An unofficial sequel to Final Fantasy 6. Ch.8-Derek & Cyan have a duel between each other as to who shall control the Excalibur. Can they survive for 3 straight days?
Era of Change
Author: Furysetzer
Disclaimer: If I owned the Final Fantasy characters, I would be the proudest man alive. As such, everything in the entire world is owned by EnixSquareDisney. =(
Ch. 8-"Knight's Valor"
Three days after the Mercenaries Guild was decimated in East Figaro, Mokga was out in the streets again. After getting hair all over the dishes, she was forced to clean rooms. That proved disastrous after catching a bed on fire. At the register, she insulted every customer that came through the door. And she was too short to carry trash out. The innkeeper got so fed up with her that he kicked her out. It seemed that the more incompetent you were, the less responsibility, aka: work you had to do. Mokga would have to keep that in mind for the future.
As such, she found herself wandering the streets again. Eventually, she gravitated to the docks. There were ships and boats here. From small personal craft to black smoke belching vessels that carried cargo, all were tied to the pier. Seagulls were all over the place, hoping to find scraps of food. They circled the air and swarmed on the ground. The seawater was choppy, tinged red by the heavy concentrations of copper. The salty sea air made her gag at first, until she started breathing through her mouth. Standing at the edge of the pier, she saw somebody there.
Mokga walked over to Interceptor. Finding him staring into the distance like this, she wondered what was wrong. "Did they. . . ditch you, too, 'Cepty?"
The dog looked over his shoulder toward her direction. She saw the age and tiredness on his face. How old was he in dog years? Whatever it was, he was a senior. For a doberman, he had aged well. His eyes still held a great deal of intelligence, and his sleek muscles were strong beneath his thick black coat. Still, she saw him when he thought nobody noticed him. His walk was strained at times. Plus, he had to take frequent naps to regain his strength.
By the way he sat, she guessed that he was somehow waiting for them to return. It made her mad to think that they left them without any remorse. She could see the hurt on his canine face. How many times had Relm abandoned him, fully expecting him to return to her without a second thought? "Don't worry," she assured. "When we track them down, I'll give her a strong talking to."
Interceptor chuffed, returning his attention to the sea. Mokga guessed that it didn't matter to him. She wondered if it was just blind obedience. Kneeling next to him, she asked, "Why don't you just find a nice place to settle down, 'Cepty? You don't have to stay with her forever, you know."
He told her flat out that was out of the question.
When dogs talked, they did so not with words. Most weren't as smart as he was. They communicated by small gestures mostly. Although he had picked up some of their habits, being with humans all his life. He curled his lip slightly, letting her know that Relm was his master. He would stay with her for as long as he lived.
Mokga sighed. "Well, I suppose we should start looking for them. So they took a boat, you say?"
He swished his tail along the board, letting her know that she was right.
"Alrighty!" she said, standing up. "First thing we gotta do is sneak on a ship!" Looking left. Then looking right. "This way." Mokga tippy-toed along the dock, shifty eyes moving all the while. Interceptor trailed behind, blatantly looking as if she were leading him somewhere.
The moogle shuffled along the shipboard of the boat. She reached the bow, carefully craning her head over the edge. Seeing no one, a grin appeared on her face. Mokga jumped for the rail, latching on with her paws. She attempted to pull herself up, taking several moments to lift her stubby leg over the side. Her canine companion gracefully leapt over the rail after she got up.
They dashed to one of the smoke stacks, behind some crates. "Okay, 'Cepty. All's we gotta do is get below deck, and we're home free," she whispered to him. "Gee, I didn't know sneaking on a ship was so easy! These humans must be dumber than I thought."
"Of course, it's impolite to insult someone who's going to kick your ass," the ninja atop the crates said.
Mokga jumped in surprise. Interceptor immediately growled loudly. He crouched down, waiting to attack. It was very rare that an enemy snuck up on him. He must have been waiting there.
