Hekkastor

I'm still trying to figure out how to do that... could you tell me how? thanks

I've taken out the stats, and have gone through chapter two again in the effort of making it a bit more realistic, as well as making a pretty minor changes in chapter one. Hopefully you huys will like this better. Keep the comments coming, and please keep on reading, for all the faults the story currently possess.

I have a plan for the resurrecting of the dragons that doesn't involve a dragon's gate, and I hope this plan would come out as original, rather than overly outlandish. As for Zephiel's son being insane from the start of his childhood, this will be explained later in the plot. Taran is not the true antagonist of the series and is being manipulated by another character that will be introduced later. As for your other tips, I appreciate and understand what you are saying. I'll work on changing Hector's disposition towards battle, and as for the plot, the beginning was supposed to be a homage to the first two games, but I see how it comes out as rip-offish. I hope that my next posts won't disappoint, and thank you for your feedback. I will fix what's already posted, and will work harder on making the upcoming parts more original/entertaining. Hekkastor

Interesting and entertaining. I haven't finished it yet, but still, definitely off to a good start.

I strongly disagree. Seriously, where do people get the senseless idea that treating a prose fiction like a video game with stats and classes would be a good idea? Dear Shuuda, the stats are included just for fun, with no rhyme, reason nor propose. Personally, I just felt that it would help me better grasp my character's strengths and weaknesses. I understand what you are saying, however, i would much rather prefer if you tell me if there was anything wrong with the story itself rather then the extra fluff. Constructive critisism is definitely appreciated.

Thank You for sparing the time to read this. This story takes place twenty years after Roy's campaign ended. I will try to include enough information for all to follow, even if they haven't played the game. Please review and rate. With all thanks, Hekkastor. Remember, this is a simple part one, and all questions will most likely be answered later in the story. If you have any immediate concerns, email me at Hekkastor@gmail.com I will create character drawings if possible, however, my artistic skill is somewhat limited, so if any artist happens to like my characters, feel free to draw them and send them to me. Otherwise, enjoy Chapter Six is now complete! Prologue: Seven guards lay dead, their hot blood smoking in the chill midnight air, their final breaths misting in front of their eyes, denying them a last look at the stars before they die. Denying them the view of their killer. Their only compensation was that they received no view of the massacre inside the vault. Inside, the hell-born fury of Taran had already begun to spread rot and destruction. Generals, Paladins, Sage and Snipers were splayed across the floor in a horrid display of deadly skill. Taran was drenched in blood, not that he minded. His cloak was blood red as it is, and his silver hair and pale face were rendered unrecognizable in case some survivor attempted to give his description. The only things identifiable about him now were his heterochromic eyes, one a bright green, the other a deep violet. Both of them burned with utter hatred, screaming of death and destruction. He brushed the last of his opponents to the side as if they were nothing but dirt. The door in front of him exploded to smithereens at his kick, regardless of its pure steel build. He screamed with success, a smile stretching obscenely from his left ear to his right. He grasped his goal, a golden trident; It's silver prongs connected by a beautiful web work of gold. The legendary Exaccus, the blade of Hartmut the Champion, and the sword of his martyred father, Zephiel. "All you gods remember! Our Dream shall never die! As long as retain control, madness will persist!" (at Ostia Castle) Hector the Second wasn't paying much attention. Much like his grandfather and namesake Hector of Ostia, this usually ended in disaster. This was made all the worse since he had inherited his grandfather's physique, his father Roy's sense for heroics, and his mother Lilina's love of magic. The object he currently wasn't paying attention to was a tome he had gotten for his recent sixteenth birthday. All the worse, by skimming it's contents out loud, Hector the Second had managed to activate its powers. A half-hour after this disaster, Hector was still trying to find a way to possibly explain to his father how the gaping hole in his wall was truly not his fault, though it obviously was. His thoughts, however, were cut shorter than they already were by a flying arrow that almost tore a chunk of his left ear. He then found a good excuse to blame it on. This didn't work exactly to his favor, seeing as that said excuse, though it didn't put the hole in the wall, had every intention to put a hole in him. He swore and ducked as another went flying by his head. He rolled to the side, this time dodging an axe swing by a third assailant. He retreated towards the door, unsure what was going on and why he was being swung, shot, spell-cast and stabbed at. Using his new Bolter tome, a variation on the Thunder tome made lighter and more efficient, he fried a whole into the nearing axe-man, shocked at the results. He knew magic was strong, but this was a bit beyond his expectations. The Bolter Tome was specifically efficient against knights and mounted cavaliers, but Hector wasn't exactly keeping that in mind as he cast spell after spell into anything that happened to look menacing at the moment. Finally, however, Hector's day seemed a bit better. A good friend of his seemed to have wondered close enough to his room. Nemea, daughter of the famed Hero Echidna of the Western Isles, was not having a good day. She preferred her mother's village to any castle the mainland had to offer, and Castle Ostia annoyed her in particular. The lavish hallways were a maze of decadence in her eyes, and she couldn't tell one from the other. After wondering for about an hour in an attempt to find her companion, she heard a rapid series of thunder-cracks, which filled her heart with hope and dread. She would be able to find Hector, but it seems that she would find him in plenty of trouble, either already ensuing or soon to be so. Hector thanked the gods as the familiar silver axe of his childhood friend Nemea split the skull of a particularly skillful archer on the other end of the hall. He had long ago abandoned his room for more space, and had been wondering for quite some time where help might be when at last it showed. He decided to ask questions later, however, seeing as he was preoccupied with frying other people's brains to mush. He noted that Nemea was crushing opponents skulls, which was different than his approach, but he figured it was close enough to prove they were both bred for intense battle. "This is what I get for offering to be the Eutrurian representative" Nemea thought as she received a small cut from the last of the swordsmen. Her mother's free village had become such a famous success that her family was given a position in the knighthood of Etruria, much to Echidna's objection. Not that it mattered. They still had to send a representative of their "bloodline" to the Great Meeting to discuss the current crisis. At least, she decided as she slew the the final opponent, she would be getting her share of adventure. After the knights of Castle Ostia finally managed to get their slow armor up the required amount of stares to save their young lord, Hector and Nemea had already started to ask questions. To their frustration, not one of the assailants seemed to have been in the mood to talk, and the questions still remained. "I wonder who they were," remarked Hector for the fifth time that day, "and why they were so hell bent on killing me..." He waited for an answer and found none. The surviving assassins refused to talk, regardless if they were asked directly on indirectly. "Should we beat the answers out of them?" Hector asked, still excited from the battle. "no," Nemea, having had a little bit of fighting experience before, didn't relish in it. After experiencing the craziness of violence, she understood why it should only be used as sparingly as possible. "The thing that scares me is that fact that someone attacked Castle Ostia in so short a time after the Exaccus was stolen. It seems to me that someone is planning to become Zephiel number two. An attack on Lycian Nobles and the theft are to close to be a coincidence." "Well, then!" Hector huffed as he shifted the right side of his desk out of his way, "I plan on finding out. Go get Cayle from the archery range, and I'll fetch Ren from his cavalry training, and we'll set out on a little quest to find out some answers! I'll ask every villager within five miles if I have to!" "I love how you assume the three of us totally want to go around searching for enemies without asking permission because you have poor survival instincts." Nemea slung her axe around her beck, ignoring the fact that other than the Ostian Guard and Lycian Nobles, no one was permitted to carry weapons inside the castle. "Just come on!" Hector strapped on the last of his ceremonial armor (for as little good as it would to him) and headed straight out the hole in his wall. Nemea gave a prayer to the gods for patience and followed her rash friend. The adrenaline of the fight still burned brightly in their heart as they set out, excited and unsure of what was next to come. Chapter 1: following old footsteps. It was all for the Dream. That's all that mattered. Taran poured over the diaries of his father, soaking in the words. His eyes filled with a magnificent vision of dragons, their scales a majestic red, flying over the grassy plains of Sacea, untroubled. He saw their shining glory, their power, as they flew past a land uninhabited by the horror of mankind. He saw them ruling purely, without greed, hate, greed and gluttony, unlike the courts his father described. The Dream was all that mattered, and by the gods, human or dragon, he would have it so. He gripped his father's trident tightly, pressing it against his chest with hope. Soon mankind would cease to plague this beautiful world with their sin. Soon, the dragons would return, and sweep away the blood, gore, filth and terror that was humanity. Soon... Hector swore with frustration. No matter how hard he and his friends looked, they found nothing. His older brother's (the lead of the Lycian Intelligence Agency and next in line for the throne) spies and scouting parties, sent after those who dared attack the royal family of the Lycian Kingdom, also found nothing. He looked for at the horizon, searching for the familiar