Foreword
Welcome. My name is Michael Hudson, or, as I was known for a long time, Jumbled Thought. This is why I have used the title that I have for this book, because the themes within, the styles, and the inspirations all come from a mind that drifts and find new things to write about, whether I want it to or not. I do not wish to dwell on just myself though, not when I wish to use this to acknowledge the man who inspired my first legend and made me realize my love for writing this sort of tale, whose memory I hope may be immortalized to some extent through this.
His name to me was Raiden Fireblade. He was a friend I’d only had the pleasure to speak with perhaps a handful of times, and only ever online through Skype. He was a part of some of the groups I was in, but never the most talkative man. If someone wanted advice though, or needed a friend, he would come quickly to their aid.
And so when one night it was decided for him to be taken from us, without warning, without farewells, and the only solace being that it had been painless and in his sleep, I saw those affected by him crumble. I personally had wished to have known him better, but I only had my limited experiences, and the impact he’d had on my friends.
So, with those in mind, I did my best to honor his memory, using his regular username to guide my mind, and to such a fervor did it find that within an hour from when I began, I had finished a story for this dear friend.
I wish to thank him now, and his family, for allowing me the joy gained from this tale. It’s still to me my proudest story, because it was not merely to entertain or to cause others to think, but meant for a few certain people to comfort them. To help them. To allow them to find some closure in the times that had befallen them.
And thank you Raiden for allowing me to continue your work in this way. I only hope that wherever you are, though good I know it is, that it helped you find peace and be able to enjoy eternity as you may have desired.
The Legend of Raiden Fireblade
This story takes place long ago, in a world ruled by fear. Where you turned, bandits, monsters, and death would meet your feet. It was a place few wished to live in, and made some wish that the devil himself would come to take their sanity. At least then they would have no minds to comprehend the pain they were in.
One town, stuck upon the side of a mountain, with a dense forest on all sides, knew all of this. Nowhere that these poor folk went was safe, minus the one, large clearing that held the fifty souls of their community. Only there could they fight back the horrors that claimed the forest, their home, and even that was turning into a losing battle.
It was during these dark times that a gift came to the village. A sword that appeared one night, with no craftsmen to claim it. All around the shining, steel blade, was a blue flame, threatening to burn any who touched it. Those who came close though, heard its challenge. Heard its want for a master, and the promise that whoever used the blade would be able to keep the village safe, and would eventually make it prosper.
To many of the men, the very idea of fame set them sprinting into the blaze, only to have their hands and forearms singed as the flames licked them. The smell of burnt hair made sure their shame was known as it rejected the unworthy. Some women, fueled by their desperation, tried their hands to lift the blade and, while it did not act as vicious to those merely seeking to save their children, it would still refuse them.
It was not until one man, by the name of Raiden, came to the blade that things changed. By then, all others had tried, and failed, to pull out the blade. He himself had always stayed away, not being one for violence and glory, and thus, had not been interested in the blade. By now though, he had grown tired of the pain. He was wise enough to know that if none of them wielded the weapon, they would all fall. So even though he suspected it would reject him, he walked into the circle of flames, and was engulfed by the ensuing inferno.
At first, the white landscape around Raiden made him think that he had indeed been rejected, and so harshly that he was now spirited beyond away from those he loved. However, Raiden soon saw a flame come to life, and an ancient being, wreathed in flame as his only form of modesty, stepped out to face him. No words needed to be said for the meaning to be understood. This was the spirit of the sword, and a deal was to be struck.
“My flame is not like those you’ve had before. A spark can destroy stone castles, while a stray burn will spread to swallow even the largest of silos, taking all within with it. For those who wish to see this, who wish to burn, to consume, to kill, that is what my power shall become. This is why I offer to you, and only you, my powers. It will bring you into combat, but in return, your home and people will know your kindness, and you will brighten the land like a great bonfire, but only so long as you continue to use it right.”
Raiden opened his mouth to accept, but the spirit stomped a foot to the ground. From it, the landscape began to crack and split while magma sprouted from below, threatening to swallow them both. “Do not be so quick to accept, for there is a price, just as with any flame. Once I leave the ground, my flame will no longer be able to use the Earth to feed it. The one who wields me must thus carry the burden of that fire, feeding it and keeping it strong.. If ever it were to go out, so will the wielder.”
This stopped the man for only a moment, before he nodded in agreement. At this same moment, the wailing townspeople, who now thought they saw this trickster blade’s true colors, had to rush back as the fire shot into the sky, illuminating the world for miles around.
And when they looked back down, they saw Raiden, blade in hand, shielded from the flames by seemingly nothing.
For the next few months, Raiden went to work, earning what would soon be his nickname. Fireblade, as one would never see him without it, and the assumed holy blade seemed apt for the young man. He could purge any evil that came to threaten his home, whether it be a frightful chimera, a band of bandits, or even a foul hydra, bent on consuming them with its multiple heads. He face them all without a hint of fear, throwing himself into their protection.
