“You!”
Two young men, one leading a life of Royalty, the other one of piracy, exchanged gazes under the Cathedral’s ceiling.
“You are the one Thales told me about…” Charles slowly rose to his feet, hands up.
“And you are the worthless prince everybody’s always gossiping about. I’d say it’s an honor to meet you, but in truth, I’d rather we skip the talk.”
Miles’ eyes flared. It was impossible to read even an ounce of the somewhat shy man from before. Wielding his rapier was what caused this change in temperament, his mind only having room for battle.
“Your Highness,” chimed in Thales from behind, unsheathing his own weapon, “allow me to take care of—”
“Silence!” Charles exclaimed, still under the careful watch of Miles’ blade. “This will not be allowed to stand. Nobody will take Elena from me!”
From the side of his hip, he began to reach for a scabbard he kept concealed. Before he could, wind blew, and he was knocked down, by the force of a literal kick in the butt.
Miles rolled his eyes, not having any of it. He extended his arm toward Elena, and said, “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
Tears began to seep out of her eyes. “You came… I knew you would…” She began to extend her own, shaking hand, but suddenly got pulled backward.
“It seems you have come for a second round.” The man who raised his challenge was Thales, who wrapped Elena around his arms.
“You think too highly of yourself if you believe I care about settling a score with you. Such concerns are foreign to a man like me.”
Miles was disinterested in finding pride in his fighting. His eyes appeared tired, lacking vigor. His sword arm remained steady however, meaning he would certainly fight, even if he lacked excitement at the prospect.
This in truth only made Elena more pleased. He’s doing this all for me. What a lad.
“In any case, let the fight—”
“Halt.”
The order stemmed from a most unexpected place. Prince Charles stood yet again, a rapier held in his hand. It was a work of beautiful craft, its hilt adorned with multiple sparkling jewels and built out of silver. The steel was of considerable length, making it perfect for stabbing.
“Nice antique you got there. Are you trying to sell it to me?” Miles teased. He lowered his own rapier, not treating the prince as a threat.
“Duel me.”
“Your Highness!”
Charles ignored Thales’ objection, his sight remaining fixated on Miles. “No Sword Dance, no Magic, and no funny tricks. Just man to man, blade to blade. If you can best me, I allow you and Elena to leave.”
“What?” Elena exclaimed. “Are you serious? Miles, you’re not wasting your time with this buffoon, are you?”
Miles raised his eyebrows. He glanced to the side, to where a large statue of the Goddess stood, extending her arms.
“You know what it entails to declare a duel within this Holy Land. Let alone when under the direct protection of the Goddess. Are you willing to suffer the consequences when you lose?”
The prince gave an immediate reply. “I would not raise my challenge were I not!”
He spoke confidently, yet his spine betrayed his intentions. His sword arm shook in hesitation, and his teeth kept biting at his mouth. Only his eyes lived up to the image he meant to convey, as they glared with the feverish intensity allowed only for a fool.
“Now, remove those Magic Crystals you love to rely on so much. Fight me like a real man.” He kept on barking, like a small dog barks at a wolf.
“Tsk. Very well.” Shrugging his shoulders, Miles accepted the duel. He raised his sword and, with his other hand, removed the Wind Crystal from its slot at the hilt, before putting it away inside his pocket. “I care not for your little game, but if this results in less fighting, then I accept.”
He found no pride in his swordplay, no honor in victory. His reason for accepting, if reluctantly, was only because it meant dealing with an easier opponent than Thales. The scowl he’d held since arriving had changed nothing; call it a duel, call it a brawl, a skirmish, whatever. A battle was a battle in his eyes, and he approached every battle with the same will.
Miles stepped forward. Both duelists locked gazes with one another, signifying the start of the duel.
Charles smirked. “Well, then. Let us begin—”
No less did he finish speaking, his weapon found itself on the defense, vibrating from the impact it had just received.
Even without the swiftness of body enabled by the Dance of Wind Union, which Miles routinely employed, the handsome rogue was light on his feet. He lunged forward and struck, an overhead swing that threatened to split the prince’s head apart. Only a quick reaction kept Charles alive, but even so, he recoiled backward, pushed by the sudden force.