The human was dressed in black, crouched down. He rose. "Tough luck," he smirked. "You're on board a boat that belongs to the Ninja Guild." He front flipped, jumping forward over them. He landed between the crates, barring their escape.
"Oooh!" she mocked. "Am I supposed to be impressed?"
Turning back to them, he said, "Should I capture you by force? Doesn't seem like I need to take too much effort."
"Uh. that's okay," she rescinded. "We'll just find another boat."
"I don't think you understand. I saw you with Vernash. Most likely. . . you'll be interrogated," he explained.
Despite hearing this, Mokga smiled. With an aw-shucks expression, she said, "Oh, gee! Well in that case. . . --attaaaaack!"
This was his cure he had been waiting on. Interceptor sprinted forward, baring his fangs. At the same time, Mokga grabbed a dagger and threw it at him.
Caught off guard for an instant, the ninja took a step back. However, he withdrew his skean. He raised it just in time to greet the projectile. The knife was deflected away harmlessly by the small blade. As for the dog, he had another trick. Simultaneously, he reached in his coat, pulling out a small bag. With calm collectedness, he withdrew a fistful of powder. At the same time Interceptor jumped, he blew it directly in his snout. He yelped, dropping in front of him like a rock.
With Interceptor immobilized, he was on Mokga in an instant. He slammed into her, connecting his elbow to her chest. She flew backward into a crate. Her head banged into it. Dropping to her knees, she then fell forward. Her body hit the deck, out cold.
The enemy smiled in satisfaction.
Sitting on the log in front of the campfire, Derek thought over many things. So far, everything in his life had seemed to wither away. Possessions. . . friends. . . family. It wasn't that he was miserable, like his father had always seemed. Maybe. . . he was unsatisfied with the way things had turned out? But what did he have that was so lacking? He was a prince, set to inherit a kingdom that was both prosperous and free. And yet. . . the only thing had had ever taken pride in was his swordsmanship.
Eight years ago, he had been forced to live here. Then he met master Cyan. . . Father had been teaching him martial arts, but it did not capture his attention like the sword. He marveled at how he taught his pupils during classes. The sword seemed to have a will of its own, and dance in his hands. There was an elegance in it, which took hold of his imagination.
He asked nicely at first. But his constant refusal sparked his anger. Determined to prove he was mature enough, he foolishly attacked him with one of his own swords. After he was thoroughly trounced, he pleaded with the master. How could he defend himself if he had no skill? He was all alone and scared. Despite his reluctance, the master accepted him.
The first six months, he did nothing but hard labor. The master said the first step was to become stronger. He then showed him basic techniques with a wooden sword. He picked those up rather quickly. As he advanced under his personal tutelage, the master remarked that he had never seen a student as talented as he was. With Derek's basic understanding of "chi", the life force of all living things, he began to realize the two were strikingly similar. He grasped sword techniques using chi with the master's guidance. He exceeded what his master thought possible in just under four years.
And now, nearly five years later, he was back in this home. Everything was relatively unchanged. . . The cool, star-filled night was comforting to him.
The master approached from his backside. He carried two cups, one of which he gave to Derek. He then sat down beside him. As he did so, his knees popped loudly. Derek softly chuckled. Cyan gave a small smile, trying not to make it into a big deal. He didn't want to draw attention to the fact he was in his mid sixties.
Derek drank the bitter tea carefully. It was made from the pasldurry leaf, which typically grew in caves where giants dwelled. It was the masters favorite. He usually never took it out, as it was very hard to come by.
They enjoyed the night together in silence for a while. Until Derek asked, "Master, what. . . should I do now?"
He didn't answer him right away. He savored the last of the tea thoughtfully. Only after setting down the cup, he said, "I dost not know what thou wants to do with thy life. 'Tis not my place to tell thee."
