Traves' feet shifted, quietly moving along the colorless path. He moved forward, not bothering to look around, for he knew what was around him.

 Nothingness.

 In the midst of the empty world, Traves moved, wearing his cloak and mask, almost a specter floating through the space in that dying world. He walked with a purpose, looking to find the prize for which he had departed.

 Watching the still, eerie skies, Traves didn’t feel anything but calmness, as thoughts flew in his mind. He sighed. Why am I doing this? He wondered more than once, Traves wasn’t evil, but he wasn’t a saint either. He was not the kind of person who would push himself to such peril without a reason.

 In the midst of his questionings, a single face popped in his mind, he didn’t need to think to recognize that person, his mentor, his master, his friend. Traves has never seen the Witch, yet Malik did, and he had told him everything he had experienced, he told him of her dangers and everything else about her. He told him of his hatred for her.

 Even now, Traves wasn’t sure if they could defeat her. He looked up, a gray sphere *shining* down, illuminating the world, yet giving it no light. Traves held his sword, raising it as he stared at its edge, the hook that shone green. World edge. The only reason Traves even started his quest to defeat the Witch. The only reason they even had hope.

 She was strong, able to fight multiple Monarchs at once, and kill most of them. Able to fight Malik back then and killing most of his team. Even then, all of that was nothing compared to one thing. She was immortal, indestructible. No matter how much you cut her, blasted her or stabbed her, it didn’t matter. That’s why, even when Malik defeated her, the most they could do is to seal her.

 Traves sighed once more, looking at the World’ Edge on his blade. Its glow unnatural, fantastic at times, shifting between colors and tones at times, yet maintaining that green* glow most of all. Found where the world has ended, the strongest material in their plane. The only things we have that can kill the Witch. Traves felt his grip tighten as he kept walking.

 He kept walking and walking. Almost no landmarks or views telling of how close or far he was. There was only void, and nothingness. Yet, he kept walking tirelessly, he had to do it. Indeed, there were other methods and people who can seal or kill the Witch. The Grandshine of the Radiant temple could seal her, as she was now, and Vathlauss would just obliterate her. Yet, if she was let to gain power, she would be too powerful for most and cause endless deaths and destruction. Probably won’t be stronger than Vathlauss ever, that man is just something else, Traves snickered.

 Suddenly, Traves stopped, lightly lifting his blade. The refreshing misty glow of the World’s End turning crimson, as Traves’ blood core engaged, his eyes burning red as he stood still, awaiting his opponents. A moment later, in the midst of emptiness, several monstrosities emerged, rushing at Traves.

 Witchborne, knew Traves. He lifted his free hand, blood Energy concentrated at his fingertips as the Witchborne kept rushing him, their bodies shifting constantly as flesh and bones overlapped. Simply using wind energy to cut them apart would be too wasteful of Energy, needing to cut them to shreds. In that case…

 The Witchborne flooded the area, too many for Traves to even count. They rushed towards Traves, a sea of death. Suddenly, in the colorless world, the spark of crimson turned into a raging flame, coloring the world in blood.

 In the midst of crimson, blades of blood trailed from Traves’ fingers, flying off into the abyss. Traves sheathed his sword, grabbing it with his bloody hand as he took a stance. He unsheathed his blade, sending a blade of blood, cutting through all Witchborne, leaving them to explode in a cloud of blood and gore.

 Suddenly, on the edge of the abyss, Traves saw a wave of silver, ever similar to his own sea of blood. Moments later, silver and blood collided, red and white intertwining, spreading to the skies. No more Witchborne remained standing, yet Traves’ grip got only harder, his eyes glued forward.

 A figure, ragged shirt and faint skin appeared on the horizon, a flash of silver from the blade he held in his hands, as he stepped forward calmly. Traves looked at the figure, feeling his initial candidate Energy, yet he didn’t get any calmer, getting ready as they both rushed forward, cutting through the endless plains between them in moments.

 Almost identically, two lines of light, crimson and silver, mirror each other, colliding in the middle. Traves’ sword was faster, stronger and better, yet every strike was the silver swordsman was almost painted through the world, placed perfectly without a flaw. Even with that, he was being pushed back. As Traves’ sword sped up yet again, its glow getting brighter, a strike that would’ve struck the ragged swordsman hit a while blade of silver which appeared from nothingness.

 Traves’ and the swordsman’s swords, as well as the phantom blade collided over and over. Sparks flying all over, moments later, they both stepped back, staring into each other's eyes. Traves glanced around, all death Energy drained and drowned by their confrontation. Traves was stronger than any candidate, able to fight Monarchs and defeat some, yet he wasn’t surprised about that person’s strength. He waited as the man finally spoke.

 “Been a while, Traveler.”

 Traves smiled, replying. “Indeed, Sword saint.”

 The Sword saint turned serious as he asked. “Are you here for the Witch?”

 Traves nodded, and the Sword saint furrowed his brows as he asked. “Do we have enough?”

 Traves sighed, shaking his head. “She is too powerful. We got who we can, yet it is not enough. Unfortunately, my friend, we are out of time.”

 The Sword saint nodded, sheathing his sword as they both embarked, walking.

 Traves moved, heading back towards the free cities, a single thought on his mind.

 We are out of time. Soon, it will be time to bet everything we have, our lives the collateral.