So we cut to Talon’s camp in the swamp or something. Talon’s gloating or celebrating or something. Whatever.

So like, Myra starts escaping. She probably cuts her bonds free or something and bails. She sneaks through the camp of mercenaries. Talon ends up noticing and gives chase. I know I’m being lazy, but it’s nearly four years of this. Leave me alone (scream).

Anyway, in the dramatic scene in your head, Myra makes her way through the swamp. The howling mercenaries follow, some falling into bogs to drown and shit.

Eventually, Myra stumbles across a huge dam. It’s holding the entire swamp in. An old, dry riverbed stretches away below. Myra scrambles down the damn, and into the narrow little valley.

Like ants, the mercenaries swarm after her, Talon at their lead. They gain quickly, and Myra tries to climb out of the valley, clambering up a Titan trees out-jutting root.

“You can’t escape me, Myra!” Talon howls. “I don’t need to eat. I don’t need to sleep. I have all the time in the world!” He laughs.

“Come on lads. Any of you who can catch her before I do, I’ll make him a king! I’ll…”

“TALOOOOOOOON!!!” The booming voice roars like thunder. All eyes turned back to the dam. Myra sees a flash of light. A bright sword.

“Erasmus…” she breathes. But in the glow, she sees another.

Pike, perched on a log jutting from the dam, sees Myra in the distance. The sword in his hand flashing.

“Myra!” He cries. “Hold on!”

“Pike?” Talon calls. “I told you…”

Myra tries to scramble up higher. Talon sees this. Looks back at Pike. Their eyes, even over such a distance, lock. Pike raises up the bright sword, begins turning to face the tangle of dead trees forming the damn.

Talon looks down briefly at the thin trickle of water snaking past his feet. “Oh… you little shit… don’t you dare…”

Pike’s sword bites into the damn, it’s wide arc slicing through the dead wood like butter. He slices again, cutting an X into it. The murky swamp water begins to trickle out. It begins to gush. And then it rips through, hurling Pike backwards in a somewhat comical fashion. And in a second, the whole dam crumbles, the water held back for untold generations, now rushes out.

Talon can only watch as the mercenaries at the rear of his little column are engulfed in the flood. The others try to scramble out of the valley, but are caught by the water and disappear. Talon, the Black Sword strapped to his back, seethes with rage, as if to dare the flood to take.

“Pike…” he snarls. “You fu~” And the waves crash down on him.

The water touches Myra’s feet, she clutches on to the root for dear life. Soon, the waves stop buffetting her. The raging torrent subsides, and a small river trickles gently through its old bed.

Soaked to the bone, she drags herself on to shore. She watches the river for a time, as though she cannot believe it. But at last, it settles on her that they are all gone. The mercenaries. Talon. Even Pike. She shivers, and walks away. Though she is wet and cold by the time the rangers find her, at least her tears had ceased.

Far away, the liberated water came rushing down into another valley, crashing into a wide, gently flowing river. Broken wood, moss, bodies, wash into the crystal blue water and muddy it. But the river flows on, and the filth is carried away. A stray log bobs along the surface, until it strays into a shallow bank. Pike lets go of it, flopping clumsily into the water before thrusting his head back above the surface.

He gulps in air hungrily, his limbs shaking. For a long time, he just steadies himself until his breathing his back to normal. He looks around him, the detritus of the swamp flowing gently past and around him. He sees still bodies float past, men who were not as lucky as he was. Pike digs his feet into the riverbed below and begins wading to the dry ground.

The water behind him shoots upwards, a dark figure bursting up to the surface. Before Pike sees his foe, long limbs wrap around him and lock into place. The eyes blaze through the dark, mud smeared face, and the man drags Pike back into the water.

The two of them thrash about beneath the surface. Pike’s lung nearly burst in his chest as he fights Talon’s iron grip. In his blind struggle, Pike’s hand cuts itself on a jagged rock. Without thinking, he snatches it up like a knife and stabs wildly. It hits soft flesh, and Pike savages Talon’s belly with the stone, sawing away. A foul warmth fills the water around them, the hold on Pike loosens, and he is free.

Pike resurfaces and gulps in air. He blinks the water out of his eyes, and sees Talon close by, standing amid water darkened by blood. Talon’s teeth show white against the mud that cakes his entire body. He snarls as his hand clutches at the entrails, hanging loose from his eviscerated stomach.

“Pike… you little shit. That hurts.” Talon growls, and then shoves his hand into his open belly. Pike wretches a little as he watches Talon disembowel himself. The grim deed done, Talon turns to one time captain, his chest now seeming more prominent.

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“Men…” Talon croaks. “Money… Innards even. I don’t need any of that. But you Pike, you couldn’t bloody well let it alone.”

Talon reached for the sword at his back. Tensing his arm, he hauled it free, the blade shearing through the wooden hilt and turning it into splinters. The Black Sword gleamed red in the morning light. Weapon raised above his head, Talon lunged forward. But Pike met him, catching Talon’s wrists before the blade could descend. The two grappled, before Pike slammed his forehead into Talon’s nose. The man stumbled backwards and fell into the water, while Pike scrambled for the shore.

Forgetting his sword, Talon gets back on his feet and lunges, grabbing Pike’s leg and tripping him over. Back spins in the air and kicks Talon in the temple. The two fall back from each-other, and reengage. Their arms lock together, faces pressed close together as both men snarl in the other’s face.

“I’ll kill you…” Talon growls.

Pike twists Talon’s right arm, the sound of bone snapping fills the air. Talon’s left, lands a strike on Pike’s jaw and sends him stumbling backwards. Talon grips his broken arm and forces it back into place with a sickening crack.

