Avalon Or Arthur: Blood-Hand Feyright

"How have we not died yet?" Gabriel spoke dumbfoundedly, inspecting the grievous injuries on his body as he let out bitter laughter. Blood spilled from his body like a geyser, yet breath remained in his lungs.

The battlefield was littered with blood and flesh, with craters and cracks as a side-effect of the battle's destructive nature. 

"The heavens have blessed us… they do not wish to see us perish," said Feyright, smiling gently. Yet, both of them knew they couldn't give up. To see the other perish was both a blessing and a curse.

A blessing because their enemy would finally have died.

A curse because their enemy would have left this accursed world before them.

It was almost dawn, yet their battle had not come to an end. With ragged breathing, the two simply laughed, too exhausted to continue fighting. It seemed they would succumb solely by standing still.

However, at that moment, the two sensed an approaching presence.

'Arthur?'