Lost Princess, Forgotten Emotions
Chapter Six: Lurking in the Shadows
Written by: Adam Gabrieau
Silence fell among the tall, ancient trees and the wind stilled in the boughs above. It was as if the entire forest was holding its breath, waiting for a sudden thunderclap, announcing the coming of a storm. Van knelt in a small moss patch beneath an old immense oak looking around the forest, watching his surroundings with great interest, and intently listening for something, anything. He felt angry eyes on him, but from no direction---it came from all around. It was an angry glare that made the sweat on his back go chill. This way and that the young prince's eyes darted. He stood like stone, willing every nerve in his body to remain motionless.
With a bit of anger, he took a glance to his shoulder, and looked at the scratch he had received from whatever had attacked him. He had been lucky, though; he had some kind of a forewarning, even though the creature, whatever it was, stalked up behind him without alerting Van. It had felt strange to Van when it happened. In the back of his mind, he saw a black shadow behind him, and then it felt as if the sword he had still in his sheath called him to strike, to attack, to kill, even when he couldn't see anything around him; that too was unnerving, as the forest was usually teeming with life. But as it was, Van had turned at the right moment, and was just barely able to raise his sword up for a defense.
Whatever it was that attacked him had sharp claws---nearly six inches long-- -that raked across Van's shoulder as it leapt over his head and into the dark woods.
I/What the Hell was that thing? Van thought angrily. I've never seen anything like that before!I/
Van had spent a lot of time in the forest, and even his earliest memories are of him playing soldier with Balgus. Every tree, every plant and every trail seemed familiar to him, but the thing that had attacked him was as familiar to him as fire would be to a fish.
Then he could hear it, a heavy breathing, almost a pant, coming from behind him. He turned around in an instant, but found nothing. A twig snapped to his left, but by the time he had turned his body in the direction, nothing could be seen. He heard footsteps all around him. They were moving slowly around him in a circle, and by the crunching sounds of many twigs being stepped on at a time, he could tell there was close to half a dozen creatures around him.
It was by pure chance that a fanning in the leaves let for a ray of sunlight, which glinted off of a knife. It barely registered in his mind in time, but Van quickly did the only thing he could do with a only a fraction of a second to react in.He ducked. He heard the sound of wood shattering, and as he looked up, he saw something that made his blood go cold.
The massive tree trunk, which was four times thicker then most, shattered in a shower of bark and wood bits, as the rest of the tree fell downwards, landing with a large crack as ancient branches snapped on the impact. Van shuddered at what he saw in the dim light of the forest.
There were five Scrins advancing towards him in a semi-circle.
A Scrin was said to be the guardian of the underworld, and was rarely seen by anyone. They were known be more powerful then armies, and could take down even the most skilled and powerful guymelefs. Van couldn't see much of them, only their glowing red eyes, but he knew that was what they were. Nobody had ever actually seen what a Scrin looked like and lived long to tell people about it. In the past, there were people who had been attacked and were able to tell others what they looked like; but they never said the same things; they had always said they seemed to materialize from out of thin air, and that when they saw them, there bodies were like that of a mans, but it seemed to blend in with the surroundings.
Van didn't have too much time to mull over the thoughts however, as the one in the center of the formation leapt at him. Van took a stride to his right as the Scrin's hands tore up the ground. In a movement as quick as lightning, another Scrin from the far right leapt at Van, who ducked, and caught the tip of the needle-sharp claws on his shoulder. The two Scrins collided against each other, but Van had no time take his blade out, as another two jumped at him.
The larger of the two reached him first, and hit him full-force with its body, knocking Van back a couple meters into a tree. The air was filled with a sick Ithunk/I as Vans head bounced off of the bark. He slid down the base of the trunk, blood dribbling from his mouth.
The Scrin who had hit him charged at him once more, hitting him square in the chest and driving him backwards through the tree he was sitting against. Van stumbled backwards as the Scrin hit him in his leg. Van went down to his knees, and then was clobbered down with the beasts' fist, causing him to fall on his face. The Scrin grabbed the back of Vans head and began to drag his face along the forest floor. And then, in a display of strength, it lifted Van up, deathlike grip still on his head, and began to swing him slowly.
