The Seventh Spirit

by Adam-Clay Webb

  The first’s attention flashed back to Shaman as he quickly rose back up from the ground and darted toward Blade again with an angry cry. He swung at Blade again, ignoring the first’s voice. Blade jumped back, his back now against the wall. With another shout, the elder stabbed at Blade’s neck. Blade shifted his head swiftly and his uncle’s sword stuck into the brick wall, sending tiny cracks through it.

  SNAP!

  CRACK!

  Blade grabbed his uncle’s right wrist tightly, then turned it around three hundred degrees, taking it apart. Spectators shivered as they watched and heard the ruthless attack. The man uttered a loud cry of agony, and his sword fell to the ground. Blade blasted the man’s face with his right fist, having to jump slightly. The man landed on his back half a meter off, his teeth clenched, his face wrinkled and contorted in agonizing pain. The first elder ran up to Blade. Blade made a heavy, rapid and unforeseen jump-kick, blasting the elder over to the opposite wall. He landed onto the almost already destroyed wall, and landed on his knees and left hand, jamming his sword into the ground to support his body.

  Blade landed right over his uncle, as he had intended. The crying man curled up under the boy. Blade grabbed the man’s collar, stooping over him, his sword at the man’s throat. Shaman looked up into death with dim, fearful eyes. The ground cracked again as Blade wedged his sword into it, half a centimetre from his uncle’s left ear. The panting man stared up at Blade nervously, realizing he was still alive.

  “You’re not the one I need to kill,” the boy said, and rose from above the elder. He looked around in the shrine. All of his opponents were down, floored. All but the first elder that was.

  “All you waste men standing around, go and wrap the bodies! See who can be saved!” the first elder instructed the watchers. With that, the gathered crowd dispersed, returning to deal with their horrid reality. The show was over. Blade walked up to the standing elder grimly. He looked up at the man with cold eyes.

  “Will that be all, elder?” the boy asked.

  Tears gathered in the aged man’s eyes. The elder slowly walked around the shrine, closing up the windows and locking the doors. The place grew quite dim. Blade held his sword tightly still, ready to attack again if necessary.

  “Lower your sword, child,” the elder told him, dropping his. Blade lowered his sword and dropped it. “Come,” the elder said.

  The man walked toward a massive statue at the ‘most sacred’ part of the shrine, which was on a slight platform. It was a statue made entirely of iron, the statue of a heroic-looking man pointing a sword skyward with a grim expression. The elder stood before the statue. Blade stood close by the man, wondering. He was certain that the statue was immovable. The elder clasped his hands.

  “This man here, as you fully know, is the founder of our village, Zakashi Deus, the legendary son of the god of elements… Zakashi Village is known to be the oldest village in the world. It was the greatest… and now is reduced to this… But we will one day be great again… Do you believe in the ancient writings?”

  “I believe I must avenge my village and save my brother; that is what I believe,” the boy answered calmly.

  There was a brief moment, then the old man sighed.

  “According to the ancient writings and the oldest literature known to mankind, Oga, the god and founder of magic, created a perfect sword, a sword that is unbreakable and that can cut through anything. He gave this sword to the god of elements, who blessed it and passed it down to his own son. This was the blessing that was pronounced upon it: ‘The sword will preserve the people that dwells with it.’ The scriptures tell that if this sword is removed from its people for a full decade, the blessing shall become null… This sword…this blessing…these scrolls have been kept a secret within the council of the village elders for centuries.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” Blade asked impatiently.

  The aged man thrust his right palm against the statue, and it shifted back nearly a meter, like it was made of board. Blade’s eyes widened, and he gasped in shock as he witnessed what he was certain to be impossible.

  “Talent can never substitute experience, young one. You have much to learn.” With that, he took a step forward and turned to face Blade. The boy looked down at the floor suspiciously. “Hand me your blade,” the elder told him. Blade took up his sword and tossed it to the elder, who caught it quickly.

  “First, what do you think you’re doing?” Shaman groaned, struggling to stand.

