Eyes of Revenge

Orbonne’s fist was wet from his enemy’s blood. Barga laid on the ground, laughing maniacally. Orbonne had been chasing him across the continent, from town to town, city to city. The man who killed her parents. He was a thief, a brigand, dirty and ragged. He stunk of sour sweat and shit, and now, blood. She pounded her fist across his chin again and again, half his teeth knocked out, his smile crooked all the same. The thunder rolled outside, cracks of lightning lighting the room intermittently. The raindrops fell harder than a battering rams upon the ground

“I’m not done…” he coughed, throwing her off him. Barga scrambled to his feet, arms long like spider limbs, skin and bone. His hair was dark brown and stringy, covered in oil.

“Dammit you bastard, why won’t you die?” Orbonne yelled.

“I don’t die. That’s the fun part.” Barga laughed. He clenched his fists, eyes bulged out, almost as if to pop.

She couldn’t believe her eyes. His bruises faded, lacerations healed, the blood seeped into the wounds and closed. He chuckled more and more. “No, that’s impossible!”

“Impossible? No. Just unbelievable.” he said. Barga’s voice slithered like a snake, his breath smelled of rotten fruit and excrement.

“You bastard. You won’t win, you can’t, I won’t let you!”

“Then lets go, little girl. Lets see what you’re made of, lets see if you’ll die like your parents, like a pathetic coward, too afraid to finish the job.”

Orbonne clenched her fists and bared her teeth. I can’t give up, i can’t. He may be able to heal, but he can’t go without breath, she thought. She dashed in, striking him twice under the ribs as he laughed. Barga shot his elbows down, knocking her wrists. He brought his fists down on either side, boxing her ears. She staggered back, growling in pain. Her ears rang, vision fogged as she saw him charge. Barga threw her to the ground, striking her in the nose twice causing it to bleed profusely. She caught his hands, he forced it into her face slowly, and her instincts triggered. She quickly opened her mouth, biting down with her jaw with all her might, cutting through his fingerflesh. He roared and screamed, rolling off her, onto his back. she seized the opportunity, shooting onto him. “Heal this!” she yelled. Orbonne threw her hands into his eyes, ripping them out of the socket. she jumped off quickly, throwing them out the broken window of the shack.

“What the hell, you bitch!” Barga rolled on the ground, writhing in pain. He clenched his fists rightly, veins popping from his forehead. Nothing happened, no matter how hard he tried, how intensely he breathed, his eyes did not return. Now to finish it. Orbonne jumped on him once more, gripping his neck with all her might. He swung for her face, pummeling her with strikes again and again. Her face stung and consciousness weakened, but she did not give up.

His arms tired, his breathing slowed until he could not hit her anymore. His arms lay flat on the ground as his lungs gave out. She continued for another half-minute it seemed, until she was sure. Thunder rumbled and lightning cracked, illuminating Barga’s dead body as she finished the job.

“Die, you son of a bitch,” she breathed heavily, seeing her task done. She had gotten her revenge. Orbonne looked down to her hands, covered in his blood. Did I really do the right thing? She looked out to the pouring rain for guidance. As his body laid lifeless, she knew.

You’re god damn right.

Soldier of Fortune

          Splashing waters and buffeting winds beat against the side of the weakened steel boat he sat upon. His friends all looked to him with fear in their eyes as they cut through the waters toward the beach before them. He grew nervous as he readjusted his helmet feverishly as his hands shook as fast as the gunfire ahead. His helmet laid too large for his head. His uniform was too loose. His gun was awkward to hold. He was a simple man from his home country, no special talents, no special gifts. Socially inept as could be, a stutter plagued his speech and silence was his best conversation topic. Why did he even come here?

           He joined to fight for his fortune.

Bullets cut through the waters and boats, lighting flesh afire with sharp pains of war. All men ducked down swiftly to avoid the rain of death from above. The man looked to his friends again, fear encompassing their expressions before dead bodies of fellow men. The sounds of hell on high passed over with a guise of dorniers, raining judgement upon them from inexplicable forces. Propellers sang the lullabies of the reaper like the white noise before the tunnel’s light. Only true fortitude could face the evil before him - to resist and absorb the lightning war shot against them. To redirect the destruction of innocent homes with the fires of courageous heroes set to free the beliefs of innocent men, women and children. This man’s fortune came from his victory, what he wanted from the beginning.

