Post by lordtwinblade on Dec 17, 2008 19:44:20 GMT -6
Chapter Five: Edict of the Ages
There is no word to describe the feeling of helplessness, knowing one you love is dying far away, being unable to stop it. The closest thing it can be compared to is a pit. A deep, unfathomable black pit. You sit at the bottom of this hellish hole, wishing, praying to be lifted out. The worst part, however, is not the blackness that radiates from the walls, nor the slick, unassailable nature of said surfaces.
The worst part is the light. The light that trickles down from above, reminding you that there is a world beyond your prison. The light that tells you that you are still alive.
The light taunts you, dangling hope just beyond the reach of your fingertips.
___________________________
Mobius swung a watermelon-sized fist at his target, punching a ragged hole clean through the inch-thick steel shield. His arm retracted, sliding out from the damaged wound, and the monarch stepped back to admire his handiwork. The training dummy was bleeding tiny white pellets everywhere, spilling its artificial guts onto the hard stone below.
The Frost Monarch grunted, pivoting his body to fire a well-aimed kick into the dummy’s side, sending it sprawling. A burst of cerulean energy from his clenched fist froze it solid, suturing it firmly to the ground. Mobius turned away and gazed into the setting sun, his azure irises filled with unspeakable pain.
“Damn it, Thestalos,” The king cursed beneath his breath, “Why did you have to be a hero?” A shaft of ice formed in the lord’s hands, a heavy cudgel. With a roar, Mobius swung the weapon, shattering it against a nearby wall. “Why?”
Shards of ice skittered across the ground, spinning like miniature fan blades. A boot came down on one of the tiny projectiles, crushing it. “My, my. We are in a mood today, aren’t we, Mobius?”
The monarch whirled, a foot long razor springing into existence as he pointed his arm toward the intruder. The figure was dressed in silvery-white armor, with a pair of gold pauldrons attaching his flowing violet cape to his shoulders. The shoulderplates were adorned with semblances of white feathers, delicately hammered out of thin steel. The being’s arms were also sheathed in gold. His face, if he even had one, was hidden behind an ivory faceplate carved in the shape of a man’s visage.
“You…” Mobius’s weapon clattered against the mountain, bouncing twice before rolling to a stop at his feet. “Suzerain?”
The apparition laughed musically, crossing its legs as it floated in midair. “Indeed, it is I! Have you missed me?”
Mobius shook his head. “Never. Not once.”
Suzerain dropped to the ground, raising one hand and causing Mobius’s discarded tool to zip into his grasp. He made a clicking sound that rang through his armor as he inspected the improvised blade with interest. “I should have expected a frosty reception. I would write it off to the current circumstances if I didn’t know you as well as I do.”
“Typically prophets of doom are not welcomed with open arms.” Mobius grunted, stepping forward to crouch next to his visitor.
“Oh, come now, Mobius. When have I ever brought prophecies of doom?”
“Every single time I have seen you.” The monarch’s voice was deadpan.
Suzerain recoiled. “You wound me, Mobius! They are never predictions of destruction, only warnings of possible death and general suffering!”
“Oh. My mistake.” Mobius rolled his eyes. “I assume you’re not just here to say hello.”
“Whatever gave you that idea?”
“A few things.” A gauntleted hand began to raise fingers as the king counted. “One; Caius has escaped imprisonment and is leveling our kingdoms with very little effort, Two; he is likely being joined by other dark forces all over the kingdom, and Three; you never just stop by to chat, although you do make an admirable effort to prattle incessantly each time you do.”
“Well thought out, my friend!” Suzerain clapped his hands, laughing merrily. “It is true, what they say about you. Now, on to my warning of impending destruction.”
“Wonderful.” Mobius’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “Fate chose to deal us a prophet with an irrepressible sense of humor.”
“A wonder, our world, isn’t it?” Suzerain’s eyes sparkled. “Now, Mobius, you really must stop distracting me. I still haven’t given my warning.”
“You do an ample job of dodging the task by yourself. Let’s hear it.”
“Ah, yes, of course.” The shining man cleared his throat and began speaking in a singsong fashion. “Brother to brother, be bound by fate, though some be small and some be great. It falls to the man, with his own mandate, to enflame or soothe this hate.”
