FIDGET, BATRISHAN PRINCE OF DARKNESS
Reunion With The Blade
A bare wasteland full of dried earth, hazardous stone ruins, black clouds, and fiery remains.
Those were the main remains of Aldorada when Fidget returned home after about half a year since he left the cottage of the Apprentice and saw the remains of his homes.
It was a living nightmare for him: flying over this apocalyptic, once glorious nation, seeing the skeletons of a thousand civilians, soldiers and aristocrats laying in the streets as if they were mere piles of coal, walking in the rumble of where Aldorada's Military Academy once stood...Fidget internally screamed to himself. Even the sight of the dried corpse of Queen Florencia, cut in half, dispersed everywhere in the throneroom, was a sour sight.
The Denada Cortés Estate, the cherished place he once grew in, somehow managed to survive the catastrophe. But the people in there didn't: when Fidget walked inside the house he lived in, the hallways where he'd run and play happily, the living room where he and his parents spent quality time together, his bedroom where his mother would tell him bedtime stories, and the kitchen where Auntie Carmen cooked delicious meals, he saw that while the non-living things survived, none of the staff or household animals were seen moving. They all looked like they had been intoxicated by some plague that caused them to have their skins dry out, the air in their lungs disintegrate, and their eyes lose the life within them. Jerome's corpse was being crushed by those of two horses in the stables, thus becoming the feast of ravens. Fidget bared his fangs at the vermins, causing them to fly off in fright.
Poor Auntie Carmen...She had been in the middle of plucking and preparing a chicken to roast until she died. Her body was lying in the kitchen, with her hands clutching onto a bloody knife and chicken. Stains of blood could be seen on her apron and a look of dead horror was on her father.
The Batrishan dropped on his knees and hugged the lifeless body of the kind cook who had nursed him since he was an infant. A bloody scream of agony and pain exploded out of his mouth and vibrated across the dead nation.
An hour later
Friar Andre rushed to the abandoned Denada Cortés Estate after he had heard a scream that reminded him of someone he had discovered at the doorsteps of St. Alejandro's Chapel seventeen years ago. The scream was like the vibration of a knell to his ears. It had been such a long time since the downfall of Aldorada. For some reason, the Chapel, the Denada Cortés Estate, and St. Martha's cemetery were the only areas untouched by the tragic event.
When he arrived at the estate, Friar Andre looked around to see if there were any suspicious activities going on. For a moment, he silently hoped that the young Denada Cortés master had returned. Friar Andre had prayed to the Lord that he spared Fitzgerald; for he knew once he saw Hernan and Geneva Denada Cortés adopting the unfortunate orphan back at the Chapel that only something decided by God could have granted the Batrishan survival from his people's genocide.
On the mansion floors and garden soils, the friar noticed a few marks...as if something had been dragged around. He followed the marks until it led him in a grand courtyard, made only of grassy square yards, behind the mansion, and froze at the sight that lay in front of him: lined up rows of wooden makeshift gravestones, each with a big pile of fresh dirt in front of them. Obviously, these graves were recently created.
Friar Andre walked through the rows and noticed that each grave had a stone laid in front of it, saying a person's name and the function they once held. It didn't take long for the old man to realize that those were the graves of the deceased staff members, even the stable horses, of the Denada Cortés. This definetly confirmed that someone had recently visited the mansion.
At the center stood a circular area with only one stone in it. There were words carved on it, but unlike the other stones, this one looked like some sort of skilled beast had used its claws to write the following words in shattering letters:
All Here Shall Be Avenged
Not to mention that there was some sort of stain shaped like a signature under the words. It was bad enough that the signature was made out of some sort of black blood.
It was the signature of Fitzgerald Denada Cortés.
Later on
Fidget stood at the dreaded altar he once went as a child. The silver cage, imprisoning the Blade That Rips Through The Soul, was untarnished, as if someone had come every single day to polish it and make it look sparklingly clean.
Thunder clashed in the air as Fidget clenched his fist in the air and brought it down like a thundering hammer, breaking the cage with only one blow and sending chunks of silver flying around until they covered the grass like mirror shards.
Let me be yours, the blade whispered in its hissing and entrancing tone.
"I shall," the Batrishan said. His hand began to way towards the sword's grip until the voice of a desperate Friar Andre interrupted his action.
"FITZGERALD! DON'T!"
The Batrishan turned his head in order to see the Friar. The human looked desperate from running all the way from the Denada Cortés Estate to the cursed ruins beyond St. Martha's Cemetery.
"You shouldn't have come here, Friar," the Batrishan said. Friar Andre was shocked by the sudden coldness found in the young thing's voice but tried to keep his composure.
"Fitzgerald, don't do this," he pleaded. "Accepting the blade will only increase your heart's darkness. The purpose of your survival...the efforts your parents made..."
"My parents are dead," Fidget snapped. "My true love is gone. My home is destroyed. All because of one codfish who betrayed my trust, my friendship, and me. He'll pay savagely, mark my words."
"Fitzgerald, only the Lord can punish the guilty and spare the innocent ones." Friar Andre went to place a hand on the Batrishan's shoulder. "Let go of that anger that will only bring you more internal pain than to others. Don't accept the blade."
"How can I accept more pain when I have nothing left?" The voice of Fidget was so quiet that it made the friar let go of his shoulder. The next thing he saw was the Batrishan brutally turning towards him and impaling the unfortunate friar right in the stomach with the cursed sword. Blood spread all over the old man's body as Fidget yanked away the sword and kicked the dead corpse, watching it roll down the altar stairs.
"As long as I don't have the codfish's blood on this sword," he said as he used his spare fingers to wipe off the blood on the blade, "I'll embrace being evil."
He held his bloody hand in the air, watching it brighten as the blasting sun settled in the horizon.
"Long live Fidget The Bat." He put his fingers in his mouth one by one until the blood on them went through his throat.