TormentedDragon
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Titan was fast. Shield to spike, shield to rod. Still, the opening was wide now, and the sword had stopped fighting his chains. The spinning was dying, and his silver was ready. He could end this. With a tug of his will, the chains wrapped the sword and began to whirl it about, building momentum for the next move. His spike, he caught, and whipped it around as it passed his body, slinging it right back at the Titan.
As for his silver, that would be h-
Reflex pulled him to the side, his eyes widening in surprise; but the magic moved faster than reflex.
He blinked. From across the table, his mirror image did the same, and then scratched its nose. “Your move,” it said, and he looked down. Ah. Flipsy. He frowned. He was in a bad position. Almost the entire board was copper, and none of the options open to him were especially promising. With a growl of frustration, he floated his piece over the board and let it fall into his chosen square, flipping the appropriate pieces over to iron with a wave of his hand. The other him frowned for a moment, brow furrowed, and then, predictably, undid his temporary advantage with his next move. Wintin sighed, and waved a hand. “You win, already,” he growled.
The other chuckled, shaking his head. “Giving up already? There’s at least ten more moves ta be made.”
He snorted. “And let you make the gap wider’n it already is? Me poor ego couldn’t take it.” At that, his doppelganger threw back its head and laughed, roaring. And for his part, he just shook his head, as his twin had before.
His mouth twisted open
“So that’s it, then?”
but he could not scream.
A face the mirror of his own stared down at him, half-covered in blood and grinning like an idiot. He grunted, trying to move, but no dice. Arm and legs alike were pinned to the ground by horseshoes, and held there by a will that matched his own. His captor laughed, and placed a knee on his chest. “Yield?” He grimaced, but nodded. It rankled, but he had no choice; he was caught. Above him, his mirror sighed. “Really? You sure?”
“I’m sure,” he growled. “Now let me up.”
The dark slipped over his eyes
“You done?”
and he could see nothing.
“What’s that you’re making?”
He looked up, and grinned at his twin. “It’s a gift!” he said, moving his hand to show off the copper rose. The other cocked his head, and gave a low whistle.
“That’s nice. That for Rinna?”
“Aye. It’s her trials on the morrow, you know?”
His twin nodded, a sly grin on his face. “Lookin’ ta get your foot in that door, then?”
“Well, ya know, ain’t hurt ta try.”
Winbin barked a laugh, and slapped his back. “Aye, an’ mind you keep at it, now. Y’see what ya can do when ya try.”
His hands grasped his head
“Can’t keep up, can ya?”
and clenched.
“What happened?”
He shrugged. “Yolin beat me to it,” he said, rolling the rose between his finger and thumb. “She favored him, as it was. No real surprise.” He didn’t have to look to know what his brother was doin’. Eyebrow up, frown on his face.
“So, what, didn’t even try?”
“Well, ‘is was gold. An’ she kissed him.”
“Mouth?”
“Nah, cheek.”
Winbin snorted. “Not much meanin’ there, then. Could still have given it her, anyways. No girl’ll turn away a nice present, given honest.”
“Eh.” He shrugged again. Winbin just shook his head.
He bowed
“Why’d you even try?”
and slipped toward sand.
He swung the blade once more, but the beast just shrugged it off and kept on coming, its expression angry. His eyes flicked to the sides; he could just run. Wouldn’t be hard. Sure, it’d tear through the forge, but th-
“Sod this.”
The shock of his own palm slapping his cheek forced his eyes open, and he looked out on a world gone dark. There were the walls and the sands, but shadowed, blackened, dark as night. Where the Titan stood, there was simply a void, a vaguely man-shaped hole in the world; behind it, its pillar, a greater void, blank and yet menacing.
He growled, and reached for his metal. That was bright in the darkness, sharp in his mind; chains and cauldron, spike and rod, hook and quicksilver, and in the distance, in the sand, his nail. A tug on the chains and the cauldron, and he righted; a pull on the silver, and it burst from the sands to fly at the Titan’s head.
