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Vagrant Fury: part 1. Heart In the Mountains.
The mountain, stabbing into the sky like a great lion's fang, loomed before Guile. Ringed by puffy and swollen clouds about its apex, the mountain seemed no more than another obstacle to be overcome. For a moment, the ominous monument threatened to defeat Guile's steal determination. A chill quakes down his spine more from reluctance and intimidation than the cold. He almost turns to look back, but he slams his parched mouth shut, grinding he molars in defiance. He couldn't look back! To look back was to see the journey he had made and admit how much his heart longs for home. He's come too far to lose faith now. Besides, all of this, looking back was pointless. There was nothing to go back to; there was naught but forward and the fulfillment of his last quest.
Guile Van 'crow is roughly six foot three inches, the shortest of his five other brothers. His hair is a deep chestnut, cut short to his skull and pressed flat by many hours of wearing his brother's helm. He has trained hard with his family, a band of warriors called Vagrants. Their purpose is to span the continent on divine quests and rid the world of the Agents of the Dark Lord. In his world by the time you could walk you held your preferred weapon and by the time you sprout pubic hair, you've killed your first man. There isn't a choice in all of it. It was why you were born, why your mother was beautiful and powerful and honored. It's the all purpose.
The elders say that if it was not your destiny to be a Vagrant you would have been born elsewhere and to a lesser woman. Guile had barely seen his fourteenth summer when his mother, the arch priestess, and the elder convened with a foretelling of his first holy endeavor. It was simple but important. Nothing that is given from above is to be taken lightly. He was to liberate the soul of a possessed and corrupted merchant a few towns over. He had completed and returned.
The day he returned…
Tiny snowflakes descended from the raging blizzard above, turning instantly to their late forms on his body heated steal plated shoulders. He glowered at the mountain, he couldn't think of that day but had to remember it because it was what fuels him and gave him the strength to press on through every obstacle. The mountain stared back, unfazed and inviting, winds lashing about the stone beckons Guile upward and to his doom. A little grin played across his lips. His doom, the Little Tempest, they call him, felled by a mountain. He thrust one of his armored boots in front of the other and began to climb. The rocks were as sharp as spear points and as slippery as icy slime. Before long, even his iron endurance begins to wane with each meter he scaled.
Guile's goal lies at the top of the mountain, so high that it pierced the clouds like a dagger into the gut of the sky. There, lies the forgotten castle of Nimbus Frost. They say, from the information Guile had dredge up, that the castle was home and keep to a frost giant, a god of ice and sky. The god stood 30 feet tall with hair made of icicles and a hammer that could crack the continent. His flesh was a storm of grey and snowy white hues and he could fly on a blizzard. He scoffed at the thought of a towering, male entity. He believed that there were no other deities that the one the elders communed with and she is female. Effectively Goddess. But the Goddess and the powers were not for men, only women. Metal and earth, word and Fury were for men. Guile, after venturing out from his home, couldn't understand the men of the world, weak and honor less. He had even seen the disrespect of a woman in the towns beyond. Such a thing would have had Guile chained naked, upside down and beaten where ever the whip landed. The elders explained that not everyone could be born a holy warrior.
Guile attentively eased onto a small ledge making sure it would hold his weight for the duration of his brief rest. Surrounded by a world of white, he crouches surefooted and steady against the battering gale, and scoops a handful of the fluffy ice crystals and takes a bite. Frigid purity melts over his tongue and he drinks to refresh himself. He continues for several more hours unsure of what time had passed due to the roiling snow clouds blocking the sun.
Guile's body, built, broken down, and then rebuilt anew adapted quickly to the slim air and cold and after a while he begins to enjoy the rigorous climb. It had been some time since he'd seen stress, combat, or the physical strain and the test of his muscles was exhilarating. Guile had spent nearly an entire fortnight in the saddle, riding hard to the north and to this savage mountain.
He climbs over the slippery and sharp stone until he finds a small recess, no more than a crack in the rock face. It promises to be very uncomfortable but will provide a minute shelter from the storm. He squeezes in, his armor grating loudly and harshly, and he relaxes. The crevice is tight enough to hold him erect without letting him tip over in either direction which will let him sleep on his feet. Also it should hide him from anyone pursuing. The Little Tempest couldn't fathom the reason anyone would follow him here, to this frosted waste land.
He presses he steal incased brow to the icy stone as the blizzard rages a few feet away and remembers why he's here. He remembers that day.
The stone and snow and roaring winds vanish, replaced in the dreamy liquid of thoughts. Guile now sits atop his beautiful auburn gelding, Ruby. His chest is swollen with pride and bright with youthful triumph. The left ring finger of the merchant king Jiibo, still adorned with a bejeweled trinket, lay wrapped in silk in a box in a sack, around Guile's belt.
Ruby, trotting along eloquently, suddenly stops and whinnies, tossing her mane with apprehension. A moment later, after Guile has tried to calm the mare, he too smells smoke. In his glory, Guile had set aside his guard and had stopped paying attention, letting Ruby lead them home. Now he sees the grey and black columns of smoke, flashing with orange and yellow, climbing into the sky. There is a fire, too large to be for cooks and too large for even a celebratory pyre. For the first time in Guile's existence, he feels worry and concern.
Ruby is kicked and commanded into a frantic dash towards home. Devastation, destruction, and mayhem have run ramped through the valley. The beautiful stone homes and structures of the guild all show signs of battle.
Guile rides slowly among the ruins. The air is foul with blood, burning terra firma, and the spice of the goddess power. The lad is scorched black for explosions and near them are corpses. Upon farther inspection, the men, women, and children were not killed by the wild powers but by a sword. Ugly wounds carved through the bodies of innocent people. Guile feels bile rise in his throat and his Fury is set ablaze. The war path seems to slash through the city in a straight line, leaving death in the wake, and most of the outer buildings are relatively untouched. His heart quickens with anxiety as he perceives where the swath of destruction leads
Guile, atop Ruby, charges into the center where all the cobblestone streets intersect. The Temple of the Elders! The armored guards lay strewn about, disemboweled, and dismembered, coated in their coagulating life fluid. They had stood valiantly again and incomprehensibly powerful sword the likes that could reek havoc and kill priestesses wielding the power. Only a skill just as great as the Goddess could defeat a priestess. Guile leaps from his horse before she's even stopped and in a flash his exquisite bastard sword, Shimmer, is in his hand. He makes a mad bird hop over the lifeless bodies of soldiers and priestess alike up the circular steps leading to the main entrance. His teeth are bared like a snarling beast and he is infinitely ready to strike down the murderous filth that would show no mercy to the women of this place. Here, before the temple, Guile finds the remnants of a dark energy. Black feathers have skewered many of the honor guards and women's chests. Long and shining, glinting in the smoke dimmed sun light. They're so dark they resemble a midnight violet. But as he bends to pluck one from the pale flesh, it turns to a gritty ash between his finger tips. All of them do, simultaneously; hundreds if not thousands crumble as if on cue. The evanescence creates a stinking cloud in the already pungent air. It reminds Guile of rot and he will never be rid of that stench.