Derek cast his gaze into the fire once more. He said with a far away look, "Since I... found out what really happened, I have... lost all my direction. I wanted so desperately to. . . live in my past again. Now I find myself actually depended on by people. . ."
"And thou'rt not sure what to do about it," Cyan guessed.
Derek shrugged. "I suppose. . . When I was here training with you, I was so happy. I actually had a purpose. Something to strive for. You. . . knighted me. I don't have anything to focus on now."
"I canst. . . give thee some advice, if it's thy wish." Derek said that he would.
Cyan took a deep breath, wanting to say it clearly. "Back when. . . I first traveled with thy father, I lost mine home, too. My people who lived here were poisoned. . . and died. I, too, didst not know what to do with myself, beyond getting my revenge. As I traveled with Relm and the rest, I realized something. The greatest purpose we can ever find, is to be with others. After we defeated Kefka, I stayed with Terra. We fell in love, and have a beautiful home now. As humans, alone, we are never content. However, we can always find our happiness in others."
"I think. . . I understand, master. I, too, desire to find happiness. I also want to help others when they need to be protected." When Derek saw Mog's village being ravaged, he had felt such anger. He wanted to be able to stop that sort of thing at any cost.
Cyan nodded, pleased with his pupil. It had been what he wanted to hear. A sign. He gathered the cups, heading back inside a door to the castle. He returned several minutes later, carrying something.
At first not realizing what it was, Derek stared dully at it when the master had brought it out. He rose quickly when he recognized it. The sword was as long as Derek's arm from his shoulder. The blade was seven inches wide throughout, and radiated a faint aura. The hilt was crafted from leather which would never dull or fray. Its regal look and presence gave it an otherworldly glow. This was the sword of kings, only able to be formed once in a millennia. It lived as long as its true owner, then disappeared back to the spirit world when their life force gave out. The name of this weapon was passed down through the ages upon fine lettering engraved on the adamantium. It was Excalibur.
"M-master. . ." Derek choked. He bowed his head deeply. "I. . . cannot take this from you."
"Lift up thy head," master Cyan commanded sternly. When he did so, he told him, "I canst think of no other to whom I would rather entrust this. Thee hast an important mission."
He bowed again. "Yes, master. . ."
"There ist also a condition on which the sword will accept thee. Thou must train with me without fail, with no rest for three days. Only then can thou grasp the power contained within."
Derek swallowed the lump in his throat. Three grueling days with master Cyan nonstop... He wasn't sure if he could do it. "I... accept," he said, the words tasting like ashes in his mouth.
Cyan's expression softened. "I knew thou would. . . I hath faith in thee. We start tomorrow. Now take thy sword and rest."
With shaking hands, Derek took hold of the weapon. He felt an unmistakable energy from it. It filled him with vigor and confidence. It was as if... it chose him even before he was born. . . Bowing deeply one last time, Derek hastily left his master.
Cyan smiled, watching him go.
Derek did not head straight to his foster parent's home. His guestroom could wait, as he went to find Relm. Despite nervousness about tomorrow, he was filled with excitement and elation at the moment. What a boon this was! She would be so happy to hear about it. He couldn't wait to tell her.
He went to the inn. A modest structure, it was made as a temporary shelter when Terra and the children of Mobliz moved her a long time ago. The innkeeper was an old man who lived there, having so much space left over to make a profit from it. Even so, hardly anyone ever traveled this land. Especially with people like Erika guarding the gate.
He was up the stairs in a flash, knocking on Relm's door. Derek was very irritated by the time he knocked and called to her for several minutes. He peeked under the door(something which someone like him would never generally do), but only saw a part of the darkened room. Assuming she wasn't there, he went outside with a disappointment.
He sullenly started walking back, going around to the backside of the building. He heard a noise in the night, which made him freeze. It sounded like. . . a soft giggle.
Curious, he gravitated closer toward the building. As he reached the window that was cracked open a few inches, the sound stopped. He then heard the sounds of kissing. He should have stopped then and there, was ready to leave the lovers to their own business, except. . . he heard something familiar. . . Relm's voice.