“And you invariably deliver your message in a nonsensical fashion.” Mobius groaned, massaging the back of his neck with one hand.
The figure cocked his head to one side. “I’m terribly sorry, but it’s all part of the rules.”
“Rules? What rules?” Mobius snapped, his eyes suddenly alert.
“I am sorry, Mobius, but I must go now. I may see you again, someday.” Without warning, a gaping black stain dribbled across reality, directly behind Suzerain. “I hope you win the war.” The being stood, waved a gold-plated hand, and disappeared into the void, which snapped shut behind him, leaving the Frost Monarch alone in the courtyard.
“Yes. I hope we do, too.”
___________________________
“My Emperor!”
Caius turned as the small, serpent like dragon landed on the ground and bowed before him.
“Speak quickly.”
“The humans have set up a camp on the edge of this land. They know what we are doing, my lord.” The dragon’s voice trembled. Caius smiled beneath his visor.
“Do you fear the humans, little scout?”
The dragon tensed. “No, my lord. I fear nothing.”
Caius shook his head. “To fear an enemy is to have respect for him. To fear and to flee are two different things.” He motioned with a gauntleted fist. “Go to Hellion and his forces. I want them to issue a warning to the humans.”
“What warning, liege?”
“Wipe the camp out. Send a single survivor back to their leader with news of their defeat.” Caius clenched his hands. “I may respect the humans strength, but I will not allow them to stand between me and my goal.” With a flourish of his cloak, he turned away, leaving the scout to deliver his message.
Empyrean waited for him just over the hilltop. “I heard that.” She purred, amusement evident in her tone.
“Good.” Caius walked past her, and she followed his progress with her head.
“He won’t take kindly to being ordered about by a scout.”
The monarch nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “He won’t disobey. He has an agenda here, and to defy me is to lose his chance at whatever his goal is. This will also keep him away from us, for the time being.”
“Looking at the size of his force, I almost feel sorry for the humans.” Empyrean sighed.
“How is the hunt for my brother going?”
Empyrean shook her massive head. “Not well. We’ve lost dozens of soldiers to traps in the tunnels, and Thestalos’s forces can strike from anywhere.”
Caius clenched his fists. “Any suggestions?”
“We can keep searching the way we are-“
“No. We need to speed this up. We haven’t time to waste.”
“-Or we can use a different, more…persuasive tactic.”
The monarch paused, stroking his chin. “I’m listening.”
___________________________
Hellion’s spiky fist slammed into the fleshy wall, drawing blood and causing the room to twitch slightly. The demon king cursed from behind his teeth, spitting the words out like the seeds of some vile fruit.
“Caius, you wretched dog!” He ranted. “You have insulted me for the last time!”
The demon king spun around, drawing his ebony longsword with one swift motion and slashing it across the messenger’s throat. The victim gurgled, falling to his knees. The last thing the demon warrior saw before his vision went black was the yellow moss flexing its stalks excitedly as it lifted him off the ground, moving him towards the center of the room.
“Nexia!” Hellion thundered, paying his dead servant’s new journey no heed. The Archfiend of Lightning stepped through the sphincter doorway and bowed low.
“What is your command, my liege?”
“Rally the troops. Caius has…requested that we remove a small human outpost on the border of Thestalos’s land.”
“As you command.” Nexia rose and left the king’s chamber. The Terrorking watched her go, his clenched fists trembling.
“Yes, Dark Emperor,” The demon hissed sarcastically, “I will run your little errand…and when I am done, I will return to your side, knife in hand.”
___________________________
The dragon swept low and Neo swung his longsword, slicing a silvery apparition’s head off as they passed. “So…do you have a name?”
I don’t think I’ve ever had a name.
“We’ll have to come up with one.” Neo stood up on the beast’s back and let himself fall as the dragon rolled, parting an avian projection’s body lengthwise as he did so.
Neo and his newfound teacher had been training constantly since they had met, drilling in aerial combat and cooperative tactics. It had become obvious to the swordsman that Sable’s command to ‘bring something back’ did not mean to return with a token of victory. Neo would be bringing back something far more valuable than some trophy.