Guile turns his attention back to the broken and gaping archway that had once been beautifully inlayed with gold and inviting all into a place of serenity and welcome. Now, it screams violence and death. He bounds upward, Shimmer's point leading, viciously craving vengeance and blood.
He bursts from the dusty stinking cloud and catches the sight of something that strikes him harder than any blow ever could. His heart skips a beat and the blood drains from his face. Two of his brothers lay still, frozen in the last agonizing seconds of death. Gaven and Borus. Two of the younger had been slain defending a place that had once been home and sanctuary to all of them. A thousand heartwarming and gut wrenching memories assault Guile as he gazes down at them. Brothers of birth and brothers in arms. Borus was the middle boy being both companion, teach, and friend as Gaven and Guile struggled through their training. Guile will miss them dearly but the memory of their untimely demise will fuel his Fury.
The Little Tempest knells and runs his index and middle finger along Shimmer's perfectly honed blade and blood flows free. With the bleeding digits he closes his brother's vacant eyes, smearing blood over their lids and cheeks.
"Blood of my brothers," Guile whispers mournfully to them both and lays them to slumber forever. The small ritual of Brothers and Warriors complete, Guile waits with his eyes closed, ready to accept the transference of his brother's Fury into him. All Vagrants were taught the simple ritual so that when and if one of them is killed they may pass the Goddess given power will make the next warrior stronger.
Guile waits, and when nothing happens he calmly tries the ritual again to ensure that the fault is not his own, but Gaven's and Borus' eyes lay forever locked by Guile's life fluid. He checks again but there is no error, the ritual is kept simple that way it is easy to remember. Horror fills Guile. Only a brother, a Vagrant, can perform the spell. He shudders to the thought of Vagrant Fury stolen and the betrayal. Guile releases a savage growl, feral and deep from within him. His body heats and the Fury floods his being. Its red hot, fervent and feeds every fiber of him strength. He is Guile no more but the Vagrant Little Tempest.
He storms forward into the temple, the great aisle must have been the final stand. More carnage is here and more bodies of the eviscerated priestesses. The ivory pillars are scorched and splashed with blood fresh and still oozing down. Other of the great columns has toppled to devastated rubble. Braziers are capsized, tapestries burn and still more gore. A little ways in Guile finds a third brother among the most destroyed area. Patric is almost unrecognizable. His once shimmering armor is blackened by fire and gouged. The hard has been seared from his head and his body shows multiple gashes and lacerations. Patric had found the attacker, or attackers, worthy of witnessing the Fury of the Vagrants.
Once evoking the Fury, the Vagrant divine power, he becomes nearly indestructible, and a thinking, killing, almost unstoppable machine. The Fury does not know fear or pain and to be defeated means that those that attacked had been vastly powerful and cunning. Patric's power, which must have been nearly or completely spent, is gone as well. But Guile performs the brotherly prayer any way. Guile then scours the aisles searching and feeling out the intruders. He only moves on when he comes away empty handed and without vengeance. The Fury that was blocking out the pain begins to ebb and he is plunged by sorrow, abysmal and agonizing.
Three brothers gone, swept away in the current of one hellish battle. Guile thought then that if he might have been there to help defend their home, he could have changed their fate, but more likely would have joined it.
Further in, beyond Patric's body, the destruction and gore seemed to end abruptly. The stone tiled floor is clean and free of debris, no blast marks or puddles of blood. It was all still pristine and white, all but the forward most dais. Atop is an ivory, silver and alabaster alter where the elders would convene and summon the goddesses' light. A single body lay over it. Instantly Guile recognizes the pearlescent robe and dress. Silver lines the hem and pale legs fold against the gold stone. Light, from a majestic golden stain glass window, beams down. They glint off the long edge of a steel blade, protruding from the body of the arch priestess; Guile, Gaven, Borus, and Patric's mother. Never in all of Guile's youthful days had he ever imagined his impossibly powerful and divinely chosen mother would fall to a bit of metal. The scene becomes devastatingly heavy, threatening to break Guile's trembling knees. By the sheer force of will, he moves forward, slowly, the plating of his boots scraping the floor overly loud in the dead silence.
Guile sheaths Shimmer, and climbs the dais. His mother's face is serene, still, eyes closed, and warm with life. He leans over the alter to see her fully. The sword broad and heavy pierces and pins her through the sternum, the filigree linen is stained crimson all the way to her sides. Blood grooves have made sure that she will bleed out. Her hands are clasped together, not around the weapon but in prayer.
Guile reaches out to touch her when her eyes flutter and open. He takes her hands and supports her brunette wrapped head.
"Mother," He murmurs peering into her eyes. They glow a vibrant gold and Guile knows she is only alive because she clings to the blessed power of the goddess. Her head turns ever so slightly and she meets his cool blue gaze.
"Guile, my child," she whispers calmly in return.
"Rest, my mother, I am here to help." Guile's eyes begin searching for a way that he might be able to extract the blade and save his mother, but they are clouded with tears.
"Leave it" she commands sweetly, "It has pierced my heart, I will not survive.
Guile returns to her eyes.
"I am sorry, sweet Guile. I have failed you."
"Do not speak such nonsense!" Guile pleads frantically. "It is I who has failed you. I was not here to protect you as a son and Vagrant." A tear cascades around his nose.
"A mother could not have to watch her children die to betrayal." She says
The rage is back and it unites with the pain of despair in a fiery double helix in his soul.
"Who has done this? Who has betrayed us?" Guile growls.
Guile's mother pulls her hand away then, gently, and brings it to his cheek in a loving caress." I will show you"
Her touch induces vertigo, the world spins and mutates and suddenly Guile is standing in the past. He watches from the side as screams ring out and the fires blaze to life. Patric already lies dead and the only forms that stand are his mother, the eldest of Guile's brothers, Krouser, and another woman.
This woman is the epitome of a sorceress. Her hair is long, wavy, thick and the color of carmine. Her flesh is as pale as moonlight and the dress over it conforms to her every curve like the surrounding night.
Krouser stands heaving for air, his armor dinged and gouged. Many bleeding gashes peek from exposed areas. Krouser had been the oldest and strongest of the Six Vagrant brothers. He had been the holiest and most honorable of them, having the divine favor of the First Born. Completing flawlessly quest after quest, he always returned home to share his victories with family. There was no hatred or cruelty or malice in him and his devotion to the Vagrant was boundless. Krouser was both Icon and role model for Guile. So when the eldest brother turned toward their mother with violence in his eyes, Guile was utterly baffled. They were no longer the soft azure of a vagrant but black and empty like the abyss.
The powers of the Dark Sorceress and the Arch priestess clash all around, gold and black particles explode in flares of electricity. Guile's mother and the Mistress of Evil battle with grim faces, both captured in the intricate dance of magic. Black swaths, sharp as a sword and shadow thin, lash out from the Sorceress' fingertips only to be batted aside, like a playful handshake, by orbs of golden purity.
