亚洲综合中美

“Watch your mouth,” he said, firing multiple strokes in Oat’s direction. The attacks lessened in frequency, a coldness of each swing lowered the spearman’s confidence, “-else you’ll bite your tongue,” he ran through the narrowed path. Rubbles echoed down the valley, any ordinary being would have felt the pressure – instead of facing the potential of his own death, Igna forged forth recklessly.

‘He’s getting faster by the second,’ parried Oat, ‘-the swings are getting heavier,’ *clash,* a downward strike, same to a guillotine being dropped, resounded across Oat’s arms and legs, fatigue grew to invade the mind subconsciously. No matter the skill level or training, an arduous fight had its limit on one’s body, ‘-he’s getting faster,’ he blocked an incoming left strike – the shock sent him to the edge of the path, ‘-is he trying to push me off?’ veins bloated through the neck and arms, he yelled a war cry and pushed Igna.

‘Good, he’s on the defensive,’ went through his mind, ‘-fight me and defeat my enemy. Envision Oat to be my weak self, I have to defeat him to move. There’s more riding on my victory, I need to win for myself, I need to prove to myself I can survive alone. I don’t want to see any of my friends hurt anymore – with or without emotions,’ the blood-filled pupils devoured Oat’s confidence, ‘-I can’t afford to see them perish or hurt. I’ve experienced death more than anyone, and I’ve lost people close to me... there’s no way, if I had to name a weakness, ‘twould be my possessiveness. I have to break free from myself,’ he swung perfectly, lines of white manifested, Orenmir’s blade swam through said lines and into the enemy’s strong defensive stance. Each blow resounded, they who watched were awestruck, ‘-awaken, me,’ he gritted, ‘-time to end this,’ an opening showed itself. Oat rolled himself away from the ledge and placed himself before the forest. Blood and wounds littered his body, the visage’s menacing aura vanished, fear installed within his heart. No matter the strength and courage of a person, the instant the will to fight is lost, there was no return. And in many ways, the entity before Oat wasn’t human, no, far from it – a Devil. Ashy colored hair with whom walks the shrieks of imprisoned souls. Regret, pain, suffering, the worse of the worst manifested themselves in a dark envelope, each step left mild spots of black. The right hand gripped the sword, a flash of red exited his eyes, *-woosh,*

“-I SURRENDER!”

*Slash,* a smile-shaped cut went around Oat’s neck, blood dripped, “-am I alive?” he dropped to one knee, the injury sustained earlier numbed the arms and hands, the weapon fell, ‘-my head’s on my shoulder,’ he panted, ‘-did he spare my life?’ a glance upward told of another story, Igna stood idly and covered by wounds, the blade sheathed to its resting place – the screams of the dead went to bed. The forest and valley, swept under a palpitating gust, of which, gave an outbreath similar to a sigh of relief.

“Why,” he clambered against the spear, “-why spare me?”

.....

“You said it earlier,” returned Igna, “-would be a shame to lose such a skilled spearman. We fought due to the difference of our cause; I realized the alliance with the church after a few blows. Oat, you truly are a skilled fighter, tonight’s the first in ages where I had to dig deep within myself to find the strength. A contest of pure skill; a battle of the weapons, I enjoyed it.”

“Same here,” he emptily watched his bloodied hands, “-I had fun,” he laughed in mild growing increments.

“Don’t misunderstand, I didn’t give pity – tis a draw, you defeated me squarely at first, chose to stop and target my element instead of my vital spots. Repay kindness ten-fold,” wind sunk within his hair, “-Oat, you’re a true warrior.”

“Honestly,” he made for the tree-line and dropped on his bottom, “-the rumors about the Devil of Glenda are not so well-grounded. I heard the battle against the church’s unruly invasion of Arda. May our paths never cross in battle again; here’s a word of advice, the Western Sect of the Church aren’t fundamentalist. We look at the doctrine and choose to uphold only the areas which better the devotees. There are three more saints above me, the strongest being of the Southern Sect. I’d stay away from th-,”

“Enough chitchat,” exclaimed the elven leader, “-foot soldiers, ready thy sword. Archers, ready thy bows – the Count has exhausted his strength. FIGHT HIM NOW!” he cried.

‘My wounds aren’t healing...’

“Worry not, master,” a lazily intonated voice materialized from the Shadow Realm, “-don’t forget,” said a child riding a golden cloud, “-I was the Arch-Angel of Restoration.”

“Raphael?”

“Right one,” *snap,* “-heal.” A bright golden blow blinded the attackers.

“Close your eyes and fire the arrows!”

“There you are,” said the angel, “-all healed. I must add, the Shadow Realm is the best place I’ve ever been,” the strangely stoic angel of before underwent a massive personality change, “-I love it, thank you for taking me in,” reality curled into a tiny dark-spot, “-I’m off,” he imploded into a whiff of dust.

‘They were watching,’ hands on his sword, ‘-about time to clean up the trash,’ *Blood-Arts: Enlian,* canines and nails sharpened, an aura of scarlet-colored jewels hovered in a halo at his head, “-Elven army, take my advice, run.”

“Surely thee jests,” the soldiers surrounded him, “-we won’t until Arda is subjugated.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you!”

Night ambled through the motions, the starry-filled ceiling shifted from one end to the other, dusk gave way to dawn – an orange mixed with pink and purple sky rose over the horizon, the sun peeped the top of his head. Sunrise reached the settlements; the inhabitants were in motion for their daily tasks. Kion, who’d spent the night on guard at Solta, yawned lazily. A cobblestone path leading east and west carried carriages and travelers, an early morning fog veiled the eastern path. Hooves tapped against the trail; the carriage halted at the stables shy of Solta’s walls. For a settlement, the defenses were strong and imposing. The eyelids grew heavy, “-we’ll take the morning shift,” said an armored guard.