He heard breathing, becoming slightly noisier and harder each heartbeat. Her soft murmurs he could not make out. Why was she not in her room? Please. . . please. . . this had to be. . . someone else. It. . . couldn't be. . .
Unbidden, he lifted his head to that window. His right eye carefully just peering through the crack. Against his will, he saw. Two nude bodies, in the darkened shadows. . . A female. . . her back, her round breasts. Another moving against her. A man, lying atop. . . between her legs... their hands groping one another.
Derek breathed shallowly. He almost choked. He was aware of his legs giving away, lowered himself on hands and knees. He almost dropped the sword, so shaking as he was. It was not fury, but weakness. He couldn't draw breath, couldn't move.
His mind could barely grasp. Didn't. . . she like him? What was wrong with him? Why didn't. . . she want him? How did this happen? As the couple in the room continued, he heard distinctly her voice, as sweet sounding and hushed as it was. "That feels. . . so good. Oh, Vernash. . ."
A scramble from the dog to get away. Kicking of legs and push of arm. A hunch, barely kept erect, too forward leaned. He cut himself, his arm falling against the blade. Up a second later, soundlessly, he got away.
Blood covered the ground. His face was wet, the tears unable to be stopped.
Mokga woke with the most aching head she ever had in her entire life. There was a large lump in back, just above the spine. She felt it there under the fur. Not only that, but she coughed when she tried to take a deep breath. Her muscles and bones were also sore.
She remembered now. The ninja. Looking around the empty room, she saw nobody. The only thing in the cramped concrete space was a pair of long shackles, which extended from halfway up to the ceiling, to three feet above the ground. Although, little did Mokga know that this was the exact same room in which Celes Chere-Cole had escaped over thirteen years ago.
The moogle tried the heavy wooden door, but found it locked. She then saw a square hole with vertical iron bars in it looking up. Grinning, she took a mighty leap, but fell short. After picking herself up from the ground and cursing, she tried again. This time, Mokga grabbed a hold of the bars, latching on.
With an, "Aha!" she hoisted herself up and between the bars. She got through halfway, when she halted in mid leap. Looking downward, Mokga saw her belly stuck. Two of the bars were wedged tight on either side of her portly frame.
Wiggled as she might, she couldn't free herself. Her round little belly wouldn't flatten either. Mokga briefly considered trying to go on another diet. . . Nah, she liked her space of cute furry girth. At a loss of what to do, she hung there, on her side, waiting for someone to come, which she knew they eventually must.
Ten minutes later, Mokga heard the sound of clicking on concrete. With her imagination running terrified, she once more flailed about. It got closer, but she couldn't see what it was because of the fact she was looking dead at the wall.
It stopped. Suddenly, there was a small bark. Mokga screeched in spite of herself.
The dog barked heartily while the moogle screamed wildly.
Mokga stopped, realizing that the sound wasn't ferocious at all. Straining her head and eyes, she saw Interceptor on the floor with his tongue hanging out. "Whelll!" she huffed. "It certainly took you long enough. My neck was starting to cramp up!"
Interceptor took the object from the ground with his maw. With a hearty, "Woof!" he snapped his head up, flinging it upwards. Mokga snatched the ring of keys with her paw.
"Good job!" she said, looking them over. "With these I can unlock-" She looked at the knob far below. ". . . the, uh. Hummmm. . ." Mokga tossed the keys away absentmindedly. "Oh well!" she brightly said. "There's always another way." She added while struggling again, "Probably!"
Chuffing, Interceptor gripped the doorknob with his teeth. With amazing determination, he turned it by twisting his head to the side. He slowly pulled it open. The heavy wood actually opened apart from the frame. It must have been one of the newer locks, which could be opened from one side without a key.