  “Silence, Shaman!” the elder blasted, sounding disgusted of him. On closer inspection, Blade noticed fine creases in the ground. The first elder thrust the sword into one of the creases and smoothly eased out a large tile. With Blade’s help, the elder took up the tile and lay it to the side of the revealed space. Blade looked in wonder at the sunken square. It was a bit dusty. The elder grabbed a tiny brown string that was in it and pulled it, and the tile raised up a few inches about the floor. Blade’s brows crumpled. “Open it,” the elder told Blade. Blade looked closer, realizing that he was looking at an old drawer. He grabbed the tiny string and pulled it forcefully. It opened half way. He coughed, fanning the dust from his face. He tugged again and the drawer came out fully and landed on the cracked floor. The boy’s eyes widened. He stared down at the long, slender, beautiful sword, blowing it off quickly. It was the prettiest thing he had ever seen. It rested on some old torn papers. The designs on the handle were beautifully impeccable.

  The elder grabbed the sword’s handle firmly. “First…That sacred sword…That filthy, glorified brat doesn’t deserve to see it!” Shaman blasted, now fully standing. “Have you lost your mind, Lord First?!” the angry elder grappled up his sword in his left hand, glaring at Blade.

  “Come at him and I will kill you myself with the legendary blade!” the first warned. Shaman restrained himself promptly. The first elder suddenly shoved his hand toward Blade. He held the legendary sword in his hand, the blade pointing down to the ground. Blade stared at the sword with widened eyes. He felt paralyzed. “From now on, you shall be called Blade… This sword is a symbol of the faith the grandmaster had in you… I have in you… the village has in you. With this sword, you will be able to overcome every challenge that bombards you. Stay alive. Bring your brother back home.”

  “B—What about the prophecy?”

  “Be sure to return to the village in time… or our village’s blood will be on your hands.”

  Blade shook, humbled and nervous, realizing the grave level of responsibility being given to him by the present leader of his village.

  “Where is that look of strength you had when you defeated the most highly ranked men in your village?!” the elder asked sternly. Blade’s expression returned to what it was moments ago. He grabbed the sword presented before him firmly. A slight smile came upon the elder’s face. Blade’s hand trembled slightly as the elder let go of the weighty sword. “As of this day… your name is Blade.”

  Blade stared attentively into the elder’s eyes, forcing back heavy tears that tried to make their way out. He spun around quickly and ran past his uncle, bursting through the door of the shrine, the legendary sword in his hand, his will of steel prepared to be his guide. “I’m coming, brother…”

  Blade rose from the ground quickly and looked down at the sword he held, feeling truly the spirit he felt nearly ten years before. “I will return with this sword, Lord First.” He shot off toward Lex, the force of his movement sending wild cracks about the ground. He swiftly and effortlessly dodged the incoming assails, speeding dead-on toward his target.

  *

  The movements of the evil Blade had become slow and sloppy. This pushed Azar to give the last moments of his fight all he had. He dodged another of Blade’s punches, then kneed him in the gut. Blood rushed out of Blade’s mouth instantly. Azar kicked him off, still standing guard of the sword. It seems my mana is beginning to regenerate. Azar dodged another of Blade’s attacks, then offered another counter, kicking him away from
his sword. Blade staggered back and fell on his back. Seems his limit isn’t too far away either. This is simply a battle of endurance. Blade got up and kicked at Azar. Azar stepped back quickly, taking himself off Blade’s sword. Blade landed a solid punch in Azar’s face. The Magmalian staggered back drunkenly.

  “Here goes,” Azar muttered to himself. Blade finally grappled up his sword and made a strike at Azar. All that endurance and patience had finally paid off. Azar managed to shift directly behind the enemy. With all the energy he had left, Azar made a final strike. He blasted Blade’s temples with his frozen arms forcefully, sending cracks through his skull, nearly crushing his head. The bloody swordsman finally made his last fall. Azar uttered a heavy sigh and collapsed, watching Blade’s body turn to dust and his blood to water.