Neo plummeted downwards, spreading his arms and legs to slow his descent. As expected, his comrade swooped beneath him, catching him so lightly that he barely felt the impact.
“I think I’m starting to understand something.” Neo mused as he tucked his body against the dragon’s back, holding tight with his legs so that he didn’t fall off as they rolled away from their pursuers.
Do tell, friend.
“A person seeking purpose doesn’t necessarily need to find something deep and profound in their lives. All a person needs is hope.” Neo sprang to his feet and vaulted onto one of their pursuer’s backs, his sword carving a deep slash across the back of its neck. “That hope can manifest itself in thousands of ways, from the incredible to the mundane.” He rode the dying monster down a few hundred feet and jumped into the air again, grabbing the dragon’s talon as it passed by. With a flick of its claw, it tossed him up onto its back again. “For instance, a single person could be my hope, or a single dream, even an ideal.”
You have learned something valuable, young warrior. Do not forget that one revelation is by no means the whole picture.
“Of course.” Neo smiled as they swooped down and he slid off, dropping to the ground. “Getting hung up on one detail of a tapestry would rob you of the experience, right?”
Exactly. The dragon settled down next to him. Soon there will come a time when you must see the entire picture, not just the part that involves you.
“What do you mean?” The swordsman sat down, crossing his legs and laying his sword across his knees.
The beast laid its head down on its front claws, considering him with deep golden spheres. Let us return to your analogy of the tapestry. Most elements of a work of art do not have a choice where they are put. It is up to the artist to place them, and their maker determines their purpose. You, Neo, are not like them. You exist outside the tapestry. You have the power to choose how you will be involved, and, try as we might, neither Sable, nor I, nor anyone else, can make that choice for you. You are the master of your own destiny, Neo, and that is a rare gift. The dragon seemed to grin encouragingly. While it is the fate of some to perform actions that change the tide of history, it is your fate to decide what to change.
“I’m not sure I understand.” Neo paused, rubbing the back of his neck. “Destiny, fate and all this stuff have never fit into my philosophy very well.”
In due time, young one. In due time.
___________________________
General Freed strode along the battlements of his fortress, his silver armor glittering in the moonlight. He looked out across the realm of the humans, sprawling beneath the castle. He could see the lights of Anima below him, still lit even at this early hour, and beyond that the glow from other cities in the distance.
“I wonder how Rowan is fairing.” He sighed and leaned against one of the stone protrusions, letting his eyes drift shut and his thoughts float to his young captain.
Abruptly, there was a flash of light behind the General’s eyelids. He staggered, gripping his skull as images appeared before his hooded oculars. He gasped, as though in pain, and only came to when a hand touched his shoulder.
“General?” Rahz looked at his superior’s unnaturally pale complexion, noting the sweat beading on his forehead. “Are you all right?”
Freed nodded shakily. “I must be exhausted from today’s preparations, that’s all.” His words were meant to reassure himself as much as his commander. The General was a strong man, and even at his age it would take more than the stress of oncoming battle to put him down.
Rahz, as though sensing the reason for Freed’s vexations, came and stood next to his superior. “Shall I send a lance to reinforce Captain Rowan’s position?”
“No.” Freed spoke firmly. “The Captain is perfectly capable of handling the mission we’ve tasked him with. I’m not going to undermine his authority by sending a separate unit to perform the duties I put to him.”
The commander nodded hesitantly. “Sir, I understand that you have great faith in him…but he is a hopeful. He’s never seen active duty before now.”
“All the more reason he should now.” Freed bit back a more venomous response. “I know Rowan. He will not fail me.”
“Permission to speak frankly, sir?” Rahz watched Freed’s face carefully. When the General nodded, he continued. “I think you may be expecting too much of him, not because you think he can handle the task, but because you want your son to be something he is not.”
Freed fumed angrily. “You are out of line, Rahz.”
“Perhaps, sir, but I have Rowan’s best interests at heart.”
“No, you don’t, Rahz!” Freed rounded on his subordinate, jabbing an accusing finger into his chest. “You only want to coddle him! There is no reason we should keep him away from potentially dangerous missions!”