Although Charles grimaced wildly, Miles was not one to distract himself with such amusement. He wasted no time and swung twice more, now aiming for his gut. This time, Charles’ defense was better, swinging himself to counteract somewhat the strength of Miles’ attack.
“Such depravity. Have you never been taught how to fence?” Charles, as if demonstrating the proper form, thrust his blade, aiming for Miles’ shoulder.
Both men wielded rapiers, yet their fighting could not be more different. Charles held his with one hand, and his movements were dignified, practiced like a dance move. The long distance between his hand and the tip of the sword encouraged him to poke at his opponent meticulously, as he outranged Miles significantly.
While grumbling, Miles stepped to the side, avoiding the stab and countering with a blow of his own.
Miles’ style was much more erratic. He used both muscular arms of his to grip the hilt of his blade, throwing all of his strength into each of his swings. It wasn’t the proper way to use a thrusting weapon like a rapier, rather just the way he was taught.
He was a Sword Dancer, a type of warrior who could dictate the will of Fire and Wind through his sword; each swing served to carve a path for them to follow, a path through which Fire blazed and Wind blew. And for one like Miles, whose way of life had been dictated by the Sword, switching fighting styles would be like switching souls. Therefore, even when not powering his blade with Mana Crystals, his swordplay still reflected his way as a Sword Dancer.
It was a clash of lifestyles, so much as it was a clash of steel, between one who simply learned the sword for sport, and one who was raised by it.
A wide, curving slash neared the Prince’s shoulders. Miles, who had stepped closer, was within breathing distance of Charles. That distance would grow, as the latter barely managed to parry in time; once again, Charles was pushed backward, this time his back crashing into a nearby table.
Charles stood, his face becoming increasingly deranged. His princely attire became corrupted by trails of sweat. Combined with his heavy breathing, the weight of the battle on him was visible.
Despite this, he raised his blade, and with his other hand gestured Miles to come in. “Come on, are you afraid? For the supposed son of the continent’s fiercest warrior, you are nothing but a disappointment.”
“You really think such taunting is gonna affect Miles?” chimed in Elena, who was watching from the sidelines. From her view, he was faking his bravado, his words serving only to hype himself up.
Unexpectedly, Miles bit the bait, plunging forward anyway with a roaring cry, seeking the conflict’s resolution. He raised his arms over his head as he made his charge, the intent to kill written on his eyes.
Charles grinned. “Got you.”
The reality of the prince’s scheme had unraveled. It was a straightforward plot: taunt him with his father in order to lure him into approaching carelessly. He stabbed at the approaching Miles’s lower body, using the range of his rapier to his advantage to pry at a spot that was unprotected.
The sudden, violent thrust of his blade proved effective, as it mercilessly pierced…the air.
“Huh?” he expressed, gawking at the man who should be there, but was not. He began to turn his neck, when suddenly he was struck by a most unexpected object.
“What the—” His expensive white suit was now washed by stew. “Get down from there.”
At a moment’s notice, Miles had hopped over the prince’s head, landing on the table behind him.
Standing atop it, Miles held a plate containing a cake in his hand. He ignored Charles’ command, instead chucking the pastry at the prince’s face. The resulting explosion of cream not only soiled his handsome features, but also impacted strongly enough to drop Charles to his back.
The battle, which had begun as an honorable duel, ended as a skit out of The Three Stooges.
“You lose,” Miles stated coldly, his rapier hovering near Charles’ neck.
“That’s… that’s cheating! You broke the rules!” the defeated prince cried out. “Don’t you have any honor?”
“I don’t,” Miles cuttingly replied. “Honor is what fools cling to when their smarts aren’t as developed. You, who treat the sword as a toy, could never comprehend that.”
The duel had exposed both their approaches toward the sword—with Miles’ as the victor. For Miles, the sword was no sport, subject to such meaningless concepts as rules. It was a tool to be used, not unlike any other. His swordplay was not forged by instructors, but by the chimes of battle.
“Now, forgive me”—he returned his blade to its resting spot in his scabbard— ”I shall leave with the maiden.”
