The Bone Fletcher – Part Four
A soft breeze was blowing as Erik made the slow trek up the hill. He was dressed simply in a plain black tunic, with his hair tied back in a warrior's tail. He was not armed; there seemed little need for it, these days.
Mindful of his injuries, Erik made his way slowly up the unfamiliar dirt pathway. He winced with every other step, his numerous wounds causing him discomfort all the way up. The physician had told him to stay at home; undoubtedly he would hear no end of it when he got back. Still, he had to do this. He had put it off long enough.
As he neared the top of the hill, numerous gravestones came into view. Here lay the bodies of all who had fallen in the demon invasion; each and every one had been given a state funeral as the kingdom honored the brave ones it had lost.
The man stopped, looking out over the tombstones. The cemetery cast its own shadow over the bright and sunny day, and even the wind seemed quieter as it made its way across this land of the dead. Erik moved on.
He stopped first in a section of the graveyard which he knew very well. He himself had helped in the digging of these graves; despite his injuries and the physician clucking behind him, he had raised dirt and gravel alike with his own shovel to bury the men who had died following him in that last battle.
He still regretted it; because of his poor choices, these dozen or so men had given their lives for seemingly nothing. They had fought hard, and he had betrayed their trust. Guilt gnawed at him even to this day, and it was the main reason why he had opted to resign from his post of Knight-Commander.
Pausing at each one, he genuflected briefly to the souls of those who had once stood behind him. He recited their names in his mind. He had taken the time and effort to know each and every one, and paid their families a personal visit to offer his condolences and apologies. Blest. Crass. Klaus. The list went on.
When he had finished paying his respects, Erik heaved a deep sigh. He raised his head, gazing sorrowfully to the far end of the cemetery. His feet carried him unerringly toward another tombstone, one which stood isolated from the rest. It was a paltry reward, but there was little else the kingdom could have done for the little brave hero.
As Erik made his way painfully to his brother's grave, he thought back to the day of the battle. It had to have been little short of a miracle that he had survived; the demon blade which had sought to take his head from his shoulders suddenly had lost speed and slowed, and instead had clattered harmlessly against his chest plate as every demon, not just the one in front of him fell to the ground. A sudden silence had fallen over the entire battlefield as the defenders lowered their weapons in shock.
Erik reached his destination at last, and spent a while looking at his brother's final resting place. They never found his body; even when they led an expedition team into the demon's lair, the reports said that all they had found were the charred remains of several bodies. It was difficult to tell how many, the scouts had said, but one of them was extremely large and presumed to be that of the Demon King Maraxiform itself. They had gathered all the burnt remains they could find and transported them back to the kingdom.
With yet another sigh, Erik sat himself down next to the tombstone and looked out over the hill. The spot offered an amazing view of Haven's capital; Clint would have liked it here. He spent a moment in silence, reliving fond memories he had of his brother. He smiled and laid a hand on the cold stone.
"It was you, wasn't it? When you killed Maraxiform, every other demon was bereft of its power, and they all fell together. You and your friends single-handedly killed over a thousand demons, did you know that?" Erik chuckled. He leaned back onto the grass, looking up into the azure sky. He continued his monologue.
"The King evidently cast some immortality spell, promising 'life eternal to those who slew the Demon Lord', as he put it. But that was aristocrat stuff; the announcement never made its way to us. Not that it mattered." For one brief moment, Erik had dared hope that his brother was not dead yet, kept alive by the King's spell. He was told that the spell had indeed been triggered; the power crystal had been shattered in its casting. But all other reports seemed to point that Clint's expedition team had been wiped out; the two forces must have eliminated each other somehow.
"They threw a party for you, in your honor. Did you see that, wherever you are? The celebration went on for days. You're a hero now. Just like you always said you'd be. Just like I always knew you were."
Above him, a cloud moved slowly into place, shielding him from the sun's glare. In the cool shade that followed, Erik felt a lethargy born from his injuries overcome him. He decided to rest next to his brother, one last time.
"Thanks for saving me again, brother."
Erik did not know how long had passed since he had lain there, but come a time when he felt enough was enough. Time to go back and face the music; no doubt his physician was waiting for him with a tirade ready to go. Grunting, he slowly climbed to his feet.
Thunk.
Something thudded into the grass next to his feet, something burning with an acrid smell. He looked down, to see a burning arrow embedded into the earth. He looked up, all his senses suddenly on full alert for the source of the arrow, but he saw nothing.
Slowly, Erik backed up against Clint's grave, still scanning for the hidden archer. He broke out in a cold sweat; unarmed and unprotected as he was, there was little hope that he could make it out alive. Even the option to flee was hindered by his condition; with all his injuries, it would be a miracle if he could make his way down the hill without tripping at all.