Krouser, seemingly mindless of the hellish fray, stalks towards the Arch priestess with long panther like steps. Their mother turns on him now and tries to strike him enough to keep him at bay, but he is protected by darkness. Blasts of shining Goddess power splash across his armor harmlessly. Mother is spinning in complex patterns and routines, lancing the energy against the sorceress as the conduit of Divine justice, the long eloquent tails of her robe sleeves stream like ghostly tracers. Krouser draws close, within arm's reach and Guile lunges in the vision to tackle his brother. But it is only an illusion, a memory and he pass through Krouser's simulacrum and crashes to the floor, helpless.
Guile is forced to watch Krouser, a maniac, clutch their mother by the throat and choke her against the alter. The battle of powers is over and the sorceress approaches, her hips swivel and twist seductively in her triumph. It was certainly no an easy victory, beads of sweat dot her brow, she is breathing heavy, and her hands tremble with excursion.
Krouser pins their mother atop the alter, and she gags and struggles, slowly turning purple about her cheeks. The sorceress leans over her and Guile rushes to hear her whispered words.
Sweetly the dark mistress speaks, looking down on the arch priestess almost affectionately, "I have wanted this day for so long. I waited, patiently, through all the hordes you sent after me and plucked the perfect vessel to destroy you, from you own womb."
She brushes onyx black, polished nails over his mother's cheek, "your vagrants are powerless to my will, but I know you're a slow learner, so when the last of you sons returns, tell them they may have their vengeance or meet there doom where the earth joins the sky."
Guile memorizes every word. Then the sorceress steps back, a look of pleasure washing over her face and she brushes a caress over Krouser's sword arm. There's an internal struggle raging behind Guile's brother's eyes. He hesitates, fights against the dark possession. Guile screams encouragement into Krouser's face but the man is deaf, divided by time and dimensions.
A final demanding glare from the crimson haired woman and Krouser's will is shattered. He shoves his mother hard, her back thumping the stone and he brings his sword down point first. Guile screams again, and even knowing it is too late, dives at the blade. The thump of stone and metal is sickening and traumatically loud in the none reality. I shocks Guile back to the memory, back to is dying mother.
Her eyes droop sleepily and the soft fingertips upon Guile's face drop. He quickly catches her hand, not daring to let it touch the soiled alter. "Guile, my son, "his mother utters quietly, "My strong boy, I have but one last charge for you and only one last gift."
"Whatever you wish, mother, "Guile replies, struggling to keep his voice composed. He desperately tries to rub warmth into her chilled hand.
"You are strong, cunning, and wise beyond your years." She continues, "I give you my final blessing. You are my last born and the only one I trust to bring your brothers home. And rebuild our society." She coughs harshly. Blood bubbles past her lips and slithers intrusively down her face.
The scene wrenches Guile's heart. He didn't want her to suffer yet she did, for him. She ran her index and middle finger through the stream of her life fluid and drags it over Guile's lips and chin.
"Last son of my womb, last miracle of my flesh, and final being of imacullance," she begins her voice a chorus of the Goddess. "Onto you I give my blessing, vengeance shall be ours, and you are the avenger." As the incantation continues, the bloody smears on his mouth begin to burn viciously. "Marked you shall be," she sings," so that our enemies will know that you come for them and nothing will stop you."
The stripes turn bright carmine and seep into the tender flesh of his face. Guile doesn't cringe or pull away, fully prepared and accepting of the quest and this might be the last time his mother would touch him.
Her hand fell again, slower this time. Floating to her breast where she relaxed. "Go, my son, and know that I, the Goddess, and your Fury go with you." She smiles, her teeth stained by blood and her golden eyes begin to fade. "Bring our family home." She sighs with her last breath.
Guile has no ritual to give his mother; he was never prepared for this. He kisses his scared fingers, touching his sacred markings, and closes her eyes. There's no use in saying goodbye because Guile believes that she is with him, always; in heart and in spirit. Guile then steps to the side and takes the life ending sword between his palms and pulls it free of the stone and flesh. Almost instantly, the arch priestess body begins to glow gold, as if kissed by the yellow sun and sparkles like diamonds. The power, abundant and beautiful, bestowed onto her by the Goddess, must now return to the Goddess so that I may be reborn and another arch priestess may rise. Tiny specks of golden glitter drift into oblivion far beyond this world.
Many of the servants and towns people had escaped the war path and Guile leaves them to the repair of the valley. He refuses to help with the dead and funerals. Guile spends three sleepless days washing, and wrapping and mending Gaven, Borus, Patric, and his mother. Once finished he spends another week building a great four story pyre in the square and burns them. The mourning is over and their bodies have been laid to rest.
To insure that he they and never forgotten, he takes a piece of each of them. From Gaven the steel chrome helmet. It is a solid piece only opened by three V shaped slits chasing each other downward. Gaven was bigger that he but the helm still fit well.
From Borus, he takes the over lapping plate mail that always reminded Guile of a centipede's shell The slats of metal cascade along the entire length of his left arm cupped at the shoulder by a domed plate and his hand encased in thick leather and a sharp steel gauntlet.
From Patric, Guile has his brother's impressive greaves worked into his new boots.
Then finally, Guile would bare the weight, the gift, and the markings of his mother's last quest. The charge, the Last Born ritual was vital. It was the wish from a high priestess that would unlock the mysteries of his Fury. It was the very same thing that was given to the First Born, a way to increase the protective abilities in Krouser.
The fire raged for nearly a two days and many people came to mourn not only the loss of the Vagrants but also the members of family and friends. No one approached Guile, and no one tried to speak to him. He burned is Fury for his family. His skin turned red with the heat of his divine power.
Soon after the last flickering embers dimmed and the wind swept the ashes into the western air, Guile collected Ruby and rode north. North, to the only place where the land met the sky: Nimbus Frost Mountain.
Guile woke from the restful meditation mainly because the droning wail of the storm had passed. He squeezed from the crevice, shoving knee high snow away. It tumbled down the mountain side like rolling stones. The ugly clouds had not fully dissipated but had lightened and allowed some sun to break through.
He pulled the helm off, taking a deep gulp of cool mountain air. It was filling and refreshing. The mountain, once having grey and bluish ridges, had been completely painted white. Gleaming and twinkling in the sparse sunlight. He stuffs the helmet into his small satchel on his hip and retrieved a chunk of dried meat, pops the end in his mouth and begins to chew as he examines the rock for a climbable path. Soon he finds one and begins upward, the meat dangling from his teeth.
As Guile rises he ponders the memory and his mother's vision more. Krouser was most sertainly possessed. For no reason that Little Tempest could fathom why his eldest brother attack and destroy the people he had grown to protect. Being the First Born, Krouser's existence was bound to the protection of the Priestesses and the Guild. But he was also a Vagrant warrior and was sent out to forfill his holy duty. Krouser had left, long before Guile, on a mission highly dangerous and secret. Guile never questioned this.
Only Krouser and the second eldest brother Loucorn had been on assignment. There had been no word from either for some time. Which wasn't a surprise considering when a Vagrant has his mind set on a task he blocks out all else. Guile considered the skill and power of the black sorceress. She had marched into and through the Guild battling priestesses at every corner while aiding Krouser's sword. Together they had bested two teamed Vagrants and a temple of the highest followers. Then a third brother was over come even in Fury. The Dark Mistress's skill was incredible, able to fend off the Arch Priestess and attack while protecting Krouser.
