With in the awakened .

The man dodged the attack with a single step, his movement couldn't be more relaxed.

Not giving up I unleash all the magic power I have, sending the whip horizontally at the man. I want to take his head, but knowing I shouldn't get cocky I aim for his chest.

However it seemed not to matter as the man gracefully ducked under the whip. The whip cracked. His eyes shut tight for a second, pain flushes his face, but that was just a moment, even with his ear leaking blood, the man charges forward, more fearsome than a stampeding bull. 

The closer he got the more I knew the whip would be useless, leading me to drop it. I am confident in a fist fight, my grandpa even taught me his secret style.

I ready my fist my gut was telling me this will end in a single blow. The man comes closer. I discharge my first, covered in my very last bit of magic. The fist rushed down, however moments before hitting his head, he weaved through it, striking me in the liver. In an instant, all I found I could do is gasp for air.

"Kid, you know I don't want to do this." He draws a knife from his pocket. " Kid" he continues. "I was young too once. I hated my parents for dying on me. But I didn't sulk, I didn't beat myself. I, well I embraced it.There is no restraints." He pulled the knife out of its casing.

My very bones tremble in fear. The knife moved closer, its blade gleamed in the light. There's no hesitation behind his movements, each second felt like they would never end. Part of me wanted this to just be over, part of me wants to run. I knew I couldn't, but I wanted to, no I need to, I desire to get out of here, I want to live! The knife doesn't stop, Its slick and sharp blade, never saw any resistance plugging itself through my cheek only stopping when it hit bone. The knife spinned, performing a perfect figure eight. A chunk of my cheek slipped from the bone, plunging to the ground. Blood fell faster than rain. I waited for the pain, I didn't want to die, I don't want to feel the pain. 

A world of white, biting cold. A boy, or perhaps a man, sitting on a throne of ice. His face tired, grieving, pale white. He's lost everything, left within a kingdom of ice, life did not live here, this place was never made for it. An image of love/glory, war. No possessions other than the clothes on his back, and throne made nothing more than ice. Being an expert mage, no an archmage, a mage above mages was his dream. Achieving it meant him the world, and in a way it took away his world, even after he slayed the demon king.