  *

  The vigorous Blade swung fearlessly at the black-eyed boy again. Lex jumped back, but Blade’s swing was too swift too be totally avoided. An inch-deep wound was made across the boy’s chest, which seemed to take effect just after the boy landed and skated back. Still with no emotion, the black-eyed boy rushed off toward Blade with a shadowball in his right hand. The boy swung at Blade with his hand, the shadowball making the swing a highly dangerous one. Lex spun to look behind him. It seemed Blade had moved with the speed of teleportation, adding unusual skill and willpower to the strange energy given to him. Lex jumped away, barely saving himself from Blade’s swing. Lex’s eyes dilated suddenly, as he was sure he saw Blade disappear. He turned around again to face Blade, and in a flash, Blade had shifted his position again. The swordsman’s speed had become too great even for the black-eyed boy to keep up with.

  SLASH!

  With speed making him next to invisible, Blade sliced Lex deeply in his left side. The boy spun wildly to attack Blade again, but again, Blade was already behind him. The cloak of darkness thickened around him in a final defence. He turned again to face Blade.

  SLUSH!

  Blade’s sword was revved through Lex’s back. It grazed his heart and protruded through his chest. Blade heard him wheeze and gasp, and the cloak of darkness disappeared quickly, like the strong darkness that was in his eyes. Blade drew his sword from the boy and watched his body turn to dust and his blood to water.

  *

  With earth-quaking roars and heart-stopping speeds, Lex and Azar rushed toward each other, ripping up the ground they moved across, each holding a shadow shell in a backward-stretched right hand. The earth caved and flew up where the two spheres of deathly might met. There was a thunderous sound, and a sudden and magnificent explosion, and vast darkness over many miles, like a sudden, moonless, starless midnight had just descended. Lex felt, in an immeasurably short amount of time, like he had covered miles of flight through tens of boulders. He finally crashed as he landed into a massive mountain of unusually hard rock, sending cracks all through it anyhow. The darkness faded from his eyes entirely. He landed on his face, unable even to fidget. Azar’s body was some twenty miles from his. It lay lifeless on dusty rock, and quickly turned to dust, as his blood turned to water.

  Lex could feel his consciousness, his very life draining away from him slowly and steadily. Suddenly he felt as if he were falling freely down an infinite abyss. The feeling grew more and more real, until it became frightening. Everywhere was dark. He tried to cry out, but no sound came from him. It seemed the darkness was too thick for sound to travel through. He stretched his hands upward as he lay on nothingness falling, as if trying to grab on to the sturdy darkness that nearly burst his pupils. He looked down to where he was falling, and felt even more horror. He was heading down into an indefinite pit of raging fire. Ghastly hands of bone stretched up out from the fire to greet and welcome him. He nearly vomited up his heart in fear and panic. Suddenly, he felt a firm grip on his chest. His descent stopped abruptly, and his head and feet hung downward with a jerk.

  He could feel the hellish heat from the hungry fire below. He looked up quickly into the face of Kyle, who wore a smirk, the one he would wear whenever he had earned a difficult victory. The boy was holding tightly to Lex’s tattered shirt. Lex quickly grabbed on to his friend’s and saviour’s arm, panting heavily, still unable to speak. He looked up past Kyle, and realized that a chain of persons were linking him to the top of whatever he was falling down. Holding on to Kyle was Clover, and Blade was grabbing on to her. There was Zen, Star, Azar, even Mike. Further up the chain, shining brightly, he was sure he saw old man Ben. His eyes widened as he was even more certain that he saw even his mother, who he had dreamed of so many nights, being the final link in this chain of salvation.

  Lex felt a sudden upward jerk as Kyle pulled him. He opened his eyes, panting heavily and sweating hard.

  “You’re finally awake,” Blade’s voice greeted him.

  “Always late,” Azar’s voice came in. Lex jumped up to a stand, looking around wildly. He was in a beautiful meadow, and the sky above him was cloudless, but the sun was mild. He saw Blade and Azar sitting about, just getting up, seemingly ready to move.

  “Where are we?” Lex asked in confusion. “Are we dead? Did I… kill you both?”

  “We too woke up here just moments ago,” Azar said. “I think we just overcame our final challenge.”

