White Knight
A Before the Ronins Story
Author's Note: This is a COMPLETED short story. To best view this story, please visit my Ronin Warrior Wing on my web site -- http://www.geocities.com/libraryoflegends/
"Aaaaagghhhhh!"
It came from somewhere, down the dimly lit passageways, meandering ever deeper into the dark bowels of the earth. It reverberated on the damp gray stones, through musty corridors that have never seen the light of day. It disturbed the tiny pockets of oily slime which began to trickle with excruciating slowness down the slant of the tiles. No living creature would dare to haunt these halls. To traverse the threshold was akin to walking the land of the living dead. Were it not for grime coated bones of the poor unfortunates, there would have been no indication of there ever having been life down here. Death was slow mercy. They hung as they must have for hundreds, perhaps thousands of years, derelict figures shackled with thick unforgiving chains.
"Aaaaagghhhhh!"
It came again, louder, more pronounced this time around. The very air held the cry suspended. There was no other sound; not even the hollow drip of falling water droplets could chase the horrible echo away. No, there was one other noise that was perhaps more repulsive than the silent stillness. It was laughter, short cackling laughter. The laughter of one amused at the broken, bleeding state of its victims.
The halls weren't deserted after all. In the labyrinth of rooms, there was one from which a dull orange glow emitted. Here was where the tortuous screams were most intense, where the grating laughter was most piercing.
There was a man there, or at least one that vaguely resembled one. It was hard to say, so contorted were his features. His features were gaunt to the point where it was possible to count every bone in his body. In some places, he appeared to be fleshless, whatever fat had been there before had seemingly melted away. His skin was pale, the healthy pink having turned to a color that almost resembled white, criss-crossed with a host of angry red welts, some of which bled, others of which sported crowns of greenish puss and purpling infections. His breathing was labored and his sides heaved with that simple, life-giving effort. What clothes he might have been wearing were hardly recognizable as such; they hung in tatters about his shoulders and legs, soaked through with slime, dust, and blood. His hair was a tangled heap of wiry black strands and his eyes were closed with the mere attempt at living. A shadow fell across his pain-filled visage but he was far too drained even to flinch.
"Well, we seem to be doing quite well aren't we?" The voice smirked, its sarcastic tones verbal jabs to the limp figure in front of it, who could do nothing more than groan at the assault.
"See how costly foolishness is? You could have been something. But now you are nothing, not even above dirt."
The shadow moved. In the light of the single burning torch, his image was one out of children's worst nightmares. Dark gray-blue metal gleamed duly, the long shadows accenting its hideous make. Only his face lay uncovered by the grotesque armor. That was hidden from questing eyes by a metallic red mask, from which white stringy hair fell, the sole connection of this apparition to the bounds of mortality.
Without warning, he reached out an armored hand and yanked up his captive's head, forcing open the dilated blue pupils and eliciting another moan of pain. The man's face shuddered at the touch and his breathing intensified. The armored apparition could only shake his head, tsking.
"Done already? But we have many more games to play."
He retreated backwards, taking a moment to contemplate the situation before removing a wide curving blade from his back. If his face could have been seen, it would have been twisted into one of sublime glee. He held the blade out horizontally in front of him, its tip pointed at the prisoner's heart. Without warning, the blade darted to the side, slashing at the ghostly skin and scoring long trails of glistening red.
"Aaaaagghhhhh!" What energy the man had was let loose in a convulsive scream. When the echoes died away down the dank hallways, he had grown limp again.
The captor smirked. "Not quite yet. Your power is still useful to me though you are not."
The man said nothing, his eyes closing to the horror around him . . .
Hariel stood on the battlements, overlooking the scene from his vantage above. Below, the town lay in shambles, brown thatched cottages burned through and cobble-stoned streets littered with the limp forms of the newly dead. Soldiers dressed in the dark gray armors marched smartly through the littered alleyways, combing the area for any that by some miracle happened to have survived the onslaught. Hariel doubted they would find any. The Dynasty was far too thorough, especially when he was the one in command. Another battle well fought. There will be much celebration today. Beneath him, his horse shifted restless, muscles rippling under the shiny brown skin. Hariel reached down an armored hand to soothe his mount's nerves, the dark musty-green metal clanking with the motion, but his eyes remained fixed just before the dip of the dilapidated stonewalls.
He felt the vibrations first, the clomping traveling through the ruined stone, then came the clatter of metal on tile. Hariel straightened in his saddle, eyes fixed in the direction of the hoofbeats. A figure on a black horse emerged over the curve, the stallion picking his way gamely among the fallen debris. It was hard to tell exactly what gender the figure was, or even what race. A black cloak obscured most of the figure's features from view, beneath which he wore a suit of light black metal that covered his entire body, leaving only his face open to wind and rain. His helmet resembled the head of a bat with yellow inlets marking the edges. But really, the most notable thing about him were his eyes. They were dark brown in color and slanted like a cat's. It was those eyes that caught Hariel's gaze and the figure's face broke out into a smile, the upturned lips crinkling the pale skin.
Hariel returned the expression. He raised his arm and motioned him over, but did not speak until the figure had maneuvered his horse till he was abreast of him.
"Lord Hariel, the entire town has been cleaned out. It appears no one survived our attack. Those that escaped have already been dealt with by the soldiers." The figure executed a somewhat distorted bow, hindered by the fact that he was on horseback, and let loose another smile.
"Excellent, Lieutenant Saberstryke. Master Talpa will be pleased."
Saberstryke smiled openly under the praise and Hariel could not help grinning at his exuberance. Despite the self-confidence in which he carried himself, not to mention the lofty title, it was obvious that Saberstryke was still youthful, enjoying the high rankings of his status. His prowess in battle proved him an able fighter and his grasp on the abstract strategies made him invaluable as Hariel's aide-de-camp. The fact that he was now just under perhaps the greatest warlord in the Dynasty's era was no less a source of awe.
"Another one for the Dynasty." Saberstryke's voice broke the silence and he leaned forward expectantly in his saddle, his slanted brown eyes watching the bustling of the soldiers below.
"Aye," Hariel grunted in return. His blue eyes easily discerned the large scarlet banner rippling victoriously in the breeze above the desolate town. In its center, at a slant was a dark blue gray helm with ivory white horns protruding from its top. Crossed at an opposite angle was a broad sword, slightly curved, with a black felt covered hilt. The banner of the Dynasty, and Talpa Arago's standard, one that was well known even in the far reaches of the Netherworld. "Already most of the Netherworld is under Master Talpa's control," Hariel continued conversationally.
"Yes, it won't be long before Master Talpa is lord of all. Then perhaps we will at last know peace," Saberstryke agreed. "Shall I send a messenger to his lordship with the news?"
Hariel straightened in his saddle. "There's no need. I will be leaving shortly to meet with him personally."
"He has called a council of the warlords?"
Hariel nodded. "Yes. There is still one country that stubbornly refuses our lord. Its presence is still a large threat on the northern border." He shook his head then flashed Saberstryke a smile. "But that is not something you need worry about at the moment Lieutenant. Tonight is a time for relaxation, for war-torn bodies to heal," Hariel gestured dramatically.
Saberstryke averted his eyes, nodding respectfully, "Of course lord."
"I should be gone no longer than a moon or two. I leave you in charge until I return."
Saberstryke snapped to attention and saluted, "Yes lord."
Hariel nodded with satisfaction as Saberstryke wheeled his horse, cantering back down to the temporary barracks. He had no qualms leaving his force with Saberstryke, they were in good hands.