It was true, the sorceress had stolen the strongest brother, and with that thought what hope did Guile have in defeating Krouser alone…much less the pair of them.
Guile's boot slipped and he slid down rapidly before he could recover, his clawed hand digging for any crack for purchase. He couldn't afford to think of failure only hope to out think it before it could take hold. All he needed to do was focus his power against the Dark sorceress and free Krouser.
Loucorn was a different story. He was an enigma, an entity that only drifted among the Vagrants. He was a mystery, quiet, and a domination presence. Even among those of higher status. When he spoke, you listened because his words were few and far in between. He gave his opinion when asked and had considerable wisdom but never any more. Loucorn had breezed through his trials and after being promoted to Vagrant he became even more elusive. In combat or sparing he would never use his Fury against his brothers. He left on his assignments, completed them and came home with very few things in between. Guile couldn't quite tell if Loucorn valued his family, he just seemed so distant.
Before leaving Guild Valley, Guile had tracked down Loucorn's mission perimeters. He found that his brother had also gone north, only to a large city to free slaves. Guile had slowed only long enough to inquire about his whereabouts before moving on. Loucorn was not in the city sol Guile figured ha had passed him heading towards the mountain. Guile could have appreciated the company and the reassurance of having help against such a challenge. But this was his journey his quest to complete. His destiny.
The dried meat disappears after a few enjoyable bites, as he climbs. He can almost feel his body greedily absorbing the nutriance. There isn't much edible game on the mountain and a little forethought told him to save his rations for the long climb, which left him hungry in the mean time.
Part of the Vagrant training is gaining the ability to live off the land. With it came the worldly knowledge of edible and poisonous plants, roots animals, insects, and terra firma. The being that is a Vagrant must be so devoted to his cause that he will eat dirt to survive.
After some time, noon passed and the mountain's jagged face continues to incline, growing steeper and steeper until Guile is almost forced vertical. Strangely enough Guile grasps a hand hold and using the clawed finger tips of Borus' gauntlet, pulls himself up onto a narrow ledge. No more than a foot or so wide Guile must press himself against the rough stone of Nimbus Frost. Looking back and forth the ledge is actually a trail. He brushes the snow away, dislodging wayward rocks, and examines the math. It isn't natural, it is hwen into the mountain. Breifly he wanders if it was worked before he began to follow it. The winding path twists along the mountain, dipping and elevating but always up. Guile felt slightly sheepish knowing that he must have climbed over the path several times. But now that he'd stumbled upon it he made fast progress.
In just two more days he is soon to breach the clouds. The moisture in the thin air becomes heavy and sticky. Droplets of condensation trickle over Guile's breastplate and centipede gauntlet. Soon the halo of fluffy white fog surrounded him. He could hardly peer a few yards ahead of him and his progress is reduced to tiptoeing along with tiny steps.
Suddenly the tingle of awareness trickles over Guile's neck and down his spine. Eyes in the thick mist are watching him. He pushes his senses out searching with more than his eyes, and widens his stance in preparation to evade.
A whistling echoes in the zero visibility, the sound of something slicing though the air. There is a the wink of light hitting steel and Guile barely gets Borus' gauntlet between his face and two sinisterly pointed daggers. A blink later a third dagger rebounds off his armored knee. A crafty attack, Guile decides. An assassin lies in the mist, placed here to stop him.
No, to test him.
"Foolish mortal!" a deep voice booms in the distance. It ricochets from everywhere and Guile cant zero in on a direction. "What did you hope to gain by climbing my mountain?"
"Show yourself, coward!" Guile challenges
"Coward? Hah!" baritone laughter rumbles in the very rock beneath Guile's boots, "do you know who you're talking to?"
Guile was searching frantically for the source, growing anxious for an opponent. "Does it matter? You have already issued your challenge with your little knives. So let's pass up the small talk and show yourself"
Dislodged rocks and pebbles rattle down from over head and Guile dove up the trail to avoid a bombing of throwing knives. They bounce off the stone like water droplets. With his forward momentum, Guile stabs out with Borus' hand and snagged a hand hold. The inertia snatches him from the ground and a final yank throws him up. He spins horizontally slashing in the general direction the of the aerial attack.
Shimmer found naught but air but Guile's acrobatics yielded a glimpse of a bluish white body scuttling along the rocks.
"I see you're no regular mortal." The voice says, again untraceable. Guile slides back down to the path ignoring the jibe and decides that he needs to pose less of a target. He begins his tiptoeing forward again. Also not willing to let this slow him down.
"Do you think it wise to turn your back on me?" the aberration asked
Guile faught the urge to whip around but his opponent use trickery and wanted him to fall into this trap. As he, expected no attack came. "You're not so crafty," Guile retorts, "truly you are nothing without your clouds.
The whistling came again and now that the Vagrant could identify the noise, he could easily slap down incoming projectiles with Shimmer. A growl of frustration pursues Guile's defense and the Vagrant grins. His persistence had angered his assailant, hopefully throwing him off kilter.
He dashes forward as cautious as possible, Shimmer's apex leading. He kept his armored hand on the wall as not to run off the cliff. The sprint lasts an instant before he breaks into twilight. Nothing above him but sky and below is the cotton masses of clouds. The tip of Nimbus Frost is concealed, swallowed by a towering man made structure. An enormous castle; It's towers and spires stabbing violently upward resembling the same sharp stone of the mountain. The icy elevation has glazed the construct with a vitreous frost that gave it the same hue as the coming night.
For a moment Guile is lost in the ominous beauty of the castle. That moment is too much and the clouds cough. From the puff flies the pale figure. This is a grunt and the attacker flings is arms wide loosing a barrage of curved daggers. They spin hypnotically and Guile sends Shimmer into a blinding routine of chops. The projectiles are sliced in two and plink harmlessly off his armor, the last of which he catches.
The being drops to the ground a few feet away. Light, pearl white hair floats after. At first the figure seems male but as she comes erect, Guile spies small but rounded hips and small bosom. She is garbed in a skin tight light blue body suit and over that is a ghostly pale robe that matches the clouds . perfectly. Hundreds of wispy tendrils flutter in the high breeze of at the bottom. Guile assumes that within is where she's hiding a multitude of knives. Their eyes lock, hers wide with astonishment.
"Impossible," she stammers, her breath escaping in a white cloud. Her features are angular and foreign; her eyes a bright crimson and slanted. Think lashes surround them, impossibly long and just as pale as her hair.
She's a ghost, Guile thinks, a cloud wraith, summoned by the sorceress' dark power to stop him. Guile lowers his metal hand from where it caught the savagely hooked blade and let it fall to his feet among a pile of knife shards.
"Madame," Guile says respectfully past the blade of his bastard sword, " you may tell your mistress that she will have to do much better than you to stop me."
"You are the second person to believe that I am some demon of the mountain." She replies. Her voice is like cool silk, rhythmic and melodious. The accent is thick and exotic.
"The second?" guile exclaims, but doesn't drop his guard. "Another has come before me?"