“Sir, now is not the time to be thinking of his future military career.” Rahz’s eyes flashed with indignation. “We may well be at war before tomorrow morning. This isn’t a simulation; it’s not a training exercise. People die in war.”
Rahz’s head whipped around as Freed dealt him a stinging blow to the cheek with the back of a clenched fist. The Field Commander recovered quickly, his hand snapping to the hilt of his sword before he realized what he was doing. The General glared daggers at him, rage crackling in the air around him. “Do not presume to tell me the consequences of war.” Without another word, he stalked away from the shocked subordinate, leaving Rahz alone beneath the starry sky.
___________________________
A shadow crept into the Dark Emperor’s tent. Caius sat at his planning table, inspecting his map. He heard the ground shift beneath his visitor, and rose slowly, turning to face the ebony clad man.
“My lord,” The warrior knelt, letting his black claymore rest against his shoulder, “What do you desire?”
“Thank you for coming so promptly,” the monarch grinned beneath his visor, “Sable.”
“I am milord’s to command.”
Caius nodded. “I am sorry to pull you away from your student, but the time for you to assume your duties as the Dark Crusader has come at last.” The Emperor’s voice was grim. “The Swords are calling again.”
___________________________
“Mataza…” The whisper was barely audible above the sound of combat. The samurai’s head spun as he twisted, searching for the source of the voice. Daemon loomed beside him, baring his fangs, but the warrior irritably shoved him aside. A shower of gore spattered his face and chest plate as one of his soldiers fell. He pressed onward through the misty battlefield, bringing down enemies with his katana when they got in his way.
“Where are you?” The warrior shouted, leaping over a fallen dragon’s tail. Another corpse hit the ground in front of him as he strained his ears for any reply.
“This way.” The voice was quiet but insistent, and Mataza found himself bounding off once more.
The mist parted before the warrior, and he found himself standing in a chamber carved out of ebony stone. Turquoise torches guttered on the walls, casting an eerie blue glow on the silver sheath of a sword, which stood on a rack in the center of the room.
Mataza stepped forward, one hand reaching for the weapon’s hilt. As his hand wrapped around the silvered grip, he felt a surge of energy run through his body, cascading from his fingertips all the way down to the soles of his feet. A voice in his ear whispered, “We are one, warrior.”
“We are one.” Another voice growled just behind the samurai, and before he could turn, powerful arms wrapped around his chest, trapping him. A muscular tough licked his neck, and moments later two sharp fangs sank deep into his jugular.
___________________________
Mataza gasped and sprang awake, his hand on the hilt of his katana. He reached up to touch his neck.
“Goddamn, I can’t even get away from him in my sleep.” Mataza fell back against his pillow. He lay there for several minutes, staring up at the roof of his tent, before finally strapping on his armor and stepping outside.
The night was old and dying, and tongues of flame were beginning to lick at the horizon line. The warrior sighed, scrubbing his sweaty face with a grimy palm. He felt as though someone had plunged a fishhook into his ribcage and was tugging on the line, trying to reel him towards some distant dock, where he would be disemboweled and sold as sustenance.
“Go away.” The samurai grunted, attempting to massage his throbbing chest. Rather than subsiding, the tugging became more urgent, more forceful. He closed his eyes and tried to think of something else.
Pain exploded across his chest, dragging him onto the ground. The warrior gasped in pain, curling into a ball as the hook jerked again and again, wracking his body with consecutive surges of white-hot fire. Barely conscious of his own movements, Mataza clambered to his feet, gasping for breath, and staggered in the direction the tugging told him to go.
___________________________
In a deep ravine, far from the kingdoms of the monarchs, in the heart of the human’s realm, a haunting melody echoed, bouncing off stone and metal and piercing the hearts of any beast that heard it with fear and awe. At the base of the canyon a gray platform sprawled, twenty feet in diameter. Across its surface golden runes were etched, glistening faintly and pulsating with the lilt of the song.
Miles away, Rahz stirred in his bed, as the same tune swirled around his mind, enthralling him. Émigré also heard the song, but she was wide-awake, engaged in her own devices. Without a word to anyone at the fortress, she recovered her claymore and borrowed a horse, riding towards the steadily rising sun.