The wind shifted and Hariel's gray cloak rustled with the current. He raised his eyes skyward in thanks to those above for their victory then spurred his horse into motion. He felt the movement of the muscles bunching beneath him and nodded silently to himself. They would make good time, it wouldn't do to keep his lord waiting.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The periphery of the cliff was obscured by great billowing curtains of swirling dust and grime. Hariel narrowed his eyes, occasionally lifting an armored hand to block the particles from his unprotected face. Beneath him, the brown warhorse plodded on gamely, pushing against the unrelenting wind. The storm had come from nowhere, sweeping down upon the landscape like an angry beast. It howled in his ears and Hariel pulled his cloak tighter around himself, feeling slightly miffed. He had been making good time and had thought to make Talpa's palace by nightfall. Apparently that would not be possible now. He grimaced. He could barely see three feet in front of his face and the whipping currents made it nearly impossible to determine how close he was to the cliff's edge. Their progress was slow and Hariel let loose a sigh of annoyance. He pulled gently back on the reins and felt the horse shudder to a stop below him. He applied a slight pressure on his mount's left side, turning his horse toward a gathering of sheltering rocks. It wasn't the perfect shelter, but at least it was adequate enough to last out the whipping tendrils.
Grateful to be out of the unforgiving windstorm, the horse stamped gleefully under the sheltering rocks, snorting. Hariel couldn't help but smile at its antics. He dismounted carefully and felt the soft nuzzle of a nose seeking the hidden sugar lump that must undoubtedly be hidden in the voluminous cloak. Hariel laughed, taking a playful swat at the questing nose.
"Oh very well," he smiled, fishing in his pockets for the delicacy, "I suppose you earned it."
The horse snorted and daintily lifted its lips to accept his reward. The yellow-baked teeth grinded thoughtfully as he savored the sweet graininess of the cube, finally ending with another snort of satisfaction as if it had met up to his expectations. Hariel shook his head and began stripping the worn-leather saddlebags from their resting places. He didn't expect to be here long, so he did not bother to unpack anything. Rather he just pulled out a couple of fire sticks and prepared a small fire. The glowing embers threw faint silhouettes upon the surrounding gray stones. Hariel rubbed his hands over the meager blaze, feeling the cold even through the protective metal.
It was then that he noticed that something was not right. He looked up suddenly, reaching automatically behind his cloak for the twin iron blades hidden there. His blue eyes darted around the tiny cavern, but everything seemed to be in order there. Frowning, he turned his attention to the swirling grains that billowed past outside. Something was out there. Was it his imagination or was there really something masked within the swirling tendrils of dirt? Hariel rose slowly to his feet, his armored fingers grasping the hilt of his beloved blades. He took a moment to throw a glace at his equine companion but the horse appeared to be paying him no heed, calmly standing in the corner with his eyes closed, only the occasional shifting of a foreleg betraying that he was a living creature. Hariel reverted his attention forward, creeping cautiously to the mouth of the cavern. He pressed his body against the cool stones, eyes straining for the movement he had seen earlier.
At first he could see nothing, but the longer he gazed, the more he was sure that his mind was not playing tricks on him. It appeared slowly. Faint at first, it began to resolve itself into a recognizable shape. Or at least semi-recognizable. Hariel identified the outline as that of an armor, though a samurai armor more elaborate than any he had ever encountered. The contours were jutted out in stark relief to the swirling background with more points and curves than Hariel was used to seeing, certainly not one of Talpa's force. Its helmet was donned with two golden horns sparkling unnaturally. In fact, though the sun was dim, it was obvious that the armor was a pristine white, like that of the innermost heart of a flame. Hariel blinked, then blinked again. His trained eyes swept up and down the figure, finally noticing the shining twin katanas held loosely in its two hands. Hariel grimaced. Whoever this person was, he was certainly well-armed, and probably had the skill to back up that visage. Hariel's fingers tightened around the hilt of his blades. He had no wish to have confrontation at this moment. He was hardly at his best, having come straight off the battlefield and enduring hours of non-stop riding. The armored figure continued unerringly forward and Hariel finally stepped out to meet it, his blades dropped in a non-threatening posture, though ready to slip into a defensive stance should the need arise.
"Halt! I am Hariel, Warlord of the First Division! State your business to me!"
The mysterious armored figure drew to a halt. It said nothing and Hariel gasped. Where the silver metal plates of the facemask should have shone above fleshy pink skin, there was nothing but empty air. Hariel took a shaky step backwards, his blades rising to a defensive position across his chest.
"Who . . . Who are you . . .?" he stammered.
The figure said nothing, but merely raised its blades, crossing them while its feet shifted to an attack stance. Hariel shakily did likewise, blue eyes continuing to stare at the empty faceplate. There was a slight grating of metal and suddenly the figure charged. Caught off guard, it was all Hariel could do to keep his footing. The two pairs of blades locked briefly before Hariel broke off the parry, having known in that minute contact that he could not hope to match the figure's strength. He ducked under the blades and rolled, eyes closed to keep the whipping dust motes from his corneas. Once he felt he had cleared the deadly metal, Hariel leaped to his feet, again crossing his blades in a defensive posture. He had even less of a warning than the previous time. This time, he tried to avoid the thrust entirely. He was only partly successful. He managed to get the bulk of his body out of the blades' deadly path but one of his own caught against the figure's. It was held, suspended for a moment, before it glittered and snapped into a host of tiny metallic shards. Horrified, Hariel dropped the useless hilt, grasping his one remaining blade with two hands. He panted with exertion, shuffling his feet in an effort to put as much distance as he could between him and the figure. The unnatural white light glinted off the metallic plates and it charged again, swinging its katanas in a wide arch. Backed against the wall of the cavern mouth, Hariel had no choice but to raise his sole remaining blade to meet the advance. Metal grated on metal and for a brief moment, Hariel thought he had the upper hand. That thought was quickly dashed and the blade Hariel so desperately clutched shattered. He looked up aghast but the figure stopped its blades' downward advance. It stepped back as if regarding Hariel carefully then plunged its two katanas into the soft, windswept gravel. While Hariel continued to watch with astonishment, the figure turned and left, disappearing into the swirling dust from whence it came.
Hariel shook his head as one who had just woken from a dream. He approached the two inverted katanas cautiously, mindful of the force that had caused his own blade to snap. At first glance, there appeared to be nothing extraordinary about them. They were both slender and slightly curved, not unlike the ones that Hariel used to carry. Full of trepidation, Hariel reached out and grasped one of the hilts. He felt a shock travel through the metal and almost drew back in surprise. But it passed quickly enough and Hariel withdrew it from the gravel. It was surprisingly light and seemed to fit into the curvature of his palm exactly. Hariel bent and admired the superior craftsmanship. A similar inspection of the other blade revealed the same conclusions and Hariel shook his head in wonderment.
Around him, the swirling dust seemed at last to settle, the storm finally abated. Hariel turned his blue eyes to his surroundings and sheathed the two katanas on his back. There was time enough to think on these strange events. For now, he must concentrate on making all possible speed to Talpa's castle. He turned on his heel and headed back into the cavern to retrieve his possessions and his mount.