red armor and black horse of Ren. After a moment or so, he saw Ren riding full speed at him, shouting and waving his arms. "Bandits!" the rider declared, whipping out his sword. Without question, Hector leaped on to the back of the horse with practiced ease. For a magician, he had a solid build and was well trained in riding. Nemea and were already on at the scene. They were surrounded by seven or eight bandits, with three more using their distraction to head towards the unprotected villages. Cayle, a short young man, and a damn good archer, was already crouching behind some bushes and trees, bow in hands. Due to having inherited his grandmother Rebbeca's green hair, he was almost impossible to spot. Every time his dark eyes focused upon a bandit, an arrow would find its way to the victim's flash. Unfortunately for Cayle, this only seemed to be doing limited damage. Nemea was having troubles of her own, having been surrounded by for of the bandits. Hector jumped of of Ren's horse and quickly snapped of a bolt of electricity, saving Nemea's life, while Ren finished of an unlucky bandit with two arrows already placed in his shoulder and upper left arm. The bandits were not to be swayed, however, and kept advancing. "Quweeckur Boyz!" their ugly leader slurred, "Der's a hetty liddle praiss fur der edds!" for those not familiar with bandit slur, the above line would have been pronounced as follows if the man wasn't such an incredible idiot. "quicker boys! There is a hefty little prize for their heads!" from this point on, their pathetic attempts at speech will be translated to normal English for the sake of the reader. Hector was concerned by the last statement. Apparently someone had hired these buffoons. Their employer could probably have picked a more effective force for this task, but the fact that they were sent specifically for his head was concerning. What he found even more concerning was the fact that both his father Roy's and his grandfathers Eliwood and Hector's quest had started with the defeating of a mediocre troop of bandits. was he too to be a subject to repetitiveness of their fight? He hoped he would not have to be the third generation in a row to have to stop the coming of dragons to Elibe, but that was probably jumping to to many conclusions at once, he figured. Ren, having already downed two bandits, was rushing ahead to secure the village. Hector could not overhear the brief explanation Ren gave the villagers about the happenings outside, but they seemed grateful enough to hand him a package. Cayle had managed to evade a wicked downwards cut from a bandit's axe by rolling backwards and diving further into the trees. A moment later, a particularly well placed arrow bit its target in the head, dealing three times the damage it would have done if it had struck elsewhere. Nemea was closing in on the boss, who didn't seem so confident now that five of his subordinates were down, and what little courage he had left his body when Hector and Cayle managed to slay another one together. Ren made quick work of the two trying to escape towards the mountain peaks, and finally the four friends circled the boss. "Here you go!" Ren cheerfully tossed the package he had received from the villagers to Hector. It was a Fire tome, Hector found, and he quickly flipped its pages open with murder on his mind. "Who sent you?!" he roared. "He was supposed to be a weakling lord..." the bandit whimpered. Hector repeated the question, and when he received no answer, he gave the signal to attack. Even in his fear, the bandit had retained what little skill he had, and had managed to dodge out of the fireball's way, only to find an arrow cartoonishly sticking out of his rear. He screamed in pain, and reached for the vulnerary in his satchel, but his hand was intercepted by the blade of Nemea's axe. Wishing to end it quickly, Ren rushed in with sword and struck the bandit in the skull, finishing him. "Finally, I've found you guys!" the four companions sighed with agitation. Just what they needed, a chaperon. Maxin, Marcus's younger brother and lesser known paladin, was riding towards them as fast as possible. This wasn't saying much seeing as both he and the horse were nearing old age, just as Marcus had when he had went on his epic questing with his respective lords. "You should no better than to wander over five miles away from the Castle! Especially when you are the one being hunted! And what's this, you guys are injured! Let me tend to it immediately!" In a rush of spectacular speed for a man of forty seven, Maxin dived of his horse with bandages in hands. "Thanks, mother dear!" Ren giggled. Then his horse receive a short slap to the behind causing it ride right into a dense patch of trees. Maxin giggled in turn as Ren's face had an up close meeting with a branch. All tended for by Maxin, Hector and friends started to head home. Maxin attempted to keep their hopes up, but a day spent finding nothing and coming close to death was not exactly a day to look back at and sigh joyfully to. Little did they know that compared to the days ahead, this one would easily have reached their top three list of the year. Chapter 2: the Princess of Bern Taran was ecstatic. He had found an ally, and a powerful one too. A silly human, but so long as he was receiving help, he didn't mind. Any who joined his cause would live in his Dragon-World, pardoned of their sin of being born filthy humans. Taran even forgot for the moment that he still wasn't strong enough to wield his fathers blade yet. After all, it wasn't every day that one found themselves in league with a Dark Druid of untold power. And said Dark Druid was a princess no less. Maxin was starting to feel really bad. Night was already setting, and they were still a mile outside of Ostia Castle. Just out of range to cry or send to help. As he turned his head to the sky, his insecurity was made worse. He recognized Tanaly the Pegasus knight. He also recognized that the small object behind her were arrows, and that her usually calm face was covered in blood and despair. "Incoming!" Maxin bellowed, as he moved to guard Hector, Cayle and Nemea. The arrows that would have shot them dead pinged of his worn armor, but that didn't make him any calmer. Tanaly chose that moment to smash into Ren, turning matters worse. "Come on kiddos, get behind me!" Maxing pulled out his spear, spinning it to catch more arrows. "Burn in hell!" Hector lobbed a fireball at the archers directions. The archers were currently hiding behind trees that were dried out due to summer's relentless grip on the land. "Oops...?" Hector decided it was time to stop making stupid decisions. A bit too late though. "You have got to be kidding me..." Cayle sighed. The fire was so bright that he couldn't aim. "A most excellent idea Lord Hector! The archers no longer have any cover!" This last statement proved to the four companions that Maxin had both a bottomless supply of optimism, as well as a need to use exclamatory sentences at every opportunity. "The woods are burning, Maxim!" Nemea screamed. "Which will take out more of their numbers!" Maxin replied, never one to worry so long as his Lord was safely situated behind his shield and spear. Forward! We charge!" Maxin bolted after the archers who were busy trying to escape. "We need to get Ren and Tanaly, now!" Hector hurried to the crash site, remembering his downed friend. Maxin, done with the archers already, ran after them, keeping the young trio in constant cover. Maxin was also the first to jump of his horse and apply an unreasonable amount of bandages to Tanaly. "Nice to see you safe, my lady!" Ren was back to his feet at this point. He clambered back unto his horse, his blood red hair, usually tied behind his head in a pony tail was completely disheveled and full of twigs, much to his irritation. He didn't have time to complain as swords and axe men crashed into the woods. Again, mostly mercenaries and bandits. "Shield Tanaly, she's the most vulnerable!" Ren cried, his sword already out for vengeance for those that had dared set off a series of events that had both knocked him off his horse and dared dishevel his luscious lock of hair. "Good plan, apprentice!" as motherly as Maxin was, he refused to stop shouting. He quickly set in position to ward of anyone within approximately eight feet of Tanaly, give or take of few inches. Nemea and Ren took the lead, bashing anything they didn't recognize as friendly. Behind them Cayle and Hector were already busy lobbing projectiles every which way. Pretty quickly, the battle was won. Nemea was wiping her axe clean, and Ren was polishing his sword, which left Cayle and Hector to ask questions of the survivors. By one o'clock in the morning, their total information amounted to almost nothing. A mysterious young man, whose description was not given due to his habit of wearing a blood read cloak with a hood to match, had been offering seventy-thousand gold for every head of a Lycian noble he was given. The local bandits were the first to answer, but Maxin had a feeling that much worse was still to come. Hector and his friends (other than Maxin, who was always in good spirits) found themselves sick to their stomachs. In the heat of their first battles, it had been easy to ignore that their adversaries were just blood thirsty opponents. Now, they realized what had actually taken place. They had killed, and plenty within the last two days. Hector had always glorified battle in his mind, but the bloody frenzy, the screaming, and the smell of burning flesh were sickening to him. Nemea now fully understood the power of the axe she carried, how quickly it could sever the strings of life. Cayle now knew how deadly his aim could be, and Ren also realized just how horrid it was to simply trample opponents, without giving a thought to what he was doing. By the time they had reached the castle, the four friends were very far from happy. more than anything, they wished to wipe the blood off their hands, but they knew it never would. In a place far away from them, however, their fate was being decided by a much more bloodied hand. The Dark Druid was already at work preparing his tests, looking forward to eventual success. It would take time, but the mastermind knew enough to start producing prototypes of his most vile creations. Already, the sound of screams tinged in the cloaked figure's ear. The Druid still did not know of these marked success or failure. Thanks to the child now under the Druid's wing, progress was being made steadily. The only question was when would the creatures be ready. Once they were, war would start. Finala was confused and scared. Those two feeling mixed within her, creating a sense of utter despair, and she was sure her heart was about to pump its way out of her chest. Princess of all mighty Bern or not, she knew that her chances of being saved were minute. She had been kidnapped, and put under