Father grasped his daughter’s hand tightly. Her hand was black and blue with traces of blood near her fingernails. He turned towards her, attempting to soothe her pain, but her frightened look revealed a deeper anxiety.319Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡCthIQZdkI4
Nervously, Mother turned to speak, but Father scolded his wife.
“I would never consent to it,” he said sharply. “We’ll leave as a family!”
The three took off running into the woods. Raindrops fell in steady beads, striking the leaves in a broken cadence, splattering relentlessly, until the woods and the travelers were drenched to the bone, slowing their journey considerably. The moisture created a mist, like an invisible veil, which clung to the three refugees, impeding them from fleeing to freedom.
Father wore chain mail, a sword hung over his waist; both sword and chain mail were branded with a blueish mark or totem, signifying their clan. Mother trudged beside him, dressed in similar gear; her hair cut short allowing her sword more nimble movement. Daughter, who had just entered adolescence, was cloaked in a light blue poncho, and held a little dagger in her hand, which she swung clumsily, over and over, accidentally slicing several gashes in the poncho and skirt she was wearing.
As they ran, a dark shadow appeared above the treetops, moving rapidly from this tree to that tree. Father increased their pace as he felt this presence. However, the dark shadow pursued them, keeping in step until Father suddenly stopped.
Standing there before them stood a fierce warrior holding a two-handed sword, staring at them in a cold, hard gaze.
The dark shadow halted behind the trio. This creature appeared as a gorilla dressed as a human. Upon closer look, they determined it was actually a metamorphic Beastkin, not a real animal at all.
Two more warriors soon met up with the group.
The rain continued to fall, staining the Daughter’s face. Tiny drops fell onto the edges of her lips and met her tongue, leaving a salty taste in her mouth, reminding her of the tears she had shed on so many gloomy nights, bitter to her soul.
The Forest of Tears, that’s how they referred to this forest.
“You know, they only count the heads,” the fierce warrior said as he finally broke the silence. With a look of indifference upon his face, his lips cracked into a smile, he continued, pointing towards Father. “Except for the one with higher reputation, they are merely heads.”
“A head of the Da’Khaee is worth 100 thousand Soei,” said the second warrior. His eyes gleamed with greed, almost as if he could see the coins falling into his hands.
“You know what this means?” the first warrior said, looking intently at Father. “It means bounty hunters could live very well by hunting you down!” he snickered as he turned to his companion.
“They are so few of you left, nowadays, are you going extinct or what?” the second warrior inquired, not truly expecting an answer. “With such slow reproduction, I am barely making any money. Are your women not attractive enough? Are the Da’Khaee impotent?”
The two warriors burst out in riotous laughter.
Father was not moved. He slowly began to raise his sword, as did Mother.
“If I were a shepherd, I would take some people from your clan for mating. This might be the best in the long run,” insulted the fierce warrior as he raised his two-handed sword in reply. “I am the Paladin of the East. I have the power to kill as I please. I might as well collect as many heads as possible,” he announced, shifting his weight and standing his full height in front of them.
The two warriors who stood just behind him raised their swords as well. The Beastkin made no movements, his fiery eyes, glaring in silence.
Everyone stood frozen in time. The only sound was the pounding of the rain as it fell.
One of the warriors broke ranks and dashed toward the Daughter. Father jerked to the right as the warrior backed off. He hoped to intimidate him with his bluff. Suddenly, the Paladin used this opportunity to swing his two-handed sword before Father.
What took place next was a blur!
Crashing down with lightning speed, the two-handed sword met Father’s own with sparks of destruction. Father’s hand trembled and went numb as he struggled to hold on to the handle with his left hand. At this moment, the second strike came down, reverberating through Father’s body, making him dizzy.
The third strike came unexpectedly from the left side. Father was unable to turn his body fast enough and was nearly knocked to the ground.
The Paladin showed no mercy as his fourth strike aimed for Father’s neck.
At this moment, Mother struck expertly from the left side. She held two swords- one in each hand- one long and one short. She crossed them and stepped in front of the attacker, trapping the two-handed sword between hers, making it immovable, before it ever reached its deathblow upon Father’s neck.
The Paladin’s face grew white in surprise, but he immediately shook it off.
“I love fighting with women,” he grinned. “Pretty ones are good; strong ones, even better.”
The Paladin advanced toward Mother fiercely, nearly forcing her to drop both of her swords, then he backed off to gain just enough space to deliver a powerful finishing strike towards Mother.
Father picked up his sword that had fallen to the ground. He must somehow help his beloved wife! He felt a sudden cold wind behind his neck. He ducked just in time as his attacker’s sword fell swiftly, cutting a small slice of scalp along with some tufts of hair from Father’s head. Father turned, facing the other two warriors behind him.
The Daughter stood trapped in the midst of the two battlefields. She looked left seeing Mother’s two swords wielded against the single sword of the Paladin. Intermittent sparks flew like fireworks all around them. Looking right, she saw Father’s sword poorly blocking the swift blows of the other two warriors.
She curiously noticed the Beastkin was still standing where it had first stood.