"What does it matter to you?" Her eyes narrow and she squares herself, ready to attack or defend. "Many travelers come here to die!"
And attack she did. IN a blink she explodes forward long daggers flashing into her hands, her hair whipping back in her after image. Guile back peddles as she came in. Beyond them the mountain shifts into a inclining gorge, smooth and hewn into the stone, leading the way up to the castle.
The passage is only two yards wide and rises several feet over Guile's head, ultimately limiting his maneuverability. The ghost woman plunges in, dagger leading, much faster than he anticipated and brings Shimmer around to parry. The attack was faulty and intentional, a decoy for a second following lunge. The woman is whip fast forcing Guile back. As part of his Vagrant upbringing, Guile was taught to protect and respect women, to never raise hand or blade to women. This battle would be his worst.
"Please stop," Guile implores, but she doesn't. Instead she throws herself to the side and rebounds off the wall, coming in at him like a missile. Her daggers, in and X, slam into Shimmer and disappear as she lands and jumps again, vaulting over Guile's head. He dives into a shoulder roll under her, gaining some distance.
As soon as he turns she flings the knives at him. HE deflects it with the centipede gauntlet. "stop!" he calls again, " this fight is useless!"
" You are the one that has trespassed in this place! You have brought this battle on yourself." She returns aggressively, another sinuous dirk appearing in her empty hand.
"Why? We are not enemies?"
"I am Fantasma de Montaina, guardian of Nimbus Peak. It is my duty to keep this place free of intruders; by any means necessary!" She proclaims. "You didn't heed my warnings and persisted past the clouds, that is punishable by death."
Guile begins to lose his patience. "Don't you know that your mountain is already contaminated?"
"Lies!" Fantasma Bellows and charges again. She bounces to the wall taking three diagonal steps on it and launches skyward. She crashes down, Guile catching both of her deadly daggers on Shimmer.
He shoves her away and flies into a tight circular slashing combination. He can't afford to attack full force, he would surely hurt her or worse. She is skilled turning aside the quick cutting blade and finds time to counter attack.
Fantasma, lightning fast, flips her left dagger point down and turns out a stab from Shimmer, throwing Guile's arm wide and to the right. She follows with a thrust of her won, from the right. Guile nimbly side steps the stilettos' point grazing his breast plate.
He spins Shimmer behind his head coming around in a horizontal chop to her neck, but she bends away, back arched and the glinting sword slices an inch from her nose.
Fantasma lashes out a kick hitting Guile solidly in the hip, tossing his leg out from under him. Using the unexpected momentum, Guile pitches himself head over heels, dropping an axe kick on her shoulder. There is a sickening thump and Fantasma grunts and they both hit the ground.
Guile rolls away and to his feet, cursing to himself. "Please, stop! I don't want to hurt you!'' But it was already too late.
Fantasma pushes up to her knee, clutching her shoulder. She artfully spins her knives about her palms and fingers, the metal winking in the failing light. Long shadows begin to fill the pass and the temperature is plummeting as they speak.
Her face exotically beautiful, grows dark and grim and she says," Its been some time sense ive had to use my full abilities and I see that you are adamant. I have no choice."
"Of course you have a choice! Just stop and listen to reason!" Guile insists.
Fantasma doesn't answer, only tightens her grip on her weapons and pulls her arms, tense and trembling, behind her. Her red eyes long on Guile. He widens his stance and braces for whatever may come.
A single deep, rumbling note escapes her throat. It builds stronger and louder, pulsating until the pass vibrates all around her and she can hardly contain it behind her closed lips.
Guile realizes that the deep booming voice from the path had been her, trying to scare him away.
Trembling, Fantasma is struggling restrain this humming power, and as if unable to hold it any longer, lets it blast from her mouth. Sound, a screaming, rips along the pass, tearing chunks of rock from the walls and digging into the ground. Guile throws his arms up against the earsplitting gale. Its power begins to push him back as he boots struggle for purchase. Sound waves slam him, bounding wave after wave into his internal organs, unhindered by armor. Blood trickles from his ears and nose.
Pain wracks his brain with dizziness and he grows close to vomiting. This will kill him if it continues and she means to hold it until only one is standing. It will kill him unless he does the unthinkable and use the Fury against a woman.
To survive? To see his family survive? Guile reaches within himself feeling the ancient, fiery, and masculine power, and releases it.
The flood gates open and drench every fiber of Guile. The heat of Fury is so great it turns his flesh red. Strength fills his muscles, the gale has little effect now and his internal wounds begin to mend. His head clears and his mind focuses. He pauses to see Fantasma.
She is lost in her voice, her face trapped in a scream and her eyes rolled into the back of her head until they're all white. The poor woman, Guile understands being bound by duty, but a battlefield is no place for her.
Guile pushes forward ignoring the roiling debris until he stood before her. He silently asks for forgiveness and slams the pummel of Shimmer into her temple.
Her powerful notes are cut off in a short chirp, rubble and ruined stone crumbles to the ground. Fantasma collapses into Guile's waiting arms.
The sun has dipped beyond the horizon, lost until the morrow. Guile can't continue until first light and without knowing what dangers lie this high, he can't leave Fantasma unconscious and unprotected. He scavenges for dislodged foliage, and roots and builds a small slow burning fire and rests in an alcove her power had created.
It was a new and amazing gift that nearly defeated a Vagrant; that was something to be admired. Fantasma de Montaina, Guile muses, finding that she, lying peacefully near the fire, is also something to be admire. Her face is pale and smooth, all but the lump at the side. Her lips, a rosy pink from the mountain chill, form a perfect cupid's bow.
Guile unhooks the bottom most plate of Borus' armor and collapses the shell upward where he can store it all in the shoulder pad. After he takes another piece of jerky from his pack, removing Gaven's helm, and munches.
Fantasma's bosom lifts up and down rhythmically her tiny sighs lulling Guile into a minor comfort. Soon he drifts into a light sleep, the steel helmet under his arm.
He stirs when Fantasma's breathing shifts into the spermatic panting of surprise or maybe pain. Either way Guile doesn't open his eyes, but listens slightly amused.
For along moment she doesn't move but her eyes watch him, he can feel as much. He is careful to keep his breathing slow and steady as if in sleep. There is the whispered hiss of cloth moving and a blade sliding against its scabbard.
She takes her time, inch by inch; she rolls to her feet, taking great care in her silence. Then Guile feels the icy edge of the drawn knife press against his Adam's apple. He lifts his lids and finds shi is so close stray wisps of her silky hair tickle his cheek.
"Go ahead." He says smoothly," It would be an honor to die at the hands of a warrior woman."
Fantasma's eyes smolder hot carmine and she searches his face, confused by his declaration. "Why didn't you kill me?" she finally whispers, "or let me die?"
"Death is useless without a cause." Guile replies simply
"I could have died honorably, doing my duty!" Fantasma hisses
"I understand duty," Guile stares into her big eyes, suddenly reminded of the dual stripes on his chin and his own duty. "But where I am from," he continues, "it is unthinkable to kill or let die any woman needlessly."
"You are foolish, stranger, to save me but not disarm me." She presses in with the dagger drawing a trickle of blood,"I could kill you now."