Murmurs of quiet conversation lit the backdrop of the grand hall. Colorful banners of glories long past decorated the cold stone slabs, the worn threads catching the light of numerous torches placed evenly along the walls. Large glass-paned windows let the light from the outside stream into the room, playing on the metallic breastplates, anklets, and armor guards of the milling warriors inside. It appeared every warlord in the kingdom was gathered here today. They came from all corners of the Netherworld, were of every race imaginable. Some gathered in small knots off to the side, talking quietly to themselves. Occasionally a large guffaw would resonate down the narrow halls, as the individual in question laughed at some private joke. Others were seated on the large oval table placed in the center of the room. Metal jugs were scattered across the heavy wood, periodically refilled by scurrying pages intent on doing as the warlords bid.
Hariel was seated nonchalantly in one such a group. He listened with feigned interest to the tales of the other warlords' escapades. One claimed to have routed the rebellious southerns in one decisive battle. Another countered that the southerns were weak-minded so of course they easily succumbed to Talpa's might. A third ignored them all and spoke ominously of the stirrings of discontentment from those that were already under the Dynasty's hand. The first shrugged.
"Well 'course they're unhappy now. What do they expect with this war still goin' on? Time enough later they'll realize they in better shape 'under Master Talpa."
"I agree," the second said in a more formal tone, "Master Talpa promised an end to the fighting and he'll surely deliver. But there is no peace without fighting. If only they would stop squabbling, the unification would go so much smoother."
"Aye," the third interjected, "That's the simple truth but it's Galicia where all the rumors are flying."
"The northern country? What a pain they are," the second grimaced in distaste.
"What think you Hariel?" the third turned to him.
Hariel uncrossed his arms. "I think Master Talpa will take care of everything in due time. Our only concern is to carry out his orders."
Chastised the warlords settled into silence. Hariel turned away from the congregation. It was no secret that he was the most favored of all the warlords. Looks of jealousy were ones he just had to deal with. Then again, there were very few things he had in common with these squabbling warlords whose sole intent seemed to better the other and gain Talpa's favor. Hariel, on the other hand, preferred the quiet, honorable battlefield where a man's worth was proven with his skill of his sword.
The heavy wooden doors at the other end of the antechamber suddenly swung open, its rumble causing the clamor inside to fall silent. Talpa entered in full armor, the mixture of sun and torchlight glinting off his dark blue-gray armor. He wore his ivory horned helm on his head and the characteristic red mask that covered his face from view while stringy white hair fell along the sides. The milling warlords quietly took their seats around the table as Talpa came to sit at its head. Talpa raised his hand for attention and it wasn't long before every eye was upon him.
"First I must congratulate all of you. The unification goes more rapidly than planned. The southern countries have fallen at last, as does the stubborn west. Most of the surrounding countries have bowed to the Dynasty's banner and the glorious day when we all stand united is rapidly approaching."
There were murmurs to his statement and even some cheers but were quickly hushed by Talpa's hand.
"Silence. There still remains one country that yet defies me. That is Galicia of the North. Its ruler, Lord Draconis refuses to believe that I am the rightful ruler of a unified Netherworld. He hoards his forces on the northern border and thinks to make an attack on us, on ME!"
There was snickering about the room following his statement, but whether because they truly believed in Lord Draconis' stupidity or merely being agreeable to Talpa, Hariel could not be sure. He frowned inwardly at that. Lord Draconis may be misguided, but he certainly was no fool. They were taking the situation with Galicia far too lightly.
"But now is the time to finally show our true strength!" Talpa continued forcefully, "I am proposing a three pronged pincer attack. One group will engage the Galician northern guards, while the other two will skirt around behind. One of these will come up through the farmlands, destroying the resources while the other will take control of the mines. Both of these groups will converge on the capital, to be joined by the last after they have taken out the border troop."
There were nods all around. The plan was sound, but then none would have disagreed with Talpa anyway. They went through the rounds, some volunteering to be in a certain group, while others were assigned. Some frowned in disappointment, while others earnestly assured the victory. Hariel listened intently, but when his troop was not among those on the roster for any of the three groups he began to frown. Nearly all of the gathered warlords noticed this slight and snickered among themselves, gleefully pointing in his direction. Hariel ignored the stares and jibes with an air of nonchalance though inwardly he was disturbed. What is Talpa planning?
"You have your orders. I leave you no more than three days to prepare." Talpa raised his arm in a dismissive gesture. "Do NOT fail me," he added in a low undertone.
Scraps and rattling of armored warriors filled the antechamber, along with the quiet whispering of friends discussing the recent developments. Hariel pushed through the thronging crowd, intent on confronting Talpa. There had to be a reason why his division had not been assigned.
Hariel had no sooner begun his search when he was approached by someone else. That someone else was short and thin in stature. He wore a dark purple robe that reached all the way to the ground. His face was somewhat elongated, the skin an odd shade of dark sea-green from which two beady black eyes gazed up at him. Two thin whisker-like tendrils of black flowed from just above his mouth, which seemed to be held in a permanent smirk.
"Badamon . . ," Hariel identified Talpa's chief mage.
"Master Talpa wishes to see you privately. Come with me." It seemed the beady eyes lit up with malicious glee and the long black whiskers twitched with some terrible hidden secret he longed to reveal but didn't dare for it would spoil the fun. Hariel bowed and obediently fell into step behind the mage, all the while hiding his obvious discomfort. There was just something about the mage that made him feel on edge, some dark, sinister presence that tainted the air around him foul.
Badamon led him down the winding corridors to an office-like room behind the grand antechamber. Hariel stood his ground while the mage departed, reaching behind to close the open door. But the mage flashed him a smirk so twisted that Hariel could still see the afterimage on the closed door.
Fortunately, he was not left to his own devices for long when the crimson curtain toward the back of the room parted, revealing the same armored figure that was Talpa, Lord of the Dynasty.
"Ah Hariel, how good of you to come," Talpa said, though the sarcasm held in the tone was more biting than it was friendly.
Hariel did not flinch. "Why was I not assigned?" he said instead, ignoring formalities with the intent on getting right to the point.
"Yes about the assignment." Talpa turned his back to Hariel, pretending to fidget with the torch on the wall. Hariel remained unmoving and Talpa turned back to him, the grin apparent on his face, visible through his red mask.
"The truth is, Warlord Hariel," the title was pronounced with care, "Is that you may better serve me in other ways. It is my intent to send you ahead of the rest of the force. You are to enter the capital unseen and assassinate Lord Draconis. With his death, the resistance will crumble, making it far easier for my main force to crush Galicia."
Hariel stood in shock for a moment before hastily covering it up with ardent nods and promises. He couldn't believe that Talpa would transcend the laws of honorable battle so adroitly. But what could he say? If this was as Talpa wished then he was in no place to question his orders. Still, the nagging thought remained. Hariel shook his head to clear it of the conflicting emotions, and instead bowed formally to his master.
"Then it is done Master."
"Good," Talpa nodded, the smirk back on his face, "Lord Draconis will pay for defying me." He turned on his heel, parting the curtains. "You are dismissed," he said as a last, before disappearing behind the rippling cloth. Hariel could only numbly exit, his mind bereft of a genuine answer about his orders.
"I don't understand Lord Hariel. Why are we cowering here like a group of fugitives in the dead of night? Certainly there is no honor attacking when the city is at its defenselessness?"
Hariel waved away the whispered words. He peered through the bushes, letting his eyes adjust to the dim moonlight. Saberstryke was right of course. What honor was there attacking a city who could no more defend itself than a new born babe? The bulk of Galicia's troops were gathered on Talpa's northern border for that was where the expected attack would come. Only a small skeleton force had been left behind to guard the capital gates. Still, Hariel had his orders and loyalty and obedience to Talpa came before any of his own morals.