“Come to me. We are one.”
There is no word to describe the feeling of helplessness, knowing one you love is dying far away, being unable to stop it. The closest thing it can be compared to is a pit. A deep, unfathomable black pit. You sit at the bottom of this hellish hole, wishing, praying to be lifted out. The worst part, however, is not the blackness that radiates from the walls, nor the slick, unassailable nature of said surfaces.
The worst part is the light. The light that trickles down from above, reminding you that there is a world beyond your prison. The light that tells you that you are still alive.
The light taunts you, dangling hope just beyond the reach of your fingertips.
___________________________
Mobius swung a watermelon-sized fist at his target, punching a ragged hole clean through the inch-thick steel shield. His arm retracted, sliding out from the damaged wound, and the monarch stepped back to admire his handiwork. The training dummy was bleeding tiny white pellets everywhere, spilling its artificial guts onto the hard stone below.
The Frost Monarch grunted, pivoting his body to fire a well-aimed kick into the dummy’s side, sending it sprawling. A burst of cerulean energy from his clenched fist froze it solid, suturing it firmly to the ground. Mobius turned away and gazed into the setting sun, his azure irises filled with unspeakable pain.
“Damn it, Thestalos,” The king cursed beneath his breath, “Why did you have to be a hero?” A shaft of ice formed in the lord’s hands, a heavy cudgel. With a roar, Mobius swung the weapon, shattering it against a nearby wall. “Why?”
Shards of ice skittered across the ground, spinning like miniature fan blades. A boot came down on one of the tiny projectiles, crushing it. “My, my. We are in a mood today, aren’t we, Mobius?”
The monarch whirled, a foot long razor springing into existence as he pointed his arm toward the intruder. The figure was dressed in silvery-white armor, with a pair of gold pauldrons attaching his flowing violet cape to his shoulders. The shoulderplates were adorned with semblances of white feathers, delicately hammered out of thin steel. The being’s arms were also sheathed in gold. His face, if he even had one, was hidden behind an ivory faceplate carved in the shape of a man’s visage.
“You…” Mobius’s weapon clattered against the mountain, bouncing twice before rolling to a stop at his feet. “Suzerain?”
The apparition laughed musically, crossing its legs as it floated in midair. “Indeed, it is I! Have you missed me?”
Mobius shook his head. “Never. Not once.”
Suzerain dropped to the ground, raising one hand and causing Mobius’s discarded tool to zip into his grasp. He made a clicking sound that rang through his armor as he inspected the improvised blade with interest. “I should have expected a frosty reception. I would write it off to the current circumstances if I didn’t know you as well as I do.”
“Typically prophets of doom are not welcomed with open arms.” Mobius grunted, stepping forward to crouch next to his visitor.
“Oh, come now, Mobius. When have I ever brought prophecies of doom?”
“Every single time I have seen you.” The monarch’s voice was deadpan.
Suzerain recoiled. “You wound me, Mobius! They are never predictions of destruction, only warnings of possible death and general suffering!”
“Oh. My mistake.” Mobius rolled his eyes. “I assume you’re not just here to say hello.”
“Whatever gave you that idea?”
“A few things.” A gauntleted hand began to raise fingers as the king counted. “One; Caius has escaped imprisonment and is leveling our kingdoms with very little effort, Two; he is likely being joined by other dark forces all over the kingdom, and Three; you never just stop by to chat, although you do make an admirable effort to prattle incessantly each time you do.”
“Well thought out, my friend!” Suzerain clapped his hands, laughing merrily. “It is true, what they say about you. Now, on to my warning of impending destruction.”
“Wonderful.” Mobius’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “Fate chose to deal us a prophet with an irrepressible sense of humor.”
“A wonder, our world, isn’t it?” Suzerain’s eyes sparkled. “Now, Mobius, you really must stop distracting me. I still haven’t given my warning.”
“You do an ample job of dodging the task by yourself. Let’s hear it.”
“Ah, yes, of course.” The shining man cleared his throat and began speaking in a singsong fashion. “Brother to brother, be bound by fate, though some be small and some be great. It falls to the man, with his own mandate, to enflame or soothe this hate.”
