Crimson Blade

by Corey Soreff

  Sweat dripped down his forehead, and the first demon hound leaped at him. He swung his blade with practiced expertise, regardless of his fear. He was a soldier. The hound was cleaved in two, the remains falling to the sand. He prayed to Darnillus that the rest of them would flee in fear. But hoping that demons were cowards wasn’t too promising.

  His jaw dropped. Hope dwindled away, whatever hope there was in the first place. The two halves of the demon he had slain began pulsating. Limbs sprouted forth, torsos made complete again, heads reappeared. The one he had slain had become two. Then the hundreds surrounding him came closer.

  He screamed in pain for what seemed like days, weeks, even years! How long had it been? The dog’s never did enough damage to kill him, but tore at his flesh repeatedly, ripping skin off and licking the wound. Hundreds of them ate away at every part of his body. They bit off toes, chewed on testicles, and plucked out his eyeballs. Then he felt his arms tear free of his body, and the worst pain he had ever felt exploded within him. They tore him limb from limb, not leaving a single morsel ignored. And just when it seemed like the world would finally let him die and free him from the pain, he looked down and all his body parts were back, his wounds were gone, and his testicles intact. He sighed with relief. “What the hell is going on?”

  Then he saw the eyes again, and it all started from the beginning.

  Demon hounds feasted on Sir Argan for thirty days, and every time he was given that brief moment of painlessness, the hope was stripped from his soul again in short time.

  Or what seemed like thirty days to Argan, anyway. The crowd was confused. The announcer had began the match and it looked as if Argan was about to charge, then he just collapsed. Neither fighter had taken a step. While Sir Argan spent thirty days with his mind trapped in the threads of time being tortured, only mere seconds had passed in the real world. He collapsed the moment Eucibous released the spell, fading into unconsciousness. It would take time for him to regain his mind, and would probably be scarred for life. Normally Eucibous wasn’t so cruel, but he was still in a bad mood.

  “Winner, Eucibous Dan’anti!” The announcer yelled, as healers pulled away Sir Argan on a stretcher. The King was on his feet with wide eyes, baffled at what had happened. One of the King’s magus advisors leaned in and whispered to his liege the details. “Your Highness, he locked eyes with Sir Argan at the start of the match, and that is when he cast his spell. An illusion spell, of sorts. I suspect he took control of his brain and made him see and feel whatever it was he wanted him to see and feel. I can only imagine what Argan just went through.”

  The King gasped. “This is possible?”

  The magus nodded. “Possible, yes. Difficult, very. I cannot do such a thing.”

  “Wonderful, and you stay at my side to protect me. Comforting.” The King sat back down and bit into a chicken leg, chomping in frustration. Sir Argan was one of his best, and he had been embarrassed. He looked down at Eucibous as he headed for the gate. “Eucibous Dan’anti, huh? It’s no small wonder the Gods wanted his head.”

  “A confusing and overwhelming victory by Eucibous Dan’anti! Our experts tell us that he won with an advanced illusion spell! Nothing less from the legend himself!” The announcer helped clear any confusion among the crowd, half of which just thought Argan faked an injury or something. “Can anyone stand up to this infamous warrior? If anyone can, it would be one of our next fighters! Our own Kuldric Kinaan, the holy champion of Darnillus himself! Sculpted by the best fighters in Adanantus, slayer of evil, and beacon for all that is good! Kuldriccccccccc Kinaaaaaan!”

  The gates opened and Kuldric emerged, waving to the audience. He was embarrassed of the announcer’s obvious favoritism, and hoped it wouldn’t dampen his opponent’s spirits.

  The other contestant also stepped into the arena, donning a green robe with silver lining. He was an elf, and a high elf by the looks of him. Long blonde hair fell over his shoulders, and he carried a staff of pure crystal with a griffin at its head. Nobody had any doubt that they looked upon a mage. He came all the way from Elnerad, and judging by his staff of inestimable value, he must be a noble in the land of his people. But now he was among men.

  The audience booed the elf, some even daring to throw trash in his direction. But it didn’t seem to affect the noble mage. It seemed nothing could bring down his pride, and carried himself as a King might. He kept his eyes focused on Kuldric.