Elena smiled. She glanced upward at Thales, who shook his head with defeated eyes, while saying, “By the stipulations of the duel, we will allow you to leave.” He returned his arms, which were keeping Elena in place, to a neutral position, allowing her to step forward and approach Miles.
“Thank you for…for…” Elena began to lose her words, swept up by joy. She looked at his savior with love-struck eyes, clenching her own hands.
Within Miles’ scowl, which had been unbreakable throughout the duration of the duel, the faint markings of a smile crept in. He swiftly deflected his gaze, clearly embarrassed, before saying, “Ehem, it’s only my job. No need to thank me. This fight was nothing for me, anyway.”
Elena giggled, then gave a smirk worthy of a devil. “Suure. Whatever you say.” Battle mode had been turned off, and Shy mode took its place, much to her pleasure.
“This… is not over!”
The proclamation came from the ground, shattering the lovely atmosphere. Charles raised his head, boiling with anger.
“Umm, you kinda lost. Looks pretty over to me,” Elena snarked.
“Silence. I will have my way.” Despite looking like a monster made of cream, he raised his blade with vigor once again.
This time, he held no delusion of playing fair.
“You are right, Miles. Honor is for fools. So look at this!”
With his other hand, he revealed a crystal, glowing with the hue of gold.
“That is… a Light Crystal!” Miles exclaimed.
“Light Crystal… I guess there’s another element,” said Elena, pensively.
“Your Highness, release that right now!” shouted Thales, concern carved on his face.
Smirking, Charles fit the crystal into the open slot by the hilt of his blade. “I will fulfill my desires as a man, no matter what!”
He swung his blade, and the world was washed by light.
----------------------------------------
“...”
The ground was moving, jumping on occasion from bumps on the road
“They are catching up to us!” called a voice, which hailed from above. “Hurry up.”
If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
“We’re moving as fast as we can. Any faster and—”
The world she saw, which was beginning to regain clarity, trembled wildly. She saw Mr.H, desperately struggling to steer the wheel as his vehicle lost control.
“brbrbrrvrb”
Confused by the sudden change in environment, Elena attempted to ask about her whereabouts, only for a mouth gag to distort the question’s sound. To make matters worse, rope kept her tied to her seat, and her hands were cuffed to one another.
“brsafsrsa,” She struggled in place, making more noise than she made progress.
“You are awake… apologies, my Lady,” said Mr. H, who undoubtedly heard her muffled cries for help. “I owe my life to the Prince… what he desires, is my will.”
His excuse only further fueled Elena’s ire more, as she fiddled her body even harder, attempting to break the rope chaining her in place—still to no avail.
Tried as she tried, in the face of the two men kidnapping her, she was powerless.
“Fireball incoming!” He called. “I’ll try to block it with my sword. HYAH!”
The other one, Prince Charles, stood atop the roof of the carriage. Albeit she couldn’t see him, she could hear him giving his accomplice orders, as well as keeping him updated on the state of the outside conflict.
A crackling hiss grew louder and louder, before splitting into two. Elena, despite having her mobility restricted, could observe the battle transpiring outside from the rearview and the window to her left. Thus, she witnessed a projectile made of flame through the air in their direction, before shattering; the ground both to her back and to the side was engulfed.
“Light of Will, Light of Life, accompany me in this battle. Disc of Light!”
From where Charles was standing, a sword beam flew. Their target soon came into view.
Riding some sort of bipedal creatures, three knights of the Kingdom approached the escaping trio. The beasts were black, resembling iguanas, and moved their legs at unparalleled speeds.
The Beam Charles fired cut through one of them, an outburst of gore stemming from both the ride and the rider. The other two remained firm in their chase.
The result of this battle was already sealed. From the rear, the knight nearest to them aimed the barrel of his gun at them. Flame particles began to gather, which former a large fireball that flew towards the moving vehicle.
In the seconds before it made impact, Elena faced forward and breathed in deeply, a way of steering herself up for what was to come.
The world trembled.
“The Engine! It is not responding. Your Highness, get off!”
