The Grim Legion

by Kindred Ult

  Just then, he saw a gray speck separate from the rest of the mass and walk down the slope to the middle of the valley. When it stopped, Demenn recognized it as Scar, the general of the werewolf armies. Scar stood silent for a moment, and then he spoke. His voice, deceivingly full of vitality, carried over the valley to the vampires and resounded across the entirety of the plain.

  "I am Scar, first class werewolf, general of the Royal Werewolf Army, and survivor of the Werepyre wars. I ask now if any of you vampires has the honor to face me in single combat. Have any of you the courage to face a mere animal as myself in battle?"

  There was an immediate roar, and Demenn knew it was Samael, but that was muffled, and Demenn could tell without looking that he was being held down by at least three other captains as he desperately tried to race his way to the middle. Normally, all would be satisfied with him dueling the general, but this was an officially announced battle, and as such, honor dictated that there was only one who was given the first opportunity to battle the challenger. If that one backed down, though, the battle was open to any. However, such an act would forever be remembered and recorded in the vampires' annals.

  Demenn felt that all of their eyes were on him, and once again there was only one recourse. He slowly walked away from the ranks of his unit and down the gently sloped field to the werewolf who waited for him. 'Damn honor.' He growled in his mind. When he reached the middle, Scar smiled with yellow teeth and bowed. "Greetings again Demenn, vampire first class. It is good to know that at least one vampire has something between his legs. Your honor is commendable, but you surely do not expect to defeat me, do you?"

  Demenn bowed as well. "There are many others, but they were not allowed to battle, as it was my right. Greetings to you as well, Scar. I do not pretend to know the outcome of this battle, but as long as you and your kind recognize that we have honor, my life will have been well spent."

  "Interesting words, coming from 'Scum.'" Scar had a better memory than Demenn had given him credit for, and that old man way of saying things in a perfectly annoying but correct manner.

  "Well, sometimes even Scum can transcend itself; become something greater when given something to fight, or die, for." Demenn replied.

  Scar actually seemed to ponder what he had said, then flashed his yellow teeth again and drew his sword. "Consider your point made. Now, shall we give them all something to gawk at?"

  Demenn drew his own sword in the instant that Scar charged forward. He had wanted to pull out his spear, but he knew that this was also a fight to show what the vampires could do, and to fight with a spear at this moment would reflect negatively on his race as spears were typically seen as a coward's weapon. Normally, he would not care, as winning was all that was important, but here it was different. He had an entire race to represent. All of these reasonings flew through his mind in a moment and produced the actions of drawing his sword, holding it in both hands, and settling with his weight on his back foot as the werewolf charged forward at him with speed that was faster than any werewolf he had ever battled, but still slower than Samael.

  Scar swung his sword out in a horizontal swing from the left side of his body with his right arm when he was within range, and Demenn shifted his body to the right while placing the flat of his blade in the way of the sword and reinforcing it with his left on the other side. The weapons clashed in a spray of sparks, and Demenn was forced to push harder as an unexpected strength almost tore through his defense in the first blow. Before he recovered from the blow, Scar reversed the flow of his weapon, swung it around his head with blinding speed, and attacked from the other side with the same strike save that his palm was facing up. Demenn swung his arm around and switched his left arm to the other side and blocked this one as well. Once again, Demenn was forced to give more force than he had thought was necessary, and this time Scar was prepared for the block. Once the swords connected, he spun the sword with only his wrist and brought it back on the other side of Demenn's sword, barely missing his arm, and smashing the guard towards where he had tried to block in the first place.

  Demenn was thrown to the side, along with his sword, and was barely able to throw himself back the other way to avoid Scar's back swing. As it was, the sword cut down diagonally right behind his feet. When he landed, however, Demenn realized that he had overextended himself, tripped, and fell to the ground. He scrambled to his feet and threw of a quick defense to deal with the inevitable assault, but none came. When he looked up, he saw that Scar simply stood in his stance with a slight smile on his lips.

  "I would never hit an honorable man while he is down. More importantly, it seems that your are meant to wield a weapon with a pole involved, and yet you fight with a sword. Why is this?"

  Demenn smiled his thanks. "It would not be 'honorable' to fight a sword with a spear." Without another moment of hesitation, he lunched forward and swung his sword over his head in a downward-diagonal cut aimed for the neck. Scar was being attacked on the left side of his body, so he crossed his right arm over his body and blocked the attack with one hand. The instance Demenn felt the impact he pulled his sword towards him and lunged forward in a thrust straight ahead at Scar's chest. Scar continued with the movement in his block and spun his body to the right, to the side of Demenn's thrust, and threw out his left hand in a powerful spinning back knuckled blow. Demenn was unprepared for the speed and strength of the unbridled strike, and fell back as the werewolf's knuckles smacked against his face.