"All right!" cried Mokga enthusiastically. "Now if I can only hngh get hurgh through the eeagh door!
Hearing something, Interceptor's ears pricked up. He then bolted, sprinting down the hall. He turned behind a stack of crates, and was gone.
"Hey!" cried Mokga. "Don't abandon me like this! Why are you running away?! Come back! What-did-I-ever-do-to-you?! I-was-always-nice-before-and-nowyoudosomethinglikethis!?"
A hand atop her head made her freeze. With a mortified expression, she strained her eyes and neck to see. The familiar voice of the ninja said, "Sigh, whatever have you been doing? I heard your voice all the way from the second floor."
"Er, nothing," she yelped squeakily.
"Anyway, I guess it's time I took you to him." He gripped her harshly by her pom pom and pulled. Mokga popped out quite easily.
She exclaimed while being held up, "My hair! It hurts! Let me down this insta-"
The moogle fell hard after he dropped her. Normally they bounced, but not when landing on their head.
He said in an agitated voice, "You can walk."
Mokga sighed, picking herself up. Normally, she would have been ready with an insult. But lately, things had been going downhill. She was out of her element and alone. Instead, she dejectedly asked, "So who am I going to see?"
"Shadow," he said impatiently. The ninja poked her in the back with his sandal. "Now hurry up. I don't want to-"
Mokga had started walking in front of him when he stopped talking. "Don't want to what?" She heard a thud behind her and jumped in surprise. Turning, she first saw the ninja face down on the floor. Then she glimpsed something against the wall to the right of him. It looked like a piece of triangular black cloth, except. . . it was transparent, and being sucked into the wall!
She took a step back. "Whoa!" It disappeared totally into the concrete. There was now nothing to show it had ever existed.
Interceptor must have been watching, because he ran over to her as she inspected him. Rolling him over, Mokga saw that his skin was a yellow color, and his eyes were rolled up in the back of his head. His face was frozen in instantaneous pain, with mouth wide open in a silent scream. She jumped away. "Ew!"
Interceptor sniffed the body. Suddenly, he recoiled with a yelp. Death! he told her. An unmistakable corrupt smell.
Mokga sniffed the corpse with her large red oval nose. She didn't pick up much like he did. She could only tell that something was very wrong and unnatural. "This is our chance," she told him quickly. "Let's get out of here!"
She picked a direction and ran down the hall. Interceptor followed. It led to an intersection leading in three other paths. Taking the left one, she ran into three more. The right path led back around to another three. The left path further up was a dead end. They tried to backtrack, but only confused themselves even further.
Finally, Mokga threw her hands up in the air and wailed. "We're lost!"
Relm wandered through the wheat field with trepidation. All she saw everywhere was rows and rows of stalks. She looked all around, expecting danger from any direction. Her heart raced. With wide eyes and bare feet, she hurried along. Alarmingly and without warning, she was picked up from the side and into the arms of the man.
Laughing, they fell to the side together. They landed in the cushion of the grass. Relm giggled as they rolled around, each fighting for the top position.
She won, holding down his wrists. Relm sat atop him, straddling his waist. She laughed again, grinning. Her curly blond hair hung over her fair face.
He grinned as well, totally allowing her to control him.
She bit her lower lip, leaning down further. "Oh, Vernash. . ." she said sweetly. Both smiling, they kissed.
They stayed that way for awhile, each pleasing the other with their mouth and tongue.
Toward late afternoon, they headed back to the castle. Inside the gate, there was hardly anyone around. That was strange, as usually the townspeople enjoyed being outdoors. Wandering around trying to find somebody, they saw Mog. He was dashing away with two pitchers of water.
"Hey Mog!" Relm called.
He stopped, waving to them. The pitcher in that hand sloshed back and forth, spilling a third of its contents.
They went over to him, asking where everyone was. The moogle asked, "Kupo? I thought you were already over there!"
"Where at?" they asked.