As if playing a prank on their cursed selves, the road presented them with a sharp turn, just as control over turning abandoned the hands of the driver.
Elena shut her eyes, bracing herself for death as the ground she sat on plummeted, sliding off a cliff.
The world she saw… it came to a crashing conclusion.
----------------------------------------
Did she die? Did she live?
Did it even matter?
To one who could return from the realm of the dead, the distinction between living and dying was near irrelevant.
All that mattered was what she sensed, what she felt. The deep dark sky, and the stars that broke its monotonous homogeneity, were real, they were there, up there and she could perceive them.
No matter what, Elena would continue to live.
Could she even say she knew death, then? If death was meant to be final, a road that could not be walked backward, then could she really say to have experienced it, if she was ignorant to its rules?
What am I even thinking about?
Clarity returned to Elena, who was lying on the ground, having a round of philosophizing like the one had following a strange dream. Her recollection of events was foggy, as she’d lost her ability to sense somewhere along the way.
She rose to her feet, not struggling particularly to do so. She observed her arms and legs; there was no sign of a wound anywhere. The grass surrounding her feet retained its natural hue, not a drop of blood anywhere.
“Hmm, I guess I did die,” she thought out loud, finger on chin.”
While the rope keeping her immobile might have acted as something of a seatbelt, if her understanding of physics was correct, nothing could really soften the blow of such a crash. At the very least, some wounds should remain on her body.
“Tehee. How often can you say that outside of videogames?” she said, referring back to her statement about having died.
It was bizarre, but having died was a more sensible possibility.
Staring at the unsoiled, pristine skin that made up her hand, she pondered, “Whatever’s reviving me seems to like me pretty. There’s not a spot in here—”
She gasped at the realization she’d just made. Not only was her body intact, but she wore the same dress as the day she first got transported into this world.
“What the…” she exclaimed, raising the hem of the dress. “I’m wearing this again? Did someone change my clothes? Eww.”
Barfing at the idea, she rejected that possibility outright. In all likelihood, it was returning from death what was to blame for her change in attire.
“Also, where’s Mr. H.? Or Charles, for that matter?”
She put the thought on hold, as she narrowed her eyes at her unexplainable solitude. Charles’s absence could be explained by him leaping off the cart at the last moment. But Mr. H was on the front seat up to the moment they rolled off the cliff. Even as a corpse, he should be somewhere nearby. To make matters even stranger, the broken parts of the Wind-powered carriage lay right near her feet. Even if he somehow flew, he couldn’t have landed too far.
“Guess I’ll have to look for him. I might not like him much anymore, but it’d be harsh to just leave him to be eaten by ants.”
Elena began a slow gait, shouting to see if she could find the eccentric gentleman. The open field of her awakening soon gave way to a small meadow, one composed of the same dead trees she’d seen on her trek up Tomster’s Hill.
“ Dang, they look even more depressing up close,” she expressed, clenching her fist at the dreadful image. The dead lands she was made to travel brought sorrow upon her soul.
“The faster I find that man, the sooner I get out of here. MR.H!” Following her screech, she poked her tongue with her index finger, before adding, “Then again, I guess that’s not really his name, derp.” She bit her lower lip; she REALLY didn’t want to have to use his real name, but if it helped, she would.
So, she steadied her throat to shout his name. Right before her vocal cords could generate sound however, her ears whiffed some sort of noise. It vaguely resembled a human voice.
“Wait, could it be?”
In excitement, Elena hurried in its direction, stepping through the trees and arriving at the edge of a cliff.
What met her eyes pleased her. The back of a tall, elderly man was the figure that cut through the dark environment.
“There you are, Mr. H. Or I guess I should say… nevermind. We just need to get out of here.”
No response. She repeated her words, still to no avail.
“Umm, are you okay—oh no.”
Seeing him standing by the edge of a harsh, deadly drop, Elena feared the worst. Carefully, she approached the man, and slowly extended her arm.
“Listen, I don’t know what is troubling you. But there’s no reason to give up. Life is beautiful!” She began stuttering a bit, unsure of what exactly to say that wouldn’t turn ugly. “Listen, if love is your concern, I’m sure you’ll find a beautiful wife. So let’s go. No matter how hopeless it may seem, you can always—”
A response finally came.