  He tucked his neck and arms to turn his fall into a backwards roll and came up just in time to block the first attack that came his way. Scar never faltered, but continued the slash past the sword after they made contact. His blade went to the side and up just a bit, and then in the blink of an eye he riposted his weapon back the other way, slashing at Demenn's head. Luckily, Demenn had not blinked, and he dropped to one knee, sending his head down and his body forward by the length of his lower leg while swinging his sword out with one hand just as fast as Scar's attack. Scar's eyes followed the attack despite its speed, and they widened as he saw the trajectory. He immediately retracted his sword and, for the first time in years, leapt back and sucked in his stomach.

  They disengaged, with Demenn having to regain his footing before being able to resume a stance and Scar looking at his stomach as a small line of blood formed and another flowed down from it. He looked at Demenn with humor in his eyes. "Well done, Demenn. I am sorry that I underestimated you with this weapon. It seems that you are almost as proficient with it as your chosen one. Maybe this will actually be fun."

  Whatever Demenn meant to say or would have said was lost when Scar shot forward as a flash of gray and a bright line of metal in the moonlight. This time he did not bother with a single attack, but launched a flurry of strikes toward him. For his part, Demenn quickly backpedaled and used both hands on his sword to focus solely on defending himself. He found that, if he tried with all of his skill, he could see the attacks mere moments before they came into his range, and so he was able to block them. With every several attacks or so, however, he was forced to take a step backwards just to keep up. He could not think about it, though, as he had to constantly block, parry, and stop all of the countless attacks that flew his way.

  Scar did not let up, but continued to attack again and again. It seemed like he was made of iron, since his attacks never slowed, but if anything, became faster as his arms warmed with the exercise. A fierce smile that resembled more barred fangs than anything else was upon his mouth, and several times he actually growled in delight as his attacks sped up just a bit.

  Demenn was finding it hard to block Scar's attacks. He could not figure out what the problem was, but it was like they always came from the direction he did not expect it to. It was like his opponent knew every thought, both conscious and unconscious, and coordinated his attacks to it. The one place Demenn considered to be safe inevitably filled with a blade, and when he started suspecting the places he did not suspect, the attacks came fo
rm those he normally would have suspected. He was thankful for his fast reflexes as, if not for those, he would have died minutes ago. Had it been minutes? Or had it been seconds? He could not tell anymore, and in another moment his thoughts fled from him like hares from a fox and he had to fill his mind with pure reflex as he worked to block all of the countless attacks.

  And yet, it did not even seem like his opponent was fighting him, even though the blade, which looked at times to be several blades, denied the concept. Still, despite the mortal danger he was in, he felt like the fighter before was not even fighting him. But what was he doing? His attacks felt like they were completely random, like they were spur of the moment with no forethought. 'But what is he doing?'

  The force required to make one complete thought was not without consequence, however, as at that exact moment, one of the many blades passed right under the handle of his sword, and Demenn felt it stab into his side before he slapped it away with his own blade. Still, the pain felt welcome, as when the edge pierced his body, it seemed clear to him what was happening. 'He's not fighting me, he's testing me, like a rat.'

  He noticed then, that each of the attacks was placed with perfect precision. All of the strikes made use of a weakness in his swordsmanship that only showed itself every several continuations or so. The blows were not meant to kill him, yet, but to learn everything about him before finishing him off with a final, perfect attack. 'I know now!'

  Still, the knowledge did nothing to lessen the torrent of swords flooding all around with tidal force, and he still had to give ground. Although, now he had begun to quickly step a bit to the side as well so that he would not be run too far towards the werewolves, which was where he had somehow noticed he was heading. He continued blocking, but also forced his brain to work as well. He tried to not just look at the tip of the sword—that would not be enough to survive—but now looked at the blade, the hand, the elbow, and finally at the entirety of Scar's body as he dispensed two or three attacks every second. He felt like he was in a race against time, as eventually Scar would find the perfect flaw in his guard, and then he would be dead.

  Eve as he tried, however, Scar's attacks became even more unpredictable, as if he knew what Demenn was trying, and was trying to make it harder on him. At the same time, Demenn noticed that he was blocking each attack just another inch farther up the blade than before, and this disturbed him far more than he could explain. Still, he did his best to analyze every movement that Scar made, and as he did, he was amazed to notice that he was beginning to see something. It was just the barest tip of what he was looking for, and it was not something he could focus into a real thought, but he let his body go with it, and found that blocking the attacks became far easier.

  In fact, within a few moments of his unconscious epiphany, he was blocking the strikes halfway between the two of them, and he no longer had to take any steps back. The blows came on a fierce and swift as ever, but there was something different. A familiarity flowed over him, and now he knew how Scar was able to fight him like he knew everything about him, because, in a sense, he did.

  They battled for a few more seconds before Demenn did something he had thought was impossible, he struck back. Scar's last blow had been a stronger one meant to leave his guard there to attack from the other side with a swift weak one, but instead of keeping his guard and swiftly switching over, Demenn spun his sword out as fast as he could. Scar barely missed a beat, and retracted his sword to slap the strength from Demenn's sword with his own, but with that one move, the tide of the battle changed. Demenn took a step forward, blocked an attack, and attacked back. Soon the two of them were moving forward, to the side, and back and forth, as their sword flashed between them in intricate patterns Demenn himself was not even sure he could comprehend. Their footwork was basic, and yet it looked like a dance for how they matched one another.