Guile holds her gaze steady and confident," but you won't."
Fantasma bares her clenched teeth," what makes you so sure?"
"You speak to highly of honor and pride and even I would consider killing a defenseless man dishonorable." Guile smiles slightly. For and instant her entire arm tenses and she stares at her hand and the blade, And then snatches away in a whirl and growl of frustration.
The sun has not yet risen above the horizon but the sky has faded to a dull blue. The chill of morning is mated with dew; the wind whipping around above the path making the scene almost peaceful.
Fantasma keeps her distance, crouched with her knees pulled to her chest, just a few feet beyond a fire that had long burned out. She won't look at Guile and keeps her long knife held firmly in her fingers. As Guile puts his few belongings away, only silence fill the space between them.
"How did you survive my Voice?" Fantasma finally asks barely above a whisper.
"I am a Vagrant from Guild Valley." Guile replies proudly.
"Your Fury protected you?"
Guile nods, studying her profile.
"I realize now that if you hadn't have knocked me out, my Voice would have destroyed me from the inside out. You saved me even though I tried to kill you." She finally turns and meets his blue gaze, "I guess I owe you."
"You owe me nothing." Guile declines modestly, "I understand why you did it and if it had been you attacking my home, I would have done the same."
The softening in Fantasma's foreign features kindled a strange stirring in Guile's gut. More silence followed his words and she turns away abruptly, her cheeks turning rosy with blush. Her ivory hair reflects the pale blue of the sky. It dances in the gentle breeze about her face, give her a very sensual appeal.
"Then allow me to apologize, where I am from we strike first and ask later." She says without looking at him. "But why are you on my mountain, Vagrant of Guile Valley?"
" I am Guile Van' Crow, sixth and last born son of the Arch Priestess Van' Crow and I am on my final quest to return my family's honor and retrieve my wayward brother." Guile declares.
"You have lost your brother?" She asks brow furrowing
" his mind has been captured and corrupted by the Mistress of Darkness that now inhabits Nimbus Peak."
"Impossible!" Fantasma blurts in outrage, "no one has inhabited that castle in my life time!"
"The sorceress is unspeakably powerful and undeniably cruel; it would have been easy for her to slip by undetected." Guile corrects
"How do you know this?"
Guile's vice is captured for a moment as flashes of the vibrant and harsh memories flash through his mind. " I was told to come here, the only place where the land meets the sky."
Fantasma stands in a flurry of cloth and hair, "if the castle has been infested by a dark entity, as you say, than I have failed in my responsibilities."
Guile makes it to his feet," don't be too hard on yourself, the powers that you would have contended with are far beyond your imagining. Not to disrespect your Voice, but if you had stood in their path, you wouldn't have survived."
Fantasma spins on him fuming." And what makes you think that you can overcome her by yourself, if she is so powerful?"
"Truly," Guile begins," I don't know if I can, but I have to try. It was my mother's dying wish."
Fantasma studies him as he peers off to the castle, looking for some false hood in his verity. "You will die for this?" she asks gently.
Guile simply nods.
"Then I will come with you." She announces.
Guile's head snaps around, "what?" he exclaims bewildered.
"If you plan on bull rushing the castle and taking on such a powerful duo then you will need help." She says unyielding. "Besides I owe you for saving my life."
"This is my endeavor." Guile offers, " I will not have someone else hurt on account of my troubles."
"It wasn't a request, Guile Van' Crow. Where I am from we make good on our debts." she retorts. Firmly and crosses her arms under her breast. Her body is as ridged as her tone, unwilling to give ground and she glares at him stubbornly.
"I did not spare your life to have you throw it away on a fight that is not your own!" Guile yelled impatiently.
Fantasma growls, baring her straight white teeth again, and steps towards him, "who are you to tell me what to do with my second chance?" she yell in his face, "and it's my endeavor to perge the castle of the unwanted! So I'll be going anyway."
She smells of snow and earth and hot anger and Guile is over come with desire. His gut turns again and he realizes that it is with a ravenous longing for her. Consumed by compulsion, Guile snatches Fantasma in to his embrace and crushing his mouth to hers. Her body beneath the robe is hard and sinuous instantly conforming to him. He curses the breastplate for depriving him of a full experience.
Fantasma yelps in surprise, eyes open wide. His lips are urgent and demanding but soft and inviting. Perplexed she violently slaps his arms away and shoves him back before slamming a front kick into his armored chest.
Guile stumbles back, their lips unlocking with a wet smack, and catches himself, breathless, against the alcove wall.
"I'm sorry," Guile pleads his own eyes and mouth agape with astonishment. Fantasma approaches again, her face hot with rage and embarrassment.
She shoves a finger in his face, "Don't you ever-"she manages but her heat turns to fire and she can't keep her eyes off his mouth.
Guile's unarmored hand finds her cheek, it rough with sword calluses, and invites her in. Fantasma tips forward, incredibly feminine, forced onto her tiptoes to reach his eager lips. This kiss is slower, more delicious, bloated with desire. Her hands claw uselessly at his metal casing as their mouths twist and massage together. Guile's tongue invades her needy mouth, tasting her. Fantasma is flavored like a winter morning after the first snow, her tongue and lips cool as a breeze
Guile sighs a greedy growl from deep in his chest as Fantasma reluctantly pulls away.
"I cannot." She murmurs trying to catch her breath. She's light headed and clings to him for more than balance. She presses her brow to the cold metal plates hoping it will sober her some." It is forbidden for a guardian to be with a flatlander." She whispers to the breastplate.
Guile just holds her, his heart beating against his ribs like war drums. "Perhaps if I survive this I can change that."
Fantasma gazes up into his eyes, captured by the longing in them," don't you mean 'if we survive this'?"
The sun has arisen judging by the minute temperature increase and the brightening of the clear azure sky. The castle in the distance begins to glitter brilliantly in the coming light. Guile's destiny or his doom lies with. It he is to suffer or die, he will not let this beautiful and strong woman before him suffer the same fate.
Fantasma's eyes are soft, big and twinkling with perplexing affection They glitter like rubies in the sun and a pang of regret courses through his heart as he says, " I'm sorry." And before she can respond he jabs his thumb into her neck. Her body seizes up for an instant of pain then she collapses unconscious.
Guile slowly, tenderly lowers her to the ground inside the alcove and once removing his little pack, props her head up. He won't need it unless he returns.
He gazes down at her, Fantasma de Montana is truly some on to be admired. He brushes a stray strand of her velvet hair from her majestic face and steps out of the alcove.
Guile breaths deep of the cool air the pulls on Gaven's helmet and yanks Borus' gauntlet into place. With his three brothers at his side he is ready and charges down the pass.
His mind snaps back into order. Those few brief moments of tenderness with Fantasma has shifted his train of thought so suddenly he was left confused and gasping, wondering what this bizarre new emotion was drumming away in his chest. He found that even though it was completely in comprehendible. He liked the feeling, wanted to continue feeling it, but most of all, as Guile's pounding boots carried him away from her, he has been given something he wants to fight for besides justice.
