[attr="class","dec1"]There will
be blood
shed

[attr="class","dec2"]
here enjoy my latest novel

From the fog came a deep, rumbling laughter.

The Warrior watched, his panicked eyes following the chain into the mist. His chest heaved with eager breathes, his nerves shook with anxious anticipation. Though his form ached from his collision with the soft earth, adrenaline rushed through his veins, surging through his body, causing him to tremble. But with what? Excitement? Terror? He was completely overwhelmed, his mind racing as he struggled against the strong, linked chain holding him.

And there, from the depths of the forest, he appeared.

Garland stood, as tall and naturally menacing as he always came off. His armor seemed to blend with the white fog, but his eyes, that haunting, golden stare, it burned into his soul. The nameless knight struggled harder and harder against his bonds, his limbs locked to his body by the constricting chain of Garland’s weapon, resembling little more than a fox trying to fight it’s way out of a foot trap, clamped, trapped, instinct to survive overriding all else.


Garland’s words chilled him to the bone. It had been a long time since he’d heard that dark voice, since he’d felt the overwhelming desire to scream, to raise his sword, to defend himself and fight against something he couldn’t escape. It felt like something was tearing his soul apart, one limb at a time.


“Wait--!” the Warrior was barely able to squeak the word out, as he felt the pressure of Garland’s heavy, armored foot on his body,
“Garlan--!”

His body was pulled up against his will, and then slammed back down into the earth. The nameless knight gasped and heaved, the wind knocked from him, a sharp pain in his rib cage and his back flaring up, spreading, his eyes widening from the unexpected agony. He couldn’t reach up, he couldn’t move, and as he rasped and sputtered to gather his breath, his mind could barely process a thought.

Garland yanked on the short chain once again, and the Warrior was finally dragged to his feet. His blank, blue eyes met the formidable golden gaze, that of his eternal foe, that of his friend. The power of those eyes, it was meant to instill fear and anger in his heart, to electrify him, to prepare him to fight until his body could no longer move, until his veins ran dry of their blood, until his skull was cracked open or his heart was ripped from his torn and broken chest.

But, no fire came.
Even as he was released from his constraints, the Warrior was hollow.

The paragon felt a hand wrapping around the back of his neck, where his armor exposed his hair, he felt the grip, and in an instant, he saw white. He grunted, the immense pain blossoming in his forehead, behind his eyes, blinding him for a moment. He stumbled back, a gloved hand somehow managing to find his blade, his left arm raising his shield in a minor attempt to stay any potential attack. His head was swimming, ringing, and slowly color began to return to his vision as he grit his teeth and found balance on his feet once more.

As everything began to set itself proper once more, the shock finally wore away.

The Warrior stood tall, forcing calm breaths, his eyes locked onto the Nemesis just a few feet away. However, he did not raise his sword. The longer he stood there, the longer he eyed Garland, the more emotion crept into his eyes, into his expression. It wasn’t the typical focused concentration, or the frustration. It wasn’t his usual determination.

It was heartbreak.


“I will not raise my sword to you,” the Warrior stated, quietly, the grip on his blade tight, shaking,
“The cycles have ended. I set you free.”

Yet, here they were. Garland, immediately on the offensive, trying to drag him back into the cycles, back into the war. Not a moment had been wasted; it played out just as every dream he’d ever had. No matter where his life would lead, no matter where he was, what he was doing, the Warrior was destined to fight Garland. They were destined to be at odds. At least, that was the case before the cycles were broken. The Warrior had kept true to his promise, he’d delivered what he swore he would. Freedom and salvation, to Garland, the man who had killed him time and time again. The fallen Knight had been purified, he’d been saved, he lived his life as a normal man with normal responsibilities and friends.


“You are nothing but a trick of the forest. You must be.”

As if on command, the ground rumbled, and the Warrior was shaken back into reality. From the earth sprung forth vines, wrapping around his armored Nemesis, holding him tightly. The ground shook, and the nameless Knight sprung backwards, watching with wide, curious eyes as the forest seemed to be reclaiming Garland; as if he truly was nothing but a simple trick, there to get him killed, to fool him into being ended by the large beast behind him. He watched Garland struggle against the containment for only a moment, before hearing his name called by a familiar voice, finally tearing him from his current nightmare.

The Warrior turned and joined his companion, the Knight, Sir Folles. He was surprised to see his friend a bit worse for the wear, banged up, bark and leaves in his hair, blood caked to his armor. What had occurred, while he’d been distracted by the tricks of the woods?

Well, it was no matter. While Wiegraf physically appeared to have taken extreme damage, his spirit was full of life, and full of fire to fight. His gaze now focused on the giant beast once more, the Warrior steeled himself, raising his blade,
“You have my sword!”

