Thasun’s knees gave out under him. The desperate feeling of helplessness was slowly creeping in. He did everything in his power to prevent such a thing! He defended the walls. Carefully observed those two Albae and put them under Surveillance at every step. He even went as far as to risk his own life to try and take one of them down.
Yet they had been faster. He gazed upon the painful expressions the three heads showed in the hands of the female Alb.
Minvávriel, the sister of Vanátorás, mocked Thasun with a quiet laugh. “Aww. Are you giving in to despair already? Do not worry. We will send you after them right away. How naive to believe that mere humans could do even the slightest thing against us. This battle is over. I will send those ugly mugs on spears through the battle lines. As soon as I do, their morale will collapse and the defenders will give in.”
Thasun remained on his knees and rested his hand on the handle of his katana, while the woman, clad from head to toe in plate armor, stepped over to her brother. Her voice was enchanting. Mesmerizing and beautiful. It was distracting him and seducing him at the same time. How could any being have such a beautiful voice, yet be so cruel at the same time?
“What do you intend to do with the city?” He tried, though he had to concentrate not to call her “your grace” or “M’Lady”. He blinked his confusion away, as he tried to bring his mind to order with the basics of meditation. Luckily it was Vanátorás, that answered in her stead.
“We offer it to the flames. Sandrei will fall and its inhabitants will be slaves. Or they die. I will indulge in some sort of art of never seen beauty as well, I think. So some will have to perish as they do the honor.” The Alb was staring at the flames of the burning city with awe.
Thasun finally succeeded in emptying his head. All his thinking focused on his sole purpose. His sword. Slowly he rose and did not leave his opponent out of his eyes. The blade that Vanátorás was carrying, was about two finger broads of width, as well as eighty centimeters of length. It did not possess any sword handy to parry. A weapon focused solely on offense. Thasun drew his own with a slow and calm motion and aligned it in front of his body. He decided to defend the first strike of his enemy as well as counter attack with the third Iordai Style. Demon Hunt. The Alb was waiting to begin though.
“You humans are all the same. Filthy, dirty insects. Worthless. Swordsman, you are not the first that caught my eye. From time to time some pierce out from the masses, that overshadowed the existence of others. But they always disappoint me. Will you as well? Are you going to?” Vanátorás asked with calm voice.
Thasun steeled himself for the coming fight. “No. I will not disappoint you.” He took in some air, focused and looked the pointy eared bastard right into his dark, black eyes. “I will KILL you!”
Immediately Vanátorás dashed forward and crossed the distance towards the swordmaster in an instant. The thin, dark blade was raised at a stabbing motion approximately on the height of Thasuns heart. He could not believe the speed at which the Alb came at him. He could barely bring up his sword to try and deflect the attack. But the blade barely budged!
Thasun stepped back and grabbed the dull side of his katana to put more power into his defense. Vanátorás’ blade moved upwards, not without scratching Thasuns shoulder though. The bloody scratch was nothing. The Alb hurriedly retracted his sword and caught Thasuns two handed attack with ease. A dent appeared in Thasuns durak steel katana.
How was it possible for such a thin blade to be this stable and compact? Thasun gritted his teeth and immediately prepared for another attack. “Third Style. Demon Hunt.”
The swordmaster let energy flow into his arms and legs to be able to execute the technique. With a quick jump he catapulted himself forward, let out three heavy, two handed strikes to critical areas of his opponent, as well as one to the back of his head as he passed him.
The Alb flicked his blade around in a playful gesture and denied Thasuns attack completely. “Haha. Was that really it?”
Quickly Thasun rolled himself up, only to use the second Iordai style while getting up. “Iordai: Zenzen!” His blade shot forth out of his rotation and a long distance attack flew towards the pointy eared bastard.
The Alb moved his blade against the gust of air that was aiming for him immediately, destroying the destructive force in the process. “Why are you giving names to your attacks, when they are only childish gimmicks?´” The Alb flicked his sword three times in Thasuns direction. Shortly after three small scratches opened on his cheek. “You humans are so weak.”
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Thasun bit his own lip, until he tasted blood. “Eight Iordai Style: One hundred twenty-eight moon flowers.”
But Vanátorás was faster. While the swordmaster was still preparing, the dark eyed Alb crossed the distance towards him in a heartbeat. The swordsman spotted the movement, though had been far too slow to defend for it. The thin, black durássium blade made his way into Thasuns body and cut through his heart.
Unbelieving the swordmaster stared at the red, glistering blood, that slowly dripped over the blade towards the ground. His own blood. He knew, that this was his end. A destroyed heart was a absolute death sentence. Yet he felt weird. His body did not collapse. It did not give in. He did not fall to the ground.