Van's eyes snapped open at the same the Scrin was about to throw him, and doing the only thing he could think of, grabbed his knife out of its holster on his hip, and slashed at the Scrin's neck. He fell down in a heap as the Scrin dropped him, grabbed its throat, and began to make pig- like wails that sent shivers up Vans spine.
There was nothing in the Gaea that Van wanted to do more then to just lie there, but he couldn't, and he had things to do. With a painful groan, he slowly rose to his feet and drew his sword. A metallic ringing was sent through the air as he unsheathed his blade and took in long, painful gasps of air; his chest was sore from where he had been hit by the Scrin. And then something frightening happened to him.
A rage flowed into him, seemingly coming from the sword. The rage felt, almost, magic, to Van, as it flooded into his right hand, and made its way into the rest of his body. It almost felt warm to him, and it caused him to breathe harder. The pain of his injuries seemed to become distant as the anger began to bubble and froth inside the pit of his stomach, begging to be released. Before long, the pain had completely disappeared, and was replaced by the all-consuming hatred that seemingly coursed through his veins. Van had no idea what had happened, and a part of his mind called out to him, called for him to stop what he was doing, to drop the blade. His body ignored that part of his mind, and instead listened to the other half of his mind, which seemed to be screaming chaotically for him to strike, tear, kill.
Vans breathing became ragged gasps of anger as he slowly made his way to the glade he had first been in, his sword dragging at his side. There seemed to be a thousand different voices inside of his mind at once, all telling him to kill, to attack and to fight. He obliged the second he stepped into the light of the glade.
His senses went off, like they were telling him of a great danger that was to his right. Van's ears pricked as he heard a quiet breathing, and then a twig snap. It was enough for him to react. With quick side-jump, he slashed at the Scrin that had been lurking in the shadows of trees, disembowelling it with a quick slash to the ribs. He stood and watched as it fell to it's knees, making the same wailing sound the other did when he slashed its throat. The Scrin futilely tried to gather it's entrails, and then in a mad panic, attacked Van once more. Without thinking, he slapped the creature in the side of its head with the flat of his blade, causing it to wail further.
The other portion of Van's mind spoke up, above the cacophony of the other voices, screaming above the rest, and told him to end it and be honourable. His body finally listened as Van managed to take control of his body once again. He raised the sword at his chest level, put his hand out to his side so that it and his word were parallel to the ground, and then he swung his arm and body around; the head of the Scrin rolled to the ground.
Van's eyes opened wide with pain as he was flung backwards into the headless form of a Scrin. The other two Scrins leapt over him, the one who had knocked Van down landing on his chest, but catching a knife in the chest as it did so. The other landed on the first, causing the knife to fully embed itself in its in the its chest, and allowing more blood to soak Vans chest. Van tried to kick the two off of them, but the weight was crushing him, and the first one writhed on top of him, flailing its arms about causing him to sink in the soft ground.
The second one leapt off and landed near Vans head. It picked the struggling Scrin off with a single hand, showing Van its terrifying strength, and revealing its mammoth size; it was twice Vans height, if not more. Its body was no more then a black rippling mass of muscles. With as little effort as an adult throwing a stone, it threw the squirming carcass at a tree, causing the body to stop squirming and three to snap. He looked back at Van with newfound interest. Van expected the same fate as the other Scrin had received, but instead, something else happened.
The anger poured into him once more, consuming his soul and taking over his mind. An unknown force seemingly accompanied the anger, intermingling with it, and sending a strange feeling down Van's back; it felt almost like an electric current, like true power. Almost.
The unknown force shot to right hand, gathering in the hilt of his sword until a white mist surrounded it. The white mist moved like it had a mind of it's own, but it still stayed around the hilt of the sword, circling it and travelling through it. It felt like his apart of his mind was acting without his consent, and was directing all of the energy and energy he felt in the sword; the mist rose with along with them.