Everyone was busy fighting except for her, and this Beastkin.
Fear grew in her heart until she sensed nothing else. The sound of her heart beating, louder and louder, drowned out the battle that surrounded her.
The Beastkin’s head shifted back and forth between the two battles, his attention divided between Mother and the Paladin, and Father and the two warriors. He wore a look of disgust, rather than of intrigue, as he watched this turn of events.
Suddenly his gaze fell upon the girl. Could he hear the pounding of her heart?
The Beastkin’s stony expression fixated upon the Daughter.
“What I am to do?” the Daughter thought. She searched her mind. Father had taught her never to run away when meeting hostile animals, as it might trigger its nature of attacking. But did this also apply to the Beastkin?
Blood suddenly splashed upon her face, stinging her eyes.
Could it be Mother’s or Father’s? Could it be from the Paladin or the two warriors? It didn’t matter now, for this tiny splash of blood broke any dash of courage the girl had left in her.
Screaming as loudly as she could, she squatted down, covering her head with her poncho; the Beastkin snarled a menacing howl in response and leaped toward the girl.
It was Father who was the first to respond. Rolling toward his Daughter, he then stood up to block the Beastkin, but it beat him airborne.
Mother was next. Gathering all of her strength, she forced the Paladin away and dashed towards her daughter, with swords drawn. The Beastkin swatted the sword in her right hand, and then the sword in her left, slashing his own arm in the process, infuriating him all the more. In a rage, The Beastkin, with one hand grasping Mother’s left hand and the other on Mother’s ankle, lifted her up in the air and tossed her to the ground.
Finally, the Beastkin reached the girl. It brutally ripped off her cape and roared at her, revealing his fangs which were nearly a meter long.
A sudden flash struck the Beastkin.
Amongst the chaos, the experienced creature managed to dodge two additional strikes, ducking, and leaping a few steps to the side.
He saw nothing but the girl gawking at him; so what had mounted such an attack…?
The Beastkin felt its neck. Blood oozed from some shallow wounds, less than a centimeter from its carotid arteries.
With a furious roar, he leaped towards the “source” of the flash, however, this strike…it could not be called a flash, came strong and heavy with a two-handed sword. The Beastkin struggled to swat the flat of its sword.
Mysterious Helpers
Two new warriors appeared, one with motions so fast, not a clear strike could be seen, and the other with strengths equal to that of the Beastkin.
The Beastkin snorted, white vapor flowing from its nostrils, mixing with the salty mist in the air.
The Paladin and his two warriors slowly approached the Beastkin. All three took their stand behind the creature.
Father and Mother picked up the swords that had fallen to the ground and walked towards their daughter. They, too, had now noticed the two ‘helpers.’ The first ‘helper’ was a middle-aged swordsman in a crimson robe, showing only his head- his scar-covered face and brooding eyes. He wore a thin sword under his robe, which vibrated with the blowing wind, making sounds like the trembling of thin metal. The second ‘helper’ was a youth, no older than sixteen, with an exceptionally robust body. He wore chainmail too coarse and heavy for his age and leather armor. The two-handed swords strapped to his side were curbed shorter to match his height.
The two sides confronted one another.
Father and Mother were barely able to make out the small totems tattooed upon the temple of the middle-aged swordsman and the hand armor of the young swordsman. These helpers were from the Da’Khaee, which gave them great hope.
The Beastkin was now overcome with rage. Both he and the Paladin knew these were no ordinary warriors and in order to triumph, they had to take the preemptive strike.
Both sides suddenly struck simultaneously. The Beastkin howled, the Paladin roared in fury, and Father and Mother made their battle cries, with the two helpers also moving forward.
The second encounter had begun.
The Second Encounter
The Beastkin faced the middle-aged swordsman first. However, the swordsman leapt over him with such speed, his red silhouette seemed to spread everywhere, like paint upon the water. Brilliant red and flashes of sharp steel blurred the creature’s vision, and not knowing where to assault, the creature could only duck and hide, occasionally thrashing his sword into the air. However, he only sustained minor injuries, as tufts of its fur and hair flew in clumps, here and there.
The Paladin fared no better with the young swordsman, who had struck with both two-handed swords. Unexpectedly, the Paladin was forced to retreat a few steps, all while feeling a shiver down his spine. He knew this youth could not possibly be stronger than he was, and his swords were much smaller… how was it possible to feel so weak against him? He roared to drown out his own fear, and sprinted towards him to battle once more.
With the two highly skilled warriors there to help, Father and Mother were more confident in their fight with the other two warriors. It didn’t take long for the warrior encountering Mother to be pierced through at the ankle and fall to the ground; then, turning to join Father’s battle, their opponents were quickly defeated.
The rain slowly stopped.
The Beastkin couldn’t bear being beaten without a chance to fight back, so with a great deal of risk, it grasped the hilt of the middle- aged swordsmen’s blade as it flashed past him. The edge bit into his flesh like a snake, breaking the skin; however, he stretched his right hand towards the left arm of the swordsman, hoping to at least rip his left arm off…
He scratched and tore but only managed to tear his opponent’s robe apart, sending strips of cloth floating through the air. However, under the tattered cloth his smooth left shoulder revealed a secret.