"It is as Master Talpa wishes," Hariel whispered back. He crept along the periphery to get a better few of guards. He counted about a dozen on the gates and guessed about a hundred or so more lounging in the barracks behind the protective walls. That made the number of his enemies about even with his own small hand-picked force. But Hariel had no intention of engaging the enemy head on. He pivoted on his heel and motioned Saberstryke over.
"Lieutenant Saberstryke, I want you to lead a small company toward the left flank," Hariel motioned in the appropriate direction, "You are only to cause a distraction. As soon as the guards leave their posts, I will enter the city on foot. When you see me enter safely, I want you to withdraw immediately and regroup back in the forest with the main force. I will rendezvous with you as soon as my mission is complete."
"Alone Lord? Shouldn't you take at least a few companions . . ?"
Hariel shook his head, and the black strands caught the moonlight, "No. I must remain unseen. It will be far easier to do that alone." He looked directly into Saberstyke's cat-like brown eyes, which were averted with the shame of questioning his commander. "I'm counting on you Kenbukyou," he whispered quietly in an undertone.
Saberstryke bowed to the use of his old name, one known only to a few who knew of him when he was still a youth living in a backwater town. It was Hariel who had come and recruited the gangly youth into his force, allowing his dreams of glory as a solider to finally be realized.
Saberstryke left his commander to prepare himself and Hariel again scanned the capital. Lord Draconis. He thought to himself as he stared at the dark silhouette of the palace. You were once a great hero, revered by all youja. Why must it end this way? Hariel reached behind to feel for the two blades sheathed on his back. They began to hum, silently in his mind, as if anticipating the battle. Hariel nodded to himself. But your reign is over. Master Talpa is the Netherworld's lord now. He released his grip on the swords and settled to wait for Saberstyke's signal.
There! A large commotion caught the guards' attention. Curious, they left their posts to investigate. Hariel crept from his hiding place, drawing the dark black cloak around him tighter, obscuring his form from view. He hunched his back and scurried through the unmanned gates. Moments after crossing the threshold, Hariel heard the noise and barked commands cease. Disgruntled, the guards returned to their posts, cursing the midnight disturbance. Good work Kenbukyou. Hariel applauded his aide's efforts. The rest was now up to him.
Thud. The body fell limply, sagging against the hallway walls. The torch sputtered, illuminating the splattering of blood running in rivulets through the stone tiles. Hariel removed his the katana from the body of the guard. It slid easily from the depth of flesh. The katanas were a wonder to use. Not only were they battle-light, but they were so sharp, they cut through metal like a hot knife through butter. Hariel shook his head. He had no time to wonder at such things. The alarm had been raised. It was now a race to see if he would get to Lord Draconis' chambers before the guards found him.
Hariel hurried through the hallways, trying to keep noise to a minimum. The criss-crossing corridors were deserted. Apparently the guards had not thought to comb this area quite yet. Thanking his good fortune, Hariel continued unerringly, easily locating the flight of steps that wound ever upward toward the tower room Lord Draconis used as his bedchambers. He knew the castle like the back of his hand, so many times had he been here. Mostly it had been an envoy of Talpa's. Now here he was, sneaking around like a thief. Hariel let a grimace cross his face. Oh how the tables turn. He shook his head forcefully. Stop it. It is Master Talpa's will. But if it was his will, why did Hariel sound as if he were trying to convince himself?
He finally found himself facing a simple wooden door with a golden handle. With an infinite sigh, Hariel steeled himself for this task and quietly turned the handle. The door swung quietly on its hinges, revealing a rather unassuming room with pale moonlight streaming through the open window. A suit of lacquer armor lay off the left side against which a single, slender sword leaned. A slight breeze wafted the thin white curtains and the figure on the bed shifted. Hariel crept forward, mindful to keep the clanking of his armor to a bare minimum. He came to stand at the side of the bed, gazing down at what was once the greatest warrior of the Netherworld. His golden brown skin was wrinkled with age, creased with the many worries of ruling a nation. But for now, the slanted eyes were closed in the bliss of sleep. Eyes like Kenbukyou. Hariel shook himself. He threw back his cloak and reached for the hilt of his katana. The blade sang as his touch and with a whispered pray of regret, he prepared to bring the blade down and through Lord Draconis' heart.
As the blade began its downward descent, Hariel was besieged with conflicting emotions. What was he doing? Killing an old man in his sleep? Lord Draconis shifted in his sheets and Hariel drew back his blade which had suddenly gone cold in his hand.
"Lord Draconis!" Hariel called out.
Lord Draconis was instantly awake and on his feet. Centuries of life had not dulled his senses. His slanted eyes met Hariel's own blue then traveled down to see the katana clutched in his hand. He was immediately aware of his peril and launched into a duck and a roll across his bed that landed him within arm's reach of the sword leaning complacently against the ancient lacquer armor. He did not call for the guards. Rather, he regarded the figure across from him carefully.
"Hariel," the lord said at last, "Are you here on Talpa's orders?"
Hariel said nothing and instead motioned toward Lord Draconis's blade. "Master Talpa wishes you dead, but I will not go around murdering people in the night. I challenge you to a duel Lord Draconis. The stake is death."
Lord Draconis nodded wearily. "Then it shall be." He reached and pulled the slender sword from its sheath, it fell with a soft thud on the stone floor.
Lord Draconis rose steadily from his position, gripping the sword in a two-handed grip. Hariel removed his other katana from behind his back and held them crossed in a defensive position. He edged cautiously toward Lord Draconis who merely watched his movements, holding his ground. Hariel was not to be fooled. Lord Draconis may be far past his prime but he was still a fearsome warrior. It would not do to get cocky.
The two combatants circled each other, feinting to test the other's guard.
"If you wish to kill me, then you had better do it soon Hariel. The guards will be upon us soon," Lord Draconis said evenly, his voice calm.
Hariel frowned then charged, Lord Draconis's words spurring him to motion. Lord Draconis met his advance easily, raising his blade to block the blow. Metal clashed on metal and Lord Draconis's eyes grew wide. He broke the parry and retreated backwards, his look incredulous. Hariel didn't give him a moment's respite and charged again, his katanas a blur of silver stopped only when they fell upon the opposing sword. It continued then as a deadly dance of metal on metal. It was obvious that Hariel had the advantage yet he kept holding back, unwilling to let the final blow fall. Lord Draconis used this to his own advantage and soon had Hariel retreated toward the open window step by slow step.
"You are holding back," Lord Draconis said simply, "Can it be your heart is not in this task?"
Hariel let his brow furrow, "Master Talpa is my lord and I obey him." Hariel swung his katanas down, forcing Lord Draconis now to retreat back across the threshold.
"Yes, you show piety to Talpa but that very feeling is at war with your own sense of justice. Your wisdom tells you he is not the one to trust, not the one you should give your life for." Lord Draconis took a backhanded swing, his blade clanged against Hariel's katanas.
Serenity broken, Hariel narrowed his eyes. "You are wrong! I am Master Talpa's servant! He will conquer the Netherworld!" Hariel swung his katana, slicing through Lord Draconis's thin nightshirt and drawing blood.
Lord Draconis staggered backwards, clutching his wounded side. He gazed at the advancing Hariel sorrowfully.
"But you have been visited by Kikoutei have you not?"
Hariel drew up short in surprise. "Kikoutei . . . the legendary white armor . . ."
"Of Inferno," Lord Draconis finished for him. "Yes, did you not know? That is its swords you carry. The Soul Swords of Fervor."
Hariel narrowed his eyes. "What do you know of the armor?!"
"I too have seen it," Lord Draconis said unperturbed, "I thought I was the one chosen to bear it but it seems I was mistaken."
From Hariel, there was only silence as he sought to make sense of Lord Draconis's words.
"If Kikoutei has chosen you then your heart must be virtuous enough to realize the mistake you make to tread this path," Lord Draconis continued. "I will not dirty your hands. You do what you believe is right." With a swift, single motion, Lord Draconis plunged his own blade into his heart.
"Lord Draconis! No!" Hariel cried out. He sheathed his katanas on his back and rushed toward his side. A dark stain of red spread across the pale sheets saturated with the blood of one who had slept there too many moons to count. The slanted eyes had closed and there was a smile playing upon lips pale from lack of blood. Once again Lord Draconis had drifted into that unfeeling bliss but this time he would not wake.
Pounding footsteps could soon be heard in the winding stairway just beyond the door and Hariel looked up in alarm. Shutting his eyes, he whispered a silent prayer commending the soul of Lord Draconis to the afterlife then bolted instantly to his feet. Scanning the room quickly, he located his sole means of escape and leaped out of the open window on to the landing below. No sooner had he vacated the area when the guards rushed in. Hariel had no trouble picking up their words from where he hid below the sill.
"Murder! Someone has murdered Lord Draconis!"
The quiet breeze ruffled the black strands of his hair as Hariel sat in relative seclusion on a bluff. He couldn't help thinking on the event that was now a full moon past. He remembered staring at the blood leaking from the body of one who had once been the hero of the Netherworld. He remembered the sounds of the guards pounding up the tower stairs. After that, everything was little more than a blur, as his mind had ceased to take note of the events around him. He had escaped from the capital somehow, he wasn't quite sure how, only that he had found himself running breathlessly through the forest toward the specified meeting place with Saberstryke. He hadn't been able to think after that. Thank the gods Saberstryke had a good head on him. It was he who had taken care of things from there, since it was obvious that Hariel was in no shape to do it himself.
And now he was here, sitting on a hilltop not quite sure what he was supposed to do now. The deed was done as Talpa had wished it, yet, why did he feel so low about it? Because a great hero is dead. But wasn't that what he went to Galicia to do? No, that wasn't entirely the problem. The real problem lay in Lord Draconis's words. They had hit home in a peculiar sort of way. Where there had been undying loyalty to Talpa now remained only shadowy doubts. Kikoutei, the white armor of Inferno. But what has it to do with me? What was Lord Draconis saying? Hariel drew one of the katanas from its sheath on his back. Light glinted on the sharpened, razor edge and Hariel ran his armored fingers over the surprisingly light metal, revolving it on its axis so it caught the light at every angle. He called them the Soul Swords of Fervor. Swords that were said to execute the will of the purest soul. And they are part of Kikoutei. Kikoutei. Legend says it was the most powerful armor ever created, born in the heat of the flames at the apex of creation. Among those of the purest virtues it will choose its bearer. Hairel twisted the blade, taking an experimental swing through the air. Was I chosen to be the bearer of Kikoutei? But why? And what for . . . ?
The wind began to stir unnaturally and Hariel was instantly on his guard. What? Something had begun to blow past him in the current. He reached up an armored hand and caught the tiny particles. Sakura petals? He glanced upwards. Pale pink and white sakura petals were raining down on him from the sunlit sky. They wrapped him in a soft embrace removing him from the rigors and cares of the mortal world. Hariel blinked in confusion, blue eyes registering only the curtains of petals that replaced the landscape of the Netherworld. He spun on his heel but found there was no escape from these rippling walls of creation. Now apprehensive, Hariel turning his gaze toward where the petals were densest and nearly staggered back in shock. There it was again, a figure in shining white armor. The gleaming contours, golden horns, faceless mask. There was no mistaking it. It was the white armor of Kikoutei, the Armor of Inferno.
Hariel spread his arms, palms open in a helpless supplicant gesture. "Kikoutei, armor whose power if fueled by virtue, what is it you want with me?"
The armor, of course, said no words but paced silently on a path of fallen sakura petals that wound around the captive Hariel, eventually ending a space right before him. It was then, staring into the armor's faceless mask, that Hariel began to feel something stir. He felt himself becoming dizzy, the ground dropped from under him and he was plunged . . .
Into a land of fire. No, the flames cleared and there was an image. It was an image of a tiny border town. The town was bustling with activity, the people going about their daily lives without a care in the world. Children laughed, adults exchanged pleasantries, and horses stamped with the eagerness of those ready to see the world. Then the cheery sunlight dimmed. On the horizon, a huge cloud of dust betrayed the approach of thousands of armored soldiers. The people began to scream. Children cried as their parents hastily pulled them from the streets, running down the dusty alleys with as much as they could carry. Confusion reigned, but they would not make it out in time, not even close. The advancing army swept through, putting the entire town to torch, burning its citizens, the ones who hadn't time to escape. To those who had run, the soldiers rode ahead and sliced them with their weapons, crimson blood spilled over the dusty plains. Men, women, babes, the crippled, not one survived. As they rode in victory, the soldiers carried with them a familiar standard. The rippling scarlet banner of helm and sword. The standard of Talpa Arago. They laughed and a sea of blood was left behind.
Then jump! To another image, another place. This time it was the throne room, the great hall of the Dynasty. One robed figure kneeled, head bowed in deference to another figure on a dark throne. Talpa. Talpa rose, grating laugher echoing off the lonely walls.
"Badamon it comes! I can feel it!"
"Yes Lord Talpa," the kneeling figure answered. "The unification will soon be complete, and then we may make our real plans."
"What a trifling waste of time. How much I have longed for this day! No dimension will be able to resist the full power of the Netherworld! Ah, how many worlds will bow down to the Youjakai, and how many will call me Master!"
"I have already found several worlds ready for the taking Lord Talpa, the creatures there are weak-minded, yet have many unusual resources that we can exploit to better our own rule."
"Prepare the way Badamon, put the foolish youja to work! I grow weary of this game, but new amusement will be sought soon. And what amusement it will be . . ."
Flash! Hariel broke away from the armor's contact, his mind reeling with the images seemingly invaded into his private thoughts.
"Master Talpa . . . he does not wish for peace . . . It is slavery and power that he wishes for!" He almost refused to believe it, found himself denying it even in spite of the evidence put right before his eyes. Yet, he had only to glance at Kikoutei to know that it was no lie. It was the feeling of utter truth that permeated through his mind.
"Why did I not see it before? The attack, the orders to kill Lord Draconis . . . My lord is FALSE!" For a samurai warlord, that was perhaps the most horrifying thing imaginable. The one thing that could break his spirit, to know that he had wasted his loyalty, would have given his life, for a dishonorable turncoat. It bordered high treason.
"But I can be my own master. I can make the decisions for myself." Kikoutei remained staring at him impassively and Hariel knew instantly that it was awaiting an answer.
Hariel again spread his arms, but this time wider, as if he may embrace all of creation. "I accept your offer! Kikoutei, Armor of Inferno, lend me your power so I may correct this wrong!"
In answer, the armor broke apart in a swirl of muli-colored silk, the brilliant hues melding with the falling sakura, creating a light so brilliant that Hariel was forced to shield his eyes, lest he be blinded. He felt the world around him erupt into fire. It was coursing through him, burning in his veins. He gasped at the intense power, heady like a draught of strong wine. One could get addicted to this quite easily, a part of his mind thought dreamily, while another, more sane lectured that the power bestowed by Kikoutei must only be used for the administration of justice.
And then the warring voices fell silent. The swirl around him began to fade, the sakura disappearing into nothingness. The dim sun reappeared, beating relentlessly upon a landscape which had returned to its normal state. Hariel felt he saw it for the first time. The glorious patterned energies that made all life possible, that came from the very essence of the land. He gazed down and found his body covered in the shining white metallic plates, light to the touch and imbuing him with its innumerable powers. Kikoutei is mine to command. His mind clear, he knew now exactly what he had to do. There was no doubt what his mission was.
He turned slowly, his body savoring the ecstasy of power flowing through his veins. The walk down the bluff to the encampment was so short it was long. Time no longer applied to him, or rather, applied to him only in the sense that it did to mortal events. He entered the makeshift dirt paths, lined on either side by heavy gray-blue tents, their ends billowing in the strong breeze. Some of the soldiers lounged outside of them, under the canvas doorways and immediately ceased all conversation, their wide eyes staring at their commander-in-chief. Hariel paid them no mind. There was only one he had to talk to. Wherever Hariel traversed, the silence followed him, none willing, daring to believe that the legendary armor Kikoutei walked amongst them.
Disturbed by the unnatural silence, Saberstryke ventured outside his tent, wondering in irritation where the brawl was this time. But when he spied Hariel, garbed in the legendary armor, he stood stock still with his mouth hanging open, all faculties overwhelmed completely by shock.
It was at last by the sight of his aide's face that Hariel finally let a smile form on his face. But it was a fleeting one, the gravity of the events made such an expression superfluous.
"Lieutenant Saberstryke," Hariel said slowly and carefully, "What I am about to say may border on treason but it is no less the truth. Our honorable Lord, Talpa, is false. His intentions are not to unite but to enslave. He plans to use his victory over the Netherworld as a spearhead to capture other worlds, worlds he will also enslave. I cannot serve such an entity. Kikoutei has chosen me and I will do all in my power to stop him."
Saberstryke's lips moved but no sound emerged. His slanted eyes flicked between Hariel's own face and that of the gleaming white armor.
"I am offering you a choice, as I do all my men," Hariel raised his voice. "Our Lord Talpa is false! If you wish to continue in his service then please depart for his palace as soon as you are able. I will release you of your vows to me."
Not one of the gathering soldiers made a move. Saberstryke, finally in control of his wits again, straightened under Hariel's gaze.
"No . . . Lord Hariel. I will do no such thing. I have pledged my loyalty to you and to you, you shall have it. I would follow you to the very gates of Hell if need be, and I know your soldiers will do likewise."
When a great cry of vehement agreements followed Saberstryke's statement, Hariel permitted himself a smile.
"I thank you Lieutenant," he said with genuine feeling, "I had hoped for your support. Now quickly, we have many plans to make."
Talpa gazed sat impassively on his throne, the only movement betrayed by the slight fall and rise of his chest. An icy breeze blew through the throne hall, bringing with it the musty scents of the winding corridors. He did not shiver, rather his fleshless lips curved into a bittersweet smile. What a fool. Talpa rose slowly from his seated position, the dark armored plates clanking with the sudden movement. He turned to stare at the darkened hallways, the torchlight throwing his shadow like a menacing giant on the arched stone slabs. He wishes to challenge me, ME the ruler of all youja! The thought was completely ludicrous in Talpa's mind. What fool would challenge Talpa Arago? But he has the armor. That blasted legendary armor. Tales of its power had spread like wildfire through the countryside. The warlords grew worried, the people were restless. One rumor told of how Hariel had wiped out an entire division with one attack alone, the one he called the "Rage of Inferno". Talpa sniffed, not quite sure if he was upset or amused at such a tale. He calls himself a Ronin, a masterless samurai, but he still belongs to me and that armor of his will be quite useful.
Talpa raised his head, the firelight catching sparks on the ivory coated horns. "Badamon!"
"You called Lord Talpa?"
A wisp of smoke began to materialize in a space just opposite the throne. Insubstantial at first, the haze soon solidified into the small kneeling figure of Talpa's chief mage, and advisor.
"Badamon, what do you hear from Galicia?"
"Hariel's troops have the border fortified," the mage's voice came out in a rasp. "He knows our plan, Lord, and is prepared for it. Two divisions have already been lost en route to the northern border. The rest are awaiting your orders but you must know by now that for now Galicia cannot be invaded. Hariel has had the farmlands torched so they may not be looted, and the mines have been shut down, most of them destroyed. The people and the main bulk of his and Galicia's force are spread evenly through the country. The palace itself is well able to last out a siege of a year or more. What is more, the warlords are afraid," the mage's lip puckered, "They have no wish to battle the legendary armor of Kikoutei."
Talpa glared, "Curse that Hariel! He is ruining everything!" Infuriated, Talpa paced up and down the stone hall. He found it difficult to believe that his most esteemed warlord would thwart him so adroitly.
"Lord Talpa, you knew that the possibility would arise," Badamon's black eyes were shining, "Better that it be now, for at least we know our enemy."
Talpa said nothing at first then spit out a few choice words, "Then how is your magic coming? Can you not summon the Netherspirits yet?"
Badamon lowered his head and shook it ever so slightly, "No Lord, I have not yet the power. The Netherworld does not produce enough that I need." He looked up suddenly, grinning, "But I may have a way to stop Hariel. Using the arcane arts, I will be able to pull the armor from him, blocking his connection with it."
Talpa turned back, eyes blazing with craving. "Excellent! With the armor none will dare to stand against me!" He took a step toward Badamon, eyes narrowing, "But I make one condition. Hariel must be brought back ALIVE. He will pay for his defection." His lips spread into an evil grin, "I shall enjoy his punishment."
Badamon rose and bowed formally. "I will leave at once Lord Talpa." He rose, levitating a few feet off the ground before disappearing in a puff of greenish flame.
Talpa turned and settled back into the seat of his throne. He was overcome with giddy covetous like that of a child about to receive his a toy he had been longing for quite some time. This road is at its end Hariel, better you had not ever been born. In the dim light Talpa's lips turned and a hollow sound echoed down the halls. It was the sound of laughter.
"You summoned me Lord Hariel?"
Saberstryke lay kneeling on the dirt covered ground of Hariel's tent. Around him, the ephemeral walls whipped to and fro from the fierce wind blowing outside. The candle's flame danced with the currents that had managed to sneak their way into the alcove and Saberstryke shivered in spite of his armor and cloak. So cold, will this winter never end? He shook his head then cursed himself for being a fool. He reverted his attention to the figure ahead. Hariel lounged on a strong oaken chair, dressed in the now characteristic white armor, fastidiously scribbling something on a piece of brittle parchment. His white helmet lay reverently on the table a few handspans away from the inkbottle Hariel dipped his pen into. His face was furrowed in concentration and it did not appear as if he had heard Saberstryke's salutation.
Saberstryke inspected him carefully. His lord was graver than usual, the high cheekbones stood in prominent contrast in the dim candlelight, more gaunt than he remembered. Lines of worry that had not been there before this campaign had started creased his brow. Hariel's lips turned downward in a frown and Saberstryke reflected sadly that the burden of Kikoutei had changed him in more ways than one, and not all of them for the better. He let a soft cough escape him and Hariel suddenly looked up. His blue eyes caught Saberstyke's own slanted brown and he forced a smile on his face.
"I'm sorry Lieutenant, I hope you weren't waiting there long." He dropped his pen and ran an armored hand through his matted black hair.
"It is nothing Lord," Saberstryke said in a placating tone, "You wished to see me?"
Hariel appeared not to have heard him. "You are well I hope? And the black tiger cub you found, what was its name . . ?"
"KokuenOh, lord. Yes, he and I are both doing well. He is a wonderful companion." Saberstyke shifted uneasily, not quite sure what to make of his lord's absentminded distance, "Lord, about the summons . . ."
Hariel nodded wearily, dropping the façade. "Yes, Lieutenant Saberstryke. Please give me your report."
"The scouts have reported back and there does not seem to be any unusual activity beyond the borders. There have not been any skirmishes for some time and it appears that the Dynasty is moving more cautiously now that they have lost two of their divisions. The southern border is as fortified as it can ever be and the people in the outlying villages have been moved farther north."
"So there have been no sightings of Talpa's army?"
Saberstryke shook his head, "None in the past month Lord Hariel. It seems they have retreated."
Hariel frowned, "It is as I expected," he said in a quiet undertone to himself.
Saberstryke caught the tremor in his voice and looked up with alarm. "What is Lord?"
"Talpa would not give up so easily," Hariel continued, mostly to himself, "Don't you find it odd, Lieutenant, that we have been left in peace so long?"
"Perhaps Talpa is afraid to challenge the power of Kikoutei," Saberstryke offered gamely, "News of how you destroyed the fourth division must surely have reached his ears by now. It would make anyone think twice of trying to attack us and Galicia now."
But even before Saberstryke had finished, Hariel was shaking his head, "No, that is not it. He is planning something, I know it, but what?"
He did not wait for an answer but rose to his feet, beginning to pace about the perimeter of the tent. Saberstryke watched him sorrowfully, not willing to admit to himself how the worry of his lord disturbed him so. Hariel seemed distant, his mind far in the distance trying to predict what his enemy was up to. Oh Lord Hariel, if I could take that burden from you, I would. He was startled from his inspection by the light touch of an armored hand. Blinking, Saberstryke looked up into the sapphire eyes of his lord.
"Kenbukyou, we are facing rough times and even I'm not sure how they will end."
Saberstryke could only blink at him.
"Rise," Hariel commanded.
Mind a mask of confusion, Saberstryke did as he was bid and was soon facing the white armored form of Hariel. Hariel smiled and reached behind him gently drawing the two katanas strapped there. He held them out, resting both blades parallel in his armored hands. The candlelight caught the glow of the brilliant silver metal, a glow that radiated from within the heart of the blades themselves.
"Do you know what they are Kenbukyou?" Hariel asked quietly.
"The Soul Swords of Fervor . . ," Saberstyke identified, knowing intimately the power they carried. How many times had he seen Hariel lift those blades, letting the sun catch the gleam of the metal as he singled his army to charge? How many times had he seen the great fires of creation pour from the blades, darkening, yet lighting the heavens with such a brilliance as to drive all who held evil in their hearts to the Abyss. Saberstyke followed the curvature of the blades with his eyes, in awe of their power.
Without warning, Hariel thrust the blades into his own palms. Saberstryke gasped at the shock of energy that jolted through him. It seemed to him the swords were more like living creatures, its song echoing in his mind. He looked up in surprise and found Hariel nodding at him.
"Yes, for now the blades choose you."
Saberstyke's lips quivered in shock then tightened until he was able to force the words through his constricted throat. "But Lord Hariel, these swords . . . are yours by right of Kikoutei. I cannot take them . . ," his voice trailed off and Hariel shook his head at him.
"Danger is lurking around every bend. There is no room for mistakes, no second chances. Talpa is planning something. What, I wish I knew, but to remain here is to invite trouble." Hariel reached out and clasped Saberstryke's shoulder. "I ask you the hardest thing of all, Kenbukyou. I need you to take the rest of my troops and head for the northern mountains. Galicia will not survive an attack if all the Netherworld comes against it. But homes and cities may be rebuilt. It's the people who make a nation and they are what we must fight to preserve. Take the swords with you, Kenbukyou. I fear you will have need of them."
It took a moment for Hariel's words to sink in, and when they did, Saberstryke protested in shock. "But what about you lord? Aren't you coming . . ?"
Hariel shook his head. "There are some things that I have yet to do here." He caught Saberstryke's expression and smiled reassuringly at him. "Fear not, I will join you as soon as I am done here and then let us see the Dynasty come against us!"
Saberstryke took that as an answer though he knew that Hariel suspected the falsity of the rally. But Hariel was his lord and he was not a true samurai if he did not obey him. Saberstryke drew to his full height then executed a bow, clutching the precious katanas to his chest.
"Then I will leave at once Lord Hariel."
"Thank you Kenbukyou, thank you." And Saberstryke turned toward the tent exit, his mind quickly forming plans to carry out his lord's will.
Hariel stood on the embankment and watched the last of the dust settle. The army had left swiftly, as Hariel had ordered. Saberstryke's grim efficiency and forceful optimism in Hariel led to no questions as to the reasons for leaving their lord behind. Hariel could see it laid out in his mind; Saberstyke would rendezvous with the force currently patrolling the countryside, then later pick up those stationed in the capital. Only the barest skeleton forces would be left behind to protect the people still evacuating, and then would harry Talpa's force when they swept into Galicia's unprotected borders. It was a sad thought indeed but Hariel held firm to his decision. The northern mountains would be far easier to defend, and there was enough resources there, and hoarded food to last the citizens many generations. I hope it will not come to that. Let the people return to their homes and live on the land they grew up in.
It felt odd not to have the reassuring metal sheathed on his back but Hariel did not regret that decision either. Saberstyke would need it where he was going, Hariel didn't expect the going to be easy but it was something that someone had to do, and there was no one better for the job than Saberstryke. It had not been his imagination or his wishful thinking. The swords had truly been happy to be in possession of Saberstryke. May the gods watch over you Kenbukyou.
Hariel turned and paced back to his own lone tent. It felt lonely to be without his force but it was better this way. The armor made frequent scrapping noises as Hariel entered the threshold. The armor may grant him infinite power but even it was limited in what it could do. For this task, its power was not needed.
No sooner had he crossed halfway across the tent when he felt the air around him begin to shimmer. He felt the dark energies tainting his surroundings and he knew without doubt who would come a calling at this point in time. Hariel stood his ground and called softly into the rapidly falling darkness.
"There is no sense hiding. Come out Badamon."
"Hmmm. . . how very interesting that you knew it was me."
In the center of the tent, there was a sudden flaring of light. A gaseous green sphere began to form, its edges slowly elongated into a man-shaped figure. Motes of light collected, coalescing into the slender figure of the mage, dark purple robes falling to the ground. The pale green face and long black whiskers twitched with amusement, and it seemed to Hariel that the eternal smirk on his face was more prominent than before. Mage and warrior stood regarding the other for long moments. Hariel's expression was passive compared to Badamon's which held more greed and fascination as he inspected the legendary white armor.
"What do you want Badamon? What has Talpa sent you here for?" Hariel's tone was bland, completely devoid of emotion. It would do no good to get uptight, better to keep his mind clear and able to see the possibilities as they presented themselves.
"Why Hariel," the rasping voice quirked, "You do know that Galicia is lost. Why not come with me to see Lord Talpa?"
"And what would he do with me?" Hariel responded.
"He desires your armor of course. Better to just come willingly, it would be so much easier that way," Badamon arched a thin eyebrow.
"I have no intention of seeing Talpa. I am a Ronin, I have no master except myself." Hariel narrowed his eyes, "But I also know that you have expected this answer. What foul magics will you use on me Badamon, that would bring me to Talpa's hold meek and groveling?"