Even with all of this, Raiden never fell, nor, perhaps,.was elevated from his position in life. If he were not in combat, he refused to ever lift a hand against another. Even if a fool came up, attacking him so as to try to challenge the ‘champion’, he would not dare retaliate. Instead, he would simply walk away back to his farmstead where he insisted on working for his food and living. Most gifts, while thanked dearly, were refused, no matter how grand or rich. He simply tried his best to keep being the man he was, and that included making others happy, not himself.
Unfortunately, not even a year would pass before he would be tested. This great obstacle came in the form of a goddess, who came to the town only because she was chasing a remnant of the evil itself, and trying to bring it to order. She had been injured recently though, and required refuge. However, few recognized her for the being she was, and thus shut their doors from what they thought might be a corpse that was soon to be made, or a trickster bent to burn their homes down.
Reaching Raiden’s house though, she was accepted with open, but worried arms. He explained to her that the town was fearful, for this was to be the first winter with him as their guardian, and they weren’t used to being able to trust yet. The goddess acknowledged it as fair, but showed her pain while doing so. It was while Raiden cauterized her wound that the shred that she’d chased fell upon them.
The house soon became a battle field as the mass of death and pain burst through the wall. It had no stable form, instead being a cloud of purple, black, and lightning. What it touched became corrupted, losing form, or changing to something entirely unrecognizable due to the beast. It towered over the two, taking away Raiden’s roof, and most of the walls as it brought itself
up, readying its attack.
The goddess refused the slam with a pulse of light, trying to force the beast back, as she was in no condition to fight it. The barrier was weak, as the goddess was too injured, and fell to her knees as she put more and more of her energy to their protection. Raiden knew it would not hold for long though. This beast would consume them of nothing was done, and then all he knew, until nothing was left of his home.
The goddess was amazed at the speed of which the man drew his blade of blue flame and charged the beast. He danced just outside of its tendrils and fields of destruction, cutting off pieces of it that lingered too far from its body, before letting the sword bring them to dust in a blaze of flame. The process was slow though, and the creature began to move away. No longer would it attack this fringe house, but instead aimed for the village as it lurched down the hill towards the people who only now saw the threat. Once Raiden saw this, he knew he could not allow it.
For a moment, the spirit came back into his peripherals, but was quickly ignored. It would not help him, only distract from the task. The blade became white hot, and drops of molten steel fell to the ground at his feet as fire surrounded Raiden. His brown hair was flecked with ash, his white skin now burned black at the edges due to the intense heat. From this blaze came a gout of fire that ripped through the air before coming into contact with the mass’s center. The effect was quick as a ring of blue carved away at the beast, taking with it its corruption and power.
The mass cried out in pain, before it raised itself again, now seeing that his adversary was dug in, and thus going nowhere. Defenseless as it was, the beast would now be able to remove the thorn that had stuck to its side. It was this stretched pillar that was its downfall, as the flame around Raiden shifted focus, and began to encircle the beast. It howled as the flames grew higher and higher, the man’s wand beckoning it to grow. To put the beast in the cleansing fires that it deserved to be in. Parts of it vaporized merely by touching the flame, meaning it could not collapse. It would be cut in two then, but if it did nothing, it would continue to be eaten away.
There was no answer for the beast though as the pillar swirled around it, covering the hideous monster in it’s blue hues, all while the monster howled, its cry shaking the trees and awakening the world with its death rattle.
The goddess came out and met her hero in the clearing. He was breathing hard, and collapsed upon the ground as she neared. When she asked if he was okay, he promised he was, and that he simply needed to rest. He was tired, but he would be okay. The goddess nodded her understanding, and made sure to promise to thank him properly for what he had done in the morning.
She would never get that chance though, as, unbeknownst to them all, even Raiden, the blade had only embers remaining on it now, and by the time dawn came, the last of the fire left it, taking the fire within Raiden’s chest with it, as well as his final breath to blow the sparks along their way.
When the tragedy was found, the goddess requested a week of mourning, so as to honor his memory. The villagers would not hear it though, as they requested two weeks, ten, even a year of mourning for their fallen hero. The goddess knew better though, reprimanding them for such a selfish action, and forgetting why Raiden had ever fought for them. He had done all of this so they could not simply survive, but thrive, and for them to lose everything just to mourn him was the ultimate injustice they could bring upon his memory.
At the wise words, the town agreed, and a week long celebration ensued soon after. The body was taken care of the only way they saw fit, by burning Raiden with the last of his house, with the blade on his chest. When the blade survived the blaze, now ashen grey instead of steel, they put it back into the ground at the very place they had first found it, in memorial for his service.
The goddess had one more declaration though. One more honor to bestow upon him. With a great flourish, the morning sun behind her, she declared that this is where she would begin to find peace once more for this world. That she would make this her new home, and that she herself would make sure to use the life Raiden given her to make sure his people headed the world she would make, and find forever a place under the sun, with a fire beside them to keep them warm.