The swordsman seemed to be one-armed!
The swordsman and the Beastkin drew back from one another to assess any damage. The swordsman checked his sword, which was now mangled beyond recognition and barely usable. The Beastkin tried to move its left hand only to find it hanging there, swinging limply, its nerves and tendons badly damaged.
The creature roared in anger once again, only this time the roar was mingled with a hue of despair. He charged toward the swordsman. The swordsman looked at his twisted blade. How could he counter with such a useless weapon? Mother gave a great cry as she hurled her sword towards him.
Abandoning his thin warped sword, he leaped into the air, and grasped the sword, slashing toward the Beastkin with tremendous force as he descended.
On the other side, the young swordsman was in greater force against the Paladin. No matter his strength or swordsmanship, he knew his defeat was eminent. Blow after blow the Paladin was knocked backward, but never lost his balance. Time and again, he was so close to falling to the ground, which fueled the young swordsman to continue striking again and again and again.
And then, he saw the calculated look in the Paladin’s eyes.
With no time to think as his sword came down a final time, the Paladin finally fell to the ground…
Right beside the girl!
Immediately, he turned his body, grasping the girl’s neck tight, the edge of his sword against the girl’s jaw. A devious smile spread across his face.
“Don’t move, lad, or her head gets sliced off.”
The warrior stopped wielding.
“Now, slowly put down that infernal sword,” the Paladin commanded.
The young swordsman stood upright, looking at his sword. He had thought about putting it down, but instead changed his mind, jamming the blade down, stabbing it into the soil.
“Good,” said the Paladin. “Now, you…” The Paladin’s words trailed off as he saw the terrifying look in the young swordsman’s eyes.
Under capture of the Paladin, the girl was filled with fear; however, as she saw the eyes of the young swordsman, even her own fear was pushed side.
The pure power she now saw in him was far more powerful than the fear the Paladin brought to her, and more powerful than the Paladin himself. The wrath in the eyes of the young swordsman convinced her, letting her know that nothing could stop her destiny from happening- no matter how big the world was, how cruel her enemies were, and how limited her own strength was.
And it was this truth that was about to destroy the Paladin.
“I don’t know who you are, or what you are up to,” said the young swordsman, “all I know is that you are scum, a flea trying to suck out the rare blood of us, the Da’Khaee. You are unimportant. And I will not allow you to harm my clan.”
He reached into the air; his fists clenched in a firm grip, and shouted, “Die in agony.”
The Paladin cringed in fear, still holding the girl and his sword tight, waiting for the reaction from his opponent. However, the young swordsman merely shivered, with his fists held firmly in the air. But nothing seemed to happen.
Was that it? What was this threat supposed to mean?
The Paladin thought of launching an attack when he noticed some blood, oozing from the edges of the young swordsman’s fists.
Before he could react, the Paladin felt a firm grip around his throat and he couldn’t seem to breathe.
He let go of the hand clutching the girl, and moved it to his burning throat. It didn’t take long for the burning feeling to spread, down to his larynx. Blood began to flow out from his mouth and nose.
He lay down his sword, held his own throat with both hands, and feel to his knees.
Blood of the young swordsman streamed down along his wrists, and started dripping off from his elbow, and the Paladin then collapsed, and began writhing on the ground, making various eerie and twisted noises, as if someone clamped his throat with a burning iron vice…
“No...Stop!” the middle-aged swordsman shouted, but the young swordsman didn’t seem to hear him. “Darcy, what on earth are you doing?! Did you not hear me?” Yet the young swordsman, called Darcy, did not stop. The middle-aged swordsman stood before Darcy, glaring with a serious look in the eyes. “I told you to stop!” he commanded once more.
Finally, the young swordsman seemed to awaken from his ‘trance.’ He looked at the middle-aged swordsman, then looked at the Paladin, who was in the throes of death, then looked at the middle-aged swordsman once again.
With a loud a snort from his nostrils, he let go. The Paladin’s struggle ceased at once.
The middle-aged swordsman approached the Paladin, lying nearly lifeless on the ground. Darcy said with disgust, “He will die-now or later.”
The middle-aged swordsman turned his head, glaring at his companion.
“But not like this!”
Darcy looked away.
As the Paladin lay motionless on the ground, darts of lights flashed beneath his closed eyes, and ringing filled his ears. The world was spinning nonstop. What had happened to him? He had heard about such a thing… some of the Da’Khaee knew how to use Blood Magic. Was this what he had experienced, or was it some evil poisons? He had been warned by his superiors not to eat anything offered by the Da’Khaee, avoid contamination with their blood, not to touch their women and to be careful of getting bitten by the little red flying louses released by the Clan…could he have just been bitten? That kind of little flying louse could not be released in stealth, legend had it there were red beams when the louses were released…was there a red light? Was that the case? Then what had happened?319Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡywZYacVusR
