The Ancients

by Adam-Clay Webb

  “My men! Silence!” Greyner shouted, and order resumed. “Hidden within this fort you look upon are the entire Zakashi Village! We will break it down and capture everyone inside! Kill whoever puts up a fight!” There was a mighty roar from the army. “But first, watch me defeat this man who so many has grown to fear!” Greyner quickly made his way up on the roof where Blade was still sitting. The soldiers watched keenly. They had all heard of Blade. Finally, they would see him in action for themselves. Greyner tossed the flag down to one of his men. The solider caught it nervously. If he had let it hit the ground, it would have cost him his life. Greyner eyed the archers that were well ready to pierce the unmoving Blade with their arrows. “This is almost too easy to be called a victory,” Greyner said with a smirk. He looked about at his massive audience.

  “Have you not heard the tales?” Blade finally said, just opening his icy eyes. His sword was calmly lying before him, comfortably relaxing in its sheath, as if having no interest in spilling the blood of these weaklings.

  “Blade of Zakashi Village, the living legend… Who hasn’t heard the tales? You may be good, but only a god could defeat this army singlehandedly!”

  “I will give you one chance, just to be at peace with my conscience.”

  “What?!”

  “Withdraw. Lead not your men to their death, who have wives and children to mourn for them.”

  Greyner and all else who heard Blade began laughing profusely, most of them anyway; some were quite wary of this man called Blade. To the commanding general, Blade’s victory was certainly unimaginable. Blade stood slowly, his sword still at his feet. Greyner held out his hands as the snipers were at the brink of firing.

  “You think a few dozen archers will accomplish what hundreds of men failed to do?” Blade asked the general. “So you brought two thousand men instead of one.”

  “A grander audience,” the general said, wielding his heavy sword. “I’ve been giving out orders for many years now. I think I will enjoy remembering how it feels to slay someone myself… someone as grand as you at that.” Greyner laughed again. Blade looked about at the mass of soldiers. He had never before seen so many men in one place.

  “I wish I could tarry,” Blade said, “But I will have to finish you off quickly that I might lend Hercule the edge of my blade.”

  “It’s impressive how certain you are of your victory even when you’re surrounded by two thousand men.”

  “Numbers are meaningless before true strength.”

  Greyner stared at the cold eyes of Blade. The king sent two thousand men to fight this one man… After this war, I will be the new U.S.G, and if that bastard dies in the war, I am next in line for Supreme General… Why the hell would I even think of challenging that man myself? Greyner reconsidered. My life will be set when this mission is over.

  “You die either way,” Blade said, as if seeing his thoughts clearly.

  “Archers, fire!” the commander blasted, and in a split second, there was the zinging sound of tens of arrows piercing through the air at malignant speeds, each with the accuracy gained by years, decades of training. There were cries of death, and the dreadful moment ended. Staggering back with bulging eyes, Greyner looked down at his men, tens of arrows lodged inside him. With skill thought impossible, Blade had redirected the arrows to kill his enemies with the swift movement of his hands.

  Greyner fell backward off the Zakatian roof. Tens of the soldiers nearby were already killed, arrows stuck in their foreheads. With a loud roar, the soldiers began scaling the shrine, and more arrows sped up at the Zakatian. Blade grabbed up his sword and uncased it, jumping down from the roof into the sea of Magmalians, killing many men before he landed.

  ***

  “Zedra, are you done setting that trap for the wizard? I can’t have anything get in the way of grasping Libson,” Aragan said.

  “Do not worry, my lord. Everything is in place. You will face no interference.”

  ***

  The place was filled up with purple mana again as Viknor reached back. “How are my men?” Giovanni asked, frantically looking through the spyglasses, “Do we yet have the leeway to move out our strike force?”

  “Strike force?” Ki asked. Azar was a bit relieved that not even the Prime Minister knew what the Supreme General spoke of.

  “Lord Ki, certainly we must send a team to the Magmalian Tower as soon as possible! How are our numbers, Viknor?!”

  “Hard to tell exactly, but we’ve lost a little under a third of our men, and the Magmalians have lost about two fifths of theirs.”

  “This is not good!” Giovanni blasted, “We have no choice! We have to attack Aragan’s tower!”

  “We don’t even have enough men to defend Hercule!” Ki said.

  “Exactly. If we strike Magma Town hard enough then Aragan will call for a retreat! You think Magma Town still has soldiers left there?! This is their entire army we’re up against!”

  “Don’t you think he will expect such an attack?! Snipers are now aiming miles from the tower in every direction!”

  “I could get you all there in a jiffy,” Viknor said.

  “And remember that witch is likely to be there with him too,” Ki said.

  “Now that Catherina is dead, no witch can possibly match my strength,” Viknor said. “If that witch is there, it will be to her own demise. As a matter of fact, I alone can do the job at the tower.”

  “He and I that is,” Azar said, “If my father must be slain, I shall be the one to slay him.”

  “I was hoping it would not come to such a decision,” Ki said.

  “I should have killed him before,” Azar said, “then this bloody war would not have happened.”

  “You and Viknor will go then,” Ki said.

  “We will not slay the king, young prince,” Giovanni said. “That would be reckless. We will defeat the soldiers there and Viknor will kill the witch. We will capture Aragan and use him to make his men lower their arms and retreat. While they retreat, we will strike and take the whole army out.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Kyle said. “As soon as this is done, we can send Blade all the help he needs!”

  “I will go alone and retrieve the king. From there we will deal with the hostage situation. I will better handle the witch and whichever guards present by myself,” Viknor said.

  “Take me,” Azar insisted. The old wizard grabbed Aragan’s son, and they disappeared with the appearance of purple mana.

  ***

  With speed and skill that none other from his era could even think to possess, Blade cut down on average a man per second. Their swords, their efforts, their training, whatever will they had, were all useless before the great Blade. The legendary sword sliced through the Magmalians’ feeble tools and bones with ease.

  “Is this sorcery?! Why can’t we hit him?!” one of the mounted archers gave out. Blade ran his sword cleanly through another soldier’s throat, kicking the severed head that it struck an incoming soldier and gave him a concussion. By the time the headless body hit the ground, eight more deaths were caused by the legendary swordsman.

  An appearance of red mana caught Blade’s eyes. “Anam Resal!” a voice called out, and a red beam of pure magical energy rushed toward Blade, tearing carelessly through the bodies of its master’s allies. Blade crouched slightly, then in a flash, escaped the beam entirely. In that same second, Blade’s sword was a millimetre and a third from slicing Zedra. Blade spun again as the witch disappeared.

  Zedra!! She heard her lord’s voice call in her head.

  She hissed, then slammed the ground with her palms. I wanted to finish him myself, but this will have to do. “Spirit of Vigour!” she declared, “Cover they who fight for my king! Azakindrea Alkstead! Jhimerish Khaton!” A thick, fluidic body of redness surrounded the woman, then dispersed from her rapidly. The men shielded their faces from the blinding light.

  “This energy!” one soldier blasted. The private’s eyes widened as he saw that his allies all wo
re a slight pink glow about them.

  “Now finish him!” Zedra commanded, then vanished in a cloud of mana.

  What?! Blade jumped back quickly as a few soldiers darted off at him at unexpected speeds. He landed and skated a bit, jumping again in evasion of quick attacks. “I see.” Blade understood. He smirked a little, knowing that the fight had just begun.

  ***

  Azar looked around in confusion. “Not bad, my lady,” he heard Viknor mutter.

  “Where is this place?!” Azar asked, sounding more annoyed of it than frightened. They found themselves in an endless wasteland of skulls and bones, a mist of dust lying just above the ground.

  “It seems our dear friend set a little trap for us,” the old wizard said.

  “Is this a subdimension we’re shifted into?”

  “Basically, yes. This technique requires quite a level of experience to pull off though. This is quite interesting. A special kind of portal was erected about the Magmalian Tower, so any sorcerer who tries to shift to there will end up being transported to this place instead. It’s a shift diversion technique. Very nice.”

  “So how do we get out?!” Azar asked, sounding impatient.

  “Well, that would take a few moments. But I doubt our friend plans to sit and watch me undo her spell. She will come here to fight us where the king will not be threatened. It’s a pity she doesn’t know that she cannot win.” The place was strange and eerie. There was no sky, only a black roof of emptiness.

  ***

  “I sense they are caught, my king – the wizard and your son.”

  “Well go and deal with them. Make sure I don’t have to see either of them again.”

  “Consider them dead, my lord,” Zedra said, then made a transdimensional shift, appearing before those she was sent to kill.

  “Goodie, just as I was getting bored!” Viknor said, a playful-looking smile on his face.

  Azar’s heartbeat suddenly went crazy, and he stared with a tingling fear at the ominously powerful man before him. The man’s face was pale and eerie, and his hair was smooth and silky, about as long as Blade’s. Somehow, this man seemed to resemble death itself. The grim-faced man slowly walked up to the shivering prince. Azar just realized that the witch he was about to confront seemed to be frozen in time, like a high-grade paralysis spell had struck her. Azar tried to turn his head to his right to look at Viknor. He even tried to utter his name, but the nightmarish feeling disabled him completely. He could not break his gaze into Oga’s eyes. Azar felt sweat wash down his face as Oga walked up to him. The man as old as the world’s oldest myths and legends stretched forth his right hand and touched Azar on his shoulder. “My child…”

  Chapter 3: Son of Aredes

  With speeds and strengths of men who lived in ancient time, of men whose grandparents probably knew Zakashi’s grandchildren, the Magmalians kept Blade moving fast and swinging hard.

  Already?! A man who Blade had just kicked off was already rushing on with many others. Blade made a rapid spin, killing four men, then jumped back quickly to avoid an enemy sword, the ground cracking from the force of his movement. The rate at which the enemies were falling had decreased dramatically since Zedra’s spell. “Seems this will take longer than I had imagined,” Blade said to himself, dodging a few more attacks and replying with some of his own.

  ***

  As the young prince stared into the eyes of the world’s first wizard, he felt the power of death loom over his soul.

  “Calm yourself, boy,” Oga said. “I have come to cleanse you, to restore your power.” Azar tried to speak, but the unnatural fear stopped him from uttering a word. “It seems my accomplice enjoys watching you fight. Your soul is burdened with a conflict of powers. Magic, lightning, fire and darkness are just too much for your feeble spirit to handle.” The old wizard took a few steps back, then held out his right hand toward the shaking Azar.

  What is this fear? Why can’t I do anything?! Is this death sweeping over me?! Azar panicked. He could not understand the terror he was feeling. Gold, glowing writings appeared brighter and brighter on Oga’s arm. Azar recognized them instantly to resemble the inscriptions he had seen on the golden vials he knew could contain dark spirits.

  “Come forth!” Oga commanded. Azar’s consciousness flickered as a flurry of darkness was pulled from his soul through his eyes. The strange entity gathered in Oga’s palm. The wizard clenched his fist tightly, and the dark sphere became a black mist that quickly dissipated. Azar panted heavily, staring forward at the man called a god by history. “Your mana will take some time to regenerate, but your lightning should be operational. Your fire-making is innate, so it will return to you, but in weeks to come… Farewell.” With that, Oga vanished without a trace, without a cloud of mana.

  “So you think you can beat me, my lady? Do you have a clue of what my power is like?” Viknor asked Zedra. “Huh?” He looked over at Azar. “What’s the matter, kid?”

  What the… Oga… Viknor would think I am mad if I tell him what just happened. The prince clenched his fists in focus, trying to call forth either of his powers. Viknor stared down at the bright, white, sharp lights that surrounded the man’s fists. A confident smirk appeared on Azar’s face. “I’ll explain later, but I think I am finally ready for battle.”

  “Why isn’t your lightning black?” the wizard asked curiously.

