“Death wrote itself into the lives of all beneath them.” My dad spoke up. We were on a battlefield scavenging the dead bodies of soldiers. The smell of metal and burning flesh assaulted my senses. It was like an old friend was always there with me no matter how far I was from a battlefield.

As I sifted through the wreckage, the ground seemed to swallow the screams of the fallen, leaving behind a haunting silence broken only by the occasional moan of the wounded. My father's weathered face bore the weight of countless battles, etched with lines that told stories of both triumph and loss.

"Connor," his voice held a somber tone, "this is the price of rebellion. The gods demand obedience, but at what cost?"

I nodded, unable to find words amid the suffocating air thick with sorrow and regret. The fallen soldiers were not merely casualties of war; they were pawns in a game of divine tyranny.

A gust of wind carried the acrid scent of smoke and blood, mingling with the metallic tang of death. It was a scent that lingered in the fibers of my being, a reminder that war was a constant companion, an uninvited guest that stained even the purest of intentions.

Among the fallen, the glint of metal caught my eye. A sword, its hilt adorned with intricate engravings, lay discarded amidst the chaos. It seemed out of place, untouched by the crimson hue that painted the battlefield.

I reached for the sword, it's cold touch sending a shiver down my spine. As my fingers wrapped around the hilt, a surge of energy coursed through me, a whisper of power that danced along my skin.

My father's gaze fixated on the blade, a mixture of concern and curiosity in his eyes. "Conor, be wary. Such artifacts often carry a weight beyond our understanding."

But I couldn't ignore the pull of destiny intertwined with the sword's existence. It felt like a key, a chance to shift the balance in this war-torn world. With a hesitant resolve, I tucked the sword at my side, its weight a constant reminder of the burden I now carried.

"We should return home," my father's voice broke the silence, "your mother will be worried sick."

As we made our way back to our village, a sense of unease crept over me. __________________________________________

That night, a dreamless sleep eluded me. Images of the battlefield flashed before my eyes, a montage of death and destruction. But amidst the chaos, a figure emerged, his face obscured by shadows. He raised his hands, unleashing a wave of energy that engulfed me.

I awoke with a start, beads of sweat trickling down my forehead. As I tried to make sense of the dream, a knock on my door shattered the silence.

"Connor, wake up. There is trouble in the village." My father's voice carried a note of urgency.

Without a moment to spare, I grabbed the sword, its presence a comfort amidst the uncertainty. As we made our way to the village square, the sound of screams pierced the air. Before us stood Daelor, god of war and ruler of this land.

His face was a mask of cruelty, a reminder that his power was absolute. As he unleashed a torrent of fire, villagers scrambled for cover.

My father drew his sword, his eyes ablaze with defiance. "Daelor, why do you seek to punish innocents?" The god sneered, his gaze fixated on my father. "Your rebellion has gone too far. It is time to end this charade."

With a flick of his wrist, Daelor unleashed a bolt of lightning, sending my father to the ground. A scream tore from my lips, a sound born of grief and rage. As Daelor turned his attention to me, a surge of energy coursed through me, its intensity threatening to overwhelm me. Without thinking, I unsheathed the sword and charged. The square fell silent, all eyes on the unfolding duel. Daelor seemed mildly amused, his cruel laughter echoing across the village.

"My, my," he drawled, "The boy has some fire in him."

His words only fanned my anger. With a loud cry, I swung my sword at him. He merely flicked his hand and I was sent flying backward. The sword slipped from my fingers as I crashed into a wooden cart.

I could hear gasps of fear from the crowd, their faith wavering as Daelor approached me with slow, menacing steps. My heart pounded in fear but I refused to let him see it. I scrambled to my feet, retrieved the sword.

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Daelor was now just a few feet away from me. His smirk widened as he readied himself to strike me down. But before he could make his move, I felt an intense surge of energy coursing through me again.

This time, however, it didn't feel threatening. It wasn't trying to overwhelm me. Instead, it was aiding me, bolstering my strength. With newfound courage, I raised my sword high above my head, the blade shimmering with a mysterious light.

"The child thinks he can play hero," Daelor sneered, amusement and mockery dancing in his eyes. But his grin faltered as he saw the radiant energy enveloping me.

Without another word, I charged at him once more. But this time, I was no mere boy swinging a sword in vain hope. I was an avenger, a beacon of hope fueled by the innocent lives lost to his tyranny.

Our swords clashed with an ear-splitting clang that echoed across the silent square. The force of our collision sent shockwaves outwards, rippling through the cobblestones and causing the villagers to stumble back in surprise.

