E T E R N A L   R E P O S E

I

 

        There was an eerie calmness in Ricardo’s mind. He knew a battle was to come, but in the same sense, he knew nothing.

        A blade came crashing down, its owner offering a simple hiss of exertion.

        Ricardo lifted his blade just in time, blocking the blow. The force threw him down. He rolled as the creature swung again. The claw smashed into dirt with a satisfying slicht-like noise. Ricardo jammed his sword upward. He was rewarded with a fleshy tear.

        The creature screamed, in death seeing its error. Its black blood—like crude oil—oozed down Ricardo’s shiny sword. The poem engraved on the sword was quickly hidden beneath the highly opaque and glossy material. Ricardo yanked his sword out, and the creature's innards slipped out the gash. The monster fell to the ground, twitching.

        Ricardo stood and ran toward the line with all his strength. The battle was in full heat now. He saw a fellow kinsman fall and scream as two long claws slid through his chest. Ricardo screamed his clan’s battle cry and charged.

        “FORTISA!” He ran at the creature. It moved its claws like pincers.

        Ricardo came in, gripped with a red-hot fury. He swung down with his collective arm strength and smashed into a claw—all bone—effectively shattering it. He spun, and, using his momentum, brought the blade down into the demon’s face. The bone smashed, sending black blood and red brain fragments flying. You are avenged, kinsman.

        Ricardo flew to the ground as a foot hit his back. He rolled to face the demon. He swung his sword with all the effort remaining to him in what was a futile attempt. The demon kicked the sword away and brought a claw up. In the instant before it came down, all Ricardo’s regrets and losses came back to him—the biggest regret being the fact that he hadn't become as open with Sharice as he had hoped. But, nothing mattered now.

        Black life force sprayed everywhere as the abomination’s clawed arm flew off. It uttered a high-pitched scream, but as the human sword came back, it took its head. The minion fell to its knees and slumped over.

        A hand extended to Ricardo. He gratefully grasped it.

        “Thank you, brother.” Ricardo saw the wrath in Valendo’s eyes. The unbridled rage was churned Ricardo’s stomach. He had never seen anyone venting that much hate.

        Valendo turned and buried his sword deep into another creature, rewarded with its bubbled scream.

        Ricardo grabbed his sword and ran back into the fray. He put both hands on his sword and swung down and up, cutting through a creature’s torso.

        A human shout came from further down the line.

        “WE HAVE TAKEN THE LINE!”

        Human cheers arose from the crowd as the remaining beings ran from the field, some limping and dragging friends, others missing appendages, trailing a vital substance that killed the plants.

        Ricardo didn’t sheath his sword yet. The blood sticking to it would damage the case if inserted uncleaned. He decided to hold on to it.

        “Father!” he shouted.

        “Ricardo!” A tall, muscular man wearing the clan’s coat of arms in blue approached him. “How was your first battle?”

        Ricardo closed his eyes. “I am not used to battle. I witnessed a number of my friends and family die. It is not something I enjoy.”

        “There is a certain thrill to battle, son.”  The man draped an arm around Ricardo as they walked back to the camp. “Losing friends and loved ones is very hard, and I acknowledge their sacrifices. If I had it my way, there would be no war. But, you can see that the Formidans do not care for coexistence.”

        Ricardo dreamed of a land with peace. Killing anything weighed on his conscience, but the more he did it, the easier he found it to justify. He dreamed of home, of hot food, of anything but this battlefield now.

        “Father, let’s go home.”

 

        The army sat in the Great Hall of the palace. Dozens of tables had been set up to accommodate all the warriors. There was one table set aside from everything, where the warlord, the commander, the chief, the two highest-ranking officers under the commander, and the spouse of each were seated. Everyone was jolly on the night of their victory. Casualties had been light, and everyone was glad of it. There were only a few who were not rejoicing at this moment. They were the ones exceptionally close to the fallen.

        Crayman VII stood at his table and raised his grail. "Warriors. Friends. Family." he began. He gave a pause.
        "We are victorious!"