“I’m fine, really,” replied Kion, “-have to wait for him.”

“Not much waiting’s going to be done on one knee,” returned a snarky response. A drift of air carried Kion’s confused glance, ending at the foot of a familiar figure, the air-swept round her feet and took to her carefreely tied bun, “-been a while, Kion.”

“Alta,” he rose, “-you’re safe!”

“Never expected you to be here,” she replied, “-where’s the lord?”

“No idea, he went to fight in the evening, have yet to see him, the morning’s risen... is he dead?”

“Possibly,” a yearning glance fluttered to the foggy valley, ‘-be safe.’

*Crunch, crunch, crunch,* solemn footsteps clawed from where she stared.

“On guard,” said Kion drawing his legendary blade, ‘-the enemy?’ Wrong, it was worse. A dark outline drew against the misty canvas, tall and powerful. A low-sounding rumble emanated, the closer it got, the worse grew their fears – Kion unwillingly gripped his sword tightly whilst Alta summoned her grimoire on precaution alone, “-this one is strong,” she said.

“Drop the animosity,” said the figure, “-it’s only me,” he said bursting through the muddled scape.

“Master,” a frightened yelp escaped, “-are you well?” she hurried to catch the unbalanced stance, “-master, are you well?”

“Do I look well?” he landed around her shoulders, “-Alta, I need a favor; take me to bed.”

“Master!”

“Don’t misunderstand my intent,” a supposed breath of laughter ended in uncontrollable coughs, “-I need to lay down.”

“What of the army?” fired Kion.

“Defeated,” he said,”-they won’t be attacking for a few days.”

“Take him inside,” said a worried member of the town’s guard. Curious at what had happened, Alta and Kion made their way whence he came, the blurry drape cast onto the scene was pulled by the rising sun. Where a prominent grove once overlooked the valley, now laid a clearing of fire. Numerous weapons and armor scattered, the foliage was gone, there laid but charred remains of soil soaked in a gooey substance.

‘What’s happened here?’ went across their mind collectively.

“A survivor,” pointed Kion, “-come, Alta,” they hurried to the sole-standing tree with its leaves intact. Without the grove to slow the westward gust – the leaves rattled strongly, shaking to its core. Crouched under it was a shorter man beside which laid a golden staff.

“Kion, back off,” cautioned Alta, “-the Staff of Pete.”

“Hold up,” he jumped and brandished his sword, “-what’s a saint of the church doing here?”

“Alta, Kion?” the man which seemingly gave the appearance of a cradled young child, glanced up from his knees, “-I thought y-you d-d-died,” he sniffled, the voice bordered sobbing. Confused regards exchanged, Kion nodded at her intent and formulated, “-what happened?” regardless of how obvious the background appeared.

“Death and destruction,” he said, “-I saw a demon... no one should have such power. He tore through them, ate their hearts, drank their blood... I can’t, I can’t.”

The scent of burnt wood swaps for the scent of skewered meat onto an outdoor campfire, “-someone looks happy,” said Ania.

“Of course, I am,” replied Tigul, “-the weather was perfect yesterday. In addition to the scouting party, we had an infantry unit of two-thousand move to reinforce the capture of Solta. They arrived at 04:00, the perfect time to stage a surprise attack.”

“Wow, I can’t believe how much I don’t care,” she shrugged and hopped onto the grassy backyard, “-where’s Arlah?”

“With the king...” the forehead crinkled, “-how hard is it to take an appropriate tone to your superior?”

“Hey, these are good,” she ignored his complaining and stole a well-roasted stick, “-very good,” said she with a mouth full.

“You’re a brat,” he replied, “-whatever, I have more ready to go. Better eat up, today’s the day we have good news of Solta’s conquest.”

Legs crossed on the rough terrain, “-the bet is on,” she said, “-Igna’s going to win.”

“Surely you jest,” said the general proudly. The hands worked expertly around the body of a dead bunny, “-there’s no way, we have a force of at least three thousand making way to Solta. Tis the largest number we can gather; mercenaries don’t come cheap. Luckily, there’s a large life stock of demi-humans waiting to be turned using the darker-arts. I’d love to see them try.”

“I don’t get it,” she leaned on her palms and stared at the sky, “-do numbers matter?”

“What do you mean?” he rose a curious brow.

“I was thinking of the story about a man defeating a force of seven thousand on his own.”

“And, it’ll be different. Stories are exaggerated, I can’t see anyone lasting an hour, much less a day on the battlefield without food or rest.” The nearby bushes shrieked, Arlah carried a hallowed expression, “-bad news,” he halted at the makeshift campfire.

“What is it?”

“The king needs us for an audience. Our advance forces were decimated, a survivor arrived bearing a message,” *huff, puff.* The seriousness of the situation had the duo drop everything and run for the central camp. Morale shifted between anxious and impatient, “-Tigul and Arlah,” said an aid at the king’s side, “-we have received this blood written parchment. Care to take a read.”

“Minister Ehle.” A suffocating tension hampered breathing, there swelled the want for revenge on the king’s mein. Ehle, a member of the four-elven families, moved his hands in a washing motion, the stare clad in conspiracy and insight set on the future. The general took a breath and unrolled the parchment over the table, “-dear members of the elven army,” it read in beautifully calligraphic lettering, “-I, Count Haggard, have made good on my promise. The scouting party was wiped out, their souls were delicious. I’ve taken prominent members of the party as prisoners; don’t get me wrong – I won’t ransom them, rather, tis for the sadistic pleasure of torture. With that said, muster thy forces – I will make sure to courteously greet the rest. Sincerely, Igna Haggard.”