Badamon's lips drew into a tight angry line. "Fool! You do not understand anything!" He spread his arms wide, palms upturned toward the heavens, and began to chant in an indistinguishable language.
Hariel felt the very air around him begin to simmer. The sensations prickled his neck and caused the surrounding energies to buckle. Alarmed, he reached deep within himself for the armor's power, attempting to counteract Badamon's dark spell with the pure energies of Kikoutei itself. White and black clashed in a fury and for a brief moment, the white began to push through. Badamon's chanting intensified and Hariel felt the connection between him and Kikoutei begin to blur. He's dissolving the link! Hariel fought the dissipation, vainly trying to hold the link. Slowly, but surely, Hariel felt the link reform, at the same time that he heard Badamon's vehement cursing.
Stop. It was a quiet sound, permeating into Hariel's open mind. Stop. Let go. Hariel blinked. He felt himself filled with that same surety of purpose he had felt before, the time he had first merged with Kikoutei, the time he called the fires upon Talpa's army, the time he had given the Soul Swords to Saberstryke. He realized that what Talpa desired, he could never have. And the people . . . the people are safe in the mountains. He had seen to that himself. For all its power, Kikoutei was still simply an armor. It could not save worlds in a heartbeat. The futility of the situation. Hariel's purpose was over. It was time for the task to fall on others. Ronin . . . The word echoed in his mind. Yes. Talpa will have control of the Netherworld but he will never have control of the people's hearts. In time, that is what will topple the Dynasty, not the power of any one armor. He had known it, wasn't that why he had sent his force ahead while he stayed behind? Without another thought, Hariel released his grip on the armor's link. The energy spitted and then died. Badamon's chanting reached a triumphant climax and Hariel felt the dizzying sensation as if something was pulling him in half.
The forces played tug-of-war with his soul and when it finally cleared, Hariel was on his knees, breathing heavily, garbed in nothing more than a white tunic with matching breeches. The white armor of Kikoutei was seated opposite him, the glimmering metal passive, the faceless mask silent. Badamon lowered his hands and grinned openly at his handiwork.
"It is useless to resist the Dynasty Hariel. We always win in the end," the smirk was back on his features.
Hariel tried to straighten, but when he did so, he was overcome by nausea so profound that he promptly sagged back to his knees. This time, Badamon let out a sharp grating gurgle of laughter. He pointed an index finger at the helpless figure, still chuckling.
"Come Hariel, we've a meeting with Lord Talpa."
Green haze spread from the outstretched finger, engulfing the three forms and transporting them instantly to Talpa's domain.
" . . . I am wondering about this armor don't you?" Talpa sneered at the broken image shackled in the unforgiving chains, then gesturing to the far corner where a white armor stood, hidden by shadows. With considerable effort, the prisoner forced open his blue eyes. It seemed the metal had dimmed considerable since the man had last seen it, certainly not as glorious as it once had been when he had been the one to wear it.
Talpa followed his gaze. "Yes, a marvelous piece of work. Now it will have its glory as I become the Lord of all the Netherworld and soon beyond!"
The words began to sink into the dim, shambled haze of Hariel's mind and he began to groan. Though it took every ounce of whatever strength he still possessed, Hariel forced his mouth to open, pushing through a near inaudible string of words.
"T . . . al . . . pa, . . . you . . . will . . . never . . . be . . . able . . . to . . . use . . . Kiko . . . utei . . ."
"Did I hear you say something?!" Talpa advanced menacingly upon the figure in chains. He reached out an armored hand and slapped at the face, hard. There was a sickening crunch and Hariel felt his jaw go limp, the bones shattered.
"This armor belongs to me now, Hariel," Talpa spat out his name, "It will mark the beginning of my glorious reign!"
Pain so intense that it blocked out every other faculty gripped Hariel in a vise-like grip. He felt himself finally slipping, not only from the realms of the conscious, but also from life itself. He drew in a shuddering breath. His time was nearly up and he gathered everything, everything he had ever known, ever fought for, in one last explosive breath, one that forced his muscles to take up the slack of his ruined jaw.
"Talpa . . . you may . . . acquire . . . this armor . . . but you will . . . never . . . be able to use its . . . power . . . Let Kikoutei be called only . . . by the . . . purest hearts . . . merging with that . . . soul of the purest . . . virtue . . ."
"Enough!" Talpa roared, "It is over Hariel!" With a cry of rage, Talpa swung his blade, this time slicing all the way through the paper-thin skin, spilling long rivulets of crimson blood. Hariel fell limp, at last released from the pain of life, his body sagging against the chains. The light went out from behind the eyes and his chest rose and fell no more.
Talpa regarded his handiwork a moment more before turning his back on the figure, the one who had once been the greatest warlord in his force. He stalked toward the gleaming white armor, his eyes full of eager anticipation for the infinite power the white armor would bestow upon him.
"Kikoutei, Armor of Inferno, come to me!"
The armor began to shimmer, dissolving into lines of brilliant white energy that began to darken as the motes were absorbed into Talpa's form. Talpa closed his eyes, eagerly awaiting the flaring of energy that would mark the moment of merging. But there was nothing. His eyes reopened. The armor was completely absorbed into him yet its power was locked away from his questing mind. Talpa's lips came together into a bitter line, fully understanding now the curse Hariel had laid on him.
"Curse you Hariel! Curse you! . . ."
Saberstryke stood at the edge of the cliff, his vantage lending him a view of the distant mountains. He shook his head and looked instead to the far south where the rolling plains of Galicia greeted his eyes. The wind was biting and Saberstryke pulled his cloak around himself tighter. How long he had been standing here he could not know, only that he had kept this vigil for many days now, hoping to see the sight of his lord galloping upon his war steed. But it was all in vain. Days were rapidly running into weeks. The weeks would soon be months and there had been no word still of the great Hariel. Where are you Lord Hariel?! Please, we need you! Saberstryke continued to scan the passes, though he grew more certain with each passing hour that his lord would not return. From somewhere behind him, a black tiger yawned, then padded amiably forward, joining Saberstryke in his vigil. He butted his head against Saberstyke's thigh, reassuring him.
"KokuenOh," Saberstryke identified his beloved tiger, now his sole companion on this lonely journey.
Absently, he reached down to caress the tiger's head, then drew one of the Soul Swords, holding up the blade and letting catch the final rays of the setting sun. Without warning, the blade began to glimmer and Saberstryke felt a tremor grip the blade. The vibrations were disturbing and Saberstryke held the blade out at arm's length, not quite sure what was happening. The blade's vibrations turned into a hum that made the back of his neck stand on end with the eerie melody. Abruptly, the humming ceased. The glimmer died and the shock passed. The sword felt no different now than any other and Saberstryke investigated it curiously.
Then it hit him like a breaking wave. Hariel was gone. Not just physically, but gone from this life, from this realm of existence. He was not coming back, he was never coming back. Saberstryke felt the tears well up from deep inside himself. Hariel was gone. He had lost more than a lord, he had lost a friend. KokuenOh rumbled and Saberstryke felt the tears recede. Talpa. The word was a whisper and Saberstryke's features hardened. It must have been the work of Talpa. And for that, he must take revenge.
Saberstryke raised the sword to the sky. "Galicia falls," he called out into the whipping wind, "But I will never give up! I will avenge you Hariel! Talpa will die for his deeds!"
Beside him, KokuenOh lifted its muzzle to the wind and roared in unison with the declaration.
~El Fin~