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The Parables: The Groom & The Sword
Chapter 38: The Final Battle P1

Chapter 38: The Final Battle P1

As Malin and Abel soared through the sky on Ajax’s back, the sensation was one of unparalleled freedom and sheer wonder. It was as if the heavens themselves had opened up to them, welcoming these two mortals into a world meant only for creatures born to the skies. The wind rushed past in wild currents, howling in their ears and tugging at their clothes as they sped above the rugged mountains, plunging valleys, and vast stretches of desert below. No human had ever flown like this before, and Malin could scarcely believe he was now among the first to experience it. Every rise and fall, every swooping turn, felt like defying the very laws of nature.

Abel, however, sat with a different air about him, his face as stony as the mountains below. His eyes were fixed on the horizon, but his gaze was distant, locked somewhere far beyond what lay in front of him. Malin could sense the emptiness in his friend’s expression, the quiet sorrow that clung to him in the wake of his loss. The fire that had once danced in Abel’s eyes seemed dimmed, flickering in the winds of grief. Malin knew that if he lost Nahra, he would feel exactly the same way.

In a bid to distract them both from the painful silence, Malin pulled out a piece of bread they had made back in Carabesh. He broke off a piece and handed it to Abel, nudging him gently. “You know… Maya did love this bread,” he said, his voice soft but filled with warmth.

Abel took the piece of bread and stared at it for a moment, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah… she did.” He held the bread in his hand, memories swirling in his mind. After a pause, he let out a quiet chuckle. “There was this one time…”

Malin tilted his head, intrigued, as Abel continued. “We were out on this trip together — I wanted to surprise her, thought I’d bake something to show off. Just to make her laugh. I’m no baker, obviously, but I figured, how hard could it be?” He smiled wryly at the memory. “Ended up causing this huge plume of smoke. The whole camp thought there was a fire, and Maya came running, terrified that something serious had happened. And there I was, coughing and covered in soot, holding this piece of blackened dough that barely looked edible.”

Malin laughed, imagining the scene, and Abel shook his head, lost in the warmth of the memory. “Maya just stood there, staring at me. She tried so hard to keep a straight face, but she couldn’t hold it in. She called it her ‘most treasured rock’ and kept it for months, just to tease me.” Abel’s smile faded slightly as the memory settled in his heart, the sorrow creeping back in.

They both sat quietly for a moment, letting the laughter fade as the silence returned, tinged with a bittersweet edge. Then Malin glanced over at Abel, hesitating before he asked, “Abel… can I ask you something?”

Abel nodded. “Of course. Ask anything.”

Malin hesitated, then took a deep breath. “Why were you banished? What happened?”

Abel’s expression darkened, his gaze turning cold and distant. He looked out over the horizon, the memories clearly painful. “It’s not something I talk about. I haven’t told anyone since I left.” He paused, his voice dropping to a heavy tone. “There was a Kalkan General named Kasim. He was respected… a hero in our kingdom.”

Malin nodded slowly; he’d heard of the name. Everyone knew Kasim.

“After my mother died, I was… angry, lost,” Abel continued. “One day, I overheard Kasim boasting to his men. He spoke of her in the most vile way, as if she were nothing, as if… as if he’d defiled her body before it was cremated.” His voice trembled with fury and pain. “I snapped. I didn’t even think. I killed him. And his men, too.” Abel’s face was taut, the weight of guilt clear in his eyes. “There was no evidence to prove the truth of what he’d said. So my father… he had no choice. I had broken the law, taken the life of a Kalkan General. There was no coming back from that.”

Malin listened, stunned, his heart heavy with sympathy for his friend’s pain. Abel turned back to him, a trace of sorrow and regret in his gaze. “After that, I was lost. I wandered, tried to numb the grief any way I could. I became someone I didn’t recognize. But then…” he looked down at the Sword of Righteousness, “this journey… it saved me.”

They shared a quiet moment, letting the gravity of Abel’s story sink in. Malin finally spoke, his voice soft. “I understand. My own father… he was an adventurer. He’d leave for months, come back with tales and treasures, things we could live on. One day, though… he didn’t come back. They told us he died on the journey, left us without anything.” He sighed. “I’ve always felt like a disappointment… like I can’t fill his shoes, no matter what I do.”

Abel’s hand found Malin’s shoulder, a simple, understanding gesture, as they sat together, each weighed down by the memories and losses they’d carried. The sky around them was filled with the quiet sound of the wind, carrying the weight of their silence.

Just then, Ajax’s voice broke through, nasally and sharp, with that peculiar tone he always used. “So this is what troubles the mortal mind? Silly notions, heavy hearts over those who have crossed the river of time?” His voice carried an unexpected softness beneath the sarcasm. “You speak of your parents as if they would see you and think anything other than pride!”