        The procession roared at his proclamation, although they had known it to be true for hours.

        "Tonight, we celebrate what we have gained, and, what we have lost." Crayman sipped his drink. "We mourn for those who were lost today. But, their sacrifices were not in vain."

        "Hear, hear!" someone shouted.

        "Let us toast." Crayman raised his drink high. "To our friends who fought valiantly: you will not be forgotten!"

        The crowd cheered again, and steins and grails clinked all over the room.

        "Now!" Crayman yelled, smiling, "Let us eat!"

        "Long live the chief!" A man stood and yelled. He started a chant. Everyone was wishing the chief some form of prosperity.

        He motioned with his hands for everyone to sit, and they did. The eating commenced.

        Crayman sat down. "How do you feel after a battle like this, Valendo?"

        "All I can say is," Valendo paused. "Being the warlord has its ups. If I weren't this high, I guarantee I wouldn't have gotten any of this turkey."

        Everyone laughed. Valendo's wife, Angelika, leaned over and hugged him. He kissed her on the lips and smiled. He whispered something in her ear and she giggled. He tossed her a smug look and went back to eating.

        "When will our next battle take place, chief?" Divia asked formally. She was the clan's commander, third in line for leadership of the clan.

        "Divia, please," Crayman said. "Cut the formalities. This is a night to relax, be happy, and forget about war. Talk of what comes next will take place later. Take advantage of some good relaxation time."

        "If you say so," Divia leaned back in her chair and inhaled deeply. She stuck out her full breasts. The only thing she preferred more than battle and organization was sex. She ran hands through her fine, long blond hair and stood up. "I've had enough to eat. How about you, Garth?"

        "I could use another biscuit or two—" he began to say.

        "Good. Let's go upstairs and rest." Divia stood quickly. Her husband Garth knew quite well what was coming.

        "Good seeing you all!" he said quickly as she pulled him away from the table. She waved and they disappeared from sight.

        Valendo began turning red. Then he lost it.

        Everyone fell into fits of laughter as the dominating commander pulled her husband away to a night of passion and pleasure.

        "I'll try and keep the sexual jokes to a minimum, father." Valendo could hardly control himself.

        "I won't!" Crayman shouted. Everyone burst into laughter again. Some were even crying.

        After a few moments they had quieted down. Crayman's wife, Leita, leaned forward.

        "So, how is everyone faring?" she said in a voice that wasn't too high, nor too low. It was quite a beautiful voice, that of a singer. Singing was one hobby she often comforted in.

        Reo sat with his wife, Claudia. He was a high lieutenant. He put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. They looked face-to-face and he smiled at her. She turned back to the table.
        "We're having a baby," she said joyously.

        "That's wonderful!" Crayman said. "My sincerest wishes."

        "Thank you, chief." Reo and Claudia said in unison.

        Kain and his girlfriend, Bridney, sat across the table from them. "And we're getting married."

        "You two are great together," Leita said. "I hope you stay with each other for years to come."

        Crayman smiled and stabbed at a drumstick on his plate. It didn't fight back, which was not the least surprising to anyone. "Well, what else has been going on with everybody?"

 

        "And after that," Jerald almost yelled, "He said 'You maiden, could easily be a man.' "

        The table burst into laughter at the punchline. The rest of the joke was really quite involved and not worth retelling, but Jerald did a good job of it.
        Ricardo smacked him on the back. "You're crazy, you know that?"

        Jerald smiled.

        "So, what are our plans now?" spoke up Carles from across the table. "We haven't finished the Formidans, and we'll only have so much time off."

        "Hell if I know," Jerald said. "Let's enjoy some of this vacation while it's here. I heard that I was getting stuck here anyway while the battle takes place."

        "Really?" Carles asked, almost surprised. "Someone as good as you should be up on the front lines."