“And you invariably deliver your message in a nonsensical fashion.” Mobius groaned, massaging the back of his neck with one hand.
The figure cocked his head to one side. “I’m terribly sorry, but it’s all part of the rules.”
“Rules? What rules?” Mobius snapped, his eyes suddenly alert.
“I am sorry, Mobius, but I must go now. I may see you again, someday.” Without warning, a gaping black stain dribbled across reality, directly behind Suzerain. “I hope you win the war.” The being stood, waved a gold-plated hand, and disappeared into the void, which snapped shut behind him, leaving the Frost Monarch alone in the courtyard.
“Yes. I hope we do, too.”
___________________________
“My Emperor!”
Caius turned as the small, serpent like dragon landed on the ground and bowed before him.
“Speak quickly.”
“The humans have set up a camp on the edge of this land. They know what we are doing, my lord.” The dragon’s voice trembled. Caius smiled beneath his visor.
“Do you fear the humans, little scout?”
The dragon tensed. “No, my lord. I fear nothing.”
Caius shook his head. “To fear an enemy is to have respect for him. To fear and to flee are two different things.” He motioned with a gauntleted fist. “Go to Hellion and his forces. I want them to issue a warning to the humans.”
“What warning, liege?”
“Wipe the camp out. Send a single survivor back to their leader with news of their defeat.” Caius clenched his hands. “I may respect the humans strength, but I will not allow them to stand between me and my goal.” With a flourish of his cloak, he turned away, leaving the scout to deliver his message.
Empyrean waited for him just over the hilltop. “I heard that.” She purred, amusement evident in her tone.
“Good.” Caius walked past her, and she followed his progress with her head.
“He won’t take kindly to being ordered about by a scout.”
The monarch nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “He won’t disobey. He has an agenda here, and to defy me is to lose his chance at whatever his goal is. This will also keep him away from us, for the time being.”
“Looking at the size of his force, I almost feel sorry for the humans.” Empyrean sighed.
“How is the hunt for my brother going?”
Empyrean shook her massive head. “Not well. We’ve lost dozens of soldiers to traps in the tunnels, and Thestalos’s forces can strike from anywhere.”
Caius clenched his fists. “Any suggestions?”
“We can keep searching the way we are-“
“No. We need to speed this up. We haven’t time to waste.”
“-Or we can use a different, more…persuasive tactic.”
The monarch paused, stroking his chin. “I’m listening.”
___________________________
Hellion’s spiky fist slammed into the fleshy wall, drawing blood and causing the room to twitch slightly. The demon king cursed from behind his teeth, spitting the words out like the seeds of some vile fruit.
“Caius, you wretched dog!” He ranted. “You have insulted me for the last time!”
The demon king spun around, drawing his ebony longsword with one swift motion and slashing it across the messenger’s throat. The victim gurgled, falling to his knees. The last thing the demon warrior saw before his vision went black was the yellow moss flexing its stalks excitedly as it lifted him off the ground, moving him towards the center of the room.
“Nexia!” Hellion thundered, paying his dead servant’s new journey no heed. The Archfiend of Lightning stepped through the sphincter doorway and bowed low.
“What is your command, my liege?”
“Rally the troops. Caius has…requested that we remove a small human outpost on the border of Thestalos’s land.”
“As you command.” Nexia rose and left the king’s chamber. The Terrorking watched her go, his clenched fists trembling.
“Yes, Dark Emperor,” The demon hissed sarcastically, “I will run your little errand…and when I am done, I will return to your side, knife in hand.”
___________________________
The dragon swept low and Neo swung his longsword, slicing a silvery apparition’s head off as they passed. “So…do you have a name?”
I don’t think I’ve ever had a name.
“We’ll have to come up with one.” Neo stood up on the beast’s back and let himself fall as the dragon rolled, parting an avian projection’s body lengthwise as he did so.
Neo and his newfound teacher had been training constantly since they had met, drilling in aerial combat and cooperative tactics. It had become obvious to the swordsman that Sable’s command to ‘bring something back’ did not mean to return with a token of victory. Neo would be bringing back something far more valuable than some trophy.