Malin and Abel looked up in surprise as the dragon continued, his gaze trained forward but somehow wise and observant. “Abel Kalkan, what more would your mother desire than to see her son live with purpose, to see him fight for what he believes, even in the face of loss? And you, Master Malin!” Ajax turned his head, giving Malin a scrutinizing look. “You venture farther than your father ever did, bearing the Sword of Righteousness! Could he ever dream of achieving such a feat? Ajax thinks not!”

Abel raised an eyebrow, a hint of surprise and something close to respect crossing his face. Malin, too, was taken aback by the dragon’s insight.

Ajax scoffed, turning his gaze back to the horizon. “Foolish mortals. You honor the dead not by weeping for them, but by carrying forward the virtues they left behind. Love, courage, honor — they live on, and that is how mortals make a mark on this fleeting world.”

The dragon’s words echoed in the morning air, a profound silence following them as Malin and Abel pondered his advice. For all his theatrics, Ajax had spoken with a wisdom that seemed beyond even the ancient mountains they flew over. They exchanged a look, both men finding some comfort in the dragon’s surprising insight, each more resolved than before to honor their loved ones not with mourning, but by living fully, courageously, and with purpose.

They sat in quiet thought, watching as the sun crept higher into the sky, illuminating the world below in golden hues.

As Ajax began his descent, sweeping down through the sky towards the city of Bulsi-Jan, Abel watched the capital grow larger and more familiar beneath him. It had been years since he’d seen it, let alone from such a lofty vantage point. The grandeur of Bulsi-Jan stretched out, a network of winding streets and towering structures, alive with the people below. But before Abel could become too lost in memories, Malin’s voice cut through the whistling wind.

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“From up here,” Malin observed thoughtfully, “there’s no difference between the rich and the poor. All of them, every one of us… so small in the grand scheme.”

Ajax rumbled in agreement, his voice carrying that familiar, nasally tone. “Ah, wise words from the Master! Ajax has seen this world from heights humans can only dream of. His view is vast, infinite, filled with enough for everyone, yet humans fail to see it. Their eyes are bound to the earth, to titles and walls… to all that divides.”

Malin and Abel exchanged a look, a silent understanding passing between them as Ajax’s words settled in. Perhaps it was true — humans seldom glimpsed the world as it truly was, bound by the limitations of their earthly perspectives. But they weren’t here to ruminate; they had a mission. The legendary Sword of Righteousness now rested in Malin’s grasp, ready to bring change.

As Ajax swept low over the bustling streets, the people below reacted with a mixture of fear and awe, gasping at the sight of the great beast darkening the sky. Whispers spread through the city, and a ripple of panic flickered across faces, as most had only heard of dragons in myths or nightmares. But Malin struck the sword into the air, its light radiating like the sun itself, casting a protective glow over the city. The light reflected off rooftops, illuminating every corner and alleyway. Gradually, fear gave way to wonder, as if the light was a promise of protection.

Circling back, Ajax descended towards the palace. He beat his powerful wings, the rush of air whipping around them as he gently brought himself to hover over the grand balcony. With grace unbefitting a creature of his size, he settled, allowing Malin and Abel to dismount.

Malin slid off Ajax’s back, turning to face him. “Thank you, Ajax. Your help… it means more than you know. I’ll call upon you again. This is only the beginning.”

Ajax’s golden eyes gleamed with pride. “Ajax will be waiting, Master. The skies are his realm, and he shall return when called, with all the fury of the heavens.” He dipped his massive head in a rare gesture of respect, then turned, his wings beating as he took to the skies, his silhouette against the rising sun a memory etched into the minds of everyone who watched.

Abel and Malin watched Ajax disappear into the sky until he became a distant shape on the horizon. As the wind from his departure settled, a sudden, inexplicable tension washed over them. Malin’s instincts prickled with unease, and from the corner of his eye, he could see Abel’s expression harden.

“Something feels off,” Malin muttered, gripping the sword tighter.

Abel nodded, his face sombre as he gently placed Maya’s shrouded body on the ground. The grief in his eyes was momentarily replaced by a cold focus, his hands sliding to the hilts of his dual swords. “I know. We don’t know what’s waiting for us, but we’re not walking in unprepared.”

With the palace behind them and the city below, they took a collective breath, grounding themselves for what lay ahead.