  “Now this is interesting,” Eucibous remarked.

  “What?” Lok asked.

  “That’s right, you haven’t been to Elnerad. See that elf? I’d remember that staff anywhere. He’s the elven prince Tiirnil, next in line for the throne.” Eucibous smiled. “A good mage, that one. Let’s see how Kuldric deals with magic.”

  “Bah!” Grymmbeard spit on the ground. “Ye say deal with magic as if it’s something tuh be feared! I’d cut the skinny elf in two!”

  “Would you cut me in two as well?” Eucibous asked teasingly.

  Grymmbeard rolled his eyes and scratched his head. “Bah, but yer different!”

  The companions laughed. “Well we’ll get to see how he’s improved, anyway.” Jarec noted. “We can’t take Kuldric lightly simply because he lost to Kol’thakal, that drow could very well have been the most powerful person in Darnesia aside from you, Euc. Although you surely made it look otherwise with how easily you wasted him!”

  Eucibous clenched a fist. Thinking of the drow made him think of Ginin. “Yes, he did defeat Lok here after all.”

  Jarec slapped Lok on the shoulder. “Don’t worry Lok, I’ll protect you from Kuldric the mighty!” He laughed heartily at the expense of his friend.

  “Real funny, Jarec.” Lok replied. “Although I’d more likely expect you to come back with a hammer where your face was!”

  Eucibous stared out into the arena at Kuldric, the man he had waited twenty years to fight. One of them, anyway. The reincarnation of the man who broke his father’s sword. The only man to put up the slightest struggle against him in decades. He was surprised by Kol’thakal’s God-given speed. The knight is stronger than he thinks he is. He glanced at his closest friend Lok. Nobody has ever beaten Lok but me.

  “Begin!” The crowd chanted Kuldric’s name in unison as the announcer started the match. Everyone in the city was raised hearing tales of Kuldric, how he would be their hero. This is the first time they’d see their hero fight.

  Kuldric gripped his warhammer, the excitement of battle rushing through his veins. He would have to be careful not to hurt the elf, though. The King had told him the elf was a Prince, and could not be wounded too badly. But he was also told to show the elves the power of Darnath, and he planned to do just that. His golden platemail made him look like a true paladin from ballads of old. The cost of such armor was extravagant, but the champion of Darnillus was to have the best. He had his long blonde hair tied in a ponytail to avoid any inconvenience in battle.

  Tiirnil began spinning his hands in smooth and complicated gestures, speaking the words to elven spells nobody nearby could understand. Only one person could be heard cheering for the elf, and that was the other elf Kilan. It was hard to hear over the thunderous bellows of “Kuldric” however.

  Kuldric started walking towards his opponent, not in any rush to stop the flow of spells. I must stay calm and save my stamina for the liche. The people depend on me. I’ll make this quick.

  A blast of energy shot past Kuldric at amazing speed, just missing him as he dodged to the right. A simple spell, you’ll need more than that. Kuldric thought. Then he retracted the thought as he saw dozens of similar balls of energy released from the elf’s palm, scattering in all different directions and speeding towards him from every angle. Kuldric quickly cast his new holy haste spell, granting him incredible agility. Approximately forty orbs of pure magic began flying past him as he used his newfound speed to evade them. He ducked, sidestepped, jumped, and flipped as he expertly dodged the numerous blasts.

  Realizing Kuldric
would successfully dodge the remaining attacks, Tiirnil redirected the final ten orbs so that they would collide in a perfect circle on the ground surrounding the paladin, catching Kuldric in the middle.

  But the plan didn’t escape Kuldric’s watchful eye. When the spells were about to explode around him, he leaped up into the air pushing himself forward towards his opponent. His already powerful legs combined with his magically enhanced agility resulted in a surprisingly high jump as explosions rocked the arena floor below him. When his feet hit the ground again Kuldric began running forward, then seemingly vanished.