Neo plummeted downwards, spreading his arms and legs to slow his descent. As expected, his comrade swooped beneath him, catching him so lightly that he barely felt the impact.
“I think I’m starting to understand something.” Neo mused as he tucked his body against the dragon’s back, holding tight with his legs so that he didn’t fall off as they rolled away from their pursuers.
Do tell, friend.
“A person seeking purpose doesn’t necessarily need to find something deep and profound in their lives. All a person needs is hope.” Neo sprang to his feet and vaulted onto one of their pursuer’s backs, his sword carving a deep slash across the back of its neck. “That hope can manifest itself in thousands of ways, from the incredible to the mundane.” He rode the dying monster down a few hundred feet and jumped into the air again, grabbing the dragon’s talon as it passed by. With a flick of its claw, it tossed him up onto its back again. “For instance, a single person could be my hope, or a single dream, even an ideal.”
You have learned something valuable, young warrior. Do not forget that one revelation is by no means the whole picture.
“Of course.” Neo smiled as they swooped down and he slid off, dropping to the ground. “Getting hung up on one detail of a tapestry would rob you of the experience, right?”
Exactly. The dragon settled down next to him. Soon there will come a time when you must see the entire picture, not just the part that involves you.
“What do you mean?” The swordsman sat down, crossing his legs and laying his sword across his knees.
The beast laid its head down on its front claws, considering him with deep golden spheres. Let us return to your analogy of the tapestry. Most elements of a work of art do not have a choice where they are put. It is up to the artist to place them, and their maker determines their purpose. You, Neo, are not like them. You exist outside the tapestry. You have the power to choose how you will be involved, and, try as we might, neither Sable, nor I, nor anyone else, can make that choice for you. You are the master of your own destiny, Neo, and that is a rare gift. The dragon seemed to grin encouragingly. While it is the fate of some to perform actions that change the tide of history, it is your fate to decide what to change.
“I’m not sure I understand.” Neo paused, rubbing the back of his neck. “Destiny, fate and all this stuff have never fit into my philosophy very well.”
In due time, young one. In due time.
___________________________
General Freed strode along the battlements of his fortress, his silver armor glittering in the moonlight. He looked out across the realm of the humans, sprawling beneath the castle. He could see the lights of Anima below him, still lit even at this early hour, and beyond that the glow from other cities in the distance.
“I wonder how Rowan is fairing.” He sighed and leaned against one of the stone protrusions, letting his eyes drift shut and his thoughts float to his young captain.
Abruptly, there was a flash of light behind the General’s eyelids. He staggered, gripping his skull as images appeared before his hooded oculars. He gasped, as though in pain, and only came to when a hand touched his shoulder.
“General?” Rahz looked at his superior’s unnaturally pale complexion, noting the sweat beading on his forehead. “Are you all right?”
Freed nodded shakily. “I must be exhausted from today’s preparations, that’s all.” His words were meant to reassure himself as much as his commander. The General was a strong man, and even at his age it would take more than the stress of oncoming battle to put him down.
Rahz, as though sensing the reason for Freed’s vexations, came and stood next to his superior. “Shall I send a lance to reinforce Captain Rowan’s position?”
“No.” Freed spoke firmly. “The Captain is perfectly capable of handling the mission we’ve tasked him with. I’m not going to undermine his authority by sending a separate unit to perform the duties I put to him.”
The commander nodded hesitantly. “Sir, I understand that you have great faith in him…but he is a hopeful. He’s never seen active duty before now.”
“All the more reason he should now.” Freed bit back a more venomous response. “I know Rowan. He will not fail me.”
“Permission to speak frankly, sir?” Rahz watched Freed’s face carefully. When the General nodded, he continued. “I think you may be expecting too much of him, not because you think he can handle the task, but because you want your son to be something he is not.”
Freed fumed angrily. “You are out of line, Rahz.”
“Perhaps, sir, but I have Rowan’s best interests at heart.”
“No, you don’t, Rahz!” Freed rounded on his subordinate, jabbing an accusing finger into his chest. “You only want to coddle him! There is no reason we should keep him away from potentially dangerous missions!”