For a moment, we were locked in a deadly dance. Our swords clashed again and again, sparks flying with each strike.The crowd watched with bated breath as I managed to parry his blows, countering with my own. My muscles screamed in protest, my grip on the sword threatening to falter, but I fought through the pain. The energy that coursed through me kept me going, overwhelming all sensations of fatigue and fear.

Suddenly, with a swift and unexpected twist of his wrist, Daelor knocked my sword from my hands. A gasp went up from the crowd as it clattered onto the cobblestones at our feet. His victorious smirk returned as he swiftly lunged towards me, his sword aimed straight for my heart.

But just as swiftly, I ducked out of the way, rolling across the ground to retrieve my fallen weapon. As I sprung back to my feet, I lashed out, slicing into Daelor's side with a satisfying grunt of pain from my opponent.

His face twisted in shock and rage as he looked down at the gash in his cheek. Daelor's confident smirk had vanished, replaced with a grimace of surprise and, for the first time, a hint of fear. Each impact of our swords seemed to stagger him, his once steady footing becoming shaky. The radiant energy from me was overpowering him, weakening his tyrannical grasp, and I could see it in his eyes - the realization that he might lose this fight.

The energy within me grew stronger with each passing moment, feeding off my determination and will to protect the people I love. It was as if all the sorrow, anger, and resentment were being converted into this potent force, turning me into an unstoppable force.

Emboldened by this newfound power, I took an aggressive leap forward and swung my sword with all my might. He parried my strike but staggered back under its force. The crowd held its breath, watching as Daelor struggled to regain his balance.

Seizing the moment, I thrust my sword forward catching him off guard "Daelor!" I called out, my voice echoing in the sudden hush that had fallen over the crowd. Their fearful whispers and gasps had ceased as they watched our battle unfold. The cruel tyrant was bleeding, wounded by a mere boy. A boy who was ready to do anything to protect his people, to uphold justice and peace.

His snarl cut through the silence, a harsh, bitter sound against the quiet of the night. Hatred contorted his once handsome features, and with another roar he lunged at me again. But I was ready.

I sidestepped his attack, my feet dancing across the cobblestones. With a quick slash of my sword, I left another mark on him - another testament to his dwindling dominance over us. His cry echoed through the square as he staggered back.

I stood tall, watching him carefully as I held my bloodied blade before me. He grimaced at me, his sword wavering in his grip, but he was not ready to admit defeat. His arrogance had him tethered in this fight, his pride refusing to yield to a mere boy - me.

A deep growl emanated from him as he gathered his last vestiges of strength and charged towards me again. His moves were sloppy, desperate even. There was no finesse in his actions any more. The once unbeatable Daelor had been reduced to a bumbling mess under my blade.

My eyes focused on him, my heart pounding in my chest. Every fibre of my being tensed for the inevitable clash. With a swift movement, I parried his clumsy attack, spinning around him and with a swift motion, I swept my blade towards his legs.

He fell hard onto the cobblestones, creating a cloud of dust that rose into the air under the moonlight.

I stood over him, panting heavily. He looked up at me through bloodied eyes, his chest heaving. The predatory smile was long gone.

Then i felt a sword in my back and I gasped, stumbling forward. The crowd gasped in unison with me. The sword was pulled out again, and my knees gave way from under me as I fell to the ground. I turned on my back, struggling for breath and saw Daelor's right-hand, smirking down at me. There was a triumphant gleam in his eyes as he looked down at his fallen adversary.

"I told you, boy," he sneered, raising his sword for the final blow. "You are nothing."

My vision blurred around the edges, but I wasn't ready to give up yet. I clenched my teeth and gripped my sword tighter, ignoring the pain radiating from my back. As he brought down the sword aiming for my heart, I rolled away, the tip of his blade slicing a gash into the cobblestones where I had been a moment ago.

Pushing up onto shaky feet, I turned towards him. I was wounded but not defeated falling back down on my knees the will to fight left me when i saw that he didn’t have a single scratch on him. What happened to the multiple cuts i landed on him? Looking back at the original body before I was stabbed it was no where in sight.

My breath hitched as the realization dawned on me. Daelor was never there with me; it was his right-hand all along creating an illusion, a specter to distract and divide my attention while he got close enough to strike me from behind. The real Daelor had never taken a hit, had never bled.

As I knelt there, the cold cobblestones beneath me seeping into my bones, I watched as Daelor slowly materialized out of the shadows. He looked pristine as he led a mocking applause, his deep laughter ringing through the square like a death knell.

"You see, boy," Daelor said, stepping forward to tower over me, "the world is not just about strength and courage. It's also about cunning and strategy." His eyes bore into mine with a cold, predatory glee as he raised his sword high above his head. "And you have just lost."

Despair washed over my world turned to black.