        "Yeah," Jerald replied. He stabbed some food. No one was really all that amazed at how fast his mood had changed. "That's what I said,"

        A tall woman walked up behind Ricardo. She was lean, and had defined muscles, a pretty face, and a voice that was serene yet demanded attention. Her straight brown hair hung below her shoulder blades. She put her hands on Ricardo's shoulders and massaged.

        "How was my little warrior today?" she asked, jokingly. It was Sharice.

        "I've become a man," he said jokingly. "Care to find out?"

        She laughed, a hearty feminine laugh and eyed him. "My room. One hour." She winked and strutted away to another table.

        Everyone at the table yelled something similar to an "Ooh!" with a whole lot of sarcasm. They started laughing again.

        "Looks like I have some place to be tonight." Ricardo said. "See you guys later."

        He sat up and left as friendly taunts and jeers flew at him. He smiled and walked back to his room, where he would prepare for seeing Sharice.

 

        Many torches illuminated Ricardo’s room. He sat on his goose-down mattress as he polished and cleaned his sword. The light was low, and the window was open, letting in the nice cool breeze. The rushing water of the river could be heard below. Ricardo glanced up for a moment at to look around.

        On the north wall, he had a door. Next to it was his wardrobe. The west side held a banner displaying the clan’s coat of arms. The south side had the window. The east side had the bed, the foot of it pointing west. Large blue veils hung from ornate wooden posts. The wash and bathing basins were in the next room along with the outlet, or toilet. The main room was about twenty-five feet by twenty-five feet. It was curved to accommodate the wall of the tower.

        Ricardo dipped his rag in the cleaning solution. He scrubbed at his blade, polishing every inch of it. He read the inscription to himself.

 

        From a warrior to a warrior,

        May this blade keep our kin safe,

        During times of glory and times of war,

        May our clan retain golden times,

        And may we prevail over evil.

                -Crayman Amanora, I

 

        Ricardo always wished he could meet his first kinsman. The man who started the clan, the man whose era had forged this beautiful weapon, which had been used to win wars for generations.

        After the blade was cleaned properly three times, Ricardo sheathed it and laid it in the display mounted on the wall. His armor sat in the other corner. He laid back on the bed and thought.

        The sword was clean. They had won the battle. He would be seeing Sharice in about twenty minutes. He was cleaned up himself and all ready. Ricardo folded his hands under his head, and he closed his eyes. He tried to imagine how happy he could be with Sharice as a wife. Would it work out? The thoughts were overwhelmingly joyous, and he fell asleep, and went to a place that could only be straight from hell.

 

        Ricardo! a voice screamed. Save me!

        Ricardo sat bolt upright. Was he hearing things? He grabbed his sword, but it was gone. His armor was gone. He was naked. There were no clothes in his wardrobe. He flung open the door to his room and ran downstairs.

        He looked again and was in full battle regalia. His sword was at his side. He unsheathed it and started at a brisk pace down the hall, where he quickly collided with a stone wall. The layout had changed. Where was he? He looked again. It was the Great Hall.

        His father and brother sat at a table. The rest of the clan was there.

        “Father,” Ricardo asked. “What’s going on?”

        “The Formidans have won the pivotal battle.” Crayman VII sat back in his chair and smiled. He scoffed. “And I thought we could win.”

        Everyone at the table burst into laughter. “This isn’t funny!” Ricardo shouted.

        “We find nothing humorous, brother.” Valendo sat up from his slumped position in the chair and folded his hands. “We’re all going to die and there’s nothing anyone can do to stop it.”

        The entire table laughed again.

        A Formidan fell from the ceiling, the biggest one Ricardo had ever seen. This had to be the legendary emperor or whatever the hell they called a supreme leader.

        "Leora's Ridge," the table intoned together, like zombies.

        The giant creature had spikes protruding from his sinewy body, and a mixture of skin and carapace that looked like hard shells stuck to red muscle fiber. He looked sinister enough to be the ruler of the underworld—better yet, he looked more sinister and diabolical.

        The ruler tossed back his head and uttered a sound that had to be a laugh. It was the most disgusting thing Ricardo had ever heard in his entire life.

        At the same time, a horde of Formidans flew from the shadows, each armed to the teeth. They slaughtered everyone at the table, save Crayman VII. The entire room was stained crimson, except Ricardo and his father.

        The Formidans rippled and were gone.

        “Son, do not let me engage in the next battle.”

        Two long claws exploded from his chest. They quickly parted, ripping the man apart.

        “Father!” Ricardo screamed at the top of his lungs. He lifted his sword, only to find that it was dripping with blood—red blood.

        Ricardo momentarily dismissed it and ran toward the Formidan king. He screamed.

        “FORTISA!”

        He raised his sword for a deathblow.

        The king raised his claw for a debilitating strike.

        The two swung.

        Steel on bone as both the claw and sword shattered.

        The king swung his free arm, tearing open Ricardo’s stomach.

        Ricardo dropped the hilt to his sword. He looked down, standing on the bloodstained table, his kinsman slaughtered in an orderly fashion. His intestines rolled out. Ricardo vomited.

        “This is the end of the Amanora line,” the king hissed.

        “FATHER!” Ricardo shouted through the pain and tears and suffering. He fell backward onto the table, slipping in the fresh blood. He saw the faces of all those close to him. He looked at every single one, a look of despair, a look of hatred, a look of fear, sealed on everyone’s face.

        The king rent the air with his abhorrent laugh.

        Ricardo screamed a death scream, the fear, the pain, and the regret, all at the surface like flotsam.

 

        The chambermaid shook Ricardo from sleep.

        “Sir Ricardo!” she shouted, “Wake up!”

        He shot up in bed, a cold sweat, and stopped screaming.

        “Am I home?!” Ricardo was near hysterics. “Am I alive? Is everyone else alive?”

        “We’re all fine!” she shouted again. “Now please, stop!”

        Ricardo gasped for air and found it. He slowed his breathing. He was still lying on top of his bed.

        “Forgive me, matron,” Ricardo calmed himself and quit panting. Surprisingly, no one else had come to see what was going on. “I just had the worst dream of my life and I need to tell someone about it.”

 

        Ricardo wasn't able to tell anyone about it that night. The dream was disturbing, and every time he thought of it, he seemed to feel even more sick. There was to be a convening of the war council today to plan the next strategy. Ricardo was permitted entry and would bring it up then.

        After waking up and getting ready, Ricardo began his small walk to the war room.

        "Ricardo! Hey!" someone shouted at him.

        He turned at stopped, instantly recognizing the voice—Sharice.

        "Oh damn," he muttered.

        She jogged over to him in the middle of the hallway.

        "You didn't show up last night," She smiled coyly, seeming almost happy.

        "Yeah, I was more tired than I thought." Ricardo said. "I guess I fell asleep."

        "You fell asleep?" Sharice asked, much in disbelief. She paused. "There's another woman, isn't there?"

        Ricardo jumped at the accusation, but just glad she wasn't angry. “No—definitely not."

        After a long stare, she grabbed him in a loving embrace. "Promise?" she whispered in his ear, happy to hear the truth.

        "Promise," he whispered back.

        They held each other for almost five minutes. Ricardo pulled away a little and kissed her. "You know I love you. I went through a lot yesterday. I needed the rest, although I got nothing of the sort..." He trailed off.

        She was still close, but they were no longer hugging. "Oh?"

        "I had the most upsetting dream of my life, and I need to inform my father." Ricardo was about to turn. "How about tonight?"

        "Tonight," she said. She smiled. They kissed again briefly, and then par

 

        The war room itself was quite plain, but exceptionally immaculate. The table was solid carved ivory; the room was about 10 meters square. The chairs matched the table and were identical in their craftsmanship and material. There were eight.

        The table itself was eight meters long and one and a half meters wide, perfectly centered in the room. No chairs were set at the ends. Crayman's chair was the furthest from the door, on the right side. Directly across from him sat Valendo. Divia sat next to Crayman, and across from her was Reo. Kain sat next to Divia. The remaining three chairs were empty at the moment. Ricardo took a seat across from Kain. Kain acknowledged his approval with a friendly yet formal nod, and Ricardo gracefully returned it.