She received it not through her ears, but through her fingers—which were cut off in a single slice.
It took a moment for the sensation to reach her neurons, as the image of flowing red liquid froze her retinas. But the moment it did, her mouth—no, her entire soul, screeched in agony.
“GAAAAAAAAAH!”
With tears born from pain, she saw as the silhouette of a man standing before her revealed its true colors. His skin became inhumanly pale, with bones visible on his face. Where his nose should be, a long beak took its place. On his torso, bone could be seen, as well as organs like kidneys and lungs, uncanny in how motionless they remained. Saw-blades took the place of his hands, his joints optimized for his one task.
“Kill,” it uttered constantly, like a broken record.
All this grotesque contrasted with the fancy suit and top hat that decked him, serving as a mere reminder of the gentleman he once was; Mr. H had turned into a Kabeast—slave to the Demon King, a corpse man walking among the living.
“Nonononononoooooo!”
Elena, in disbelief, began stepping backward, before turning around and sprinting away. Her hands still recoiled with pain, leaking tears of blood that left a trail as she ran.
She didn’t care. To bathe in her anguish was an exercise in futility. Looking backwards, hesitating, was a one-course trip to death.
Of course, with her power, death was not fatal. But still, Elena ran.
For even now, death frightened her.
“AGHHH.”
Albeit the moonlight proved a worthy flashlight, it was still quite dark, and in her haste, Elena tripped over a branch, coming to face with the ground.
Time paused, but her nervous system did not. The pain of her fingers rose to the front of her mind again. She sucked them with her mouth, but such measures were not effective with a wound of this scale.
All she could do with this faint time before the Kabeast caught up, was reflect.
That bastard!
Stranded in a land of dead trees, chased by what was essentially a zombie. That was her fate—one brought not by her own deeds, but only due to the desire of that foolish man.
“Why… I didn’t want any of this!”
She gritted her teeth, in exhaustion. Why did she have to pay for the mistakes of a man she didn’t even like? Why was the suffering inflicted on her fingers one that she had to pay?
“Why…”
Why, in this world of fantasy, did she have to be subjected to similar torments as in her old world?
“...”
Unfortunately for her, her eyes gifted her a cruel reminder: that the threats that lay on this world were not only those she knew from her old life.
Kabeasts, such as those approaching her, were also a danger to her.
She was almost completely surrounded. North, east, south. Only west allowed for safe passage.
With a pounding heart, Elena quickly rose to her feet and began one last, desperate dash, barely managing to bolt away from the steel weapons the Kabeasts wielded. She felt her long hair be slashed, unable to fully escape, but couldn’t care less. Walking away with her life was achievement enough.
She ran with all the speed she had, managing to outrun the creatures which, for all their sadistic might, were pretty slow on their feet.
“There’s the hill. If I manage to get up there, maybe Miles…”
Her efforts would be rewarded, as the familiar image of Tomster’s Hill came into view. It would be a steep climb, especially when missing fingers, but in the face of death even venom resembled hope.
“I’m almost there. Just a bit—”
Her fortune was immediately reversed.
Her nose splattered the rest of her face with blood, injured by crashing into a surface of some sort. She dropped prone, in part from the impact, in part due to restlessness.
“What NOW?” she said, frustrated at her constant disgrace. She bent one knee to begin standing up.
She stretched her arm forward, the one whose hand remained unharmed. The instant her fingers felt a sensation, a purple wall drew itself before her.
“You have got to be kidding me?”
It was a barrier, that stretched out as far upward as she could see, and to her left and right as far as she could see.
“Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill.”
Her eyes widened at the booming, ever-present sound, foretelling her upcoming demise. She turned her head around in hesitation, as she saw a picture most petrifying.
An entire battalion’s worth of Kabeasts, from all sides, were inching closer and closer to her.
“HELP! HELP! SOMEONE, PLEASE!”
She pleaded, bumping the barrier over and over again with her fists, attempting to somehow shatter it.
But no one heard her prayers, and the barrier would not bulge. The entire world collectively agreed—her life was forfeit.