It seemed to all come from within him, from the centre of his naval, and was just being focused on the sword, not the other way around; the mist, the energy, the anger was not from the sword, but it was from within him, like it was his very soul. He wasn't too sure about what it was, but he was damn sure it was from him.
I/Great Spirits,I/ he thought desperately, I/Please help me.I/
The sword was completely trapped in a thick shield of mist. And then, for the first time since he took the sword out, his mind and body acted as one, like his brain somehow held an unknown instinct, and was now ready to use it.
There was bright flash of lightening that came from the sword's tip, and it filled the very air, sending shockwaves through the entire forest, and causing a monumental fissure to runt through the ground, trees, and even boulders. The one thing it did not hit, however, was the Scrin, as it was in the air above him unharmed, and glaring at Van through it's glowing red eyes. Again, Van knew what was going to happen, and instead of focusing the strange energy in the sword again, he brought it up, putting both hands on the hilt, and deflected the strange red blast that had emanated from the Scrin's eyes.
The next happening seemed to take only seconds. The Scrin landed on the ground, only meters from Van, and causing it to sink in slightly under its tremendous girth. The instinct flashed in his mind, telling what to do without speaking.
He leapt into the air, going well above the Scrin and reaching higher heights then he had ever before. He came down with untold ferocity and speed, bringing the sword down with him, and cutting the Scrin in half, from the head to crotch. Blood and gore exploded in a mist, spraying over Van and the surrounding forest.
When he landed, he heard clapping, minute, mocking laughter, which was followed by a small chuckle.
"Very well, your highness, very well," the voice didn't seem familiar, so he knew it wasn't anyone he knew.
A figure walked out of the out of the darkness, but somehow a shadow managed to stay on the side of his face, not allowing Van to get a good look at him. He wore strange clothes, too, as they were made of a black rubber-like material, which expanded at his shoulders, and creating an overlarge shoulder pads in which his scrawny---yet muscular---arms protruded from. The outfit looked almost like a tunic, except that instead of pants or tights underneath the skirt part more and more skirts fell down from it, covering his feet and boots. And then something caught his attention. Over his heart, there was a red fist, holding a silver knife; the Zaibach national emblem.
Van dropped into his fighting stance, holding the sword out straight behind him, tightening his grip on the hilt and putting a battle face on. "What do you want?" he spat out.
"Simply to talk," he said, fanning his right hand slowly along the air. But Van saw his other hand move slightly under the cloak that he wore, positioning it so that he could grab his sword at any moment.
"Yeah right," Van once again spat out. The first thing he had been taught was not to listen to anyone from the Zaibach Empire, as they would most likely slit his throat for being royalty. His brother did not listen.
"Honest," he said, folding his arms across his chest. "I want to make you an offer you can't refuse."
Van just tightened his grip on his sword and put more effort into his scowl. He would not betray his country, like his brother had, just to save his life. He would go down fighting, if need be.
"Join us," he said simply, as if that would solve the matter. "We can be your new family. You and your brother could laugh, like old times."
That did it, the rage irrupted in him.
There was a swelling, a visible and tangible swelling began to manifest itself, seemingly coming from all around Van, and being centred on his sword.
"Ah, yes," the man in the shadows said coolly, "Magic. You are progressing well. Even your brother has not been able to command it.yet."
Inside of his mind, Van's jaw dropped, but he continued to focus on his hatred, barely noticing the happenings around him.
I/Dear Spirits, what the Hell does he mean by magic. Is this magic? God damn it!!I/
The rage finally erupted in something that resembled a volcanic explosion. The energy, or magic, travelled from Van's sword and into his chest. He slowly lifted off of the ground, as the mist began to manifest itself once again round him. There was a flash, a brilliant light blue flash, and the magic consumed all, encasing Van and the other man in it.
Van screamed in shock and anger, while the other man screamed in pain. Van chanced a glance, and, barely, he could see the other man clawing at his face, as if he was blinded. But then something else happened, as the air around him cracked with lighting. He mans face began to melt, like he was being consumed by the fires of Hell.
And then darkness consumed all.