        "Now," Crayman said. "The Formidans retreated in our last battle. My guess is that we may have broken them. Morale on their side may be very low."

        "Are we even sure the Formidans have something as human as morale?" Divia asked.

        "You've seen their displays of rage over fallen comrades." Valendo said. "I believe they feel as much emotion as we do. Anger, hatred, pride, joy."

        "You may be right," Crayman added, "And you may be deathly wrong."

        No one really knew. Emotions in Formidans were only speculation and conjecture at this point in time.

        "What say you to the possibility that these are mindless machines spawned for the sole purpose of raping and pillaging this planet?" Reo spoke up. He was usually a quiet one, but when he spoke, he made good points.

        Nods circled around the table as everyone thoughtfully considered the notion.

        "As I was saying," Crayman resumed, "One more battle may be all we need to crush the Formidans for good. We have enough evidence to point to a base of operations. This battle will take place here,"—Crayman put his finger on a spot on the large map on the wall—"At Leora's Ridge."

        Ricardo's chair fell backward onto the stone floor as he jumped. Everyone looked toward the clatter.

        "Leora's Ridge?" Ricardo sputtered, too flabbergasted to truly speak.

        "Yes..." Crayman looked at him with observant eyes. He squinted at him. "Is there something wrong?"

        "Father, you..." Ricardo licked his lips. He thought for a second. "This is a battle you will not win."

        "What are you talking about?" Crayman asked skeptically.

        "Last night I had a very disconcerting dream." Ricardo looked pale. "Everyone from our clan was in the Great Hall, and you said that the entire battle was a loss. I knew everyone around me. Then Formidans ran out and slaughtered everyone—men, women, children. Then their leader came down and said 'This is the end of the Amanora line.' "

        "As serious as this is, I won't plan a war strategy around it." Crayman gave him a comforting look. "I believe you, but you're no seer. It was just a dream."

        "But father—"

        "Just. A. Dream." he said firmly. The look on his face punctuated the gospel. Ricardo picked up his chair and sat through the rest of the meeting, not hearing a single word.

 

        Valendo went back to his room. The meeting went well, but there would be another battle in less than a week. "We can't let them build their forces up again," were Crayman's words.

        Valendo had plans to sleep. Lots of sleep. Then some relaxation with his wife. He couldn't believe how beautiful Angelika was sometimes. Her curly brown hair; her deep, radiant green eyes; her soft, smooth skin; her divine everything. Her name was fitting.

        "Lady Angelika, your knight returns!" he called playfully.

        Angelika came from the bathroom, wearing merely a loose-fitting silk robe that wasn't even tied in the front. When she walked, it billowed open.

        "That's one hell of a greeting," he said as he opened his arms wide for her. She came toward him and hugged him, her arms under his. He was a bit over two meters tall, and she was a good one and three-quarters herself. "I love you."

        "And I love you," she said. "How are you feeling?"

        "Not as good as I would like for my vacation." he said plainly.

        "Really?" she said. They detached from each other, and she tied her robe. Valendo sat on the king-size bed and laid back.

        "Yes." he said. "We only have a few days to prepare for the next battle, and Ricardo came in today telling us he had some sort of dream that we lost the battle and everyone was annihilated."

        "You've had a tough day," she said. "Maybe I can help to make it a little better,"

        Angelika completely disrobed herself and sat on the bed next to him.

        "Maybe you can," he said with a smile. Outwardly, he was quite happy. But on the inside he couldn't stop thinking about what Ricardo had said. It was chewing at him, and the more he thought about it, the more he hoped it was merely a dream.

 

        Crayman sat in a chair in his bedroom. Leita was at the market at the moment and he was reflecting on what Ricardo had said.