  Tiirnil was no novice, however, and his elven eyes picked up on Kuldric’s movement. The problem was that his body couldn’t react quickly enough even if his eyes had seen it. As he started to turn around, his legs were swept out from beneath him by Kuldrics hammer. The elven prince fell on his back, but didn’t feel any pain since he had prepared a spell of stone skin previously. But before he had a chance to return to his feet, multiple blows from the gigantic hammer began raining down upon his chest. Several attacks connected consecutively within a mere second, so fast was Kuldric. The stone skin shattered before the power of the hammer, and one last blow smashed into the prince’s breast. Then all went dark.

  “It looks like he has no problems fighting mages, eh?” Lok stated more than asked.

  “It would seem so, although the elf was obviously not at his best. Kuldric is surely one of the best fighters in Adanantus, but Tiirnil is right up there with him.” Eucibous wondered. “Either way, it looks like he overcame the weakness that led to his defeat against the drow, if only he knew that spell then.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Fist vs. Demon

  Marcovius sat by a fire tapping his knee as he waited impatiently for battle. “Damn you, Seth, always making me wait.” He looked around at the endless amount of soldiers in his army, which kept growing as Sargath brought more forces into their midst. He sighed. “Bring us all the goblins, orcs, and trolls you want. It won’t make a difference. This war will be decided by the strong.” There were some forces present that would make a difference, however.

  He glanced uncomfortably across the field at a camp of red dragons. Can they be trusted? He wondered. Seth’nerak would likely be too involved in his fight with the heroes to have time to deal with dragons, should they defect. “I guess I gotta trust that they are loyal to Sargath. Although that will be the exact problem when Seth makes his move…”

  Eucibous and his companions sat wide eyed in the combatant hall as they watched the next fight, eager to see the next move. “Another interesting one!” Eucibous exclaimed. He clenched his fight and smiled in anticipation. “So many to choose from, who do I want to fight the most?”

  Lok chuckled. “I’m sure we’ll all get a chance at the strong guys. We’ve all moved forward to the next round, so the remaining fighters should all naturally be pretty tough.

  Eucibous shook his head. “Tough isn’t good enough. I want the toughest. Interesting choices, although it won’t be up to me. But I hope either Kuldric or the liche will meet me in the finals. Until then, that mage Lienir might be the strongest…but he is also the most likely to be the damn drow.” He slammed his fist against the wall in excitement, cracking the stone where it landed.

  A hand dropped onto his shoulder, and he turned to see a grinning Jarec. “Hey now, don’t go assuming you’ll be in the finals!” Jarec laughed.

  Grymmbeard nodded and raised his axe. “Aye! Ye might have to fight us, after all!”

  Although they were joking around, it was a serious issue. Eucibous had already greatly considered this, and had discussed it with Lok. “If we are matched against one another, then one will withdraw.” Eucibous ordered. “No exceptions. I chose all of you because you are all strong; you love to fight other strong men so I know the thought of dueling each other seriously excites you. But excitement isn’t important. We can’t afford injuries when it comes time to fight the liche. He will surely have powerful help with him that I will need you to deal with.”

  Lok agreed. “And this might all blow out of proportion before the finals anyway. We’re not here to win a tournament.” He looked up into the stands at the King’s guardians, who were constantly searching for any clue of an attack. “I don’t think Darnath ever expected the tournament to finish anyways.”

  Eucibous wasn’t paying attention anymore. His gaze rested on the fight taking place in the arena. His pulse raced as he witnessed spells that not even he had ever learned.

  The spells that kept Eucibous entertained were not the normal spells of a mage. Velion the warlock chanted spells calling to the lowest planes of the netherworld, bringing forth powerful demons that normally never walked the planes of the living. His purple robe thrashed about from the energy being used, and it seemed as if the man himself was wrapped in shadows. He was bald, not a hair on his head, and his eyes glowed as if they were made of fire.

  His opponent, a monk named Dennas, observed the warlock as he stood in a fighting stance. The monk had no weapons, for monks were known to fight exceptionally with their body alone. He was protected by no more than a simple orange uniform made of cloth. He was not scared, but he had never faced true demons before. This would be his next test. “Ulindor, guide my fists.”