With each lunging stride Nimbus Frost grew in the distance like a pulsation gem. The pass becomes deathly quiet, all but the slap of Guile's steps and his paced breathing.
A cackle rings out, high and feminine but dark and haunting, echoing a thousand fold in the narrow passage. Guile's eyes rise to the castle as torrents of smoke spew from murder holes and rain down on the pass. The pitch clouds explode on the walls above Guile's head and in his way. It's a foul smelling cloud like rotting blood, decay, and wet vermin.
Creatures, spawned of dark sorcery begin to hiss and scratch about the stone. Up ahead the fumes begin to clear and the beasts are revealed. Man sized rats, standing up right on crooked legs and hunched backs. Their arms hand down abnormally long ending in hideously hooked claws. Their putrid fur varies in color, and their maws droop open and salivating.
In a flash Shimmer materializes in Guile's hand and he pores on the speed, pushing his legs harder. The beasts release a grotesque, battle fry and begin to charge.
There are mere than a dozen of them, some pursuing from behind, others skittering down the walls. The Little Tempest becomes his name, ducking a looping swipe as he meets the first monster, and Shimmer finds its unprotected gut. Entrails and sickly black blood vomit out as it is cleft in two. Another rises up to take its place but Guile barrels on juking around and slashing down the monster's back. Two of the creatures rush his flanks, spittle flying from their hungry mouths.
One lashes out at Guile's helmet but Shimmer is there loping the arm off at the elbow. The rat like manifestation screams, spraying Guile and its companions with gore. The other mindlessly pounces before the claw has a chance to hit the ground. Its mouth never reaches him, Borus' gauntlet blasts out and into the open maw, grabbing its tongue. The monster's eyes roll in confusion as Guile yanks its head to the side blocking another lunging beast. Shimmer whips around like a possessed bold of lightning following the centipede armor, spitting flashing sparks as it scrapes along, and it takes off the top of the monster's head.
The sparks set the creature's matted and mangy pelt ablaze, combusting the pawing other trying to get at Guile. He drops the burning corpse in his hand and slams a kick into the other screaming mutation, sending it to the ground writhing in agony.
Guile Dives over both flaming bodies, into a roll as three more leap from above, and comes up in a full sprint. The Dark Mistress's minions swarm from every direction and Guile releases his own war cry, roaring into a vicious, whirling sword dance. Shimmer becomes no more than a blink of gore coated steel, a death bringing implement at the end of its master's killing instinct. Bits of rat faced beast platter the pass walls, limbs and hunks of flesh are hacked away, claws and teeth grind harmlessly over Guile's armor.
He bursts forth from the horde, stumbling into a grand stair case leading up to the castles main entrance, a trail of death behind him. The pass is littered with ugly eviscerated creature corpses and Guile is covered in entail matter and sticky blood.
As the wave presses in, Guile fades back only using his strength to defend and counter attack. He starts up the steps, large stone hewn into blocks and queerly the creatures do not pursue. They roil among one another, screeching their crazed protest and fainting lunges.
Another shrill giggle rains from up high, Guile's reward for making it this far.
The Vagrant watches the demons for a moment longer, worry suddenly scratching at his conscious. Fantasma was back down the pass, alone and unconscious. She'll be fine, he reassures himself, she is strong and wicked fast. Guile turns back to the stairs, certain that some command has stopped the rat beasts from continuing.
Guile, heaving for breath, pulls Gaven's helm off with Borus' clawed hand, and spits. He glares out at the mass of dark summoning, his upper lip twitching in a snarl. These bestial monstrosities are the very things he was born to destroy and finally being able to test his meddle against them, has adrenaline burning through his veins.
"Is that all you got!" he bellows long and hard until the air wheezes from his lungs.
He turns defiantly on the castle and marches to the doors. The double archway towers more than fifty feet over the vagrants head chiseled from the same stone as the mountain. It is decorated with a wild blizzard scene, wind whips across it in curly cues, and divots of snow cover it. Only a lone tree, its branches gnarled and reaching to the west, stands strong to the elements.
Now, it seems this massive home had been constructed for some thirty foot giant. Guile shakes the last few droplets from the helmet and replaces it then throws his weight at the portal. It gives on great mournful groan then begins to grind, stone against stone. It hisses open just enough for him to squeeze within.
The expance within is enormous, far larger than the outside suggests. Guile suspects that most of the mountain is also a castle. The entrance chamber beyond spans hundreds of feet, an aisle down the center is supported by pillars twice the thick as Guile's shoulders. To the sides are two giant sized spiral stair cases that circle past each other both down and up over his head.
Great braziers are chained high between the columns; they blaze with fresh warming fires. Everything is unsettlingly clean, the dangling sky blue and pearl tapestries, adorned with ancient and undecipherable languages, strange scenes of snow and blue beings, holding shiny weapons.
To farthest front, chiseled into the ascending ceiling is a statue. A woman, whose face tilts down, is staring at Guile. Her arms, bare, reach out and help hold the twisting stair. She is garbed in a simple flowing toga that disappears below the floor. Her hair flows out like bits of smoke and down over her bosom.
"Beautiful, isn't she?" a familiar voice says. The acoustics carry the simple statement all over the chamber.
Guile's body snaps ridged and Shimmer flicks in front to guard. A figure, several yards away, steps from behind one of the huge columns. He recognizes him instantly: Krouser.
He wears a long black goat that matches his glossy raven hair. Great plates of steel, polished into mirrors, cap his shoulders. A long and wide great sword stretches the length of his back. It resembles the same that pierced Guile's mother.
Krouser's hands are boldly clasped behind his back and he gazes up at the statue.
"I have come for you, brother." Guile challenges.
Krouser's head droops then he sighs." Straight to the point; So young and anxious, I'd never thought I would see the day a vagrant would be excited to meet his doom."
"I am not doomed, and neither are you! Mother has sent me to bring you home!" Guile takes a few steps.
"So the dying bitch managed to survive long enough to give you her dying wish." Krouser says seeming to confirm some personal hypothesis. "It won't help though. The First Born is always stronger than the last."
"This isn't about what order we were born in," Guile roars through his helm," It's about the slaughter of our family and guild!" the anger and need for vengeance grew hot in his chest.
Krouser smiles over his shoulder, "You know it was only luck you and Loucorn survived, but it wouldn't have been long before I came back after you. That is if you didn't except our invitation."
"Please stop all of this, Krouser! Enough blood has been spilled, enough life ended becaue of this. Put your sword down and come home with me." Guile pleaded through the rage," that was our mother's dying wish!"
"I have a better idea," Krouser states looking back up at the colossal woman," why don't you join me- here?"
"And become another utensil of death and destruction?" Guile barks, "Never!"
Krouser turns then, slowly, confident and ominous. His features are dark, youthful and handsome but his eyes, once the beautiful azure of a Vagrant, have turned black as night and hollow. "You already know that's I can't go back one way or another. Besides," he chuckles and holds up his arms," why would I ever leave all of this?"
Hope and faith had been paired with Guile's want for justice all this time. He wanted more than the restoration of his people, to have Krouser back at his side. One man, a single Vagrant could not replenish his people. He needed Krouser and Loucorn. But it was all shattered now, the look in his brother's eyes, his posture, and what he has said proves it true.
