RAPIER

Atlas tightened his grip on the sword's hilt, his mind racing. "What is a rapier?" he wondered aloud, his voice barely a whisper. He had seen West wield the slender, elegant blade with such finesse and precision, its thin form a stark contrast to the broad, sturdy swords he was accustomed to.

The rapier was light, almost delicate, designed for quick thrusts and precise strikes rather than brute force. As Atlas recalled the fluidity of West's movements, he realized that the weapon was an extension of the man's own agility and grace. It wasn't just the blade that made West formidable; it was how he wielded it, turning its perceived weakness into a deadly advantage.

Atlas's own sword felt heavier in his hand, its weight a reminder of the different path he had walked. But as he faced West, who seemed to effortlessly command the air around him, Atlas knew he had to adapt. He couldn't rely solely on strength; he needed to match West's speed and precision.

West's rapier flicked and darted, a blur of silver that seemed to move faster than Atlas could follow. He felt himself being pushed back, his defense weakening with every passing moment. Despite his best efforts, he couldn't keep up with West's relentless assault. The overseer watched from the sidelines, his expression a mix of anticipation and frustration.

Atlas knew he had to change tactics. Trying to match West's speed was futile. He needed to find another way. Summoning every ounce of his strength, he launched a series of powerful, sweeping strikes, forcing West to step back and reassess. For a moment, it seemed like Atlas might gain the upper hand, but West quickly adapted, his movements becoming even more unpredictable.

The duel continued, each fighter pushing the other to their limits. Atlas's muscles burned with exertion, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. He could feel his strength waning, but he refused to give up. West, noticing the shift in Atlas's movements, smirked and stepped up the pace.

"Not bad, kid," West said, his voice carrying a hint of admiration. "But don't get too comfortable."

With a burst of speed, West surged forward, his rapier a blur of motion. Atlas barely managed to parry the first strike, but the force of the blow sent him stumbling. West's attacks came faster and harder, each one a test of Atlas's resolve. The elegant swordsmanship that had seemed so complex was now a whirlwind of lethal precision.

Atlas tried to keep up, but he felt his grip slipping. West's rapier found its mark, disarming Atlas and sending his sword clattering to the ground. West looked at him with a mixture of disappointment and sorrow. "I'm sorry it has to be this way," he said, his voice devoid of its usual confidence.

As West approached, ready to deliver the final blow, something snapped within Atlas. An intense, euphoric terror surged through his veins, his very soul caught in a maelstrom of power. It was as if the fabric of reality itself was being torn apart and reshaped within him. The feeling was chaotic, a symphony of pain and ecstasy, as if the floodgates of his being had burst open, releasing a torrent of untamed energy.

Atlas lunged forward, his movements no longer his own. West was momentarily taken aback as Atlas felt his soul being drawn and reshaped into a weapon. A dark, shadowy rapier materialized in his hands, its edge gleaming with an unnatural light. As he swung the blade towards West, a sudden gust of wind erupted from West, so powerful that it hurled Atlas across the arena. He slammed into the stone wall with a bone-jarring impact, the breath knocked out of him, and stars danced in his vision.

Dazed and barely conscious, Atlas watched as West approached, unharmed and resolute. "This is it," Atlas thought, "it's over."

But instead of delivering the final blow, West stopped and looked down at him. "You lost," he said, a strange mixture of respect and regret in his voice.

"No....you lost" Atlas managed to whisper, his voice weak but defiant.

West's eyes widened slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. "You're the one twitching on the floor like a roach," West said, almost amused. "How did I lose?"

Atlas mustered the last of his strength, locking eyes with West. "You... used magic," he repeated, the words a final act of defiance before darkness claimed him.

West stood over Atlas's unconscious form, a contemplative look on his face, then a wicked grin.