  Ulindor was one of the Gods of neutrality. Therefore Dennas felt no moral obligation to extinguish demons, for what right did he have to judge which creatures were evil? But he did owe it to himself; he was always seeking tougher tests in life hoping he might reach a new level of spirituality. It had worked before, and it will work again. He had to believe so. After all, Ulindor himself had come to him.

  Several demons now stood around Velion. There was one hellhound, which would have scared the hell out of sir Argan, had he been conscious. There was a large imp, standing at about four feet tall with a bloodthirsty grin decorating its face. And then there was the third one.

  Eucibous watched as the third demon materialized in the arena. It stood at around ten feet tall. Its muscles were unreal, with arms the size of Eucibous’s entire body. Its thick red skin looked tougher than armor, and dangerous twisting horns rose from its forehead. “Could that be…a gorgen?”

  Anyone studying magic, history, or demonology was bound to read up on gorgens. But no living person that he knew of had ever seen one. Coming from one of the lowest planes of the netherworld, a gorgen was one of the most powerful demons that existed. They generally ruled the planes they resided on. Eucibous had fought warlocks before, and the imp and hellhound were nothing new. Now he knew why he was so excited as he felt the energy being emitted for the third summoning. Eucibous was possibly looking at the most powerful warlock on all of Darnesia. He had visited the other continents; he had never heard eyewitness accounts of a gorgen. Some experts doubted they even existed, the only knowledge of them coming from books. The question was, even if he is powerful enough to summon it, can he control it?

  Dennas watched the demon appear, and readied his fists for battle. Judging by its size and its incredible aura, he guessed it was a Gorgen. This is no time to be intimidated. Gorgen or not, I am Dennas! Monk of Ulindor! He relaxed.

  The gorgen turned his head, looking at his summoner. “Uktur vashna lukrot?”

  Velion returned the stare. “Yes, I summoned you, and you will speak the common tongue when addressing me.” His confidence was reflected in his still burning eyes.

  “You dare order me?” The gorgen asked. “Do you know what you have summoned, weakling?”

  “I summoned a gorgen, and one who is going to fight for me.” Velion replied. He held out his arm with his palm facing upwards, then suddenly snapped his hand into a fist. A pentagram of fire appeared below the gorgen, and shackles of pure energy rose from the pentagram and wrapped around the gorgen’s wrists and ankles.

  “I’ll kill you, human!” The gorgen charged at the warlock, the arena shaking from the force of its steps, and for a moment the audience thought Velion might lose to
his own summoning.

  Velion didn’t move an inch, and calmly spoke a word. “Bind.”

  A pillar of energy burst up from the dirt beneath the demon, enveloping him in a wall that looked composed of something in between fire and shadow. Black and purple lightning bolts could be seen crackling within the pillar, as flames circled around the bolts. The gorgen roared in fury…and then dropped to one knee.

  “You will obey me.” Velion repeated.

  The demon stared into Velion’s eyes with hate as he kneeled on the ground before him unintentionally. “I’ll remember this.” The gorgen stood on his feet, and turned towards the monk.

  Then Velion glanced over at something else. Everyone wondered what he was looking at, for it seemed he stared at a wall. He was looking right at Eucibous. Though he could not see from this distance due to the small viewing slits, he could feel him there.

  I wanted to save this for him, oh well. He looked back at the monk. But I sense something…special about this monk. He would not take chances; he would win this and proceed to fight the man he came here hoping to fight. Even if Eucibous had not entered the tournament, surely he would have heard of his exploits and come after him. How lucky that he was actually here.

  Dennas clenched his fists and narrowed his eyes, prepared for possibly his toughest battle yet. He tightened a simple thick rope that was acting as a belt holding his uniform up. He then dropped back into a fighting stance, and closed his eyes. Breathing steadily, he focused on his inner being, coming to a state of intense concentration. When he reopened his eyes, it seemed as if he was sleepwalking; he looked like a man devoid of emotion who only knew one thing, the fight ahead of him. Then he began shifting forward, staying in his fighting stance but sliding each foot forward one by one, edging his way towards his enemy.