Sleep was a dreamless death.
Chapter Six: Lurking in the Shadows
Written by: Adam Gabrieau
Silence fell among the tall, ancient trees and the wind stilled in the boughs above. It was as if the entire forest was holding its breath, waiting for a sudden thunderclap, announcing the coming of a storm. Van knelt in a small moss patch beneath an old immense oak looking around the forest, watching his surroundings with great interest, and intently listening for something, anything. He felt angry eyes on him, but from no direction---it came from all around. It was an angry glare that made the sweat on his back go chill. This way and that the young prince's eyes darted. He stood like stone, willing every nerve in his body to remain motionless.
With a bit of anger, he took a glance to his shoulder, and looked at the scratch he had received from whatever had attacked him. He had been lucky, though; he had some kind of a forewarning, even though the creature, whatever it was, stalked up behind him without alerting Van. It had felt strange to Van when it happened. In the back of his mind, he saw a black shadow behind him, and then it felt as if the sword he had still in his sheath called him to strike, to attack, to kill, even when he couldn't see anything around him; that too was unnerving, as the forest was usually teeming with life. But as it was, Van had turned at the right moment, and was just barely able to raise his sword up for a defense.
Whatever it was that attacked him had sharp claws---nearly six inches long-- -that raked across Van's shoulder as it leapt over his head and into the dark woods.
I/What the Hell was that thing? Van thought angrily. I've never seen anything like that before!I/
Van had spent a lot of time in the forest, and even his earliest memories are of him playing soldier with Balgus. Every tree, every plant and every trail seemed familiar to him, but the thing that had attacked him was as familiar to him as fire would be to a fish.
Then he could hear it, a heavy breathing, almost a pant, coming from behind him. He turned around in an instant, but found nothing. A twig snapped to his left, but by the time he had turned his body in the direction, nothing could be seen. He heard footsteps all around him. They were moving slowly around him in a circle, and by the crunching sounds of many twigs being stepped on at a time, he could tell there was close to half a dozen creatures around him.
It was by pure chance that a fanning in the leaves let for a ray of sunlight, which glinted off of a knife. It barely registered in his mind in time, but Van quickly did the only thing he could do with a only a fraction of a second to react in.He ducked. He heard the sound of wood shattering, and as he looked up, he saw something that made his blood go cold.
The massive tree trunk, which was four times thicker then most, shattered in a shower of bark and wood bits, as the rest of the tree fell downwards, landing with a large crack as ancient branches snapped on the impact. Van shuddered at what he saw in the dim light of the forest.
There were five Scrins advancing towards him in a semi-circle.
A Scrin was said to be the guardian of the underworld, and was rarely seen by anyone. They were known be more powerful then armies, and could take down even the most skilled and powerful guymelefs. Van couldn't see much of them, only their glowing red eyes, but he knew that was what they were. Nobody had ever actually seen what a Scrin looked like and lived long to tell people about it. In the past, there were people who had been attacked and were able to tell others what they looked like; but they never said the same things; they had always said they seemed to materialize from out of thin air, and that when they saw them, there bodies were like that of a mans, but it seemed to blend in with the surroundings.
Van didn't have too much time to mull over the thoughts however, as the one in the center of the formation leapt at him. Van took a stride to his right as the Scrin's hands tore up the ground. In a movement as quick as lightning, another Scrin from the far right leapt at Van, who ducked, and caught the tip of the needle-sharp claws on his shoulder. The two Scrins collided against each other, but Van had no time take his blade out, as another two jumped at him.
The larger of the two reached him first, and hit him full-force with its body, knocking Van back a couple meters into a tree. The air was filled with a sick Ithunk/I as Vans head bounced off of the bark. He slid down the base of the trunk, blood dribbling from his mouth.
The Scrin who had hit him charged at him once more, hitting him square in the chest and driving him backwards through the tree he was sitting against. Van stumbled backwards as the Scrin hit him in his leg. Van went down to his knees, and then was clobbered down with the beasts' fist, causing him to fall on his face. The Scrin grabbed the back of Vans head and began to drag his face along the forest floor. And then, in a display of strength, it lifted Van up, deathlike grip still on his head, and began to swing him slowly.