the watchful eyes of a most disturbing creature that seemed to bend the very light out of the air around. A choking red fog seemed to follow the mute man, constantly surrounding the two of them. worse, the Princess realized, the fog seemed to have destroyed any trace of magic in her body. The caravan of knights and snipers that surrounded them had lead them on a route that crossed several rivers, and had constantly changed horses and rides, making them almost impossible to track. No means of tracking or magic would find her. She was doomed to go wherever these silent kidnappers of hers were taking her. She closed her eyes and prayed to Saint Elemine, but she had a feeling that even saint Elmine wouldn't help her now. Chapter three: Grim news: Roy was exhausted. His rule had been peaceful since the war with Bern had ended, and no things were going wrong all of a sudden. Without warnings, attempts on his family's life had been made, Exaccus stolen, and now the Princess of Bern was missing. To polish things off, even his oldest son's spy network couldn't find a single trace of what was going on. Neither had any Euterian not Bernish spies been able to find anything. At was as if these attacks were being comitted by an invisible for of magic men who could disappear at will. Even torture of captured mercenaries (as much as Roy had despised the very idea of torture) had revealed nothing. Roy sighed, not sure of what to do. His desk was flooded with reports. Mercenary activity was on the rise in all countries, but no one had yet identified who was paying these murders, or how he could afford such a large amount of money. Reports of missing village children and murdered civil-servicemen were flooding in. All hell was unleashing, and with breakneck speed. Roy didn't know where to start. Tanaly, his personal messenger, had come back after being ambushed by archers. If that wasn't bad enough, the message she was carrying was worse. Cecilia, the mage general of Eturia, had been murdered. Her body had been found lifeless in her chamber, with a cocktail of twenty-six different poisons and toxins in her system. Each of these would have been fatal on their own, and together, they had literally burned the inside of her body in a matter of milliseconds. The only grace she was granted was that she hadn't felt pain after drinking from the poisoned cup. The poison had killed her too quickly for pain. Roy's heart was full with doubt, and every familiar face, other than Maxin's and his own family's, had turned suspicious. He already knew that no matter how irrational it was, he would personally hunt and prepare all his food, as would the rest of the nobles world wide would after hearing of Cecilia. And, of course, to put a magnificent crown on the heads of these horrors, the only possible explanation for these instances happening pointed towards the assassins being in high enough places to reach their targets. As far as Roy could gather, someone important and trusted had betrayed every kingdom, all in the matter of three or four days. Could this be a conspiracy? What was the point of these attacks? War? Destruction? Revenge? roy couldn't begin to guess. He asked his attendants to leave him, and cried. He had hoped and dreamed that nothing like this would happen again. Zephiel and the Demon-Dragon were already haunting his dreams as it were, and it these new nightmares would plague him as well. Hadn't fate thrown enough at him? Was he, even at this late age, supposed to save the world again? Roy found he had no answers. Only questions, nightmares, and sorrows. Hector couldn't quite decide his position on slipping out of the castle in disguise. Sure, disappearing into a safe house surrounded by soldiers would be the safe thing to do, but was it the right thing to do? Rolling up into a little ball and hiding away where nobody could find him wouldn't exactly solve all the problems that the whole world seemed to have spawned in the last week or so. He'd have Nemea, Ren, Cayle, and even Tanaly for company, but that didn't cheer him up much. The idea of being locked up in some out-of-the-way fort never suited him. "I don't like it either," Cayle fell in line next to Hector's horse, sick of just sitting in the supplies wagon. "What I don't like even more is the path we're taking. Perfect spot for an ambush..." Cayle waved his hand in to the right, indicating the sheer, densely forested cliffs that loomed over the travel caravan menacingly. Hector knew that Cayle was right, any idiot archer would have a perfect shot of they so decided to shoot down at them. Hell, even a band of idiot bandits could simply throw rocks and torches down at them and still do as much damage to them as an oven can do damage to an ice-cube. Cayle, about as content as a nutless squirrel, was already starting to twitch. His foot was tapping at approximately forty-five times a second. Hector found that most of the soldiers with him were also displaying nervous habits. Not a good sign. Not at all. "At least they're idiots," Cayle commented as a whole legion of Pegasus knights dove over the end of the cliffs. whatever advantage they wanted to gain by element of surprise was lost due to the fact that most of the Lycian soldiers had realized the likelihood of the ambush. Without hesitating, the raised their shields and spears, waiting for their opponents to dive in range. Without skipping a beat, Cayle had pulled out his bow, and was already notching an arrow. "Wait!" Hector signaled Cayle, "what about yesterday?" Hector still remembered the horrid massacre of the night before, and he was not happy to repeat it. "what are we supposed to do?" Cayle responded. "We can talk..." Hector offered, realizing how futile that would be. "Their being payed a pretty hefty sum, and unless you can overshadow it, they are going to spear your ass." Cayle, deciding precision wasn't a requirement when shooting into the frenzied cloud of white, knocked four arrows and let fly, scoring three solid hits and one glancing blow. "Don't you have any problem with just shooting people?!" Hector bellowed, outraged by the matter of fact attitude his friend was displaying. "Don't you have a problem with the fact that those girls would gladly kill you or your family just for a shiny piece of yellow metal!?!" Cayle responded, as he blasted and arrow into the chest of another Pegasus. "They will show us no mercy, and we can't afford to show them any!" Still shaken, Hector jumped of his horse, his guts knotting tightly. He pulled the Fire tome from his pack, casting his spells with a bit more hesitation then the day before. He noticed that Nemea's axe seemed to swing in more moderation as well. Maxin and Red, however, were trained since day one to eliminate threats to their lord, and struck without hesitation. Hector wondered where such dedication came from. He wondered if he really was important enough for all this craziness to take place over his life. He looked at Cayle, shocked by the matter-of-fact way he went about shooting, placing his arrows strategically to cause the most damage. He saw Cayle's eyes, burning with cruel necessity. He came to understand that any creature who found himself or herself under that dark, practical gaze would loose its life. Hector found himself scared, and thankful, that Cayle was on his side. He knew he shouldn't pass judgment on Cayle, after all, he was saving the lives of good Lycian soldiers. Still, he found himself shocked by his childhood friends actions. Catching his gave, Maxin patted Hector on the shoulder. "Violence draws different reaction from any who experience it. Some relish it, some fear and despise it. Some, like Cayle, build a wall named necessity around them, to guard their soul. No one comes out safe and sound, no matter what they claim. But come! We have no time to pass philosophical judgment! Our lives are at stake!" Hector needed time to digest what he heard, but he would have to find time later. For now, the sky was still full of the white menace of the Illian mercenaries. He heard Ren swear, as a lance found it's way into his right thighbone. He saw a Lycian soldier draw his last breath as a spear cracked his armor and bit his flesh. He saw a girl, no more then eighteen plummet from her Pegasus, and crash to the ground, killed instantly by the fall. Hector's eye started to blur with the horror of it all. He felt rage bubble up from deep inside him, and agony at the horrors he was witnessing. All of this was being done simply for money. Disgusting. With new-found rage, Hector flung spell after spell at his enemies, sick of the greed that had drawn them to this blood-bath. He noticed that even Nemea, and Tanaly had found the anger to dive full-heartedly into the battle, their faces twisted with rage. Hector could smell the burning flesh, could see the blood spattered across the cliff wall and the pine trees, could hear the screams of holding on to the last bit of their life. Without realizing it, he has started screaming "WHY?" as he swung around again and again, blasting opponent after another. He watched as a burning Pegasus crashed next to him, regaining his sense and humanity as he watched a girl no older then sixteen crawl away from the crash. With the kindness imbued in him by his parents, he immediately stretched a hand of help to her, unable to withhold mercy. She grasped his hand, and he reached forward to sling her across his shoulders, only realizing too late what she was grasping in her right arm. The girl's eyes shone with greed and her blood-splattered face shone with happiness as she drove the wicked knife into Hector's stomach. He lips twitched with success as blood stained Hector's blue ceremonial armor, and blood poured out his mouth. She giggled as he stumbled onto his hands and knees, retching blood. The world around hector seemed to slow down, every agonizing second turned to a hellish day. He saw the girl stumbled towards him, bloody knife in her hand, and bloody murder in her eyes. He saw Cayle, his eyes shining bright with anguish, turn towards her with his bow in hand. He watched as Cayle stepped forward, his bow pulled to its very limit. He saw how close Cayle was to the girl, so close that the tip of his arrow was already pressed against her temple. He watched, as the girl, in her fevered frenzy, didn't notice how death encroached. He watched with horror as Cayle pressed the pulled bow so that the tip of his arrow, still on his bow, drew blood from the girl. It would be an instantly lethal, point-blank shot. The last thing before Hector saw before his world blackened was the look of rage on Cayle's distorted face as his fingers slipped from the bowstring. He saw the arrow fly straight through the girl's skull, so quickly that she didn't even register the blow before she died. He saw her blood and brains bloom, splashing gruesome hell upon him and Cayle. He passed out, the image of the girl's