CRASH

The steeled ram of the boat crashed upon the sand of the paradise-turned hell. The fires of betrayal burned bright from each tower, barricade and length of barbed wire strewn across the land. Nothing accompanied the man’s thoughts but the sounds of shells, casings and mines. A soldier found fear as his morning sun - always existing, day-by-day. His fear brought him what he desired most - what he needed most - courage. The fire in his eyes blew through the air as the grit of teeth, sounding as the sand whisked across the beach before him. His heavy boots carried on to the paradise that once was, knowing he was a tool of a cause he knew too well. A tool of his superior from whom he was hopefully paid.

He and his brothers ran forth, jumping over barricades and barbed wire blocks, past each bullet as if dodging every drop in a torrential downpour. Miraculous chance and luck carried them to their first wall. A thick bricked layer protecting them from the towers holding the fiery eyes of devils, searching for fools who backhanded their cause and sought to dismantle it. Piercing rounds could be heard reflecting off their backs as they sat, breath escaped through the branches of adrenalized lungs they carried. Panicked looks were exchanged before they hauled up from the wall to strike back against the eyes of the tower. Courageous yells bellowed from his allies as they fired the rounds of almighty will over the wall. Casings crashed upon the ground as bullets whisked through the air toward the covered barriers in the distance hiding the regretful soldiers of the lightning war. His fortune gained from this risk far outweighed the deaths he witnessed.

Silence filled the surrounding area. As he looked left and right, he was alone. His friends had fallen beside him in their fight. Their shineless eyes laid motionless as crimson rivers flowed from their wounds to stain their uniforms. He looked back toward the waters seeing boats massacred by the propelled death machines, fearful screams emerging from the steeled hulls cutting toward the sands. Courageous roars followed, more and more feet running onto the granular battlefield of their redemption. Surrender was not an option. As the bodies of his allies piled, his fortune did not increase, his cut did not grow, he thought, it remained static.

The lives of great men falling to their knees as steeled monsters split through their bodies and explosive tirades emerging from mines beneath them. Casualties grew as they advanced upon the beach. His widened eyes dilated with fear as he knew his fate would be the same.

Why was he here?

Why did he choose to come?

Why risk everything?

His fortune.

           He fought for his fortune, he thought. “Do not forget your reward for this battle.”, the man repeated over and over in his head. More men traversed the beach, less falling than before. They even passed the wall he sat behind. He knew he had to continue.

His heart rate blew past normal limits as adrenaline coursed through his veins. His weapon gripped with the strength of a titan, teeth clenched, eyes narrowed. Deep, intense breaths amped up his courage to traverse his wall. His awkward personality was masked by a hero’s vigor. The morale of the men around him called him to honour. A fire burned within his heart for the fortune he desired.

Up he leapt, crawling over the brick wall now covered in bullet wounds. He rose to see two towers in front of him, surrounded with bodies of his friends, his brothers. Two men in each tower, with long rifles. An assault began with him, as allies ran beside him in his charge. Running in unpredictable lines, he dodged the rain of fire coming from the reaper’s towers. He fired his weapon to bust the handle of the door, knocking it open with his unfitted boot. He entered the huge metal beast with two others, shooting the enemies within with vengeant lead. The dead enemy uniforms showed betrayal of the nations. The three traversed the stairs, bullets coming down from the roof as the enemies knew they had been compromised. Each ally he ran with fell to the violent rounds of the guns above. The man ran forth, emanating courage like an inferno. He fired his weapon, destroying the two enemies atop the tower. One rose again before he could react, drawing forth with a sharpened knife that penetrated his flesh torso. With his final strike, the soldier fell to the ground in agony from the bullet.

Feeling his life escape from the bladed wound, the man fell to the ground, feeling the light come upon him to bring him home. He could not go - his mission was not over. He defied the light one last time. His muscles pulsed with agony as he rose slowly to his feet once more.

