THE man dark of hair stands ready. He looks in front to see another of his kind, whom he sees as a friend. The friend cloaks himself in black armor, but an aura surrounds him, one that is dark and maleficent.

The man of black armor rises from his meditation with an ornamented arrow in hand. The man of dark hair is distraught, seeing what he bears.

They exchange words, and the man of dark hair pleads with the man of black armor to cease his destructive acts and come back with him. The man of black armor refuses and draws his sword. The man of dark hair sees it futile to converse any longer, and he too draws his sword.

The two take position and circle each other slowly, one step at a time. Upon the shallow water where their feet gently stand amid the ripples, they dash toward one another and unleash a flurry of blows.

The force of the blows sends waves through the air, and the air cuts through the sand, the trees, the hills, and even the mountains. The sky grows dark, and lightning crashes about them upon the water, as if the Gods themselves are excited over the contest held.

Strike after strike, blow after blow, their armor becomes torn and cut, and traces of their blood splash into the water. The man of dark hair grows tired and slams his body down as if the weight of the armor and sword are too much for him to bear.

The man of black armor grows excited and flies toward the man of dark hair, crashing his blade against the other’s.

A frown for a smile, a light blade for a dark, tattered raiment for plated armor; the one who is just looks meek and weak, while the other, seemingly evil, is bold and strong. Would it be right to say that the strength and determination of one lies in their resolve?

If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

Perhaps the man of dark hair is not convinced enough that he can save his friend. Yet he has trodden long in that dead land to find the man of black armor. And having at last come upon him, he shakes in distress at having to combat such awesome power.

The flurry of strikes does not give way, and the man of dark hair crashes back toward the mountains. The man of dark hair, however, rises, and with fury flies to his friend and swings his blade at the other’s armor, sending him crashing into the sea.

And much like this over many days, the two fight incessantly with one another, and the power of their attacks surges across the land, being felt in even the remotest of locations. The sea grows tumultuous, and the thunder that roars above opens rifts within the sea.

Though the rotation of the sun and moon still keeps to its usual cycles, the light of the area in which the two men stand, stays still, not once changing. Day and night look the same to them, and though they feel the passage of time, it is all dull and slow in contrast to their clash of wills.

Now, as the waves recede and the stone-laden floor gives way, the two pierce their swords into the ground and hang onto them, both thoroughly exhausted. Cracks begin to form on the black armor, and the helmet gives way to a man, light of hair and beautiful of face. But his eyes teem with vigor, and he stands aloft.

As he rises, he brings out the ornamented arrow. He points the tip toward the Heavens, and a light surges to it. He shouts an incantation, and the clouds in the sky begin to warp into pillars of flame and lightning that spiral around the light. But just as he is about to finish the incantation, the man of dark hair leaps and grasps onto the arrow and himself shouts another incantation. The light disappears, and the clouds recede. Blood splatters across the light-haired man’s face, and through it, he sees his friend’s arm burst. The arrow snaps and dissolves into the air.

The water rushes back into what has become the inlet, and the two fall into its shallow depths. The man of dark hair brings himself up, and though he falters, he drags himself to his friend, who lies on the floor, still. The two speak once more, and the man of light hair cries in his friend’s embrace. The man of dark hair shifts his gaze to me with a gentle smile on his face. Tears flow down his cheeks, and he whispers something.

And though I cannot understand the words, I feel their effects and become uneased.