face, bloody and twisted in a smile of pure, greedy joy as her life had been blasted out of her permanently burned into his soul. "Healer!" Cayle screamed, his voice cracking with desperation. Hector was dieing. "Healer!" Without skipping a beat, Ren turned his horse around in search of anyone wielding a staff. Years of training kept him from asking who needed assistance, from asking where or why. All that he knew was that someone needed help, and that he needed to supply it. Using a steel lance he had torn from the arms of one of the Pegasus knights, he swatted aways both enemies and objects that stood in his way. Ren was worried. So far today, no major injury had been dealt to the troops. Their ambushers had rushed in brashly, with almost no sense of tactics. The enemy was week, and most of the soldiers on this envoy were more than experienced enough to deal with them. Hell, as far as battles went, this was a pretty easy one. The Pegasus' knights ability to fly was irritating, but as soon as the dived in range, they could be swatted easily. But by the sound of Cayle's voice, something was definitely wrong. The despiration there was personal. Ren's heart started chewing on itself with worry. Was it Nemea, or Tanaly? Hector? Ren just knew had had to hurry. As soon as he set his eyes on a staff, he whisked its bearer off the ground. Ren kicked his horse, driving the black stallion as fast as he dared. A lance almost took his head off, but he kept his horse at full speed, aware of Cayle's arrows that now guarded over him. As his horse screeched to halt, he dropped of the healer, despite the man's complaints, and turned back to the melee. He knew that the task was done. His worry still gnawed at him, but it was pointless. Whomever of his friends, the wounded were being tended to. "No time to waste," he repeated under his breath, and and went again to join the fight. He realized the importance of eliminating any threats prior to attending the wounded. No point in getting speared while trying to help an already stabbed friend. Tanaly knew that something was wrong. She had spun her Pegasus this way and that, dodging, weaving and avoiding even the best placed blows, not getting scratched even once. Yet something was wrong. She couldn't quite place it, but something was. "DIE!" an enemy Pegasus knight screamed at her, lance already trained on Tanaly's heart. Avoiding the blow, she reared her own lance to position and knocked her opponent to the ground, doubtlessly killing the fool. Something about that girl's scream though, bothered her. As she dropped yet another brash girl to her spiraling death, she realized what. She knew that voice. She knew these girls. This was her little sister's squadron. She screamed with horror, her mind starting to connect names to the faces of those she had killed. The harshness of Illia had taught her not to doubt, not to feel guilt. Money must be owned, and food must be kept on the table. She had known that the mercenary life would not be a happy one. But nothing had prepared her for this. Nothing could prepare her for this. She screamed, her voice ringing like the roar of a mother bear protecting her cub. Her heart burned with rage as she dove from one end of the battlefield to the other, her eyes seeking desperately. She had to save her sister. She had to. As she rounded the skies again, tears started to drip down her cheeks, hot and painful. She couldn't see her sister. On a battlefield such as this, that could mean only one thing. "WHY!" her vocal cords were shredded, but she kept screaming. She searched the ground for bodies. Still nothing. She kept flying, circling desperately, lower and lower to the ground, ignoring as a javelin lodged itself in her arm. Horrified, she landed as she unfortunately found what she was looking for. Her sister was pinned to a tree by an arrow that had gone straight through her skull. Her face blood-splattered, smiling. Her eyes were wide open and dull, the light of success still lingering. Her once white uniform uniform was stained pure red now, and her hands still grasped her spear. She turned around, her eyes blurry, but not enough to hide what she did not wish to see. Hector was on the ground, a healer crouched over his chest, and next to them, Cayle. She pieced together what had happened. She couldn't bring herself to turn around again, but her memory served to tell her that her sister had been shot at point blank range. Her sister had stabbed Hector. Cayle had then shot her sister dead. Taran's mind boiled in a mixture of irritation and frustration. He had visited enough of the underworld to become a veteran of sewer crawling, bar brawling and slurring. To his disappointment, no suitable mercenary force had been found. They were all money-grubbing bastards with no hint of skill. For some damned reason, the Dark Druid refused to let Taran go himself. "for your own safety," the bundled patch of black cloak had whispered. Taran doubted that. He had slain Bern's finest without aid, and by the gods, he had even managed to kidnap the Princess of Bern from her own bed with the greatest of ease. And now he was stuck babysitting the damned wench. The girl who had inherited the luxuriant life and royal status that was rightfully his. Guinevere and her daughter be damned! Roy and his army be damned! Filthy, disgusting creatures! Humans knew no bound when it came to foiling the works of beings greater than themselves. Taran and his father Zephiel had been the exception, but their power was not enough. Not with the Manaketes slain and his mother missing. He had heard rumors placing her in Arcadia, with the divine dragons. Taran had slain the idiot who had tried to peddle him such lies. That couldn't be! His mother would not willingly live in peace with such trash. His knuckles gripped tightly around the handle of Exaccus, angry at himself for not being strong enough to unlock its secrets. He had spent much time in meditation with the holy trident, attempting to unlock the power of the sword within, but so far he had no success. He wasn't ready yet. But he would be, he knew. One day, he would hold the mighty blade in his hands, and he would descend upon the humans with his dragon brethren and show no mercy. The miserable humans would not win the Second Scouring. Taran was already deciphering the locations of the Sacred Weapons. He would find and dispose of them before the humans could even figure out what had happened. Chapter 4: The Marquess of Laus The clean-up that took place after the battle with the Pegasus riders was a god-damned mess. Maxin was not proud of himself as he dragged to bodies of the young women to the mass grave that had been dug for them. He knew that he shouldn't pity anyone who had full intent to take his life, but that day had turned into a horor show. He always knew that sell-swords also came in the stupid variety, but this was impressive. These girls' idea of tactics was so overconfident, so brash. So young. Maxin remembered the days of his own idiocy when he had tried to ride out after Lord Roy and his older brother Marcus. He had been nothing but an inexperienced cavalier then, with no skill at horse riding, or at weapons, really. Thankfully, he had been spared a early and useless death due his older brother's command that he spend his time guarding Marquess Eliwood. He had thought this an honorable duty, and served faithfully. In hindsight, he was actually getting baby-sat by the more experienced guards who had trained him in Marcus's absence. Someone should have done the same for these girls. Illia was a rough land, and becoming a Pegasus rider and becoming a mercenary was the only surefire way to find work. It was also a surefire way to get slaughtered if no one took you under their wing and taught you how war actually worked. Maxin was also afraid for his own little ones, as he often referred to them in his head. Hector had been injured, but was thankfully recovered. Maxin had decided to stick closer to him for the next couple of battles, whenever and wherever they came. It was pretty damn obvious at this point that they would. Nemea was fine, shaken, but fine. Her mother's genes had instilled her with strength and sense of justice that helped hold her head high. Ren was also performing wonderfully, always putting safety as a first in his mind. The boy was a bit of a cookie-cutter knight when it came to the way he behaved, but Maxin knew that this personality is one that Ren had learned from legends and would soon drop when he realized how inconvenient it is to not question orders. The two he was worried about, however, were Tanaly and Cayle. Their situation was unbelievable. After hearing Tanaly's screaming, Maxin had rushed to the scene, and had to physically restrain her from ripping Cayle apart limb by limb. After several hours of total hysterics, she had stopped screaming. Maxin had hoped that this was sign of her having calmed down, rather than a sign that Tanaly had burned her throat beyond repair. To make matters worse, Cayle had attempted to justify his actions. As far as Maxin was concerned, Cayle had done the right thing. However, attempting justify the killing of her sister to Tanaly was like trying to explain to a mother bear why her cubs had been shot. No matter the reason, the mother bear would maul you. Cayle's sense of duty, friendship and justice was to strong too be mauled though. He had saved Hector's life, after Tanaly's sister had dared stab his best friend. The fact that Tanaly was crying about her sister didn't matter to Cayle. He would have done the same to anyone's sibling, even his own (Maxin knew more than well the dislike that seethed between his older brother and the boy), if anyone he cared for had been threatened. Tanaly would have screamed "bloody murder!" even if Cayle had shot her sister on the event that Tanaly's little sister had stabbed Hector to death. So, Maxin wondered, what happens when an unstoppable force meets and immovable object? Nemea was almost relieved to be on scout duty. Almost. She had spent the night trying to comfort Tanaly, which had failed miserably, and then spent the morning keeping Tanaly and Cayle on separate edges of the camp. Rushing and directing them away from each other was about as easy as making a hyperactive rhino stand still while attempting to take its eye out. A little time in the field should have cleared her head up. It should have kept her mind of of troublesome subjects. Instead, it brought even more bad tidings. Traveling from castle Ostia, their caravan was aiming to reach Pherae, but it seemed the gods didn't much like that idea. Not a day after the cliff-side raid, they were already back in trouble. They were passing through Laus, and everyone had joked about how Marquess Erik had attacked both Eliwood and Roy when they had set out on their epic adventures. That wouldn't be a problem this time. This time around, they had much