  Then there was another change of tide, as Scar's sword moved less, and Demenn's sword moved faster, until eventually he was the one pushing Scar back, and Scar was devoting everything he could to defending. Demenn was actually pushing the General of the werewolves back! He thought for just one moment that he might be able to win, and, as if he had been waiting for it all this time, Scar barked and slashed his sword in from the side. Demenn's sword was out in an attack, but he swiftly brought it back to block the attack.

  His sword went to intercept the opponent's, but for some reason it never did. Maybe it was the speed of the attack, maybe the angle, maybe the trajectory, but for some reason, the blades passed right by one another, and Demenn watched as Scar's blade moved inexorably closer to his body. It took all of his ability to pull his sword back and place it next to his body, but even then, he felt the sword slice into his arm and grind against the bone before finally being stopped. When it was, however, the excess strength blew Demenn back, into the air, and onto the ground. He lay there for a moment, but then, slowly, scrambled to his feet.

  Scar stood where he was, a smile plastered to his snout, and his breath heavy in his lungs. "Very, very good, Demenn. I can honestly say that I have not fought one of your caliber since the first battle between the vampires and werewolves. However, I must inform you that I have completely analyzed your swordsmanship, and any more attempts at fighting would be futile. If we battle again, you will be dead within three attacks. You have proven your point, once again, and I will still count you honorable if you secede from this battle now. Quit, and return to your side." There was no lie in his eyes, and Demenn knew, from his Familiarity with Scar's attacks, that he was right. Suddenly, his bypassing of Demenn's block did not seem so accidental, and with that realization came the knowledge that another skirmish with this werewolf would mean death.

  'A funny thought, death.' Demenn could not help but thinking. 'If I died fighting this werewolf in this forest, I wonder what would happen to me? Would Lucifer be able to claim me?' Despite his thoughts, he brought his sword up and settled into his stance.

  "I must decline. Death is not so fearsome that I must flee from it. Besides," he chuckled just a bit. "Only the challenger may withdraw from a duel."

  Scar almost looked like he was saddened by the response. "Very well lad. Rest assured that I will always remember your name, and my people will sing songs of you at our feasts."

  With that he dropped his sword to his side and walked forward. Demenn readied for his final battle, but then he noticed something strange about Scar. He was breathing heavily, like before, but the rest and conversation had done nothing to decrease his heavy breathing. If anything, he seemed to be more fatigued now, and it did not take his Familiarity to know that something was wrong. Then he took one more step, and it all became clear when Scar stumbled and fell to his knees. His right hand clenched onto his sword with fierce determination, but his left hand clutched at his heart, and his panting took over his entire body.

  He knelt there, as a servant desiring the boon of his master, and it looked as if every breath was a battle for him. Demenn walked up to him, with his sword raised in defense, and when he reached him, a gargled laugh escaped from his throat as he grimaced through his pain.

  "Well, there you go lad, it looks like I'm finally too old for this kind of thing. Seems your people will have to sing songs about me. You win this, since I can't continue. Kill me and take my heart, before I die of shame."

  Demenn stood over him and raised his sword above his head. It fell to the ground as he knelt and pulled Scar to his feet, setting his shoulder inside his armpit. He turned him around and walked him slowly back to the werewolf line, where a pure white werewolf came through the crowd and took Scar from him. It pulled him back through, chanting spells as they walked.

  Demenn turned back and walked to his sword, which he picked up and put into his sheath. All was silence, on both sides of the line, but once his guard met his sheath, he heard a guttural voice from among the werewolves pronounce his one-word death sentence. "Attack!"

  Demenn quickly shot his head around and found that he
had let Scar take him far too close to the werewolf line, and even if he sprinted as fast and as hard as he could, he would not be able to make it back to his own side before he was caught and ripped to shreds. For their part, his side had received no order to charge, so he had no hope there.

  "Well, I guess this is where it ends." Demenn turned towards the werewolves and pulled his spear from his sheath, readying himself for one hell of a last stand. They came at him just like an avalanche of fur and claws, and the first one had just reached him when it simply exploded into pieces.

  Demenn had been about to attack it, and was very puzzled, until he saw N'colto swoop down and rip another werewolf in half like it was made of soft tissue. He then leapt over and grabbed onto Demenn with his large talon-like feet and in moments they were flying through the air faster than even the werewolves could chase. The Chiroptera flew him to his own lines and then dropped him to his original position, where Varus, whom Demenn had chosen to be part of his own squad, handed him a small vial filled with blood. Demenn quaffed it and felt his side, face, and arm heal as he looked to N'colto.

  "Thank you. I thought I was dead."

  "Don't mention it." N'colto licked the blood from his fingers. "I cannot have the only true hope for my race dying in some honor duel now can I?"