Short Story: The Ties that Bind

[Malchaeius]

This is a short story that I started writing years ago. Every so often I find the time to fill bits and pieces. I thought I would share.

CHAPTER 1: Destiny Awaits

The clang of steel against steel - No sound is more distinct to one who has known it all their life. There is a certain symphony that

is conducted when two master swordsmen meet. To the trained ear, it is sweeter than the songs of the Muse themselves; Sir Jolius was

such a trained ear. From youth he was no stranger to combat. It was as important of an aspect to his upbringing as was his faith.

His childhood days were split between memorizing passages from the Holy Tomes and mastering battle strategies. Sir Jolius was a

Paladin of the Highest Order of the Church, in addition to being the Regent of the Knights of the One Crown. His position led

him to many battlefields, but his intelligence, will, and faith led him to many victories.

This eve was different; this battle unordinary.

This eve, Jolius knew he would be in for the fight of his life. He put those thoughts out of his mind as he rode onwards through

the thick trees. He had ridden most of the day, with a gnawing angst to arrive at his destination. The sun would set in an hour or

so, and he did not want to ride during the night. The Miruvhian backwoods was no place for anyone to ride alone; even men of his

talent go missing while travelling the treacherous path. Within the hour his fear was assuaged as he recognized that he had

arrived at his goal: Emerald Forest.

Emerald Forest was one of the few plush forests in the land. Protected by a guild of Rangers, inhabited by a myariad of

wildlife, it was the closest thing to paradise that most creatures of Aabahran would come to experience in their short,

brutish lives. The Woodsmen took care of the land, and in return they were allowed to partake of its resources. It was a symbiotic

relationship that had been passed through the generations of the inhabitants. A small village had been built in the northern

section providing housing for a small community of farmers.

Jolius slowed the stride of his steed. In the distance, he could see the figure of a lone man. A small bead of persperiation

began to form over his brow.

"Well. Well. Well. I was beginning to doubt that you would ever show.” taunted the stranger. He was the taller of the two men.

Dressed from head to toe in dark Onyx armor, he nearly blended in with the night.

"You know that I am not one to disappoint, Tyrok." Jolius was the sturdier of the two. A long golden cape flowed majestically

from the mithril breastplate he wore over his torso. He dismounted his steed and walked forth to meet the man.

"Shall we?" Tyrok mockingly bowed at the waist before reaching for his weapon.

"Must we?" Jolius asked genuinely, though he knew the answer. Tyrok led the forces of the Nexus: A demonic organization

hell-bent on world domination and as such, the mortal enemies of his righteous Knights.

"Come come Jolius! We are waisting valuable blood-shedding time!" growled Tyrok as he crossed his arms, placing the right hand

towards the hilt of the sword on his left hip, and the left hand on the hilt of the sword on his right. With one fluid

motion, he unsheathed his weapons.

"How long do you intend on making Agony and Devestation wait?"

"Tyrok... there must be another wa--"

"Look! I came here looking to end a life! If you deprive me of having it be yours, I will simply ride into the nearest town

and slay the first five I see!" Tyrok licked his chops at the thought.

"Man... woman... or child." Tyrok added as his blades hummed with dark energy.

Jolius sighed heavily. He had hoped that he could talk some sense into his opponent, but he could see within Tyrok's eyes that

he was only wasting his breath. Tyrok was as much of a monster as his reports indicated. Jolius drew his weapon from the sheath on

his back - a massive glaive.

"Now you are speaking my language!" Tyrok growled out as he was literally salivating in excitement.

Tyrok launched the first assault bringing down both of his swords in a vicious arc. The blades came down upon the shaft of Jolius's

glaive. A lesser weapon would have been shattered by the blow, but the finely crafted weapon only shuddered in protest. Leaning

to the left, Jolius used the momentum of the attack to deflect the blades to the right, driving Tyrok slightly off-balance.

Following through with the parry, Jolius swung the blade of his glaive, aiming for the neck of Tyrok. Seeing the attacking

coming, Tyrok tucked and rolled beneath the slash. Immediately putting one knee up to steady himself, Tyrok crossed his

blades in an X, anticipating the downward slash of Jolius's glaive. Using the strength of his legs, Tyrok pushed the glaive upwards,

followed by a kick to the sternum of Jolius. Jolius reeled back a few steps and steadied himself.

Both men had used the initial attack to size each other up; it had been years since they last fought, and the stakes had not

been so high. They were, locked in mortal combat, with the knowledge that only one of them would be leaving Emerald Forest alive.

There would be no interference. No help forthcoming. No one to hear the death cry.