greater forces to face. Dodging from bush to bush, Nemea attempted to decipher what in the world was going in in Laus Castle, but she couldn't get close enough to see. To many people were running in crazed mobs around the castle, attempting to put out the sky-searing flame that had burst almost instantaneously during midday. Nemea had seen the giant pillar of flame barrel through the roof, but she could still not believe that such a flame could be started by a human. From what the screaming castle butler had claimed, however, it was. A very powerful magician and his troupe of lawless men had somehow broken into the castle. The part that scared Nemea even more, however, was when the butler told her what they were after. Apparently, this magician had demanded that "Lord Hector the Second be brought out of his hiding whole and defend himself!" Nemea was already rushing towards the caravan, hopefully in time to warn and steer it away from the burning hell of Laus castle. No longer were they being chased by idiots, she realized. The going was about to get a whole lot tougher. Cayle was beyond angry. He was seething. As far as he was concerned, anyone who dared stop him right now would loose their life, no questions asked. He would march to castle laws, and he would shoot as many mercenaries as needed, so long as he found his target. Hector was chasing him, and so was Ren, but he wouldn't let either of them stop him. No one was going to stop him. He had seen his brother among the murderers. Hector had told Cayle that there was no way that their small guard could possibly take on a large force like that, but Cayle had disagreed. He never gotten along with his morally challenged sibling, and now the last die had been cast, and fate had thrown them against each other. As talented as his brother was with the sword, Cayle knew he would shoot him before the blood-stained thing even left it's sheath. "DRASS!" he called out to his brother, even though he was still a full hundred yards away. "DRASS!" he spat the name as if it was a curse. A silly magician had tried to cast a bolt of fire at him, but Cayle placed an arrow in the idiot's neck before he could complete the spell. Hector unleashed a bolt of lightning that smote another sorcerer down from the castle's walls, saving Cayle's life. Not that Cayle even noticed. Ren rushed forth, sword slashing, taking on the cavaliers that rushed to meet them, not questioning the need for battle or his chances of survival. As far as the young knight was concerned, there was fighting to be done and people to protect, and that was all there was to it. His instantaneous response to his friends danger saving both the lives of Hector and the Lycian soldiers that rushed behind them. He pulled out his lance, running it through a and already injured enemy sage. He spun his weapon striking yet another mage, without pause. He saw Cayle unleashing arrows like fury, and rushed to back his friend. Hector fought like a demon. Now that the fight had started, Hector had assigned himself to the task completely, and with his old childhood friend at his shoulder, he blasted apart his enemies without remorse. A white hot, divine fury blasted through his chest as he kicked the bodies of his opponent out of the way. His eyes filled with tears as he saw the bodies of castle Laus's children, but his pain only served to guide his spells better. They would die against the overwhelming odds, but they would die fighting. This was neither hope nor promise to Hector. This was a fact, set in stone. He would not stop until his body, soul and spell book were torn beyond recognition. Maxin rushed from one of his little ones to the next, delivering vulneries, aid and support. He swung sword and shield, riding from one end of the battlefield to the other, like a guardian angel. Every last sinew in his aged body roared back to life to give a final effort to save those that had been placed in his care. He ignored his own pain and dashed to the aid of all those who needed it, without hesitation. Tanaly dove down on the mages, unleashing all her rage and frustration. every last iota of her chaotic emotions was dispensed with an awe and fear inspiring display of aerial mastery. Nemea took a moment to seek an opponent, and struck with a fatal blow. Again, she paused momentarily, and instead of ducking under the ball of flame that sought her, she barreled through it, ignoring the searing pain as she blew her axe into the flesh of another vile mage. Something deep within her core screamed with a distorted, raw emotion she couldn't quite identify. It was redder than rage, darker than death. This monstrous force pounded through her as she bashed her way back to Hector's side, letting her ignore her pain. She roared, and swung a calculated blow that destroyed another one of her countless opposition. Ahead of all his companions, and fearlessly gaining ground, Cayle searched for his brother. His bow had cracked halfway across the castle's courtyard, and he had ripped a new one from the hands of an unfortunate Luas archer. All the mercenary forces were distracted and disorganized thanks to both the noise and fear that choked the air. Searing flames tore at their eyes. And yet Cayle shrugged all this off, and rushed towards his goal. Standing a few paces away from the castle's main door was his brother. A few more feet, and he would be close enough to fire. "DRASS!" he called out in challenge. "little brother?" Drass seemed mildly surprised. His light green coat was drenched with blood, as was his blade. His sharp, hawk-like features twisted into a smile. "So we finally have an excuse to slay each other!" With incredible speed he closed the gap between Cayle and himself, swinging straight at his brother's neck. Refusing to be scared, Cayle slipped out of harms way with not a moment to spare. Again, his brother's blade lunged at him, but this time Cayle was even more prepared. He rolled backwards, and as he did, pulled an arrow out of his quiver. As he came up to his knees, his bow was already pulled back. Taking an instant to aim, Cayle let go of his bow-string, smiling. The arrow almost took Drass's head roght off. But almost only counts in horse-shoes and Elfires. Not even phased by his brush with death, Drass swung his sword down, expecting Cayle to roll back again. Instead, Cayle rolled forward, under the blades blow, and kicked Drass in the chest with both of his feet. Caught unprepared, Drass flew backwards, winded, wounded but with pride still intact. As Cayle launched another arrow, Drass managed to roll out of the way, only to pull himself short of a full roll as an arrow blasted into the earth where he would have been if he hadn't stopped himself. Cayle's mind was on fire. "WHY WON'T YOU DIE!" he roared. He was sickened by his brother non-chalant attitude towards combat and murder, and the sight around them only proved that his brother hadn't changed. Most of the corpses were piled here. Hell, from the look of it, a majority of the battle had taken place right outside the castle gate, and as far as Cayle could see, Drass was the only living thing left here. Disgusted, he prepared to launch another arrow. Maxin knew something here wasn't right. As he punched his spear through another opponent, he knew what it was. The man he had just slain was the last he would that day. No other soldiers came forth to chalange him. But that couldn't be! What had happened to the twenty to one odds? he should have died by now, as should have his little ones, and yet they stood in the corpse littered courtyard very much alive. Most of the Lycan soldiers hadn't even had the need to draw their spears yet! Had they fought that well? Had they seriously won on their own? Impossible. He looked towards Cayle and his brother, who were trading blows like it was doomsday. Everytime anyone came near the two, one of them would scream and even shove them away. This would be a private match. Maxin looked towards the castle gate from which Drass had emerged. Bodies were everywhere, both mercenary and guard lay dead and in a mountain of gut-wrenching gore. He took a closer look at Drass and almost swore. Drass was wearing broken shackles. It didn't take an idiot to realize that Drass had probably been a prisoner in castle Laus up till approximately an hour ago. But how could one man, even with the advantage of the battle, fight his way through two small armies? It helped that the two armies were fighting each other, and that Lord Hector's gaurd had provided anther element of distraction, but still. No human swordsman could have done it. Maxin examined Drass again. There were recent scar marks all over his skin, with traces of magical healing still easily seen on his body. He had an ally, somewhere near. Maxin took another moment to realize the true reason why Drass had escaped. The sword in his hands was thick, slightly bent, and its hilt looked like devil's horns. It was a Killer Edge, no doubt. Maxin knew Cayle was going to hate him for this, but too damn bad. Spurring his horse into action and lifting his shield high, he rushed to interfere with this battle of brothers. Drass's strike was beyond beautiful. He spun his body, every last muscle putting in effort into a slash perfectly timed and aimed. The moment stretched to an eternity as the blade sliced through the air and towards Cayle's neck. The wind whistled and the god of war cried with shame as the sword cut its murderous path with a perfection to surpass even the greatest of sword masters. Drass smiled, seeing the scene reflected in each drop of sweat that flew from his forehead as he spun. The sound of shattering steel and split wood roared through the courtyard. Maxin had dived in the way and not a moment to late. He had used his strongest lance to block the blow, and now its tip and the five inches that had connected it to the rest of the weapon were gone, blown clear off. Even more impressive, the strike had still hit its mark. A nasty red cut opened from the right of Cayle's collar bone to his bottom left rib. Cayle was torn between shock and pain. He remembered his brother being an expert swordsman, but not this. He had blown past Maxin, the one shield that Cayle had thought would never shatter. His chest was open and bleeding, close to death. For the first time, the death became more that just a concept, more than a fear for him. He realized how easy, and how frightening, it would be to die. His bow dropped from his limp fingers, and his lip stuttered, words flowing without pattern or purpose from his mouth. Drass was outraged and insulted. He wanted to slice Maxin to bits. He wanted to slice his brother to bits. He wanted to slice the whole damn world to bits. Nothing was going right today, it seemed. His chance at freedom was being hampered by his holier-than-though brother and some aged knight of no importance. Why? Before he could get an answer, he got something damn well near to a heart attack. Holly had run out of her hiding spot straight at the enemy. Hector couldn't beleive his eyes as he saw Princess Holly of Euteria running at him. He couldn't stay on his feet as tackle-hugged him to the ground. Nor could he suppress a yelp of shock as she planted a kiss on his cheek. "Hecky!" she squealed with delight. "Its been far too long. Whatever are you doing here? How have you been these past years? Did you get mixed up with this kidnapping shtick as well? Are you okay? How are all of these guys? How come everyone's dead? Did you guys have a big fight or something? Are you hurt? I could help you if you are, just tell me were it hurts? Does it hurt here? 