Vanátorás raised his eyebrows. What was this odd aura? He jumped backwards and pulled the blade with him. Immediately a wave of energy sprung forth from the mortally wounded swordsman. Dazzling white light shone from the wound, the mount, nose, ears and his eyes.
Thasun let out a shrill, changed roar, while the light shone outwards in cones of light from his eyes, ears and wound. Then it stopped. His wound was gone. He was able to breathe properly again. His whole body felt refreshed in fact. Full of energy. He raised his katana and eyed the blue shimmer inside the darkness of his blade. Something talked to him. He did not know what it was.
Vanátorás smirked. “Ha! I like you. A cultivator too? Interesting. Then show me what you can do.”
Thasun did not know what the pointy ear talked about, but he was certain that this energy was exactly like his great master had taught him. “Zenzen.” He swung his katana at the Alb casually. The power of his swing alone sent a shockwave into a building behind himself. He grit his teeth. All his control was messed up now. There was no way for Thasun to use a highly technical thing like Zenzen anymore. It would be hard to beat the Alb now.
“Is that all?” Vanátorás asked arrogantly.
“No.” Thasun said, as he dashed at his enemy. Two blades connected hard. The durak steel katana took another dent, though Thasun was slowly able to push Vanátorás back. As soon as he would retreat or try to counter, he would unleash all the might of the eight style of the Iordai school upon him. One hundred twenty-eight moon flowers.
Though, before Thasun could even attempt to attack, another hard sting of pain ripped through him. Another blade of Durássium, that exited through his ribcage. He had been impaled. This time he felt all his energy fade. He turned his head, only to spot a black Durássium helmet. Long, blonde hair fell on her plate armor, as Minvávriel revealed her face. In this darkness, he could spot a hint of her pupils, hiding in the shadow real of her eyes. A gentle green.
Her beauty was robbing him every ability to speak or breathe. Or was it the blade? He did not know. Then he sank into her smooth embrace of death as she whispered sweetly: “Nobody hurts my beloved. Die peacefully. You fought well…. for a mere human.” Then Thasun sank in everlasting darkness.
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Meanwhile Ollowyn woke in the Valley of Ending. A tear was rolling down his cheeks and fell on his soft sleeping spot. He had dreamt of a burning city that he had never seen before. Yet a deep sadness filled his heart as he remembered the fires. As if he had lost something dear to himself. Around his body, there was wrapped a silver chain. The other sleeping spots were empty. Though an old man, tightly packed in sheets, was leaning against a wall on the other side of the room.
He stared at him with gentle eyes. “Welcome back, boy.”
Ollowyn wanted to reply, but his body felt too tired. “Ahrhr.” He croaked.
“You should rest. Your body will feel powerless for some time.” The old man wrapped his blankets tighter around himself. As he spotted Ollowyn’s confused face, he explained further: “You were poisoned. You nearly died and Thasun found a way to cure you. We barely saved you though. You should sleep.”
Ollowyn did not understand the words the old man spoke. He had a lot to learn. He eyed the ceiling of the sanctum and wished for nothing more than to return to the woods to hunt. He was hungry.
The boy turned to face the old man, as he re-adjusted himself to the side. “Arr. Thrrrankrr.” His voice barely giving in to his demands. The man nodded and Ollowyn surrendered himself to sleep again.
Ritto Iordai sighed. Hopefully Thasun was alright. It would have not been that easy to secure such an artifact with ease. Curiously he eyed the letter of Lady Irina Thalor and opened it to read it for the first time.
My dear Master Iordai.
In the last years, there had been many moments where I dreaded my husband and longed to be with you. His love was suffocating at times and I really missed you a lot. The fact that you left me behind, had never been easy for me.
I heard from one of your students, that you have been poisoned. That it was looking bad. In the hope that we can meet again in this life, I granted his wish for the Nepheniel and send it to you. Though it is unlikely that we do.
Our enemies are standing on our borders. This time it looks to be different. I fear they will attack our city. Zenshin would be in grave danger if Sandrei falls. But I don’t want to paint a solely dark picture. I hope your student can help us here.
After all these years I cannot think that I would not regret my decision. I should have followed you, no matter where your way would lead you. But now it is too late. I suspect that my husband has fallen as well. He took two of my sons with him too. Now only one hope remains in my life.
I beg of you… come to my court. Teach my youngest son. Keep me company, like in old times.
In the hope that my desperate words reach your heart,
Regretfully,
Lady Irina Bethilia of Thalor
The great master was reaching for a small dark red stone in his pocket. He concentrated briefly to ignite a small, tiny flame. Quickly he surrendered the letter to the fire. A tear left his eye and dripped onto the floor. He just couldn’t. He had to protect his students and the Valley of Ending. And if he had to betray the whole world to do so… So be it.