Van's eyes snapped open at the same the Scrin was about to throw him, and doing the only thing he could think of, grabbed his knife out of its holster on his hip, and slashed at the Scrin's neck. He fell down in a heap as the Scrin dropped him, grabbed its throat, and began to make pig- like wails that sent shivers up Vans spine.
There was nothing in the Gaea that Van wanted to do more then to just lie there, but he couldn't, and he had things to do. With a painful groan, he slowly rose to his feet and drew his sword. A metallic ringing was sent through the air as he unsheathed his blade and took in long, painful gasps of air; his chest was sore from where he had been hit by the Scrin. And then something frightening happened to him.
A rage flowed into him, seemingly coming from the sword. The rage felt, almost, magic, to Van, as it flooded into his right hand, and made its way into the rest of his body. It almost felt warm to him, and it caused him to breathe harder. The pain of his injuries seemed to become distant as the anger began to bubble and froth inside the pit of his stomach, begging to be released. Before long, the pain had completely disappeared, and was replaced by the all-consuming hatred that seemingly coursed through his veins. Van had no idea what had happened, and a part of his mind called out to him, called for him to stop what he was doing, to drop the blade. His body ignored that part of his mind, and instead listened to the other half of his mind, which seemed to be screaming chaotically for him to strike, tear, kill.
Vans breathing became ragged gasps of anger as he slowly made his way to the glade he had first been in, his sword dragging at his side. There seemed to be a thousand different voices inside of his mind at once, all telling him to kill, to attack and to fight. He obliged the second he stepped into the light of the glade.
His senses went off, like they were telling him of a great danger that was to his right. Van's ears pricked as he heard a quiet breathing, and then a twig snap. It was enough for him to react. With quick side-jump, he slashed at the Scrin that had been lurking in the shadows of trees, disembowelling it with a quick slash to the ribs. He stood and watched as it fell to it's knees, making the same wailing sound the other did when he slashed its throat. The Scrin futilely tried to gather it's entrails, and then in a mad panic, attacked Van once more. Without thinking, he slapped the creature in the side of its head with the flat of his blade, causing it to wail further.
The other portion of Van's mind spoke up, above the cacophony of the other voices, screaming above the rest, and told him to end it and be honourable. His body finally listened as Van managed to take control of his body once again. He raised the sword at his chest level, put his hand out to his side so that it and his word were parallel to the ground, and then he swung his arm and body around; the head of the Scrin rolled to the ground.
Van's eyes opened wide with pain as he was flung backwards into the headless form of a Scrin. The other two Scrins leapt over him, the one who had knocked Van down landing on his chest, but catching a knife in the chest as it did so. The other landed on the first, causing the knife to fully embed itself in its in the its chest, and allowing more blood to soak Vans chest. Van tried to kick the two off of them, but the weight was crushing him, and the first one writhed on top of him, flailing its arms about causing him to sink in the soft ground.
The second one leapt off and landed near Vans head. It picked the struggling Scrin off with a single hand, showing Van its terrifying strength, and revealing its mammoth size; it was twice Vans height, if not more. Its body was no more then a black rippling mass of muscles. With as little effort as an adult throwing a stone, it threw the squirming carcass at a tree, causing the body to stop squirming and three to snap. He looked back at Van with newfound interest. Van expected the same fate as the other Scrin had received, but instead, something else happened.
The anger poured into him once more, consuming his soul and taking over his mind. An unknown force seemingly accompanied the anger, intermingling with it, and sending a strange feeling down Van's back; it felt almost like an electric current, like true power. Almost.
The unknown force shot to right hand, gathering in the hilt of his sword until a white mist surrounded it. The white mist moved like it had a mind of it's own, but it still stayed around the hilt of the sword, circling it and travelling through it. It felt like his apart of his mind was acting without his consent, and was directing all of the energy and energy he felt in the sword; the mist rose with along with them.