'bout here? Or maybe here?-" Sick and tired of the insanity of the day, Nemea finally burst. "CAN SOMEONE PLEASE EXPLAIN TO ME WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!" "Like hell I know," Hector wrestled Holly off of himself and stood up. "YOU!" Nemea swung her axe in Drass's general direction, "DON"T YOU DARE MOVE! AND YOU!" this time she swung her instrument of death at Holly, "START EXPLAINING!" Chapter Five: Cain and Abel "So, I was being sent to Pherae castle as well, for defense en'stuff, like the rest of you guys!" Holly began hwer story, "an' I was staying at Laus castle an' all them guys just, ya'know, popped in! I swear, Hecky, I didn't nottin' to anger them or anything! They storm the castle, ask for you guys, and put me in the dungeon! The dungeon, Hecky! They put the Princess of Euteria in the dungeon! The Princess, Hecky! I mean, what type of guys put the Princess in the dungeon? Hey, you 'kay axe-girl, because your face looks pretty red there. you have a fever or somethin'? You want me to look at that? I'm a trained healer, y'know! Probably just stress from all the fightin' and stuff! We can-" Hector clamped a hand over Holly's mouth before she said anything that would lead to her head being disconnected from her shoulders by Nemea. "Can you just get to the main point please?" Hector tried to contain the situation. His body was starting to give out, and he really wanted the day to end already. "OHHHH! you want the good part! Okay! You should have said so. Anyways, I was in the dungeon, and that Drass kid kicked all the guards butts b'fore they could do anything! He took his fancy little sword from the Confiscated Items Room, an went off like a bomb! He was doing really well, an' all, but he got a nasty hit to his stomach. Since he sprung me out of jail like that, I figured I should the guy, y'know? So I found this Heal staff, and I was just sorta followin' him! He's amazing! He cut through them guys like they were nothing! It was all like Swoosh! and Swish! and then we were good to go. I jus' helped him when he got hurt, but that guy can aima sword, I tell you. An' he tells me to wait on inside, so I do, but I peek an' I see you, Hecky! So I came out to say 'hi' and stop the fight, cause we're good freinds right? Ol' buddies you and I! Go back ever since-" "We get the point, Holly," Maxin intervened, realizing that the Princess can and would simply continue talking until someone stopped her. "So how 'bout it? Can Drass and me join your adventure? Please? Please? With sugar on top? It's going to be so awesome! We'll be heroes an' all that! For now though, we can stay in the castle an' all, because it looks like you guys could use a nap. After that, we can swap stories an' stuff, and tomorow mornin', I'm going down to Laus kitchen an' making Waffles! It's go-" "Yeah, about that... Cayle and Drass are pretty much at each others' necks. I don't think that will turn out to well," Hector felt his last bit of strength deserting him as his adrenaline rush died down. He turned to the brothers, wishing he could simply poof them away to different parts of the globe. "Can you guys please just leave each other alone? You are brothers..." With the shock and interruption caused by Holly, most of the companions found themselves loosing the frantic blood-lust that had driven them through the battle, and were nodding in agreement. Ren moved towards Cayle to pull him further away from Drass, only to be greeted by Cayle's fury. Cayle was nowhere near calming down. "You are just going to let this bastard get away?!" he screamed. "When you look at it, he was doing it in self defense... and thanks to him, there weren't enough bad guys left to kill us. Show some mercy an let him go." Ren was answered by a punch to the face. "Way out of line Cayle!" Nemea roared, rushing to Ren's aid. "I'm sick of my brother getting away with murder! That bastard deserves to die!" Cayle screamed. "You're just upset because I'm better with women than you are," Drass chuckled. It took both Nemea and Ren to keep Cayle from rushing at his brother fists first. "Can someone explain to me why they hate each other? It really doesn't seem fair, an' all, cause they are siblin's, an' all that. Drass, honey, you really shouldn't fight like that," Holly lamented, completely unphased by the violence surrounding her. "It's not as much hate as it is Cayle's hobby of killing siblings," Tanaly hissed. "Dear gods, children!" Maxin switched the broken point of his spear from Drass to Cayle, was was about to break out of Ren and Nemea's grasp. Finding a core of leadership that had been instilled in him by his ancestry, Hector gathered his remaining strength. "THE TWO OF YOU HAD BETTER STOP FIGHTING, NOW!" he roared. The princess of Bern was crying again. No matter what he said or shouted, Taran knew he couldn't actually hurt the damned bitch. He had hated her out of jealousy and hurt pride to begin with, and now he found that he hated her for being the most annoying creature he had met in his life. She refused to stop whimpering and crying out her parents' names. She refused to act like a decent captive and cooperate. When she had refused to eat, Taran nearly threw a fit. The morphs had stopped him from killing the girl, but barely. So he simply stopped feeding her. He would not force food into her mouth to keep her alive. If she wanted to maintain her useless self, that would be her problem to deal with. He just didn't feed her. The morphs would place food in her cage, but never check if it was eaten, either, since the Dark Druid never told them they needed to. If the bitch wanted food, she would have to come to him on her hands and knees, and beg. She would have to accept defeat, loose hope and pride, and learn just how defenseless she really was. Finala could no longer feel the pain. She could no longer feel her emotions. She was beyond that now. She was numb, locked away in the double-edged insanity that had chipped and cracked the walls of her mind. She no longer had the strength to imagine her family and her castle, no hope left to imagine rescue, and imagining food did more harm than good. To her, time simply passed, quickly and painfully as it ate at her. She could count her ribs if she had the strength to remember what order those little number figures were supposed to work in. The purple cloaked demon that stuck to her as closely as the anti-magic man did had made it clear that he didn't care if she died. When she had gone on a hunger strike, he had simply removed the food from her cage every time it was placed there. She wanted that food so badly now, but she was in no physical condition to grab it before the purple-cloaked youth could. She wondered if she should beg, but her defeated spirit couldn't summon up the courage and modesty to do so. She wished she could just waste away faster, and get away from this miserable hell. Finala wondered how long she had before her wish came true. A few days, if she was lucky.... Hector was far beyond tired, and had decided on what he saw as the wisest course of action. With the help of Nemea, Ren, Maxin and three of the Pherean soldiers, he had forced both Cayle and Drass into separate cells inside the castle. Those two could use the time to to cool off, and he could use the time to sleep. Thankfully, Drass made no hassle when it came to this. He had gotten slapped twice by Nemea for attempting to tease his brother, but that's around it. Cayle, however, had been a different story. Hector had lost his cool after around ten minutes of non-stop yelling. At that point, he had just used a nice chunk of broken ceiling to knock Cayle out. Maxin had tried to reprimand him for his actions, but Hector had been beyonf caring at that point. Even the greatest of men had their breaking point, and admittedly, Hector was not the greatest of men. Maxin had volunteered to watch the brothers, a duty that no sane man on earth would volunteer for. He sat, reclining against a wall, and wondered what could possibly cause Cayle to hate his brother so much. He had Wolt, the two's father, had been best friends for years, and the two of them were still not sure as to what had happened. He noticed Holly walk down to the dungeon at around two in the morning, but said nothing. Maxin figured there was more to be gained by watching what was about to happen then by interrupting it. Holly crouched by Drass, using a wet cloth to clean his scrapes and scratches. "You feeling a'right?" she whispered. Maxin heard genuine worry in her voice. Drass's eyes snapped open, searching frantically, full of paranoia, for a moment. Once the shock left his mind, he relaxed, and raised a hand to Holly's face. "I'm fine, now that you're here," Drass whispered. Maxin cringed and suppressed a giggle at the cliched line. "What's the story b'tween you and Cayle, hon?" Holly whispered. Drass cringed, sat up, and after another harsh whisper from Holly, recited his tale. *** Cayle and Drass had never been close as kids. They had no interests in common. The only thing the two shared other than their family and home and blood was their jealosy of each other. Drass had always wanted, though he denied it, to be as good as his father and brother at bows. Cayle had always resented the fact that Drass was older, more popular, and generally a happier person. The two had fought each other constantly, trying to outdo one another. From fighting to farming to whatever else they could think of, the two had constantly battled. Drass was the one who crossed the line that day, all those years ago. The memory was a haze for him (though not for his brother). Drass had been a losing streak, and was beyond frustrated. How could his brother have bested him? he had asked. The anger had boiled for weeks on end. As a new challenge arose, Drass had promised himself that he would do anything to triumph. The first to complete Farmer Jhon's list of requests would win one Jhon's newborn puppies, a poster had declared to them. Being at ages seven and nine, the brothers had wanted the puppy more than anything, and decided that they would compete for ownership of their soon to be pet. The fact that they could both play with the puppy because they lived under the