DISCLAIMER: This is all Christopher Paulini's stuff, except maybe the plot

A/N: this is me first fanfic… don't be too evil… R&R please…

He drew his blade, whirling it in a menacing arc in front of him, keeping his opponent in sight. His sword glittered sinisterly, as if it longed for blood to spill on its magnificently blue length. The eyes of its wielder were no different, glittering, longing to see the blood of his opponent wash the ground upon which they stood.

Eragon, Dragon Rider and Shadeslayer, was preparing to kill.

In contrast, his opponent was calm, detached even. His red blade was held in front of him, shimmering, waiting for the time when it would bite flesh once again. His eyes were unreadable, as if his thoughts were directed at only one thing: death to the enemy.

Murtagh, Dragon Rider and Morzanson, was preparing to kill.

They both knew it would come to this, but not so soon. Their dragons were overhead watching, waiting for the outcome of the match. They had agreed to remain spectators, nothing more, for this was a battle not between the Varden and the Empire, nor of Rider against Rider. It was a battle between brothers.

They circled around the dead branch in the middle of the clearing, seeking any sign of weakness, any lapse in defense in the other. Suddenly, Murtagh lashed out, aiming for the other's heart, intending to run him through with one well-aimed strike. Eragon parried, and counter-thrust with his own gleaming sword. The swords met in a shower of sparks Eragon went on the offensive and weaved a web of steel around Murtagh. It as all Murtagh could do to avoid or block his blows. Even with the alterations King Galbatorix had given him to aid him in his fight with his brother, he was still hard-pressed to change the tide of the battle.

Eragon felt the battle turning in his favor rapidly. Even if the battle was more intense than any of his sparring sessions, he felt supremely confident that he would emerge victorious. He had already cut his brother in several places, including a particularly long one along his arm. He grew more reckless. He over extended his reach and staggered. The constant barrage ceased only for the briefest of moments, but that was all Murtagh needed.

He hit Eragon in the base of his neck with the hilt of his sword. Eragon fell to the ground, where he was quickly kicked by his elder brother in the ribs. Another followed, and then another, and another. Murtagh's boot connected with his nose and it promptly broke, spewing blood out in a majestic shower. Murtagh, using his sword, ripped Eragon's shirt and rolled him over on his belly.

"I see you don't have a scar anymore, my dear brother." He said, whilst tracing Eragon's arm with his sword, leaving a long, but shallow wound. "I bet it makes you feel incomplete. Let me help you on that." He lifted his sword,

And brought it slicing down on Eragon's back.

Eragon experienced pain beyond pain. He could almost see the Shade, Durza, standing over him, laughing, triumphant. And then he did. He saw Murtagh for who he truly was: Durza.

"Du-Durza?" he sputtered

"Ah, I see you finally caught on… I wondered when you'd get it." Durza sneered.

"Bu-but, how?"

"You think that someone like you, a weakling, can defeat the likes of me? I think not. When you stabbed me, I found your friend Murtagh. I possessed him. The fact that he was your brother only came as a bonus. Even more, he became the next Dragon Rider! See how fortune smiles upon me? Now she has even delivered you into my hands." He paused, looking at Thorn, seemingly to give it a command. Thorn tensed. "Now die, Eragon Shadeslayer!"

Eragon heard a roar and smelled the stench of burning flesh. And then the swish of a sword.

Searing pain in his chest.

A falling sensation.

The darkness consuming him.

And the last thing he saw was a charred head, sent flying by crimson dragon.

Saphira…