Suddenly, right in front of him appeared a bow, drawn and nocked with another flaming arrow. Erik could have sworn nothing had been there but a scarce moment ago, but years of combat training kicked in as he dove to the side. The arrow loosed, but missed its target; it smashed into the gravestone where his head had been just one instant ago. No other option left; he would have to risk it. Erik set off down the hill at a dead run.
Behind him, he heard a sudden whoosh, and an intense heat wave buffeted at him from behind. He dared not look back, however; he had to spend all his energies concentrating on his run. Adrenaline helped in forgetting the pain, but the path down was still unfamiliar and treacherous. He could not swing his arms nor stretch his legs as widely as he would have liked, but at least he had not fallen down so far.
He skid to an abrupt halt, however, as he saw the same bow and flaming arrow nocked and ready simply appear a distance in front of him. But his forward momentum betrayed him, and he was unable to fling himself completely out of the way as the arrow was loosed. The projectile struck him in his right shoulder, and he cried out in pain as the impact spun him around and he landed roughly in the grass.
Panting, he lay there as his assailant approached him. He tried to look up, but pain clouded his sight; he could only hear the attacker's movements. Oddly enough, there was an almost musical quality to it, almost as if bones were clinking together. As if the attacker was a-
-Skeleton.
Erik's thought had just formed itself when he finally managed to get a good look at the archer. He started visibly in shock as he realized he was not wrong; it was a skeleton. It was not a large skeleton, perhaps man-sized, but it was wreathed in an ungodly flame that leaped and crackled at every opportunity. It looked down on him with empty eye-sockets, somehow seeing him through the holes in its skull.
Erik attempted to scrabble away from the undead, but found that his legs lacked any strength to do so. How ironic it was, that he had survived a life-and-death demonic situation only days ago, only to be trapped and cornered by yet another inhuman entity now. The creature raised its skeletal hand toward him.
From the very base of his soul, Erik felt a tugging coming from inside him. This raised the hackles on his neck, but there was little he could do about it; he had no idea what was coming next. He braced himself, but nothing could have prepared him for the sharp pain that coursed throughout his body in the next instant. Something was being pulled from him, and try as he might he could not resist it. He breathed his last word as the very fiber of his being was sucked away.
"Clint…"
When he heard his name, Clint suddenly became aware of his surroundings. It was as if waking from an extremely long dream, one which he could only vaguely remember. He could recall the demon, burning in front of him; as his world was engulfed fire and smoke, a blinding white light had forced its way past it all and mercifully ended his consciousness. And then…
And then what?
Clint shook his head, trying to clear his mind, and was startled to hear, no, feel his bones scraping against each other. He tried to open his eyes, but found instead that he could not even close them. All this made no sense. He looked up, trying to see where he was. A dirt pathway, grassy slopes… Unfamiliar territory. And further up the slope lay-
"Brother?"
Clint stared at his brother's crumpled form that lay in the grass. Somehow, the grass surrounding him was smoldering, as if burned by a recent fire. With a jolt, the memories came flooding back. He remembered climbing out of the cave, motivated by a craving of some sort. He was empty, hollow inside, and he wanted to be full again. He needed to be full again. He had felt the pull, and sought out Erik. And then-
Then he had claimed his soul.
Even now, he could feel his brother's soul inside him, trapped. It made him stronger, filled a void that had once been. But when the realization of what he had done hit him, Clint dropped to his knees and howled, a ghastly cry of utter despair.
Years had passed since the battle for Haven. Clinkz spent his time hunting for any and all that were living, stealing their souls and feeding his hunger. He could not help it; he craved for it. The souls would satiate him briefly, filling him up inside, but it was never long before the feeling of satisfaction faded and he would be on the hunt again for more.
Only one soul, his brother's soul, stayed within him and never left. He had long since ceased being able to tell Erik's thoughts from Clint's; together, they formed the entity that was now Clinkz, driven mad with the need to slake his thirst for souls.
On one particularly unlucky night, Clinkz was having no luck in his hunt. Perhaps he had exhausted the immediate vicinity for prey; was it time for him to move to a new location? Just as he was entertaining the thought, a voice crept into his mind. It whispered to him, pulled at him, promised him a never-ending supply of souls. It told him where to go, and what needed to be done.
"The Radiant Ore, eh?" Clinkz slung his bow across his back. It was a good offer; never-ending souls without a need to hunt was a temptation too good to pass up. And all he had to do was destroy some rock. He could do that. With a whoosh of fire, Clinkz disappeared from sight, moving at inhuman speeds propelled by his flames.
The Bone Fletcher answered the call.