        Could his dreams truly be a prediction of what is to come? Is there something that he was overlooking in the battle strategy? No one else thought so. After the announcement of his fear, Crayman had reviewed his plans three times, and they seemed flawless—at least in theory. Scouts had told him how many soldiers and creatures they would be pitted against, and Crayman liked the odds. They were going to take the Formidan stronghold and there wouldn't be any problems. No secret weapons, no ambush. Theses were the last of their kind on the entire continent. And, it was quite a large continent. As for the rest of the world, Crayman had no idea.

        The Amanoras were one of the strongest houses on the face of the planet. From what Crayman knew, no other house had ever had a problem with the Formidans except on this continent. No one was able to help the Amanoras in their current pursuit because war had broken out between the Ander and Gustaf houses. Crayman was a harbinger of peace and had tried vainly to get humans to fight the Formidans, as opposed to each other. Do no harm to your own kind, was one thing he had said. Fight those who present the largest threat to you, and your humanity. Those who are not like you, those who plan to destroy what is left of you after the smoke clears. His words hadn't fallen on enough influential ears. Or at least ears of those who cared.

        Winter would come soon. With winter came snow, and with snow came harder battles. Crayman hated the winter. Snow was great for the kids, but it wasn't the easiest of elemental conditions to get around in. The Formidans had no problems in snow—their blood never seemed to lose its warmth. Only after the creature dies does it cool. Crayman had made the decision with an iron fist to end the war—swiftly and victoriously.

        Ricardo's dream came back to him. This is the end of the Amanora line. A supreme king? The whole clan slaughtered? Nah. Had to be a dream.

 

        Ricardo was under his sheets, completely naked, staring through his skylight into the stars, seeing their brilliance, their flashing. He wondered what it was like to be close to a star. What it was like to be in the heavens.

        Sharice rolled over next to him, still completely asleep. He wrapped an arm around her and she laid a hand on chest. He ran a hand across her smooth brown hair. She opened her eyes slowly.

        "Still awake?" she asked groggily.

        "I have quite a lot on my mind." he said, literally staring off into space.

        "Want to tell me about it?" She moved her head onto his shoulder and kissed his neck.

        "I had a premonition last night," he said slowly. Ricardo turned to Sharice and met her kind gaze. "A premonition that our entire clan is going to be slaughtered in the upcoming battle."

        She had no idea what to say. "How much do you believe in this vision?"

        "I...don't know." He turned back to the stars and closed his eyes. "I don't know."

        A single tear rolled silently down his cheek.

        "Everything will be just fine," she tried to comfort. She realized the seriousness of the situation. Ricardo wasn't playing this as a joke. "Go back to sleep. We'll talk more in the morning."

        Ricardo missed what she said. He was already asleep. He was deep in thought, and falling deeper...

 

        Divia lay alone in her bed. It was morning. She was about to fall asleep. Garth was in the bathroom now, recuperating from an entire night of "activity". He claimed this was a pinnacle to his sexual activities and that he would be sore for days. Divia found his mindset about his fitness humorous.

        After what Ricardo had said the day before at the war council, she couldn't stop thinking. She herself had looked over the battle plan more times than Crayman and deemed it flawless. A flag had been hit inside her. He felt so strongly about the dream. The Formidans must have something that they aren't aware of. Additional forces, new and secret weapons, or maybe some new allies. Reinforcements from Hell, she thought sourly.
        Divia got out of bed and walked around nude for a few moments, near meditation. She was still confident about the battle; she just hoped that no one else heard about his dream. Morale would fall as gracefully as a dead sparrow.

        "You know," Garth said, "You really turn me on walking around naked."

        "How much energy do you have left in you?" she asked with a dirty smile.

        "Enough," He smiled back and they both jumped back into bed.

 

        Ricardo sat at the breakfast table in the Great Hall, with Sharice next to him. They each ate heartily. Tomorrow was the final battle. Jerald sat across from the two, with Carles next to him.

        "Those Formidan bastards are gonna pay," Jerald said. "We're gonna come at 'em and tear their damn heads off."

        "You seem angrier than usual," Sharice noted. "Something up?"

        "Nah," he replied. "Just pissed about our last losses."

