Chapter Seven - The Light of Death

Since his manor had received extensive fire damage in the siege by Müllenkamp, Duke Bardorba had been staying in his townhouse though even that was inaccurate. He had been staying in his bed inside the townhouse. His health was rapidly declining and many thought he should already be dead, let alone within the week the doctor had given him but he tenaciously clung onto life with both hands, struggling to stay alive as long as he could. Not that it really mattered, there was only one other person in the family to keep the name alive and he was far too young to bear the title and the Duke would never live to see him a grown man. So why did he still cling to life so vehemently? The answer was simple if not confusing to those who didn't know what was going on...

A hesitant cough came from the corner of his chamber as a guard shuffled his way in slowly, trying to minimise the clanking sounds that came from his armour in a bid to not aggravate the Duke.

"What is it?" the Duke barked, his voice sounding far too dry.

"Sir, a man is waiting outside, demanding to talk to you."

"Well, send him up then!"

"Uhm sir, he has a rather large sword with him and doesn't look to be too happy."

"It's alright Guardsman Stryker, I know who he is so please show him up, completely unmolested and with his weapon. I asked him to bring it to me so do not worry about it," his words clipped and precise despite the pain in his bowels.

"Aye sir." Clapping his fist to his heart in a salute, the guard strode from the room, forgetting to keep his armour quiet this time. The sound reverberated in the Duke's ears as he winced. Lying in his bed where he had been since the Leá Monde incident, his thoughts drifted to his oldest son once again. It's a shame it had to be this way Sydney. I loved you with all my heart as I love Joseph... why did it have to be you? Why did you have to take the power of Leá Monde? Why did you have to be taken away from me... and for me then to have to kill you... I can't live with this pain...

Duke Bardorba's attention shifted as he saw the figure in the black trenchcoat float through the door into his room.

"I've been expecting you Riskbreaker Riot. Please, take a seat." He watched as Ashley plumped himself down into a chair that had been prepared for him.

"I presume you're here to kill me?"

A nod.

"Indeed, as I suspected, but there are matters we must talk of first."

A nod.
An arched eyebrow.

"It was foretold by the high-priestess Müllenkamp that there would come one who bore the five-bladed sword from the ruins of Leá Monde and that he would be the final master of its powers. You are this person Ashley Riot, you are the final master of Leá Monde, the final protector of its powers. What you are to do has already been predicted; you are to murder a few in an effort to protect millions of innocents. I do not guarantee that the Gods will look upon this well but I agree that it is what must be done However, the task is not as easy as you may think Ashley. There are important predicates that you must follow: You can only kill the three on the Sabbath such as today. You can only kill one of the three per Sabbath. You must kill yourself on the day that you kill the third of the three. You must follow these rules or disaster will strike and our deaths will be for naught."

A nod.
An arched eyebrow.
Rising from his seated position.

"Pass the sword to me please." As the blood sword was unsheathed, candlelight reflected from it giving it an eerie glow. "As you can see, there is Kildean script upon each of the five blades and the handle." As he traced his fingers across the archaic runes, he translated them softly, "Perpetuation: the torment that you have been given. Perdition: that which you seek. Blessing: the power to save the lives of so many. Curse: the weight of the task before you. Slave: the power of Leá Monde. Master: he who controls it. These are all intricately linked to you and the deeds you must commit. But that is neither here nor there for it is now my time." Feeling his worn out muscles strain as he lifted the sword again, he handed it back to the Riskbreaker who loomed over him.

As Agent Riot held the blade aloft, Duke Bardorba merely shook his head. "I have a final request for you Ashley. Could you slide back that panel over there?" he said as he stretched out his arm, his trembling finger pointing to the opposite wall. Ashley strode over and instinctively found the right panel, pressing his palm against the wood and slid it to the side revealing a hidden compartment. Inside was a simple knife; the blade made of the rare material Damascus. Ashley instinctively recognised it as the weapon that Duke Bardorba had used to end the life of his son, Sydney Losstarot. The Riskbreaker also realised why the duke had pointed him towards it. He too wished to die by its blade, to share the same fate of his eldest child. This simple blade of sacrifice would see the end of another life to ease the world's burden, to see blood wash away the pain of existence...

His palms felt slick as they clutched onto the wooden handle, sweat dripping from his brow. He knew this must be done, it had been prophesised... but this was the death of an innocent. The Duke had done no wrong against the people, instead, he protected them in coordination with his son Sydney. Could he really end the life of someone who had done so much good?

Ashley wiped all thoughts from his mind, instead concentrating on what he had to do. Death; that was all he was good for, all he could do. Happiness and joy had eluded him and the Reaper awaited him with bated breath and a final embrace. He didn't even notice as his arms arced down in unison, the blade plunging deep into the old mans chest, blood bubbling through his lips... Ashley walked from the room, the knife still clutched tightly in his right hand. He couldn't see the blood streaked across his bare chest, his vision was pure white, everything was dead as far as he cared. He never saw the guards look at him and run into the bedchamber he'd just left. He never heard their cries or the sound of their footsteps pounding after him for he was already gone, disappeared into nothingness...