[Malchaeius]

CHAPTER 2: Fire In The Sky

Jolius sprang into action, thrusting the tip of his glaive in circular fashion at

Tyrok. Forced into the defensive, Tyrok parried each strike, waiting for an

opportunity to counterattack. Crossing his swords, Tyrok blocked the final

thrust, allowing it to carry him backwards through the grass. With the

separation created by the thrust providing him the space he needed, Tyrok

dug the tip of his steel boots into the dirt, bringing up a potent arc of rocks

and dirt.

"You treacherous fiend!", screamed Jolius, too late to block the blinding

attack. Instinctively, he swung his glaive in a defensive motion, blocking a

fatal strike by Tyrok.

"Flattery will get you nowhere!", Tyrok brought both of his swords from the

base of his leg upwards, hitting the shaft of Jolius's glaive, knocking the

paladin off balance. With the side of a lowered shoulder and forearm, Tyrok

bashed Jolius, placing the latter square on his back.

"Greet the nameless for me!"

Despite having the wind knocked out of him, Jolius desperately rubbed his

eyes. When he opened them he felt every single hair on the back of his neck

immediately rise.

"By the Gods..." Jolius whispered as he gazed up at the boulder-sized ball of

flame that was heading his way.

The impact was catastrophic; Citizens in the Southern district of Miruvhor

would later claim they felt the tremors. The wind created from the dispersal

of the flames eradicated all nearby wildlife. From the proud oak trees, to the

tiny insects - none had survived. Tyrok grinned as he surveyed the carnage

caused by his handiwork. He did not even mind the slight dizziness from

casting such a spell. As the smoke cleared, his smiled immediately

disappeared.

Kneeling in the midst of the rubble, surrounded in a glowing white aura, was

Sir Jolius.

His cape had been incinerated, most of his armor had melted, and his face

was blackened by the soot - yet he lived. He stood slowly, and opened his

eyes which had been closed in prayer. He fixed them upon Tyrok with great

resolve.

"Sanctuary" spat out Tyrok in disgust.

Jolius growled as he narrowed his eyes. He kept his response brief. Concise.

Almost prophetic.

"My turn, Archfiend."

[Malchaeius]

CHAPTER 3: The Veil That Blinds

A flash of fire struck Tyrok's armor knocking him several feet in the air and into a nearby

tree. The smoke caused by the impact invaded the Dark-Knight's eyes, causing him

great discomfort, and limited visibility.

"Diesilla Barh!" Tyrok screamed furiously. A bolt of lightning shot from his opened palm

towards the direction of the footsteps that were coming ever closer. The sizzling sound

electricity upon skin alerted him to the success of his attack. He had bought himself a few

valuable moments.

Upon clearing the soot from his vision, Tyrok saw Jolius coming with a full head of steam,

vestiges of the electrical current still crackling about his body. Jolius planted the blade of his

glaive on the dirt. Using his momentum, he grabbed the handle and brought both feet across

Tyrok's face. Tyrok completed three full rotations in mid-air before falling to the ground.

Having regained his composure, Tyrok crossed his swords to prevent the downward thrusts

of Jolius's glaive from piercing his heart. Noticing the opening, Tyrok swept Jolius's legs

from beneath him and in the ensuing scramble, kicked the glaive from his opponent's hands.

Tyrok unleashed a bestial growl as he lunged at his defenseless foe. The sturdy paladin

rolled backwards, grabbing the handle of the blade as it passed over his head by mere inches,

and launched Tyrok head over heels. Getting up first, Jolius returned the favor by kicking

Tyrok's twin blades far away from their immediate location. They circled each other, weaponless,

but far from harmless.

Jolius threw a few quick jabs, testing the distance between Tyrok and himself. Throwing

caution to the wind, Tyrok launched a combination of right and left hooks - none finding their

target cleanly. Becoming increasingly infuriated, Tyrok feigned a hook, only to drive his shoulder

into the open waist of the paladin. Jolius felt the air being driven from his lungs. Tyrok clasped

his hands around the waist of Jolius and begun to drive him backwards. Soon, the Paladin

found himself backpedaling as Tyrok's tighten his gripped. After a few steps, the Archfiend lifted

Jolius from his feet, and brought him down onto an old stump of a tree.

Jolius felt at least three ribs crack, and several more bruise. Jolius grit his teeth to bite back

the yelp of pain, and begun to gator roll to avoid the ensuing foot stomps. Tyrok, grinning with

satisfaction, muttered an incantation. A veil of darkness flooded the entire area. The Onyx-clad

Archfiend took a few steps backward, and was swallowed by the darkness.

Jolius could hear him moving, but he could not precisely pinpoint the location of his foe.

"Tyrok.." Jolius found it difficult to breathe, "It is not too late for you. Those weapons of yours

have corrupted your mind!"

"You say corrupted. I say liberated! Ever since I plunged Agony and Devastation into

the corpse of that first squire.. that first KILL.. oh I cannot describe the EUPHORIA! Every

time I feed them I grow STRONGER!"