        She nodded agreement. "We did lose some good people."

        "Yes, quite so." Carles said. "But, those who sacrificed themselves will be avenged. What they did will not go unnoticed."

        "This is our last day of freedom," Ricardo said. "I'm thinking about doing some swimming down by the lake. Any of you guys interested?"

        "Ooh—swimming, you say?" Jerald said. He stuffed his mouth full of scrambled eggs. "I'm in."

        Sharice looked up at him and gave him a sharp shake of her head and a look that would frighten you even coming from an infant.

        "I'll come, too." Carles said. "Sounds like fun."

        "Oh wait," Jerald said. "Carles and I have some...uh...'cleaning' to do. Right?"

        "What the hell are you talking—?"

        Jerald elbowed him in the ribs and gave him a look.

        "Oh, yeah," he said, audibly short of air.

        "Well, sorry guys." Ricardo said as he shoved the last of his bacon in his mouth. "Maybe next time."

        "Yeah, maybe." Carles said.

        Sharice finished her meal and rose from her seat. Ricardo followed her upstairs.

        After they were clear, Carles turned to Jerald.

        "What was that for?"

 

        Sharice and Ricardo walked hand-in-hand to the stables, where they took a horse. The lake was about two kilometers away. Each had their bathing suits and a towel. They mounted the horse—a healthy stead—and Ricardo galloped off toward the rising sun.

        He rode up to the lakeshore and dismounted. He then helped Sharice down. He walked the horse over to a tree and tied its reins to a strong branch.

        "Is anyone around?" Sharice called to Ricardo. She was near the shore.

        "Not that I'm aware of," he called back.

        "Good,"

        Ricardo walked back over and kissed her. "What's so good?"
        "This,"

        Sharice unlaced her dress in the back and pulled open the shoulders. She let it slide down to the ground, leaving her completely naked.

        She walked over to him and undid his tunic. He helped her pull it off.

        "I'm going in the water now," she called to him backing away from him slowly, tempting him to come. He was wearing only his pants as he followed her with a stupified look on his face.

        Before she stepped in the water, Ricardo glanced at it. The sun reflected off it in the most beautiful pattern. It also reflected gorgeously off the dead fish on the surface.

        "Stop!" he shouted at her with concern dripping from his voice.

        She almost overbalanced at the sheer unexpectedness of his outburst. "What? What the hell are you talking about?"

        "Look at the lake!" he said, careful not too get too close, in case it might disturb her balance to a point of no return.

        She turned, and saw the dead fish as well. The lake had a more purple tint than it normally had, now that they looked.

        "I think you should get dressed," Ricardo said calmly, taking control of himself and the situation.

        "I think you're right." Sharice walked to her dress and put it back on.

        Ricardo walked over to a tree and tore off a branch. It was an evergreen, so there was still foliage. He walked over to the water, squatted, and dipped it in. It sizzled in consternation once it touched the water. Ricardo let it go into the water. He stood.

        "Acid,"

        "Acid?" she repeated in disbelief. "We have to get back to the castle and warn the others."

        "I think they're gonna notice before they drink it or anything." Ricardo walked over to where the lake divulged into streams. The water was a normal light blue. "On second thought..."

        Fully clothed, Sharice ran to his side. "Oh dear God."

        "Let's get the hell out of here." Ricardo walked to the horse and untied its reigns. He helped Sharice onto the horse and lifted a leg to get on himself. Then he stopped.

        Sharice knew Ricardo well enough that when he paused, something was up, and that it was best to be quiet.

        "Do you hear that?" he asked.

        "Hear what?"

        Ricardo could hear a slight hissing noise. Damn, he thought, I should have brought my sword.

        Ricardo, still facing Sharice, held a finger to his lips, and she remained totally silent. She turned away from him, looking around. A twig snapped.

        Ricardo spun a full one hundred eighty degrees.

        A giant pincer flew straight at him with lightning speed and perfect accuracy. Like a fork, two tongs stabbed the horse on either side of Ricardo's neck, the razor sharp edge of the rest of the claw so close that it most likely trimmed his stubble.

