moved forward, taking a safe distance.

The mimic surged forward, the weapon moving freely from its hand. Mo Fei swung the blade and caught the mimic’s overhead strike inches from his skull. The iron knuckles on mimic’s free hand launched toward him.

"I expected that." Mo Fei’s lips twitched behind the mask in a smug smirk.

He quickly pushed his Glaive, throwing the mimic’s weapon away from it. He abandoned his grip on the haft, catching the mimic’s wrist in one hand. Then his other hand pressed hard on the avatar’s mask.

His hand tried to pull the mask with all force... but then.

Fwip!

The avatar lifted its free palm up. Mo Fei saw the threads wrapped around the Glaive, then—with a whoosh, the weapon moved toward it.

The Glaive slammed into its grip with an air-jerked momentum, forcing its wrist to push back.

"What is this ass pull?!" Mo Fei cursed before he quickly kicked its gut, but before jumping back, his hands closed around the knuckles. The mimic’s fingers slipped for a second... that was all he needed, and the knuckles were his. "Too bad. I liked them." His palm pressed against the ground as he slid on the mist and then stopped a few meters away. His hand quickly reached for the Glaive and held it.

The mimic grinned behind its mask; it was all amusing to the avatar. The mimic simply looked at its empty hand with no knuckles.

Then the avatar began to circle, and Mo Fei walked alongside its sight. His chest heaved, but the mimic didn’t pursue. It waited, full of patience.

"Just get over it already." Mo Fei spat as he slowly wore the iron knuckles. He clenched his fist, testing the grip.

The mimic tilted its head, then for the first time it spoke in Mo Fei’s voice. "You’re not ready for that yet."

Mo Fei narrowed his eyes. "I’m not interested in your whining."

"There you are. Fighting like a man already in retreat. You aren’t fighting to win but hoping for a savior." The mimic raised its Glaive at Mo Fei. "No one will come to save you, but everyone would expect you to save them." The avatar let out a mocking snicker. "There was never one."

"Ohh, acting like a dull friend now, are you?" Mo Fei stopped in his tracks. So did the mimic.

"I’m just being honest. I am you, after all," the mimic said, examining his stance. "Lightless, huh? Hmhmhm. You don’t even have any light to offer."

Mo Fei tightened his grip on the haft of his Glaive, his annoyance finally hitting the boiling point. "I don’t remember my mother calling me ’sun.’ But if you are too desperate for a tan... How about I send you to the sun? How about that?"

"Good luck with that, but it’s night time." The avatar lunged forward again. Mo Fei raised his Glaive in a desperate block. It was faster that time.

Mo Fei stepped into a strike. The Glaive bit into his shoulder. Both of the weapons let out a sharp screech. "One more thing you missed," Mo Fei hissed, blood dripping from his trembling arm. He pushed the avatar back on its footing. "I’m quite good at killing myself." Mo Fei jolted his head back and then.

BASH!

He headbutted the avatar; both of their masks hit together. The mimic stumbled back, tripping in its step. The mask was hard enough to not break... yet.

Then Mo Fei surged toward it, his hand wrapped around its waist, and with a crushing force, he smacked the avatar on the ground. He didn’t reach for his weapon but threw himself onto the mimic, raining down blows. The iron knuckles on his hand, hitting it like a mountain.

Crack!!

From the relentless strike, the mask on the mimic’s face began to break. Its hand clenched the Glaive in a desperate struggle.

Mo Fei quickly stepped back and grabbed his own Glaive. He glanced at the spirit threads around the mimic. "I need to find a way to cut them." The mimic stood again, its finger tracing the mask.

Mo Fei darted his eyes around the realm. "I could have done that before, right? No... Not necessarily. I need a perfect time."

Then the avatar stepped back. Its hand gripped the mask tightly before letting out a laugh. "Hahahah—pathetic skills, pathetic way to fight. Now I understand how desperate you are to win this." The avatar’s hand dug into the mask.

Crackle-thud

The pieces of the mask fell on the ground. It shattered, and the mimic stood ahead with Mo Fei’s face.

The realm remained silent.

Mo Fei’s eyes widened as he looked around. "Where did the Serpent actually go?" He narrowed his eyes, trying to find the pale Serpent. "Is this mimic that really Serpent?... No, it can’t be just its avatar. There is a killing intent in its presence. That serpent was pure."

His gaze lay on the mimic that clenched its Glaive. He had the advantage of the mask... right? "What is this thing? If not the Serpent. It couldn’t be me with that ass of a personality."

The mimic exchanged the Glaive to its other hand before launching itself toward Mo Fei.

The threads scattered around the realm. He swung the blade, aiming at the threads. The mimic appeared before him, its Glaive stopping the swing mid-air. "Not so soon." The avatar stopped the hit.

"Damn it, this is still not working. He got even faster?" Mo Fei’s hands trembled, gripping the haft desperately.

"It’s been holding back all this time?" Most likely, if that were how fast it could go.

His other hand traced the Glaive, reaching down. He quickly rotated the the weapon, the second blade piercing through the air. He aimed it directly at its throat.

The mimic almost tripped down. Its hand reached for something to grasp, but Mo Fei followed its direction. The avatar threw its hand at the blade in an attempt to block it through sheer force.

Swoosh!

The blade cut through its fingers. Mist emerged from them. Mo Fei curled up his fist.

Smack!

Another punch of iron hit the guts of the avatar. It coughed before stepping back, in obvious disadvantage. It stared down at Mo Fei in disbelief. "I was faster and stronger... wasn’t I? Then where?" It stopped to look at Mo Fei’s face, dropping sweat. "Where did I make a mistake...?"

The avatar stared at its fingers with wide eyes. Its golden eyes narrowed, trying to understand. Then it lifted its chin and locked its eyes onto his hidden face behind the mask. "I see... the difference is you’re not fighting to win."

Mo Fei’s chest heaved, but he said nothing. A few drops of blood fell from his shoulder. The mask became an armor of his vulnerability.

Then the mimic straightened and spoke. "You’re fighting to lose. To see if I’ll stop."

Mo Fei’s lips twitched behind the mask. "And you? Did you?"

The mimic didn’t answer. Its hands trembled, holding the haft tightly. Then it said, "How are you not losing then..."

Mo Fei let out a bitter laugh and said, "A fool always wins where rational fails." Mo Fei darted his eyes between the broken mask and the avatar. The mimic’s confusion only lasted a few seconds. Then its golden eyes hardened.

Mo Fei stared at his own bleeding shoulder, then at the mimic’s chopped fingers. "You said that you are me, didn’t you?"

"I am."

"Then bleed." Mo Fei surged forward.