His helmet was too large, it helped clear his mind.

His uniform was loose, giving him more freedom.

His weapon was awkward, to suit the man who wielded it.

Weapon raised, heroic power on high brought him strength - he fired his last death notes toward the second tower, death’s reapers still upon the top. With exquisite accuracy, bullets penetrated their uniforms as they shook to the ground in defeat. He basked in victory as the towers blistering this hell now stood defeated. His friends and brothers could now traverse the beach freely, to continue to mission they started to free the helpless. His mind grew weak as blood filtered onto the steel floor of the tower’s peak. He knew he was one of the ten thousand men on the day of tides, the turning of the war. One of ten thousand men who gave their lives, with thousands upon thousands more in the days to come. One of ten thousand heroes.

It did not matter to him whether he laid upon the beach of Juno, Gold, Sword, Utah or Omaha.

It did not matter to him which country he hailed from, or what his name was.

It did not matter to him whether the war was fought with guns, blades, or arrows.

His fortune was now his.

          His wife and child stood before him. Ethereal bodies smiling at him as he bled rivers of life for them. His fortune was their survival. His sacrifice meant life for the ones he loves - and millions of others.

          His life, he thinks, is nothing compared to the victory this day provides.

This man does not fight for wealth, or glory, or any extraneous ephemera.

This man fights for freedom of belief, for truth, against oppression, against evil.

This man is the most valuable resource a country can hold.

He is a true soldier of fortune.

The Body and Mind

Harold slashed and stabbed at the mighty beasts within his dream. He had been a hero in many, defeating all forms of villains and mythical beasts. He had been a sheriff shooting up outlaws, a superhero defeating criminals and supervillains, and a kid coming back at his bullies.

This time, he was a wondrous knight, armor of bright steel , sword and shield in hand, slaying hundreds of goblins, orcs, ravenous wolves and beasts that were unleashed. He fought his way to the castle to save the princess. Through the brambles and harsh terrain to the tower, he encountered the mightiest of enemies, the dragon king, Hazras.

“You cannot defeat me, foolish Harold! Fight me, and die!” Hazras yelled, scorching the land around him, brambles, trees and all as he evaded the flame breath. I must not give up, I must save the princess! He played along, knowing it was simply a dream. He dodged and slashed, slicing the dragon’s heels and belly, guarding against his meat hook-like claws. Hazras’ fire blackened Harold’s shield, but did not melt it. Harold ran in for the final blow. I must save the princess, anything for her! He thought, running to strike the final blow to the dragon’s chest. He thrusted his sword deep beneath the beast’s scales. Hazras roared in pain, falling dead to the ground, causing Harold to jump out of the way.

With Hazras’ body as silent as the night, Harold stood victorious. He walked closer, attempting to stand upon the beast, to raise his sword to victory. In the corner of his eye, he saw a black-robed figure in the distance, walking closer. He carried a scythe, seven feet tall, arms as long as could be. His hands were absent of flesh. His hood was pitch black within, face unseen. Who is that? He had heard stories of death, the one robed in black who carried a scythe.

“Are you death?”

“Yes, child.” The figure replied, in a hallowed voice.
    “Why are you here?”

The figure stood still.

Harold looked back to the beast, roaring of victory over it in his dream. The beast came alive once more, throwing Harold off. Harold was too slow to react, as the beast’s maw overtook him, biting into his flesh. He writhed in pain more than ever before, he had never felt pain in a dream like this, never suffered nor died.

Harold awoke in his small bed at home, seven years old once more. Heart racing, breathing quickly. “Phew,” he said. He got out of bed, feeling a little groggy, and cold, so cold. He shivered, looking to the corner of his room by the window. The hooded, skeletal figure stood with his scythe in hand.

“Why are you here?” Harold asked.

“I am here for you, child.” Death replied.

“But I was dreaming, I am not dead.” Harold poised, he was muddled at the thought.

“Dreams are more real than one would think.”