  “You mean… you guys were fighting me and… each other too?”

  “That’s right,” Azar answered. “It’s strange, really. How did you manage to beat Blade and me? And how on earth did Blade beat us both? It really makes no sense.”

  Blade held his sword up mightily with a smirk on his face, remembering the statue of the son of the god of elements. “With this sword, I can overcome any challenge.” Azar hissed.

  Lex spotted a dimly shining door a few meters off. “Is that the portal home?” he asked.

  “There’s but one way to be sure,” Blade said, already making his way toward it. The other two men walked with him.

  “No, seriously, Blade, did you really fight me and Lex? No offence or anything, but--”

  “Shut up, princess!”

  Chapter 36: Judgement Day

  The first rays of morning sun streamed down through the green, rustic hills that bordered the walls of Magma Town from many miles off. The streets were already noisy with traffic and hustling. Rumours here and there, no longer secretly and silently, went around the place – talk that judgement day had come. Most of the upper-class townspeople didn’t have time to pay mind to such foolishness though, but here and there, groups of naïve idiots gathered nervously, praying for mercy, readying their hearts and minds for the coming of Trium, warning the towns with poorly made signs plagued with misspellings and bad grammar that the day of Trium’s return was come. Still, what did they expect those they warned to do? Pray for forgiveness of their sins? The rumour that Trium would come that very day was all about the continent, it was across the every corner of the globe! The whole world was watching the skies, many in fear and anxiety, even more in scepticism and doubt. But many of the older folks had outlived several rumours of this sort. Well not really of this sort – this one was global, and many governments were making arrangements to meet this ‘Trium’ legend spoke of, just in case.

  “We gather here today to humbly pray to Trium, that he may have mercy upon us, his children!” one of the countless preachers declared in one of the many gatherings. Especially since sorcerers and oracles scattered here and there had seen the bizarre vision of the black rain, many ‘Triumites’ had emerged. This was the first sect to grow overnight and have millions of members across the hemispheres.

  ***

  King Aragan stared at his son in his plush, lively-looking coffin. He sat on an old mahogany chair that had belonged to his father and his father’s father, and his father as well. Some petty war had happened over the old chair some long time ago, so the king didn’t throw it out. He stared at the unmoving, sad-looking face of his son. He had been sitting there looking at him wordlessly for hours, like he too was somewhat dead.

  “All this rubbish about
this legendary Trium coming today… Heh… You would definitely be excited today… Always reading these fairy tales…I suppose you would try to convince me to ready my army to fight this god… or even tell me that my great nation could never defend against it…” The man sighed heavily, and touched Azar’s face, and closed his eyes. “Where are you now, Azar? Because of you I am now wondering about the afterlife… about such nonsense… Are you watching, Azar?” He moved his hand from his son’s face quickly, getting a sudden ghastly chill. “Do you know… that I will sink you under the ground today? Will you see the extravagant funeral and hear my speeches? What good is such a funeral if you cannot see it?” He rubbed his hand against the smooth, flawless hardwood – it was perfectly and beautifully varnished. He then stood up and turned his back to the coffin. “Only yesterday you were born to me… I wonder… Do you like the rare blue lilies I picked out for you?”

  “You should know that red is more my colour.”

  The Magmalian king, with a paused heartbeat and every hair on his body standing erect, shivered in indescribable fright. He shook wildly. Suddenly, his heart hammered, like it was trying to make up for the beats it had missed. The king felt his head swell up. He heard a slight scuffle behind him, and a loud exhalation, like a bedtime sigh. He spun around quickly to the most startling fright he would ever experience. His son sat up casually in the coffin, a very slight but identifiable smirk on his face. Azar looked at the mad-looking man. He snickered slightly, seeing for the first time such a look on his father’s face. The king stammered and babbled, not making any sense. The more he tried to speak, the more he shook and shivered uncontrollably.

  Azar climbed out of the coffin and yawned and stretched like he had woken from a good sleep. His startled father stepped back nervously, feeling behind him on the wrong side of the door for the knob. “Father, what is the matter with you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”