It seemed to all come from within him, from the centre of his naval, and was just being focused on the sword, not the other way around; the mist, the energy, the anger was not from the sword, but it was from within him, like it was his very soul. He wasn't too sure about what it was, but he was damn sure it was from him.
I/Great Spirits,I/ he thought desperately, I/Please help me.I/
The sword was completely trapped in a thick shield of mist. And then, for the first time since he took the sword out, his mind and body acted as one, like his brain somehow held an unknown instinct, and was now ready to use it.
There was bright flash of lightening that came from the sword's tip, and it filled the very air, sending shockwaves through the entire forest, and causing a monumental fissure to runt through the ground, trees, and even boulders. The one thing it did not hit, however, was the Scrin, as it was in the air above him unharmed, and glaring at Van through it's glowing red eyes. Again, Van knew what was going to happen, and instead of focusing the strange energy in the sword again, he brought it up, putting both hands on the hilt, and deflected the strange red blast that had emanated from the Scrin's eyes.
The next happening seemed to take only seconds. The Scrin landed on the ground, only meters from Van, and causing it to sink in slightly under its tremendous girth. The instinct flashed in his mind, telling what to do without speaking.
He leapt into the air, going well above the Scrin and reaching higher heights then he had ever before. He came down with untold ferocity and speed, bringing the sword down with him, and cutting the Scrin in half, from the head to crotch. Blood and gore exploded in a mist, spraying over Van and the surrounding forest.
When he landed, he heard clapping, minute, mocking laughter, which was followed by a small chuckle.
"Very well, your highness, very well," the voice didn't seem familiar, so he knew it wasn't anyone he knew.
A figure walked out of the out of the darkness, but somehow a shadow managed to stay on the side of his face, not allowing Van to get a good look at him. He wore strange clothes, too, as they were made of a black rubber-like material, which expanded at his shoulders, and creating an overlarge shoulder pads in which his scrawny---yet muscular---arms protruded from. The outfit looked almost like a tunic, except that instead of pants or tights underneath the skirt part more and more skirts fell down from it, covering his feet and boots. And then something caught his attention. Over his heart, there was a red fist, holding a silver knife; the Zaibach national emblem.
Van dropped into his fighting stance, holding the sword out straight behind him, tightening his grip on the hilt and putting a battle face on. "What do you want?" he spat out.
"Simply to talk," he said, fanning his right hand slowly along the air. But Van saw his other hand move slightly under the cloak that he wore, positioning it so that he could grab his sword at any moment.
"Yeah right," Van once again spat out. The first thing he had been taught was not to listen to anyone from the Zaibach Empire, as they would most likely slit his throat for being royalty. His brother did not listen.
"Honest," he said, folding his arms across his chest. "I want to make you an offer you can't refuse."
Van just tightened his grip on his sword and put more effort into his scowl. He would not betray his country, like his brother had, just to save his life. He would go down fighting, if need be.
"Join us," he said simply, as if that would solve the matter. "We can be your new family. You and your brother could laugh, like old times."
That did it, the rage irrupted in him.
There was a swelling, a visible and tangible swelling began to manifest itself, seemingly coming from all around Van, and being centred on his sword.
"Ah, yes," the man in the shadows said coolly, "Magic. You are progressing well. Even your brother has not been able to command it.yet."
Inside of his mind, Van's jaw dropped, but he continued to focus on his hatred, barely noticing the happenings around him.
I/Dear Spirits, what the Hell does he mean by magic. Is this magic? God damn it!!I/
The rage finally erupted in something that resembled a volcanic explosion. The energy, or magic, travelled from Van's sword and into his chest. He slowly lifted off of the ground, as the mist began to manifest itself once again round him. There was a flash, a brilliant light blue flash, and the magic consumed all, encasing Van and the other man in it.
Van screamed in shock and anger, while the other man screamed in pain. Van chanced a glance, and, barely, he could see the other man clawing at his face, as if he was blinded. But then something else happened, as the air around him cracked with lighting. He mans face began to melt, like he was being consumed by the fires of Hell.
And then darkness consumed all.
Sleep was a dreamless death.