“But It was a dream. My body is fine.” Harold glanced back to his bed, seeing his body laying still, unmoving. What is this? He thought. How could this happen?

“The body cannot live without the mind.”

The Fall of Mana

Rand thought back to the beginning of his journey, the day everything began.

He awoke with his head pounding, his back aching more than ever before. “Ugh, what happened?” He grumbled. The sound of rushing water filled his ears, falling from the cliff he saw above. He fell from a log he traversed with his two friends, Jorn Effentyre and Kain Frostwane. He couldn’t see them above, they must have ran. They left him behind, probably mocking him as they always did. He was nothing to them, but they were all he had since his mother disappeared. He lived in the small town of Potos, a small forest village, he was but one of few young people in the village.

          He rose from the ground, not recognizing the region around him. He ran out from the water pond he fell in, attempting to dry himself off. He walked through the forest he hadn’t seen yet, birds tweeted overhead, flowers of reds, violets, blues and yellows flowed together in the sun, branches swished and scratched together, leaves rustling wildly as the gusts blew round them, all around and through his hair. He breathed in the fresh air, far from his town. It was forbidden to go into the forest, yet the three youths defied the rules.

         Rand was alone, now, he had to make his way back. The forests were thick in parts, uncrossable, filled with sharp brambles and poison ivy. He followed what path he could, leading him south down the riverside, but his town was east. It wasn’t entirely out of the way, so he did not worry. Eventually he came to a mighty sight, a massive waterfall crashing down almost two hundred feet, crushing the land below. At the bottom he saw a massive rock at the end of the basin, with a sharp, shiny glint of light shining from it. What is that? He thought. His curiosity pushed him to find out. He carefully climbed down the side of the falls, the sun-scorched red rock mountainside within the forest. As he approached, it became apparent, it was a blade.

A sword? He thought. It was magnificent, sharp as a dragon’s tooth, shinier than a gold coin. It had an inscription on it, ‘Mana’s edge’. Mana’s edge? He thought. What could that mean? He had heard the term mana before, ages ago, a mighty power brought forth a war between man and gods which almost ended the world, until the ‘mana knight’ Destroyed the mana fortress, man’s tyrannical weapon to control the land, and brought peace to the world.

This couldn’t be that weapon. There’s no way.

“Take the sword.” A voice said.

Rand was taken aback, jumping in surprise. “Wh-what?” He exclaimed tremulously.

“Take the sword...you must stop them...from reviving it…” The voice said again, a ghostly figure appeared as he spoke. He wore full plate armor, with a shining blade at his side.

Rand grabbed the sword without questioning the voice. He did not know why, but he knew he must. He pulled and pulled, grunting loudly. Finally, the blade was wrung free from the rock. A blinding flash of power rang out from the blade, causing it to age rapidly, becoming rusty, decrepit, but intact. What happened to it?

What was he supposed to do? At that time, he barely knew how to fight.

Rand stood over the massive violet dragon-like beast, fifty feet tall, teeth like razors, claws like blades. It sat near death, being the last of mana. His blade set at it’s chest, recharged with the pure power of mana. His father, the true mana knight before him, he learned, did the same. His mother disappeared to become the mind of the mana tree, the source of the power which was burned by the fortress in which Rand stood. He feared his choice as he glanced to popoi at his right hand, the sprite boy that travelled with him. Sprites came from the power of mana, if he destroyed the beast, he would go with it.
    “Do it, Rand. You know we have to. Don’t look at me like that.” Popoi said. Popoi attempted to encourage him. He had no fear.

Prim, on his left, had eyes filled with tears, realizing their friend would die. “No, you can’t!”

           “I said do it. We have to do it. To save everyone.”

Rand nodded, a tear formed at the corner of his eye. The beast’s eyes were upon him, unable to move with all the cuts and gashes the three had dealt. He raised the mana sword, striking the beast through it’s heart. A loud roar echoed throughout the land, the beast exploded with almighty energy, causing a mighty rain upon the land that would not end for days. WIthout pause, the fortress immediately began to collapse around them as mana was dissipating from the world.