same roof had somehow escaped them, and the competition had come to end in disaster. Drass, who had lost, had turned on his brother and proceeded to almost beat Cayle senseless. When an adult had tried to pry Drass off of Cayle, Drass proceeded to almost beat the adult senseless as well. The pit of anger that had settled at Drass's core had exploded, and jealousy had turned to something much much worse. Drass couldn't remember the exact number of people that it had taken to finally restrain him, but he knew that the number was definitely larger than it should have been. And, being as mature as nine year-olds are, Drass had gotten ashamed of his actions, and had run away before his parents could arrive to punish him. Having spent every last moment, free moment he had ever had in the woods, he knew exactly where to hide. Drass hid out for almost twenty-four hours before he heard his parents calling in desperation. At that moment, he nearly cracked, but before he could turn himself in, Cayle had shown up. Cayle, angry himself, had attacked Drass on site. Drass used a hefty branch to knock his brother out. Thinking his brother dead, Drass ran for almost seventeen hours straight before stopping. Guilt ridden and scared, Drass vowed never to return home. He had spent his tenth birthday on the streets, hungry and desperate, and Drass had come close to returning home on multiple occasions. His fate had been sealed, however, when he had been partially adopted by a nomad family, that had fed him and given him shelter. Confused and alone, Drass had preferred to travel with them than to attempt to return home and try to patch up the mess that his life must have become. In a series of childish and uninformed decisions, Drass had seperated himself from his past. His life with the nomad family had been good, yet guilt had haunted him. He had tried to return home upon turning old enough to travel on his own, but fear had kept him from ever entering his old village. *** Drass knew that all he had done a pretty inadequate job of trying to describe why exactly he had stayed away from home, but it was impossible to describe the mixture that had been created in his heart due to youth, fear, guilt, and jealousy. A black hole had formed in his chest, and that hole threatened to consume him. At the time, it had seemed to him that avoiding the situation would be easier. He had run away. The self-loathing that he held for himself due to that he had expressed by anger and steel. Every time Drassh fought, his anger and frustration had been subdued, and he had gotten addicted to this violent running away which drove the regrets and what-if's out of his mind. He had left a trail of corpses behind him, a trail that had been clear enough for Cayle to find. They had met around a year ago, where their show-done had been postponed due to the large crowd that had surrounded them at the time. Drass had run again on that day, though he refused to admit it. Now that they have met again, he had almost killed his brother for the third time. Drass wondered if he should be feeling anything regarding that topic, but he had found that after years of pushing emotions out of his heart, he could no longer recall them. When he looked at the green-haired child that slept uncomfortably in the cell across from his, he just felt empty. Cayle's strong sense of self-righteousness had not exactly helped the situation either, Drass would tell himself, but he knew that most of the fault was his. "Idiot!" Holly smacked Drass across the face. "what the hell!?" Drass hissed. "You are a stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid little idiot!" Holly found this as a reasonable explanation for her actions, but Drass didn't. He tried to shove her away, which, in hindsight, probably proved Holly's last statement. Holly retorted to the shove with a baseball swing of her heal staff that smashed right into Drass's crotch. "You are a violent little monkey! Tomorrow, we are finding a way for you to apologize to your brother, and once this thing is over, you are goin' home to 'pologize, got it?" at this point, Cayle woke up, confused and disoriented. Holly continued. "You need ta stop being such a stupid little idiot, and start doin' things to patch up your life! I am not letting you sit here depressed and stupid and all, you hear me? You are going to start acting nice and all, and I don't want to hear anything near a complaint from you! You're goin' to sober up, and start actually doin' good stuff for a change! I refuse to believe that I was rescued by anyone who is dumb enough to run away from his family!" this rant continued for around and hour and a half, most of which Cayle spent laughing. Drass's recounting of the tale had made Cayle question his hatred of his brother. He was still angry, but he realized that once he thought about it, the anger was more an emotion he hadn't let go of, rather than something he was actually feeling now. As he overheard Holly's speech, he felt a bit of the grudge melt away. Forgiveness could be an option too, he realized. His brother couldn't be that bad. Cayle, as much as he wanted to, found that couldn't stop giggling as Holly's rant reached the half our mark. Once his anger faded somewhat, watching his brother and nemesis, a six foot, powerful swordsman, being preached at, slapped by, and generally dominated by a girl who was four foot eight and wielding a weapon that was supposed to be used for healing was actually very amusing. Especially considering this was all happening at three in the morning. Did seeing his brother get humiliated and humanized like that held erase some of his anger? Probably, Cayle admitted. Even people as strange and crazy as Holly were good for something. Cayle also had to admit that some of Holly's speech applied to him as well. His anger at his brother was far from gone, but he decided that all in all, he should at least give his bastard of a sibling another try. If Holly successfully managed to reform him, Cayle would rest his case and stop attempting to rip out Drass's lungs. If, he emphasized, if. Taking watch had never been a problem for Ren, and most likely would never be. If his lord or commanding officer told him that he should be awake and alert, he would be. Ren was never prone to fatigue, and on a good day, only needed five or six hours of sleep and still function well in battle. So, as dawn started to spread its rosy fingers over the horizon and claw its way through the cold night, Ren was awake and alert. He saw the weary Pegasus knight arrive with a message for Lord Hector. After taking her weapons, he let her through to drop the message off at Hector's bedside. He gave them back when she returned. It was shocking that he could maintain proper procedure and protocol at four a.m. in the morning, but for those who knee him well enough it was normal. Ren realized that he wasn't just going by the book, but rather, he was being the knight that the author of the book figured only existed in manuals and fantasy. He never considered it a bad thing. Supposedly no one is perfect, and Ren figured his imperfection came from the fact that he used the Knight's Guidebook rather than his own head. It was easier to be told what was right and wrong than to try to decide for yourself. That's why he tried not to feel sympathy for Tanaly. The girl had been depressed ever since she had found that Cayle had killed her sister. She was sitting on the windowsill of the watchtower in front of him, crying, and he knew that he should comfort her. He also knew that she was crying over the death of a person that had tried to kill Hector, and so he shouldn't help her. For the first time in his life, Ren had come to the point where his code of conduct contradicted itself. He watched as tears fell down her moon-stained, silver cheeks. He watched her frail body shake with sorrow. He watched her light green eyes lose their luster. He felt his heart squirm with an attempt to decide what to do. He would never forgive Tanaly's sister for her murder attempt, even though he had known the poor girl, and he wondered if he could if he could forgive Tanaly for crying, for being weak during a time of war. He knew that he two would break down if he was placed in her shoes, but that only made it more confusing. As he stood there, Ren made the first spontaneous, heartfelt decision in his life. He squeezed into the windowsill, gulped down his fear of heights as he realized that they were three floors above the nearest balcony, and offered his shoulder to the his miserable companion. His heart somersaulted, and his brain stopped working as he felt her rest against him. He just watched sun start to climb over the rooftops, not speaking, just comforting Tanaly with his presence. He felt her tears roll from his bare shoulder down his arms, but found that he didn't mind. He had, for the first time, decided on his own what to do, and he knew that he had made the right decision. That's all that mattered. Chapter Six: A change in course Hector was sitting in the lead wagon, meditating. At this moment in time, his mood was about as friendly as that of a pack of starving sharks. His troops tried not to disturb him, and yet, Hector found himself cringing with irritation every time he heard a mumble or a cough from the men sharing the twenty foot space inside of the wagon with him. He was still trying to figure out what that roar had been. That ear-piercing, mind-shattering, soul numbing wall of noise that had blasted three times from somewhere off in distance. He refused to believe it was a mountain lion. Those things were not nearly loud enough. His troops had tried to pass it off as some wild beast, but Hector knew that his family luck would prove that otherwise. He had a sinking feeling in his gut. His grandfathers, his parents, his friends' ancestry, all of them had found themselves fighting for their lives. It was a common saying that all good things come in three, and Hector guessed that meant that heroes did as well. But he wasn't like his father, or grandfathers. He wasn't an amazing leader, imbued with untold strength and potential. He wasn't like his mother, either. Her power far surpassed his. He was a man, young and rough, but was he hero material? Did his parents have the same doubts as he had? Hector doubted it. Now that dragon gate was destroyed and the Demon Dragon had turned into a peaceful, benevolent creature, what horror was he to face? Gone were the easy battles facing mercenaries. Something evil was afoot. Something was out to get him, and Hector found himself full of doubt and real fear. What exactly was going to happen? When? Where? Why? How? Hector found that he didn't have any answers. Tanaly wasn't in the mood to be challenged by her Pegasus, not that it mattered. Her mount was acting like a child being dragged to a dentist. constant whining, moaning, and plain refusal to cooperate. Whatever