Understood. Here’s the revised scene:

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As Malin and Abel charged through the palace, they heard the rumble of destruction echoing through the corridors, the clash and clang of swords, and the eerie, haunting song of the Fiends. Their path was littered with the dark, twisted forms of the creatures they had fought in the desert—the Fiends—but these were different. When Malin swung the Sword of Righteousness, expecting the blazing sunlight to sear through them as before, he was shocked to find it only staggered them. The light did not destroy these Fiends.

“They’re… stronger,” Malin murmured, his brow furrowing. “Why isn’t it working?”

Abel, breathing hard, looked at the oncoming swarm. “We don’t have time to figure it out, Malin! We need to reach the throne room!”

Pushing forward, they slashed their way through, hacking and dodging, until finally, they reached the massive double doors of the throne room. Bursting inside, they saw the horrific scene before them: the Sultan, Amir, barely standing, surrounded by Fiends, his once-royal robes torn and bloodied. Bazzle and Aza stood at the forefront, their smug expressions twisted with malice.

Abel’s face paled as he took in the sight of the two men he had once trusted. Azazel—posing as Aza—let out a mocking laugh, eyes narrowing with dark satisfaction.

Azazel, no longer hiding behind the mask of Aza, turned to Baazale with barely concealed rage. “How… How aren’t they dead? Didn’t the Fiends finish them off?”

Bazzle, or rather, Baazale, looked equally thrown, his face twisting in disbelief.

“I… I don’t understand. They should have perished in the desert. There was no way out for them.” He muttered, frustration flashing in his eyes.

He composed himself quickly, smirking as he observed Malin and Abel’s confusion. “No matter. They’ll fall soon enough.”

Malin’s face darkened with realisation. “So Aza, you sent those monsters after us. I understand wanting to get rid of a rival to the throne,” he said, his voice steady but filled with contempt. “But why target your Sultan?”

Azazel, letting out a mocking cackle, took a step forward, his form beginning to twist and morph. “My name is not Aza,” he declared. “The boy you knew was killed and replaced long ago. I am Azazel, the demon who will take this kingdom by fire and blood!”

The air grew thick with dark energy as Azazel began to transform, his figure elongating and twisting into his true demonic form. His hair lengthened, becoming tangled in threads of shadow, while his eyes turned into pits of crimson malice. Red strings draped around him, connecting to shadowy forms like puppets held under his control, and large, dark wings unfurled from his back, casting an eerie silhouette over the room.

Abel stared, horrified, as he took in Azazel’s true form. “I never approved of this suitor for my sister,” he spat, anger igniting in his eyes as he prepared to strike.

The Sultan’s gaze fell upon Abel, astonished. His son, whom he thought lost, stood before him, a warrior reborn. “Abel… my son…” he whispered, his voice breaking under the weight of emotion.

Baazale watched the scene with cold amusement, and then, as if suddenly remembering a forgotten detail, his lips curled into a cruel smile. “Oh, Prince Abel, you truly have no idea, do you?” he taunted, his tone dripping with malice. “Did you ever wonder why you were banished? Why your mother, the queen, met such an unfortunate end?”

Abel froze, a dark realization beginning to dawn on his face. “What… what are you talking about?” he demanded, his voice trembling with barely contained rage.

Baazale stepped forward, savoring the moment. “It was I who orchestrated everything,” he said slowly, relishing each word. “I killed your mother, the queen. It was no accident, no illness. And your precious general—the one who so conveniently witnessed your supposed crime? He was one of my Fiends, a puppet I placed to ensure you were blamed, to have you exiled.”

Abel’s face twisted in horror, rage boiling up as the truth sank in. The betrayal, the manipulation—it was all Baazale’s doing. His banishment, his mother’s death, the fall of his reputation… all orchestrated by the man before him. He clenched his fists, barely able to contain his fury. “You… you murdered her… and destroyed my life…”

Baazale chuckled, shrugging nonchalantly. “It was all in service to our lord, Youma. The demon supremacy on this earth will be restored, and you, Abel, were just a pawn to remove any obstacles.”

Just then, Nahra appeared at the entrance of the throne room, her expression one of shock as she took in the scene before her. She had overheard everything. Her gaze met Abel’s, a mixture of sorrow and fury in her eyes.

She had been listening from the shadows, ready as she stepped forward, her face etched with resolve. She had heard everything, and now her loyalty was unbreakable.

The Sultan, still fighting to stay on his feet, looked over at his daughter. “Nahra,” he murmured, “why didn’t you escape? I told you to flee!”

Nahra shook her head, stepping forward with unwavering resolve. “I am a royal of this kingdom, Father,” she said, her voice strong. “I will fight with my father, my Sultan.” She looked at Abel, her voice softening. “And my brother.”

With the bond of family and loyalty palpable between them, the final confrontation loomed, the lines drawn, the stakes set.