As Wiegraf began his attack, a light filled the area and cleared the fog. For a moment, the nameless warrior admired it in awe, feeling the immense power of the attack, knowing full well to keep a safe distance from the strike zone. It was almost blinding, pulsing, filling the area with such a bright explosion he nearly felt the need to take cover from it himself.

Instead, he squinted through the light, and called on his own divine power. The area immediately in front of the Warrior pulsed with energy, and in the empty air formed six large, red and orange swords of light. They buzzed silently, floating for only a moment, before the nameless knight was sure he had his target. Willing his control over them, the Warrior swung his blade, forcing the swords forward, guiding them true to their target. They whizzed through the fading light of Wiegraf’s attack, whipping through the air before implanting themselves deep into the monster’s back.

And yet, as the air cleared, there seemed barely a scratch on the beast.

The Warrior watched in awe, and partial frustration, as the beast spoke. It was impressive -- no, impressive wouldn’t quite describe it. The monster was spectacular, and as the heat took over the land, incinerated the grass, it stole the air from him. He could barely move, barely breathe. He could only watch in awe, frozen in his spot, as the beast’s thunderous voice filled his ears and as the ball of fire built above it’s head.

Yet, as Belias swung his arms forward and the massive ball of fire began to drop, the Warrior was spurred by instinct. He rushed forward as the flames spread, as the light began to blind him. Folles was still a few feet in front of him, and with each step, the earth was more scorched, hot as lava. The paragon dashed forward, finally landing just in front of his fellow Knight, and threw his arms out in front him. There was just a breath of a moment left, and he called his power forth, summoning three large, magic shields of light in front of the two of them.

But, as the brunt of the attack hit, he nearly felt himself falter.

The power was immense. It threatened to knock him off of his feet, and burn him from skin to bone to ash. Instead, the Warrior grit his teeth and closed his eyes from the blinding, intense heat, and dug his heels into the scorched earth. He pressed his strength forward, feeling Wiegraf’s presence behind him -- still alive. The force of the flames threatened to push through, to break his shields, to shatter his resolve. However, even as the severe heat began to seep through, to choke him, the Warrior would not be moved. Flames licked over the tops of the shields, reaching for him, burning the tips of his gloves from his fingers, licking at his face the longer he held, steadfast.

Finally, as the attack began to clear, the Knight’s strength gave way. The shields shattered and the fire blazed through the grass, flames catching to anything they could grab. He held his arms up to cover his face, the armor saving him from the worst of the attack. The Warrior took a moment to catch his breath, sweat pouring down his face, before the scent of burning fabric reached him. He turned to check Wiegraf, and caught the sight of twisting fire as he did. Tired and panicked, he ripped the cape from his back and dropped it, watching it incinerate almost immediately as it touched the ground. However, as his blue eyes found Wiegraf -- safe and alive -- he relaxed. He nodded, acknowledging his fellow Knight, before turning to view their enemy once more.

The land around them was destroyed. What trees hadn’t been reduced to ash were blackened, leafless. The ground was brown and black, fire licking and consuming anything that could still burn. The beast seemed to relish in the destruction, even if it’s targets hadn’t been totally incinerated.

The nameless Knight readied his blade, twirling it in his hand for a moment before finally opening his mouth to speak.


“We will have to whittle the beast down. Follow my lead.”

Yet, he paused before moving, obvious hesitation in his armored form. A few silent moments passed, before the Warrior turned his head to glance behind them at the ruined land. Exhaustion faded from his gaze, replaced by determination, and for a moment, a strange, passioned anger.


“Garland!” he barked into the empty space behind the two, knowing if that the Nemesis was real, he would hear the call,
“If you are no illusion of this ruined forest, you will help us defeat the beast or you will leave. I’ve not the time for your foolish talk of fate and destiny!”

With that the Warrior turned back to his target and rushed forward. Gone was the exhaustion from the previous attack, and though sweat still ran from his face and stung the red streaked burns on his cheeks, though his fingers ached in pain as they threatened to bleed, he moved with purpose and passion. The nameless knight was quick, appearing at the base of Belias, the fiery monster, and pressed hard against the ground, throwing himself upwards. His sword struck the thick hide of the beast a few times, testing it how tough it was, before he decided on his attack.

Twisting his body in the air, the Warrior summoned his strength to his sword once more. A crystal of light appeared from the tip of his sword, and with one last push of strength he shouted,
“Blade of Light!” From the crystal came a giant blade of holy magic, a light blade, half as wide as the beast itself and just as tall. It had been aimed underneath it’s neck, and as Belias lost it’s balance from the strike, the Warrior dared to push off of it’s chest with one foot. His armor heated quickly and his foot began to cook within the iron, but he was safely away now, and landed with a harsh thud on the ground once more. His knees buckled, exhausted from the strength of his defense and attack in such a short amount of time, but he forced himself up, sword and shield ready.

Hoping to see that Wiegraf had struck true.

It's the only thing I've ever known.