"You have become a slave to those tools of death, Tyrok. They bind your free will!"

"Have I? Is it slavery if I choose willingly? Do you not understand the power I have attained? I

command fear! I command respect! What do you command?"

Jolius took a moment to scan his surroundings. Pointless. The darkness was too thick. Tyrok's

voice was seemingly everywhere and nowhere at the same time. He sighed and choose his

words carefully.

"You can still make your father proud! Would he forgive you for what you have become?!"

"And why would I want HIS forgiveness?" came the scoffing reply.

"Because I-"

Jolius's sentence was cut short as Tyrok's surprise attack caught him square on the jaw.

He reeled back a few steps before taking one to the stomach, a knee to the face, and another

punch across the cheek. Tyrok slammed his shoulders against Jolius again, followed by

an incantation that brought many magical projectiles against the body of his foe. Jolius

could barely stand, and the bitter taste of his own blood flooded his mouth. Jolius felt

his heart skip a beat as another bolt of lightning sent his weary body skidding across the grass.

The veil of darkness lifted, and Tyrok appeared holding Devastation in his left hand. They

had made their way back to where the fight begun. Being in close proximity to its master,

the weapon had magically found its way back. The dark magic had bound the master to the

weapon and the weapon to the master.

[Malchaeius]

CHAPTER 4: Moonlight Eulogy

Tyrok smirked as he watched Jolius cough blood from his mouth. He was enjoying every moment.

As he lifted Devastation over his head, Tyrok also lifted his eyes to the see the three moons of

Aabahran; the Dark-knight cackled. As he began the vicious downward arc of his sword he had only

one thought in mind:

I Won!

"Glaaak!"

Tyrok's cackle was cut short; his eyes flew open in shock; his mouth hung agape. All of his senses

became active: He tasted blood - felt it dripping down his chin. He heard the sound of metal on

skin - yet his sword was still in his hand. He smelled the pungent aroma of burned flesh. He felt a

sharp pain in his chest. Slowly he looked down, his confusion overriding the pain, only to see Jolius

grimacing as he held the handle of Tyrok's own blade, Agony. Agony shivered violently, encompassing

Jolius's entire hand in flames, yet the Paladin held on long enough for the deed to be done.

The realization dawned on Tyrok. If they were close enough for Devastation to appear in his grasp,

Agony must have also been near. Why did it not appear in his grasp as well? In his bloodlust, such a

question had failed to distract him. How disgusted he would have been had he known the answer.

Jolius had fallen upon Agony, preventing it from returning to its master immediately.

Jolius released the grip of the blade and immediately cradled the burned flesh of his hand. Tyrok stumbled

forward and backward as he dropped Devastation. The Anti-paladin placed both hands upon Agony,

weakly attempting to remove it from his dark heart. A spurt of blood shot from the wound before

Tyrok crumpled to the ground. Jolius watched silently, nursing his damaged hand. The face of the

Dark-Knight, which moments ago was scrunched in myriad of fury, pain, and confusion, had found a

strange serenity. In his last moments of life, Tyrok looked up at Jolius and the anger and bloodlust

had melted away. A smile slowly crept upon the Archfiend's face as his eyes fixed upon Jolius with a

hint of fondness. With one last silent breath, Tyrok's eyes closed.

Jolius felt his stomach clench, as if his heart had descended into the depths of his bowels. Immediately,

he fell to his knees and retched violently. On and on, he continued to vomit until he had nothing left.

It was done.

Getting to his feet, the somber Knight wiped the bile from his lips. He took a moment to survey everything

before him as the luminescence of the two visible moons provided an eerie beauty to the scenery. Part

of the forest had been eradicated by the fireball. The grass had been spritzed with copious

amounts of blood. Yet there he stood, most of his armor melted, his right hand horribly burned, a few of

his ribs broken, his breathing labored, and some of his teeth feeling loose. Still, he stood; his opponent

did not. Jolius sighed weakly, and after finding his glaive, begun the task of providing a proper burial for

his deceased enemy. The morning would soon come.

Jolius mounted his faithful steed, planning to ride immediately to the city of Val Miran. It would have been

wiser instead to seek the nearest healer's guild - but he was bound to his duty over his health. The news

had to be spread. The feared Dark-Knight Tyrok, the Blade of Insanity, Commander of the fiercest

Nexus legion had finally been sent into the Abyss.

"May Aabahran find some solace in this action." Jolius looked towards the fresh mound of dirt that

had not been there an hour ago.

"May some measure of safety be brought to her denizens" His voice was cracking; his emotions besting him.

"And may your dark soul finally find peace..... my brother." Jolius steered his horse away from the scene,

fighting back the tears that he knew would overtake him long before the last rays of the red sun entered

the damp grove.