"In back of the old castle," he replied. "I was just getting refreshments. Let's go," he urged. "It's all very interesting!"
Bewildered, Relm and Vernash followed him. They went several hundred yards around the structure. In the rear courtyard, most of the people were here. The group was huge, completely obscuring whatever it was that they had their fronts to. Amid the talking, the sounds of striking metal could be heard.
Mog disappeared under their legs, hurrying with whatever he was doing. They tried to follow him, but lost him in the bodies. Near the front, Relm instead saw the Valentine family. Katarin and Dwaine were with their daughter Erika, watching the front.
She tapped Dwaine's arm. "Hello again, sir! What's going on?" Derek's foster father was a large man, meaty in the arms. He wasn't fat, although his belly stuck out somewhat. He was tall, with short brown hair. He pointed, "My boy and master Cyan. It's a duel."
Looking through the front of the gathering was a pain. So instead she pushed the people out of the way. They moved to the side. She saw them, and unthinkingly raised her hand to exclaim, "Derek!"
He shifted his head in her direction as she said it. Also caught in mid step, his downswing was horribly mistimed. Cyan's sword found its way past, slashing across his chest. The crowd all gasped as one. The attack knocked him backward off balance. He fell hard, his own weapon wrenched from his hand. Defenseless, he could do nothing but expect the end.
Cyan saw Mog and immediately called, "Break!" He took the pitcher with the lesser amount of water and drank greedily. His brow was sweaty with exertion.
Detrick took the other one from Mog. He gave the it to Derek, who was trying to recuperate. He got up, stretching his sore muscles. He made it a point to ignore everybody, mostly Relm.
Relm watched the two of them on the small grassy field. It was surrounded by tall hedges on three sides. Cyan and Derek both wore Doma training uniforms, light blue attire which was sleeveless and loose. Cyan's weapon was a thin samurai blade from the east. Derek's weapon was totally different. In place of his crystal long sword, he held a large broadsword. She had never remembered seeing anything like it. "Why. . . are they fighting?" Relm asked.
Dwaine told her, "Master Cyan is training him one last time. . . They both must fight for three sunsets and sunrises."
Shocked, Relm didn't know what to say. Listening to them, Vernash raised his eyebrows. He was impressed.
Katarin held her handkerchief over her nose. "My poor son. . . he's already hurt. I hope he doesn't get seriously injured."
When Derek turned around to the left, Relm saw that his left bicep had a deep gash across it. He made circles with his arm, trying to relax it. He did so with obvious pain.
Erika said with a fist, "There's no way he'll lose! I have faith in him. Even if it is... against grandpa..."
As they all watched, the five minute break expired. They picked up their weapons again. Cyan's calm gaze was also determined. He looked into Derek's eyes, focusing and scrutinizing his opponent.
Breathing deeply and evenly, Derek did the same. He could not show weakness. While his muscles were heated by now, his left shoulder ached him terribly. He was just lucky the wound wasn't in his sword arm.
Glancing sideways, he caught another glimpse of her again. Damn her. . . Because of her, he did not sleep, instead tormented by what he had seen her do. He was such a fool to think anything could have happened between them. He was not mentally prepared to begin this morning. That was a fatal flaw, which would seriously hinder him.
They both made their move at the same time. Rushing forward, their swords reflected the blinding yellow white orange of the sun.
Relm strode back into the kitchen purposefully. Everything was in order. Everything was all set. The fruit, ingredients, bowls, utensils and every little thing she would need to slice, mince, pour, kneed and measure were all here. The table was filled with all she would need.
She had chased Vernash out. His distraction would only hinder her progress. She needed complete concentration. Nothing would keep her from this mission.
After seeing Derek put all of his effort and heart into his fight, Relm was inspired. His tireless struggle was in no sight of reprieve, yet he did not give up. Who cared if her only concoction from so long ago when she was a child gave her grandpa cramps, heartburn and bouts of hiccups for more than a week? This time was different. Nothing would come between her word to Katarin to do something nice for him for once. She was sure he would be grateful, maybe even endearing herself to him.
Relm had stayed longer than most, watching them fight each other. It was very late at night when Dwaine roused her. Most of the other townspeople had turned in. Even after she left, they both continued to face off, totally absorbed into each other.
It was now the next day, and Relm set her mind to this task. And even though Katarin was away, she had to start this. The recipe she had scribbled down two nights ago. She hoped she had gotten it all down.
Standing over the table, she inspected everything one last time. Relm then spread her legs more than shoulder length apart. With a self-motivating slap, she smacked her palms against her hips. "Hai!" She then brought them up, crossing arms and hitting fists against chest. "Hai!!" In the next fluid motion, cheeks were slapped forcefully to the fullest extent with a hard, "HAI!!!" Then an immediate, "Ow. . ." as her face became sour.
The brandomin fruit was roundish, brown and ugly looking. It was the size of a grapefruit, but most of it was unedible. The rind surrounding the pulp was typically five to seven inches, taking up eighty-five percent of its mass. The core was only the size of a small apple. You had to take care while cutting the rind off, as the pulp was only covered by a thin membrane. If that was cut into, then most of its flavor was lost. It spoiled easily if this happened, even if cooked, usually within a few hours.
Relm chose a knife too big, as she found out halfway into a fruit. Her hand slipped, and she cut into a finger. She recoiled suddenly, feeling the sharp burn right away. The knife was flung far away. She inspected it. It wasn't deep, although blood trickled out. Relm had to press the skin tightly under cold running water for it to stop. Undaunted, she resumed, cutting fingers again twice.
She got most of the rind off the first one over an hour later. Relm carefully whittled away at it. And despite taking utmost care, the thin membrane seemed to offer no resistance at all, as she found out when juice squirted out. With a groan, she tried again.
Only half the way through the rind on the next one, the pulp was cut into. The next one, the pulp was not in the center, and she accidentally cut into it near the skin. The next one didn't even have a center as far as she saw. Only a dried prune-type seed was located after cutting away most of it. The next five were total failures, as shown by many more cuts on her hands.
It seemed the pulp was hardly ever in the middle, she realized as several hours had already passed. Relm ended up trying to whittle away the tough rind bit by bit. So halfway through the pile of fruit, there were only two unblemished pulps.
She should have started in the morning as it was already the evening. The crust needed to be taken care of next. The ingredients mixed easily enough, except for then she bumped the bowl with her elbow. The contents ended up all over the table.
Relm cleaned it as best she could, but the stains and stickiness stayed. The bottom of the bag of flour fell soon after. Its entire contents exploded all over the table and her. In frustration and rage, Relm then slammed her fist into the table. Her arm came away sticky and covered in the raw eggs she had smashed.
With a sob, her lip quivered, and she had a compulsion to run out screaming, never to ever return.
It was late at night as she continued to put everything together. Despite the constant failures and hopeless situation, she did not give up.
The early morning sun shown brightly through the curtains. The townspeople were just starting their day. Katarin walked in and gasped. Relm lay hunched over the table in a chair. The table was covered in fruit, flour, and most of her cooking utensils.
Hearing the noise, Relm roused. She sat up dazed. The girl was covered in flour, hair and clothes a mess. Her hands were red and swollen. They were also covered in many cuts. She saw Katarin standing in the doorway in shock. Looking around the room, Relm had the suspicion that things were not, not well. "Goo-good. . . morning," she said thickly, trying to appear as if nothing was wrong.
The clashing of metal resounded nonstop for over two days. The two opponents went at each other, swinging and retreating tirelessly. All the while, Derek and Cyan fought each other in the small grassy area. They both were covered in sweat now, with small slashes all over their bodies. Their uniforms were almost falling apart, strips of cloth hanging off.