Pike flounders in the water, still trying to drag himself towards the bank of the river. Talon leisurely wades back to where the Black Sword embedded itself in the riverbed.

“I’ll kill you. I’ll find Myra, kill her too. Is your precious Erda alive? I hope so.” Taking up the sword, he slowly trudges back towards Pike. “Because I’d love nothing more than to tear her apart, slowly. I’ll spends years doing it. I won’t even look at another woman until I’ve made her feel every torment a woman could ever feel. You hear me Pike? I’ll bring them all hell! Because that! Is what it means! To anger a god!”

As Talon drew close, Pike’s hand rested upon a familiar object. A faint glimmer was seen beneath the water. The weight of a sword’s hilt made the muscles in his arm move on their own. As the Black Sword came swinging down, Erasmus’ sword came up out of the murk, Pike roaring as he met the attack. Sparks flew as the blades bit into each-other. Pike parried Talon’s sword away and struck back. The pale blade flashed out and slashed through Talon’s face, which disappeared in a spray of blood.

Talon staggered back, clutching at his ruined face. Pike got to his feet and backed away, sword at the ready. After a moment, Talon took his hand away. A jagged gash ran up his face from chin to forehead. An eye, some teeth and most of his nose were nose. Talon looked every bit of the undead demon he now truly was. The man gave a hideous, gurgling growl.

“Nice blow,” he hissed. “But… tis but a flesh wound…” A shadow seemed to gather around Talon, a wind stirring his hair, as he gathered his strength.

Pike breathed heavily, and stared into the blade of his borrowed sword.

“Erasmus…” he whispered. “This is your job… so please… help me.” A sweet scented wind brushed up against him. A familiar warmth crept from the hilt and into his hand. Already, the sword was almost too hot to touch. But instead of burning him, it gave him strength. “Burn me all you want… you stupid sword. Just help me put this right.”

Talon lunged. Pike ran to meet him. The blades met again. They scowled at each other over the crossed swords. It all went slow-motion. PIKE VS TALON burst on the screen.

They parted, and struck again.

The desperate, animal struggle had given away to the deadly dance of death, between two men who had dedicated their lives to the sword. Sparks flew. Water sprayed from the slashing steel and the swift feet. The drops tinkling like rubies as the sun red face rose to survey the final bout of the war. The two moved as though the water were nothing, heedless of the drag.

The music swelled, and Pike’s shirt was removed for some reason.

The battle continued to rage. Slow motion again. Close up on Talon’s face, a monstrous caricature of a man, contorted in mindless hate and a lust for slaughter. Cut to Pike’s face, desperation and anger giving way to calm, stoic determination. Voices ring in his mind.

A black and white image of Myra, the sound of her heartbroken cries ringing in his memory.

“Garth. I love you…”

Erasmus glowers at Pike, a hand covering his fresh wound.

“I should give you a scar to remember this insult!”

Erasmus stares down at him, fresh cuts after their duel in an earlier chapter.

“No matter what you may have done, no matter what the outcome might be, Erda did not make the wrong choice.”

Cut back to Pike’s face, tears well up in the corner of his eyes.

Erda sits before him, having just saved his life with the last healing potion in her possession.

Erasmus’ voice. “I understood then, but true beauty was…”

Erda holds him in a dark chamber.

“I still love you Pike. I will fight for you, even when no one else will. I won’t leave you to die alone in the cold.”

Cut back to Pike’s face. He roars. Talon roars. Music kicks back, epic as shit, testosterone flies all over the place. The warriors clash. And I mean really CLASH! Not just sparks, but a fucking explosion practically blinds the audience.

Talon’s sword stroke does no harm, as the Black Sword’s top half is shorn away. The paladin’s sword has cut through it. Time slows for Talon as he stares at his ruined blade in shock, unaware that his head and body are going their seperate ways. As Pike stands in a cool, after-attack pose, the audience can still see a faint shimmer of light left by the the trail Erasmus’ sword, slicing through Talon’s sword and neck in a single stroke.

Pike stands beside the river, watching the play of early day’s light on the crystalline surface. A gentle wind caresses him.

The mood is somewhat ruined, by the ghastly head hanging from his hand by its hair, sputtering angrily.

“Pike? Pike! I mean… Captain. Captain Pike!” Talon’s voice is thin and reedy, probably from the lack of lungs. “You can’t just leave me like this, old chap. I didn’t really mean to hurt you back there. I always knew you were the better fighter…”

Pike lifted up the grisly cranium and stared into its remaining eye. “What was that?”

“I… I said that you always were a better fighter.”

“How much better?”

“The best!”

Pike nodded solemnly. “Damn right. You were never that good. Honestly, should have quit while you were ahead.”

Talon forced a cackle. “Good one Cap’n! Wit and wisdom. A gentleman and a scholar! You’re not the kind of soul who’d live a poor, bodiless invalid to his fate. Eh cap’n?”

“What are you complaining about,” Pike’s eyes narrowed. “You’ll live.”

“Eh?”

“Enjoy your life, Talon.” With a snap of his wrist, Pike sent the head arcing over the water.

“Piiiiiiiike!” And with a gentle plop the head fell in the river, and was gone.

Pike stared down at the two fragments of the Black Sword in his hand, feeling a hollow pit in his stomach at the sight of them.

“Maybe you should never have been made,” Pike muttered to himself. He shook his head. “No… that’s not fair. You can’t help being what you are. But… can I?”

Pike touched a hand to his cheek, remembering the rough scars which had once marred his face. Scars that had miraculously disappeared, along with the wound that should have killed him.

No. Not a miracle. A choice. Erda’s choice.

Pike looked back at the broken sword.

“Can a tiger change his stripes? Well, I’ll give it a try, for both of us.” And with that, Pike tossed the two fragments into the water.