“Sir, now is not the time to be thinking of his future military career.” Rahz’s eyes flashed with indignation. “We may well be at war before tomorrow morning. This isn’t a simulation; it’s not a training exercise. People die in war.”
Rahz’s head whipped around as Freed dealt him a stinging blow to the cheek with the back of a clenched fist. The Field Commander recovered quickly, his hand snapping to the hilt of his sword before he realized what he was doing. The General glared daggers at him, rage crackling in the air around him. “Do not presume to tell me the consequences of war.” Without another word, he stalked away from the shocked subordinate, leaving Rahz alone beneath the starry sky.
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A shadow crept into the Dark Emperor’s tent. Caius sat at his planning table, inspecting his map. He heard the ground shift beneath his visitor, and rose slowly, turning to face the ebony clad man.
“My lord,” The warrior knelt, letting his black claymore rest against his shoulder, “What do you desire?”
“Thank you for coming so promptly,” the monarch grinned beneath his visor, “Sable.”
“I am milord’s to command.”
Caius nodded. “I am sorry to pull you away from your student, but the time for you to assume your duties as the Dark Crusader has come at last.” The Emperor’s voice was grim. “The Swords are calling again.”
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“Mataza…” The whisper was barely audible above the sound of combat. The samurai’s head spun as he twisted, searching for the source of the voice. Daemon loomed beside him, baring his fangs, but the warrior irritably shoved him aside. A shower of gore spattered his face and chest plate as one of his soldiers fell. He pressed onward through the misty battlefield, bringing down enemies with his katana when they got in his way.
“Where are you?” The warrior shouted, leaping over a fallen dragon’s tail. Another corpse hit the ground in front of him as he strained his ears for any reply.
“This way.” The voice was quiet but insistent, and Mataza found himself bounding off once more.
The mist parted before the warrior, and he found himself standing in a chamber carved out of ebony stone. Turquoise torches guttered on the walls, casting an eerie blue glow on the silver sheath of a sword, which stood on a rack in the center of the room.
Mataza stepped forward, one hand reaching for the weapon’s hilt. As his hand wrapped around the silvered grip, he felt a surge of energy run through his body, cascading from his fingertips all the way down to the soles of his feet. A voice in his ear whispered, “We are one, warrior.”
“We are one.” Another voice growled just behind the samurai, and before he could turn, powerful arms wrapped around his chest, trapping him. A muscular tough licked his neck, and moments later two sharp fangs sank deep into his jugular.
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Mataza gasped and sprang awake, his hand on the hilt of his katana. He reached up to touch his neck.
“Goddamn, I can’t even get away from him in my sleep.” Mataza fell back against his pillow. He lay there for several minutes, staring up at the roof of his tent, before finally strapping on his armor and stepping outside.
The night was old and dying, and tongues of flame were beginning to lick at the horizon line. The warrior sighed, scrubbing his sweaty face with a grimy palm. He felt as though someone had plunged a fishhook into his ribcage and was tugging on the line, trying to reel him towards some distant dock, where he would be disemboweled and sold as sustenance.
“Go away.” The samurai grunted, attempting to massage his throbbing chest. Rather than subsiding, the tugging became more urgent, more forceful. He closed his eyes and tried to think of something else.
Pain exploded across his chest, dragging him onto the ground. The warrior gasped in pain, curling into a ball as the hook jerked again and again, wracking his body with consecutive surges of white-hot fire. Barely conscious of his own movements, Mataza clambered to his feet, gasping for breath, and staggered in the direction the tugging told him to go.
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In a deep ravine, far from the kingdoms of the monarchs, in the heart of the human’s realm, a haunting melody echoed, bouncing off stone and metal and piercing the hearts of any beast that heard it with fear and awe. At the base of the canyon a gray platform sprawled, twenty feet in diameter. Across its surface golden runes were etched, glistening faintly and pulsating with the lilt of the song.
Miles away, Rahz stirred in his bed, as the same tune swirled around his mind, enthralling him. Émigré also heard the song, but she was wide-awake, engaged in her own devices. Without a word to anyone at the fortress, she recovered her claymore and borrowed a horse, riding towards the steadily rising sun.
“Come to me. We are one.”