#toolbalance

Rhaast felt nothing from the other scythe. No sense of sealed magic, no lingering soul, just an ordinary if fancy-looking weapon. His eye flew open. That…lucky…bastard! He just got to die? No worrying about the next host, no fighting against the constant urge to move, just an end. The same end that….oh.

“You should probably let your version of my brother in on that. If Aatrox can find a way to die, he might just decide not to bring everyone else down with him.”

So Other Kayn was going to grab chins and get cocky? Well, two could play at that. Kayn had some borrowed claws of his own, and used them to move the offending arm away from his face.

“Fooled? I don’t think you understand the situation here. Rhaast won.”

Kayn never expected to be bragging about his own defeat, but his counterpart was making some frankly offensive assumptions. As if Kayn would be so naive as to be fooled by friendship. If being rude in turn got them off balance, it was worth it.

“And then…he went back.”

Out of habit, even after all this time, Kayn doesn’t even look down to Rhaast to reply to him. “Oh, I very much plan too. Him, along with all of your other kin.”

As much as they hated to admit, the shadow starts at the sensation of the corrupted claws touching them. The memory of the feeling brought too much back. Their darkened hand pulls away from their other self immediately, an irritated expression on their face. Which only turns to disbelief once again; to the news that their buried fear for so very long hadn’t been for nothing. “...You lost?” Their tone was scornful, disappointed. Bordering anger, in fact. How could a version of them lose? Were the odds of victory unlikely, or was the fight just that close, that any outcome was possible?

“Rhaast, and your little Shadow Warrior.” Crumbling the ground underfoot, the Darkin locked onto the host of the scythe as he turned in greeting. Every breath reverbed through the air around him, every pulse through his form shaking the earth.

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