She felt desperation, of course, but most of all, she felt lost, abandoned, like an unwanted toy. She was unworthy of salvation, denied the warmth of a helping hand.
Turning around one last time, she closed her eyes, unwilling to stare directly at her incoming fate. Following a deep breath, she sprinted madly at the Kabeasts, who outnumbered her a thousand-to-one.
There was no plan, no real wisdom to her run. Just a blind, desperate prayer that somehow, she’d move fast enough that they wouldn’t be able to catch her.
Reality quickly put those hopes to rest.
A blade cut her legs, preventing further running. Her body crumbled to the floor, and at that point, she was up to the demons’ mercy. The creatures all bunched up, blocking her view of the sky.
A view that would be only blocked further, as arms in the form of sabers stabbed her eyes, painting the world red.
Her torso was torn limb by limp, with her organs feeling the penetrating edge of blades. Her thinking became fogged, as something dug into her brain.
She screamed, as loud as if was pointless, as no respite existed from her suffering. Eventually, her screeching did stop; not because her pain subsided, but because her throat itself was being torn apart, tearing her tongue and vocal cords. Even screaming was a respite disallowed to her.
Every inch of her body was profaned, every part that helped her perceive the world dismembered, every nerve run over by cold, uncaring steel. Everywhere that existed, she could feel the relentless assault of those beasts, simpleminded in their desire to kill. The existence once known as Elena stopped existing, all that remained of her person being a pile of guts and gore.
Her vision, her hearing, her smell. They all crumbled. No sensation could be felt, except for one.
Pain.
Her existence had become pain. Pain surrounded her. It was ever-present. She couldn’t escape it, she couldn’t shut it off. Time and space themselves became warped, as pain overwrote them.
She saw a tall figure appear before her—seeing it not through her eyes, but through her soul. But it did little to calm her woes.
It hurt. It just hurt. It hurthurthurthurthurthurthurthurthurthurthurthurthurt.
Nobody could erase this pain. Nothing. Pain was all she was. Pain. Painpainpainpainpainpainpainpainpainpain.
But despite all, she remained alive.
Although her existence had become pain, life refused to abandon her.
Why? Was it just to mock her?
She yearned for death. Death, as scary as it was, was tranquil. It was not painful. And that’s all that mattered. Relief from pain. She didn’t want to feel hurt. Just that. Nothing more.
About ten more excruciating seconds passed, and death finally arrived.
----------------------------------------
In truth, all along, her pleas for help had been heard.
I lacked the power to answer, but I heard them, listening to them carefully.
Just remember, my dear Elena. So long as I hold power over you, you are subject to my desires.
You might not know me. You might not recognize me. But just know.
When your pain becomes too much to bear… I shall be all you see.
----------------------------------------
“Elena, Elena!”
Her eyes opened. The sky showed its bright, blue hue. It was still being blocked, in part, but rather than a meeting of bloodthirsty demons, the figure she was seeing exhibited an aura of calmness, even as he begged for her to wake up.
“Thank the Goddess, you are alive!”
Miles stared straight into her eyes, their faces within breathing distance, his hand grabbing her back.
“W—w—wwwwwww…”
“Elena?”
In an instant, Elena burst upward, before stepping away from him.
“Are you alright,” he asked, concerned.
“I—I—IIIIIIIIII…”
She was stuttering wildly, unable to form any coherent words. Her neck was dripping with sweat, and her eyes were wide like they’d seen a ghost.
She was alive.
And that scared her.
For life had become pain. Yet there she was, alive but not in pain. A feeling she’d become unaccustomed to.
But what would disturb her most would be the sight she witnessed once she inspected her arm.
Her skin was in pristine condition. Her torso was intact, and her legs functioned normally. The dress she wore, featuring the same cicada-inspired design as the one it had on her first day on this world, was strung together perfectly.
Like a doll that was repaired after a child played rough with it, she showed no sign of scratches or wounds. No hints of the pain she’d experienced.
The only proof that remained were the scars carved deep in her memory.
To the tune of a loud wail, Elena collapsed to the ground.