had unleashed the roar a few minutes ago had definitely shaken her steed, which posed a problem because she was supposed to be scouting for problems. She could see nothing, hear nothing or sense nothing wrong. History and record pointed to Dragons, but that wasn't possible. There was no way. No possible way. Right? Ren however, didn't need to console himself with logic. He knew that having a name for fear did nothing. A threat was a threat, and dragon, giant or demon, it was still most likely headed for them. Though not prone to pessimism, Ren knew better than to delude himself with possibly imperfect logic. The land of Elibe was a pot that brewed nothing but trouble. He was trained to deal with that, at least in theory. His training was the thing that let him take a second glance at the hunched over child on the side of the road playing with his dog. Something with the child wasn't right, and the next time he saw the young boy's face, Ren knew exactly what had attracted his attention. Ren almost fell of his horse with shock as the boy's eyes seared their image into his mind. They were empty, lifeless, and worse, and the color of pure gold. The line of commands that blasted themselves past Ren's lips had every last soldier in the caravan on their feet, weapons out and shields forward. When they realized they weren't being ambushed again, they lowered their shields in confusion. Thus they received the horrifying view of Ren's flaming form blast twenty feet past them. They turned to face their threat, and screamed in horror. A filthy, gut wrenching abomination danced slowly towards them. A slimy, scaled and sickening body of a mutated dragon awkwardly yet menacingly shlurped its way towards them. Instead of arms and legs, the creature crawled with the hands and feet of a young human child, and instead of its reptilian face, a gruesome mask of child flesh and scales adorned its neck. An over sized tongue dripping with both spit and stomach acid writhed its way of the creature's skull, and its haunting gold eyes popped halfway out of his skull. Most of the men couldn't even react before they too were blasted away by the monstrosity that had attacked them. A few magicians and archers kept their wits about them, and shot every last arrow and spell in their arsenal at the disgusting thing. Their efforts had little effect though, and the creature dragged its spongy, deformed body their way, lusting for more victims. Taran was shocked at the display he was watching. His new partner in crime had promised him dragons, and dragon was not the term he'd use to describe the failed mamakute that had been launched at Hector's caravan. That blend of human, dragon and morph was nowhere near the perfect being that Taran worshiped so. He wanted to scream, and go down to kill the thing himself. He had been warned that this was a prototype and likely to fail, but this was not the plan. What was left of Tarans sanity cried in agony as it watched his gods' disfigured copy. He felt Exaccus burn in his hands, and he knew why. How dare had the Shaman create this mockery. Both the human and dragon parts of him were stung by the indignity done to their races, and to one another. He would not accept it. He would not, under any circumstance, let the Shaman create anymore of these insulting puppets. The holy trident, too, was angry. In Taran's hands, the mighty weapon twisted, turned and folded, shaping itself to fit it new master. Gold and silver spun around Taran's body, warping around each of his arms thrice before continuing its transformation. A shaft of gleaming metal protruded over each set of his knuckles, and gleaming scythes loaded with hatred angled themselves downwards. Even the sturdy morphs backed away from Taran in fear now. Two weapons of death and destruction now hung around Taran's arms, and he intended to use them, and use them now. Tanaly had rushed Ren to the nearest healer, and Hector was already casting spells frantically at the almost indescribable opponent that had come to plague them. Cayle placed shot after shot into its durable hide, and any and all who could attack from far away did so. The miserable creature seemed unable to project his bursts of flame beyond ten feet, which was about the only comforting thing the situation offered. The thing was steadily advancing, and half of Hector's soldiers were either heavily wounded or dead due to the flaming hell that spewed from its lips. The first cart was in flames, and the two merchants who had driven it were running away as fast as their feet were carrying them. Their escape lowered morale even more. Every soldier seemed to look over his shoulder with thoughts of escape. Hector was beyond thought or feeling now. He had simply shut himself down and went into the primal space of his mind where the aggressive survival instinct of humanities early days still clung to the now advanced species. Spells burst from his lips like the pellets of a shotgun, blasting wildly from his fingertips and charring the earth and sky with their horrifying strength. His blood boiled, and fight was the only command his brain could give. He brought forth shots of flame and bullets of electricity that arched through the air one after another, blasting all that lay in their path. His soul screamed with indignity, but he could not listen. Unlike his ancestry, he had a breaking point, and this new abomination was it. He was the only one not retreating, too crazed for fear. He refused to play hero and act with sense and fear for his troops. He would not take the shit that the world had thrown him sitting down. Taran too, refused to continue playing games. Abandoning his safety and anonymity, he blazed towards the evil creature which defiled every sense of twisted code that had driven him in his life. The twin blades of Exaccus screamed as well, as he tore his path to shreds. If Hector was insane, that Nemea was three times that. The rage that had burned through her heart these past battles had ignited yet again, and she would could not subdue it this time. An evil, red hot rage gripped every inch of her body. Every inch of her physical self writhed in anger, and her grip shattered the handle of her axe. Not hindered in the least, she reached for the silver axe that hung from the back of one of the Generals that had formed a protective formation around the second caravan, ignoring his cry of indignation. Without a moments pause, she barreled past Hector. She was too was at her breaking point, and she too refused to simply accept what fate had dealt to her and her friends. She knew that killing the Dragon-child would not solve her problems, but she didn't care. She would decimate the thing, not for the sake of survival but as proof to the universe that it had messed with the wrong person. She would prove to the universe that she had had enough. In that instant, it seemed as if the world were about to end. All those who watched the crescendo of calamity on that day could not describe to their fellows the exact moment that the three paragons of annihilation smashed their furor into the body of the Dragon-child. All they could remember, however, left its mark on their souls. The gold and purple of Taran, the blinding yellow of Hector and the blood red of Nemea smashed themselves on the same moment into the body of their adversary with every last bit of strength they could muster. An explosion of pure hell burned itself into the soldier's eyeballs, and shook the earth's very foundations. A sound equal to that of ten thousand lightning bolts shattered the atmosphere, and an ever expanding nexus of raw power threw everything in every direction. Soldiers howled in pain, unsure if they would ever live to see tomorrow. Tanaly, wrapped herself around Ren's limp form, and Holly and Drass hugged each other, in an embrace they assumed would be their last. Maxin uttered a final prayer, and Cayle felt his heart give, finally aware of how much he truly missed his brother. The words "I forgive you" slipped through his lips as he lowered his bow, and then the flaring white overtook him. The fiendish force rose to the apex of its power, and somehow, miraculously, it receded. In a moment, the explosion had ended, and it left behind a serene silence, ironically pure, and yet disturbingly loud. Slumped in the crater of their own creation, Hector, Taran and Nemea lay, unmoving. Chapter Seven: Hell Finala slowly raised the food to her lips. Nibble after agonizing nibble, she let much needed sustenance into her body. The mere smell of well-cooked chicken had awakened her, and now fully functioning, she watched carefully. She lay face down as she ate, still too week to sit up unsupported, but that didn't matter. She was alive. Purple-Cloak, as she had taken to calling Taran, was arguing with another cloaked figure. The two looked ridiculous; Small, angry figures wrapped in heavy and dark blankets on a hot day like this. Finala laughed, her mind still somewhat delirious. "You mentally-deficient, basket case child! how dare you interrupt? You destroyed my prototype!" Black-Cloak cried. Finala recognized a feminine tone, but the voice was far from human. It was too slow, wavy. It assaulted her mind, and yet it did so smoothly. The voice was a sickening, gut-wrenching fog. "If I hadn't come in to save your life, you'd have been burnt straight to hell, you mumbling moron!" Purple-Cloak responded with a tirade twice as loud and insulted, and thrice as insulting. Having lived in a court for most of her life, Finala couldn't recognize half of the curses he used. Using context clues, she learned more than she had ever wanted to know. Between these words, only insanity seemed to pass the youth's lips. He spoke of Dragons, wars and perfection, none of which had made sense to her. The verbal battle had lasted hours, and seemed to be loosing no speed. However, between hollered obscenities and bellowed phrases, she gleamed a small amount of vital information. In the saving of Taran, the hooded she-demon had been forced to spare the lives of Lord Hector, whom Finala remembered from a few formal occasions. Though she didn't know him well, Finala was glad the young marquee was alive. The containing of the explosive blast created due to the unleashement of Exaccus, and an assortment of other forces she didn't quite understand, had drained the she-demon of energy. Finala was glad to hear so. Most importantly, the she-demon had demanded the Finala be fed. The Princess of Bern was scared and disturbed that she was a cog in the she-demon's machinations, but death scared her more. For the time-being, she would live. That, in truth, was all that mattered to her at this moment in time. Her stomach finally satisfied, she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep as her body began to build itself anew. Please, post any and all comments and thoughts. I would love to hear your opinions. With all thanks, Hekkastor.