There was still a crowd, but not so as before. Only one person stayed the entire time, not moving away at night, nor leaving for any length of time, except to relieve himself. He would be back quickly even then. Katarin brought his meals up to him, staying for awhile. Although he ate in silence, not saying anything, studying his foster son with arms folded and fierceness in his eyes.
At night on the last day, the combatants labored strenuously. They breathed hard and heavy, handling their swords with obvious strained effort. Most of their energy was gone, expended. They were deprived of sleep or rest, unable to hardly concentrate or even think. The only thing that kept them going now was instinctive sword techniques, deeply imbedded in the two.
Throughout the night, both of them faltered many times. Taking a knee for moments at a time did not expunge either. The other would simply stand on guard, also trying to recuperate.
The night waned on. Eventually, the indigo of the sky started to turn lighter. Light blue began to show amidst the faded darkness slowly. The sun did not show yet, but would in minutes. That would be the end of their trial. They both knew that.
Time was short. If they did not complete the training, then it would all have been in vain. Cyan once again backed away. He huffed out, "Come again! How many times hath I told thee? The sword ist not just a weapon, but an extension of thy body."
Derek stood his ground, even though his legs shook. One of his eyes had been cut, which was stuck shut by congealed blood. He nodded knowingly. Almost too tired to form the words, they came out exasperated and slurred. "I can feel it at the edge of my being. The most powerful sword tech. . . in my grasp."
His master returned with words equally exhausted. "Use it then. Seige hold and bring it forth. Every soul ist different, so must thy technique."
They gathered themselves for one last chance.
Cyan shifted, spreading his legs. One a little forward of the other, with knees bent slightly. His katana he raised high with both hands, the blade pointed at the ground close to his body. One elbow, up in the air, the other downward, supported the handle. It was a cariachini stance, highly defensive, in which invited an opponent to attack first.
Derek followed with a siritulpst technique, an advanced move meant to test an opponent's reaction. Dashing forward, he spun halfway to his side. The broadsword slashed sideways toward Cyan hilt first.
He broke away, his body flexing as the attack hit his katana with little force. A dash sideways, past the swing.
It was too late to change direction. Putting his weight on one heel, he swung around fully, just in time. The katana and broadsword met. A spark from them flashed. The clash jarred their arms; weapons nearly dropped.
They swung again, any technique suddenly lost to them. Again and again, brute force pushed them against each other, escalating. The sounds were lost on deaf ears. The pounding drowned out all else, except for the animalistic grunts and snarls. They were on the verge of collapsing.
In one sudden burst of energy, Derek felt his entire being burn up as if in a blaze. His chi exploded around them. Something encircled them in an instant. They felt intense pain as if they were both slashed into pieces. Energy was cut downward into them from all around. They screamed out.
As suddenly as it came, it was gone. As it disappeared, a violent energy slammed into them, driving them apart. Derek and Cyan were flung away from each other. The swords flew away from their owners, falling on the ground several yards away.
The blazing orange sun peered over the horizon. They could see it enflaming the sky with its brilliance. The new morning rays touched everything, bathing every surface.
The two combatants lay there on their backs, motionless. To the knights' surprise, they found themselves still whole.
Dwaine was suddenly by Derek's side. He held his head up as gently as a baby's. Katarin and Erika were there, too. Erika went to Cyan, inspecting him. "Are. . . you all right, grandpa. . .?" she asked, to which he could only faintly smile.
Author's Note: I had to tone down the end of the second part, or else I would have felt like I had to put another warning at the beginning. I'm trying to keep it clean. This chapter was fun to write for me. I hope I got down their duel right. It was exciting for me to do it. I thought the 3rd part was hilarious, & I hope you did too. ;-) Also, I know that Cyan doesn't use the Excalibur in the game, but the sword is integral to the story. None of Cyan's weapons were legendary, if you know what I mean. Besides, he could use it if you had the Merit Award!
Revision1: completed.