"I know this isn't you, Krouser." Guile tries to reason. "I don't want to fight you!"
"Then don't!" Krouser volleys back with heat, "I have the fury of four Vagrants and the wish of the First Born. Join me because you can't win!" That only meant that his defiance was impregnable and his Fury will last at least three times longer than Guile's. But Guile has the dying wish of the Last Born; it is his destiny to restore order and prosperity to the Vagrants.
"It doesn't matter," Guile replies with finality, "I'm taking you home, one way or another."
The brothers lock eyes, the air becoming think and greasy with tension. Guile flexes his centipede arm trying to draw strength his brother's mementos.
"I'm sorry to hear that. I was hoping you would be the one I could reason with. Now, I see that you will become another Fury in my collection." Krouser taunts and brushes his fingers over his eyelids, mocking the Ritual of Brotherhood.
"How dare you!" Guile growls and starts forward, Shimmer leading.
Krouser grins like a prowling wolf and starts at Guile.
The gap between them closes rapidly, their cautious steps abandoned for a charging sprint. Guile bounces from side to side, zigzagging before launching into a thrust. Krouser easily spins around it, coming to Guile's side. Little Tempest twists bringing Shimmer about horizontally whip fast then up but Krouser is as elusive as a shadow. The long black coat fluttering with the brother's dancing foot work. Guile spins again, growling, and slashes out with Borus' claws. Krouser leans away calm, nearly cocky.
Still turning Guile brings Shimmer over head and down. Krouser's weight is off kilter and he can't evade in time. He yanks his head to the side and the bastard sword bites into Krouser's steel shoulder guard.
The crack of metal on metal is ear splittingly loud. Krouser stares at the blade on his armor, partially astonished, partially amused. He smirks and looks into Gaven's helm, "Look at you, baby brother. Looks like you're stronger than I thought."
Lightning fast, Krouser slaps away the sword on his shoulder and the great sword suddenly comes crashing down.
Guile hops aside, putting a few feet between them. Krouser slowly straightens looking sobered and serious. "No more games, play time is over." He growls.
Guile spins Shimmer and circles back to the aisle. Krouser rolls his shoulders and much to Guile's dread; his flesh turns a hot red.
Guile watches Fury consume Krouser, a shudder of power passing over his brother. In a flash Krouser lurches sideways coming at Guile like an arrow, and lashes out with that huge sword like a knife. Guile narrowly blocks, the impact of the blades rattling through his arm.
Krouser spirals to the side coming over head in a hellish combo. Guile weaves in and out of multiple slashes and parries the forth, throwing Krouser's blade low and to the left.
Swiftly, Little Tempest coils like a serpent and lunges at Krouser's open ribs. But the dark sibling bends into a perfect C, Shimmer punching through the black jacket.
Guile flicks his wrist and Shimmer shoots up, Krouser throws himself backward, flipping away. In midair Krouser kicks out, catching Guile in the side of the helmet, causing him to stumble.
Krouser is on him before his feet are good and on the ground. He comes in hard using the Fury's brutal strength, and each blistering blow threatens to dislodge Shimmer from Guile's hands.
The speed of Vagrant Fury pumps Krouser's arms leaving Guile desperate for a counterattack. Krouser whirls the wide broadsword in looping patterns gaining momentum, the metal beginning to blur, and he brings it down like a crack of thunder
Fury floods Guile's body, giving reassuring strength and Borus' gauntlet catches the blade. The shock wave rattles down Guile's arm and he grunts under the force. Guile slashes at Krouser's open gut and he jumps away leaving the great sword in Guile's hand.
Then like a bullet he pounces back in, slamming Guile's armored face with a leaping knee and takes the handle of his sword. Guile teeters back, his grip on Krouser's sword slipping and it's snatched away. Guile fuels a dodge with Fury, avoiding a chop aimed at his neck and fires a short upper cut as Shimmer circles over head.
Krouser evades the gauntlet punch, and counters coming across to meet Shimmer. Enraged and bloated with Fury, the siblings blaze into wicked battle. Guile explodes, becoming his name, twisting into a twinkling hurricane.
Krouser matches him flawlessly, his fluid foot work dancing in the tornado. Soon, too soon, Guile's Fury begins to wane, forced to use it in order to keep pace and more struggling for purchase.
As a last resort, Guile cradles Gaven's helm with Borus' gauntlet, absorbing a slash in the armor and launching a deadly thrust. Krouser, only seeming slightly winded. Bends away and hooks Guile's sword arm by the elbow in his own. Guile claws out but Krouser isn't there and is rewarded with a knee to the gut.
Air whooshes from Guile, and a second came. Guile growls, desperately trying to cling to the remaining flickers of Fury. When it's gone he will be useless and exhausted.
Dread begins to build in the absence of Fury, could doubt trickling into his mind.
Guile had raced across the world, nearly killing Ruby twice from exhaustion, engorged on anger and vengeance then battled up the mountain, vowing every foot that his mother and brothers would have peace for their vain and untimely deaths. Now, he is here face to face with the reason all of this happened and he was faltering, floundering, unable to keep his promise.
The Promise! The wish of the last born, he yells in his head as Krouser lunges in another thrust. Then, there was a blink in the corner of Guile's eye and the spice of sorcery fills the air. He throws Borus' gauntlet up but not nearly in time.
A bomb of dark power smashes into his side, the impact rippling through his whole body and sending him hurtling through the air.
"No!" Krouser roars, "Damn you, he's mine!" he spins towards the woman statue. The Dark Mistress stood at the base.
Guile crashes bon crushingly hard into a pillar, chest first. The pillar rumbles and a spider web crack blossoms at the point of impact.
Dizzying pain blinds Guile as he plummets back to the floor. His arm throbs and the breastplate has collapsed inward. He knows several ribs are broken. He coughs, pain shooting stars into his vision, and blood sprays the inside of the helm, dripping from the slits.
Krouser's skin is still red and hot. The Sorceress saunters down the small dais, hips seductively swaying, the long slit in her raven feather dress flapping open with each step, revealing long, smooth, and pale legs. Her hair is like tendrils of blood cascading over her shoulders, and her silver and black corset turns her into the perfect hourglass. It leaves only her locks to cover her breasts.
"I still don't see why you men insist on hacking at one another with bits of metal when it is so much easier to blast your enemy into oblivion." She says as if board.
"Do not insult the sword that saved your life." Krouser snarls
"Oh, my love,"She comes to his side and caresses his cheek with the back of her hand, "Don't be sore I just wanted to have a bit of fun."
Krouser cools his Fury and looks into her deep black eyes. She smiles triumphantly and says, "Now that's better. Go and claim what is yours." Then she turns to watch Guile struggle to his knees.
Guile tries to force the pain back but his body and will are useless after being exhausted by Fury. The shattered chest armor stabs him with every breath and a shard of the centipede gauntlet is lodged in his arm. Sticky blood, hot with the residue of Fury, begins to trickle down his body. He clambers to one knee as Krouser approaches.