           With haste, they ran from the disintegrating fortress. It floated above the land, but not for long. They traversed all ends of the world, charging the blade over years, ending the empire’s reign of mana forever. Ceiling stones, rungs of steel, copper and bronze fell all around them. They ran and jumped across crevices and platforms they saw before, floor caving in as they ran.

They escaped on Flam, a white dragon they befriended as they set it free. They barely escaped the fortress alive. As they landed, they set down in the snowlands of the north. Flam barely got them to the edge of the cliff, overlooking most of the forests, swamps and homes they saved below. They were finally free.

“It’s lovely out,” Popoi said. “It’s snowing here.” He smiled, knowing his time was at an end, body becoming translucent. He knew his fate, and accepted it.

Prim held him close, tearing up once more. “I don’t want you to go…” She said.
           “I know, Prim. But I did it to save everyone, not just me. I’m no longer an outcast of the land, maybe this time, they’ll remember me as something more.”

Rand hugged his friend as well, as his body slowly fell more into nothing. He slowly disappeared, and their grasps fell through the air as if he was never there.

“I won’t forget you.” Popoi said.

Rand and Prim stood staring into the distance, snow and rain falling across the land before them. Everyone was safe, no more beasts of mana would come forth. No empire could reign over them now.

          Mana ebbed, flourished, and ebbed once more.

Interpretation/alteration of: Secret of Mana, by former Squaresoft, now Square-enix.

Unbreakable

Unbreakable

Brayden Jardoa stood strong, viewing the robed man before him. His longblade and kite shield readied, clad in plate armor from head to toe. He had conquered the elements, soothed the violent spirits of the zodiac, coming to his final trial, the 13th spirit whom claimed rule over the astral plane, Serpentarius. The man who laid between the strongest, the eagle, laying between the serpent’s head and tail - the serpent bearer. The view was astounding; He stood upon a translucent platform spilling out from the door of light like angel dust in a circle, the man at the other end staring out to his surroundings. It was impeccable; galaxies, stars, planets Brayden had never dreamed of. The beauty of the sky knew no bounds. However, it was all in jeopardy due to Serpentarius; the robed man.

The man turned toward him. He was olive-skinned, a long, black beard, no hair atop his head. He grew a crooked smile from end to end.

“You are far from home, little man,” the man said plainly in a gruff voice. He closed his eyes, creepling closer as if floating upon the platform. “You have calmed the lion, the twins, the fish and the maiden.” He coughed up a subtle laugh. “Are you ready to die?”

“I will not falter, fiend,” Brayden threatened. He sliced the air with his blade. “Why do you threaten the planes? Why destroy what the spirits have come so far to build?”

Serpentarius laughed loudly. “Those fools rejected me from their ‘team’, their pathetic council of the stars,” He paced back and forth. “They thought they could hold me back, stop me,” He paused, shooting Brayden a sly grin. “Portals open on planets in the material plane across the universe, with the beasts of the zodiac. They obey me now. It’s only a matter of time before your world is destroyed. Why did you even come alone, fool? What power do you have?” Serpentarius cackled again.

“I have the power of the gods!” He yelled. He was blessed by the heavens to carry out their deeds, and he would smite those who sought imbalance. “Gods more powerful than you. I have calmed the wind, earth, fire and water, I have beaten the lion, the twins, the fish and the maiden!” He continued, readying his weapon. “Are you ready, serpent? Are you ready to taste the steeled power of the divine?”

Serpentarius laughed uncontrollably. He was undeniably insane. A spirit which felt conquering was the only thing, the best thing, one could accomplish. Brayden knew this, and would not break. I will not fail, he thought.

Serpentarius raised his staff, waves of all forms of colour swished around him, Forming him into an abomination of man, a man with a serpent’s body with arms, and the head of a cobra. He hissed violently as two massive constrictors emerged from the ground out of nothing, each two feet across and thirty feet long, fangs like blades each with venom deadlier than the most violent poison on his planet. “Tell your gods I rule them now, I will make you scream in pain for their mercy!”

Brayden raised his blade and charged full tilt at the man of serpents. I will not falter, he thought.

I am unbreakable.