The spike had almost torn itself apart; he forced it back together, and thrust it at the Titan’s leg. The colossus tried to side-step his attack, but this time it was not fast enough. Instead the metal spear sliced through the dark revenant’s limb, its armoured plating tearing and buckling before its motion. A hiss of sudden pain bellowed across the scarlet sands, as the undead creature felt his bolt’s bite.
The rod was twisted, more a crook than a rod; he rolled it up, flattened it, and heaved the disc at the Titan’s side. The wounded leviathan somehow managed to get its shield in place to meet his assault, its heavy feet bracing for the collision. But as the circular weapon struck, it spun in place, grinding relentlessly against the shield; moments later, the monster’s razored screen burst apart, jagged fragments exploding into the dusty air. Titan itself flew back, awkwardly crashing to the ground. The monster seemed smaller now, its dark substance flickering, somehow appearing less solid.
“You can’t,” he growled, reaching for the chains that bound the Titan’s sword, “beat a man with the things he’s fought and won.” The chains fused at his bidding, encasing both hilt and crossguard, and swung the mithril blade at the Titan’s shoulder. The monster lurched backwards on the ground, sending its gauntleted palms slamming together against either side of its giant claymore in a desperate attempt to halt its flight. A savage clash of metal rang through the arena, dust billowing from the collision.
“I’ve already faced that demon, necromancer. And won.”
The Dreadnight’s eldritch sapphire orbs suddenly blazed in the sand soaked dusk, shining with an intensity that matched Wintin’s own. Defiant to the end, the brute’s massive hands were clasped around its own black blade, even with the massive broadsword impaled through its plated shoulder.
“Some demons don’t die mine friend, however oft we face them.”
Channelling the surge of mana now leaching from its devastated body, the behemoth sent a deluge of its dark veined energy in a devastating rush, focussed along the chain that bound it to Wintin. Like a monstrous flood, the tidal wave of power rushed forward for the silver-sandaled smith, churning and seething in its awesome force.
“I hope thou hast a chance to learn that.”
The disc slipped between tinsmith and torrent, its spin redoubled; but the power met iron and passed through unharmed, barreling into the tinsmith’s chest. Once again, the darkness rolled across him, changing his skin from tan to grey, and blackening his silver tattoos. Before his eyes, Yolin sneered at him, the lovely Rinna at his side, bedecked in bridal dress. In his ears, his brother jeered at him, and with him all the village.
Wintin grinned.
“You finally speak!” he rasped, wincing at the pain that speaking brought, and with a grunt, threw his arms wide open and shattered the disc. “And here I was beginnin’ to think that your first speech was but a trick. So, Chosen! Who are your wee ones?” The pieces twisted into discs themselves, and floated up to join the gathering mass of silver, where it hung above the Titan’s head.
Apparently exhausted, the Dreadnight did not try to scramble away, or launch an attack. Instead, it simply sat upon the sandy arena floor, massive broadsword still impaled through its shoulder, the bellows of the crowd echoing around the combatants as Wintin’s weaponry closed in on his undead foe. Yet even in the midst of the hubbub, the veteran soldier’s unnatural voice carried clearly through the battlefield.
"In life, mine own terror was being unable to defend mine children. I cans't not tell thee in the midst of this savagery. Too many enemies did I make, too many who would have vengeance.” The monster paused, eldritch eyes looking around itself. In a whisper, too quiet for any to hear within the roar of noise around it, the creature seemed to whisper “Gods, this is familiar.” For a split second the reaver’s helm became semi-transparent, revealing an ebony jaw clenched in a grisly half smile.
“But if I am destroyed this day, a favour would I beg. Search out the last Drak, and ask him who gave him the gauntlet he bears. Then thee shalt know mine name, and through it my child and child's child. Protect them if thou would, make those who would harm them bleed."
Wintin’s grin widened, and he nodded, raising one fist into the air. “Aye. An’ Ol’ Father grant you rest, Titan.” His arm dropped, fist opening, and quicksilver enveloped Dark’s Chosen, discs grinding against mithril, to slice it apart. The darkness surged, then, and Wintin grunted, as his eyes turned black and his breath grew weak. “And keep me from it."
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