Desert Realm Scorch

Inle rushed behind Wiccer, outmaneuvering his opponent with the speed and strength gifted by the Plague Reach. Spinning around, Wiccer lashed out with his sword. His attack was sloppy, driven by frustration and anger. His opponent only continued to toy with him, dodging his attacks and pointing out his failures.

“You think yourself sly, Rabbit?” spat Wiccer between breaths. “You are nothing without your power. I beat you back in Varis! I can beat you again!”

Inle smirked and twirled around on his toes. He threw back his head and let out a heavy laugh. “Look at yourself,” said Inle, “You are a sham, Wiccer. You were lucky to beat me the first time, but your luck has changed. I possess the power of the Plague Reach and you are still that pathetic, brotherless, stain in life.”

Wiccer gritted his teeth and curled his lip. Inle’s words cut deep. His dead brother Avren watched him from Jedeo’s side. He watched every step towards failure that he made. He watched him as he helped harm Tull and Blayvaar. When his own Watchers turned their backs on him. He was ashamed of what he turned into. A failure – no – a monster. Something that his brother and father raised him better than... he failed them both. Inle’s abuse continued.

“You think I haven’t watched your hands tremble from your fear? Fear of what, Wiccer? Fear that you can’t live up to your brother’s standards? Fear of the darkness you faced in that forest? Fear that you have become... me?”

Wiccer clenched his shaking wrist. His heart pounded through his chest. His thoughts flooded through the gates that secured them in the back of his mind. He couldn’t go on. Inle was right. He couldn’t push forward.

“I- I am not a failure!” Wiccer roared through a quivering voice. “My brother did not- He did not die in vain!”

Wiccer picked up his sword and swayed towards Inle. Taking his hilt in both hands he made for a wide slash. No skill, just rage. His body barely reacted to his commands. He couldn’t think clearly, couldn’t remember any training he had once received.

Inle blocked the attack and powered forward, disarming Wiccer. The sword flipped and slid across the seal.

“So, this is what you’ve become?” taunted Inle, “A shred of your former self. A small, whimpering boy?”

Wiccer grabbed onto Inle and ripped off the clown mask. His eyes met Inle’s silver eyes for the first time since he tried to kill him in the prison years ago. The face of his brother’s killer still frightened him. Inle was a soulless, unfeeling part of him. A cancer he couldn't cut from his life. A tumor that snuffed out his yearning to move on, to find peace.

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“Leave me alone!” cried Wiccer, “I want to be alone.”

“You are alone,” Inle chuckled, “I made sure of that. Did your brother weep before he died?”

Wiccer clutched 1nle’s cloak. His knees wobbled and buckled. His urge to collapse was

strong, but his rising anger was stronger.

“He did, didn’t he?” Inle continued to taunt Wiccer, “Beg me, Wiccer.”

“What?” Wiccer’s breathed in short breaths. Tears soaked his cheeks. Tormented thoughts wailed in his head.

You know what he means. Beg. Beg, Wiccer. Beg to end it all. Let him kill you!

“Beg for me to reunite you with Avren.” Inle flashed a toothy grin.

Beg for your death. You are nothing! Pathetic. A waste of life! You never deserved to live on that night in the throne room while your brother died!

No... No. No!

“No!!!” Wiccer screamed at the top of his lungs. He reeled back his fist and slugged Inle’s jaw with all his pain, anger, and strength. The shadow elf flew off his feet and crashed onto the hard, stony ground.

Kill him. Kill him for hurting you!

Wiccer leaped on top of Inle and let loose a flurry of punches into his sworn enemy. Each hit exploded with sweat and blood that danced off his fist before splashing to the warm stone surface. Inle’s face warped with each strike, deforming and swelling into a horrifying mess.

Make him suffer. Make him pay, Wiccer.

“He’s paid enough, little brother. Walk away.”

Wiccer froze mid swing. A kinder voice than the others rose above the rest.

“You won. It’s over”

Wiccer lowered his bruised fist, and calmed his labored breathing. “It’s done, Avren.”

“N-Not...yet,” Inle’s voice squished and choked under the drowning of blood in his damaged

throat. Black ooze stretched over Inle’s beaten face, reconstructing his cheekbones and eye sockets until his face was whole once more. “A good effort, Wiccer. But the nightmare continues.”

Wiccer crawled backwards in grim horror as Inle rose to his feet and reached for his sword. “Get up, you pile of sniveling snot,” hissed Inle, “Take this as a man!” Inle grabbed Wiccer’s

throat and forced him to his feet. “I said get up!”

Avren, please help me!

Inle shook his head and in an instant impaled Wiccer through the chest.

Wiccer collapsed to his knees, gasping for air. His fingers twitched, clawing at Inle’s legs.

“Relax, did you think I would kill you so easily?” Inle asked, “No, I want you to remember this Wiccer. I want you to know I am in control of you. I own you and I will tell you when you

can di…”

All sound faded. All colors were blurred. Once again the forest surrounded Wiccer and all went dark.