As her words echoed across the solemn clearing, the people bowed in respect for their goddess, their new protector, a small spark came down. The goddess did not watch as it flew upon the breeze, her eyes closed to the small piece of orange flame, until it touched her cheek. It brought no pain, but only a warmth, and the goddess smiled as she put her hands on his blade and took up his mantle with his blessing, a final gift that he would give them all to help them find peace and happiness, just as they always had gotten from their hero: Raiden Fireblade.
After the Fight
The ring of bullets in his ears. The blood of his comrades, spilled on the stones of a ruined city. His own gun’s crack as it shells out death. The dust and soot that fills his lungs, and makes it burn like poison just to breath. The panic and tension of that last enemy encampment, and above it all, the chorus of tanks. Over and over, and all orchestrated by that grinding, groaning, screami-
“Soldier, what are you doing?”
The boy opens his eyes, his heart still in his ears as he looks at the ground. It is gray, a paved street, just like so many before now. This one is cracked from explosives, and he sits on the remains of a fallen balcony, the one place without blood that he could find. Now he looks up, and pales as he sees his superior above him. However, as he has been trained, just as any soldier has been, he moves, standing to attention. He knows it’s sloppy though, and his knees can’t help but shake after what he has seen today.
The gruff man across from him just grimaces. He has seen this before, from the last war. It almost disgusts him, as the boy is too young to deserve to be here. There is a side of him that says it’s no worse than anything he has done, but he tries to push those thoughts away, wishing it would ever work. “Boy, drop the salute. It isn’t going to help you.”
The boy pales more, his eyes drifting downwards as his shoulders slump in defeat. He is to be punished, he knows it, but he still has to at least try for his case. “I’m sorry, Sergeant. I wasn’t trying to ignore my duties though. I helped dig the latrines with the others, and was just…”
“Thinking?”
He looks up, and for the first time in his service, sees a tear at the edge of his superior’s eye. From what he knew, they weren’t supposed to hurt, or feel such things like this, but… “Sergeant, are you okay?”
A sigh escapes the old man, and he places a hand on the boy’s shoulder, but not without wincing from wounds that had healed improperly so long ago. One of the few things that had made it through the last blasted conflict. “You can call me Hilward, if it makes you more comfortable.”
It didn’t, not after Basic, and the even more intensive training that had come before deployment. Still, when he thought about it more, it maybe did. He couldn’t know right now. “Yes, Hilward… but why am I allowed to call you this?”
The old man sat down on a part of the balcony, groaning as his stiff joints protested back. Looking out towards the town, he could see the carnage himself, and didn’t blame the boy for turning away. With all the corpses about from the resistance here, unlike the last few towns, it was far harder to bare. “Do you smoke?”
The boy sat down, realizing that if Hilward didn’t want to tell him, he didn’t have to. He was just happy for the company. “No sir, not anymore. My girl back home detests the smell, and it was hard enough to quit once.” He then tried to smile, but it only came with a deep, sudden pain in his chest.
“Don’t try to joke. It’ll only make the pain worse.”
The boy raised an eyebrow at the comment, as he didn’t know how jokes could hurt. For that matter, make what pain worse? He had ended up unscathed throughout the battle. At least, aside from a few cuts and bruises. He was fi- “Agh!”
“You’re not fine either.” The sergeant could feel the younge
r man’s gaze fall on him, but he paid it no mind. It wasn’t mind reading, just experience. “A normal person’s mind reels at stuff like this, and denying it without something to take the edge off,” he took a moment to emphasize this and flick the ashes off his cigarette, “isn’t going to work, especially in the long term.”
The boy stayed silent now, and went back to looking at the ground. Jokes and willpower were the best ways he had found to deal with this though. Back in basic, the sheer desire he had to protect his country, and to help his beloved, made him get through it. Once in a platoon, jokes had won him over so many comrades. Why was now different?
“So, you said you had a girl? Why don’t you tell me about her, William?”
For a moment, the question of how Hilward could know is his first name was in his mind, but he quickly remembered that this man was still his superior, and that that information would have been easy for him to get. “Ah, you don’t want to hear about her. It’s not like we have a real exciting story anyways.”
The sergeant tapped the back of his cigarette again, clearing it as he looked at the embers, and felt a familiar ache in his chest. “Just because you think it’s not special doesn’t mean it isn’t. Those we love should never be thought of like that, not when they think the world of us, and are worrying about our deaths at this very moment. At least, if you’re lucky.”
The pain in William’s chest grew, but… Hilward was right. His dear Josephine was waiting at home for him, and he had received a letter every week from her so far, which was a lot better than most of his peers got. “Her name is Josephine. She is a beautiful blonde, with long locks that would make any good man proud to call his own. Of course, like most women, she really owns me, if not just because of those soft, red lips, and…”
Hilward could feel the tear roll down his cheeks as William looked to the sky. The boy probably didn’t even realize he was smiling now. “So, I’m guessing she is why you fight?”
Legends From a Jumbled Man Page 1