  “That’s no matter,” Zedra said, “such elements are grossly inferior to magic!” A flare of red mana appeared about her as she stooped and slammed her hands against the ground. “Arise! Army of bones!” she commanded, and a ripple of red mana flung itself from her. Before Azar could react, Viknor erected a sturdy shield of purple mana around them. Ignoring the purple shield, the flash of red mana spread itself over about a square mile, gracing what seemed to be ancient bones half buried in the wasteland. Azar looked about and crouched a little as the earth trembled. Viknor was not troubled through. Rising from the ground, and generating flesh about themselves were the hundreds, maybe thousands of skeletons.

  “Pathetic, woman!” Viknor said, and without moving a muscle or visibly commanding a spell, a pulse of purple mana flashed out from the purple sphere that had covered him. Azar covered his eyes quickly from the bright purple light. Zedra conjured up a shield quickly, but her defence was inferior to the attack she faced. Her shield was destroyed and she was struck harshly by the wave of power. She cried out as she hit the ground some meters off, rolling on the dusty wasteland. She recovered to her feet quickly though, red mana already surrounding her and healing her bruises. She clenched her teeth and stared at the smiling Viknor, seeing her army was already destroyed, and with a single and effortless attack. “I bid you, abandon your mission and do not force me to kill you!” Viknor said.

  “Don’t get cocky yet, senile old man! A superior grade of magic doesn’t guarantee victory!”

  “It’s a pity you won’t live to benefit from all that I will now show you!” Viknor said, summoning up mana about his hands. “Azar, do you want to kill her yourself?” Viknor asked so Zedra heard, “Take your time. My paralysis spell will keep her from escaping.”

  “Like you can touch me with such elementary spells.”

  “I’m afraid you’re already bound by my technique,” Viknor said. Zedra’s eyes widened as she tried to move. She couldn’t even spaceshift.

  What?! When?! There was a slight film of purple mana about her. Seeing the look on Zedra’s face, Azar realized that she was already suffering from Viknor’s silent spell.

  This man, if even by force, he will teach me! Azar made up his mind. “Alright, I’ll end this now and kill my father!” Azar held his hands out toward the witch and released two bolts of deadly current. Zedra stared at the approaching streaks, hearing the loud rustle of death nearing.

  There was a thunderous sound as the bolts struck a purple shield of mana that had just appeared. Azar dropped his hands in weariness. He hissed, realizing that his stamina with electricity had not improved one
bit. As a purple cloud of mana dispersed, another enemy’s appearance was revealed. An old woman in a black dress with patterned skulls about its hem was standing beside Zedra, her hand on the woman’s shoulder.

  Zedra sighed heavily. “I knew you’d come,” she said to her rescuer, still looking forward at Viknor and the prince. Azar glanced over at Viknor. He could not understand the look on the wizard’s face. His eyes were wide and Azar was sure the old man was even shaking a little.

  What the hell’s going on? Azar wondered.

  “Don’t get mushy, my failure of a student,” the appeared woman said coldly. “It was this wizard’s power that I sensed. You could say I saved you by accident with the shield I appeared with. You go on home now. I will kill this man.”

  “He is your enemy as well, Hilda?” Hilda’s face was fixed with grave seriousness. Zedra saw that she indeed had longstanding resentment for this wizard. “Let us kill him together then!” Zedra said, sounding quite fond of the idea.

  “Girl, you will only get in my way in a fight like this!”

  “Hilda! I’m not the weak, hopeless witch you left behind many years ago! I will prove my strength while we fight this sorcerer.”

  Hilda hissed in annoyance. “Very well. Just don’t stain my dress with your blood,” Hilda gave the prospect a chance. “As I am sure you already know by now, though, this wizard is distances from you in skill. I warned you, so if you get killed I will still get some sleep tonight.”

  Zedra laughed. “When we are done here, you should come work for the king with me,” Zedra said.

  “And what use would he have for you after seeing my skill?” the reply came bluntly.

  “Who is this woman?” Azar asked. “Is she Catherina who you thought was dead?” Azar asked Viknor, whose countenance had changed. He no longer looked frightened and jittery, but was serious and solemn, like the fight wouldn’t be as much a pleasure as he had anticipated.

  44 Years Earlier

  “Great Aredes, I know your son is a councillor as well. If you find it too difficult to kill your Viknor, then have him join you and work for me,” Prime Minister Vax said.