Ch4: Lionheart

Song recommendation: Raul Panther III – I am no Lionheart

The sky was silver. An armored grey tapestry of clouds was riveted to it. Brilliant flashes of blue and white lightning cut through the storm, followed by clashing thunder, like the sound and spark of dueling swords. The rain fell so hard, everything seen through falling droplets was like a mirage. Trees walked with the wind with hunched backs. Grass, forever growing over bone and blood, peaked through red and brown mud; the bodies of soldiers lay in it as if they were the beds of straw and hay they knew as children. Marching through their mattress of dreamless dig were their brethren. Beaten, near broken, they battled their bruised pride to a fortified castle beyond the horizon; surrounded by barren lands with vast yet distant mountains behind it an empire of dirt

In this castle, sat a boy, a child really, on a throne too large for his stature, holding a crown too big for his head, with thorns too sharp for his skin. The small sliver of light that shone through the stained-glass window behind him revealed comb backed golden locks of hair and heterochromatic eyes of cobalt blue and lion yellow gold. The lad was clad in Steely silver armor with gold and blue trim. A cloak of chain mail wrapped around his back and under his shoulders connected to a chest plate of carboned blue, forged in the likeness of a Manticore; the top of its mane spikes chiseled down, so it resembles a heart shape with a Griffon's head in its mouth.

The sword that stood on the thrown beside him was nearly as tall as he was, though only three fourths the width. It shared the same Grimm insignia on the base of the cross guard, said guard was textured like feathers. The blade was composed of many lines leading to the center of the blade, its fuller was the same sky blue as its grip. The pommel was the head of a lion, jaw closed eyes forward. As the boy stared at the crown with sullen eyes, he thought he was not like that lion, for his eyes only looked down.

And the damning sounds of thunderous pounding at the gates forced his gaze up, as knights tore down the door. Knights, soldiers and mercenaries marched their way in the throne room, taking bold steps toward the young prince. He stood from the throne; a playful smile spread on his face as he threw the crown towards the nearest man like a disc. The knight batted it away like an aggravating fly while the boy taunted him further with an outstretched hand, steely fingers curling in a call to come to him. As the men ran with raised arms; pole arms, axes, hammers, swords and spears; the boy raised his blade. The sword collapsing in on itself into the fuller, as the guard rose along its length, unfolded feathered knives that came from underneath it, forming a double-bladed axe.

As the first man brought down his blade, the prince had hooked the axe along the knight's neck, swinging on him like a branch. A helmet spinning in the air as he rolled to the ground, swinging and switching from axe to sword, parrying blow after blow. The boy clashed swords with a soldier, and as the embers sparked from their grinding exchange, the prince spun on his heel, turning sword to axe to trip his opponent before thrusting the tip of his sword to the man's side. A party of knights tore hell for leather on the lad, but their offensive was nothing to the bright yellow shield of aura that flashed like the burning sphere of the sun. A goliath of a guardsman struck down on the shield, bouncing his pole arm back to the place in air it once rested. The prince took that movement of opportunity to once again use his axe as a hook, sending him up and over the mob of mercenaries below him, using his bubble shield like a rolling ball to get to the door.

But these men would not let him escape. Each one came with fired hearts to slay this lion, though none got past sword and shield. With every strike blocked and every offense defended, the warriors all made one final push to bring down the lion. And as what seemed like a thousand blades sung their song on his golden shield, it exploded in a brilliant flash of light. The prince stood before his enemies triumphant, axe raised in the air. A proud smile on his face, turned to a pained and confused frown, as blood coughed from his lips. He fell to his knees, looking outside, as the silhouette of a ruler picked up the crown and put it on his head. And as he fell to the ground, he thought, 'I am no lion. Merely a mouse.' This time he feared he'd gone too far. This time he knew he'd lost.