        The horse screamed and bucked, throwing Sharice off unharmed. The claw held perfectly still. The horse tore itself open as it fell backward, spraying a fan of blood across Ricardo, the Formidan, and Sharice, who was near screaming on the ground.

        Ricardo was amazed with himself that he still had control of his bladder. But right now, that was the least of his concerns.

        "We will spare you...for now," The creature held its S-sound like it had a lisp. It was like a demonic serpent with a carapace. There was a distinct humanoid form, but its outer skin was like a web of muscle fibers—like a human with all his skin burned off. It was a deep red with hard bone plates like armor protecting the vital parts of the body.

       

        Another Formidan, of similar humanoid shape, jumped out from the trees behind Sharice and grabbed her. She knew she couldn't get away even if she ran. She saw a vision of herself running through the forest, desperate to return home, only to become surrounded by demons and slaughtered. Her killing would be so thorough that her only remains would be clots of blood and muscle tissue stuck to vegetation with the occasional bone splatter. It wasn't a comforting thought.

        Ricardo looked into the creature's eyes. There were jet-black and looked like marbles. He understood the language. Ricardo hadn't moved from next to the horse.

        "What..." he began. His mouth had suddenly become dry. He licked his lips and blinked. "What do you want from us?"

        "Nothing," the creature hissed with a daunting air. Its two long claws receded into the arm, leaving Ricardo significantly more breathing room.

        "Then why keep us?" Ricardo was frightened beyond words, more for Sharice's safety than his own. But, he knew she was smart and quite a fighter herself.

        "You would alert your kind," The more Ricardo concentrated on the creature's tone of voice, the more he was amazed. It was such an evil and ungodly sound. "They cannot know."

        Ricardo was satisfied with the answer. If he returned to the castle and alerted Crayman and the rest of the forces, any attempt to poison the clan would be in vain.

        Not knowing too much about philosophy besides his own, Ricardo had trained himself to live in the moment. Whatever you do know matters none, for you will be dead in a moment. Take risks. And, when it came to worrying, he didn't. If there's nothing you can do, worrying will only make you despair. So, Ricardo was living in the moment and not worrying about something that couldn't be changed.

        They would most likely be dead eventually, so why not make a move? Plan first, be wise.

        Ricardo had planned enough. There were two Formidans. As prepared as always, there was a sheathed sword hanging at his side. He was wearing only his every-day garb. He had absolutely no protection if he were to get into a fight. With the little odds he calculated, he was satisfied.

        Ricardo looked into the Formidan's eyes. He knew that what he was planning could be seen in his eyes before he moved. There would always be a sparkle of initiative. Ricardo closed his eyes with a serene peace about him.

        His hand flew to his hilt, and he unsheathed the blade. As he pulled it out in a surreal moment of lightning speed, it slashed across the creature's chest, amazingly missing the bone plates. Black blood flew in a fan as Ricardo's right arm did a full swing from his left hip. His hand was in the upright position on the hilt. He spun around to face the other Formidan. He instantly took his sword in both hands, aimed, and threw it like an axe.

        The blade whistled through the air as the sun glinted off a spot free of black blood.

        A scream issued from the creature as the sword entered his throat in a spin, the point crashing through his flesh like it were a nothing more than an undercooked meal animal. There was a shattering bone sound as he fell backward, a fountain of blood emerging from the sword wound. The body fell backward, void of life, landing with another crack. The sword pushed its way out of the wound, but it was still significantly stuck.

        If Sharice hadn't had the training she did, she might have started crying. Instead, she pulled and yanked the sword from the fallen monster, where she handed it hilt end to Ricardo as they both ran down the path, toward the castle.

        "How many more do you think there are?" Sharice yelled between pants in her sprint for safety.

        "I have no idea," Ricardo yelled back. He was holding her upper arm as they ran, his sword still unsheathed.
        It was a short distance to the castle from the lake, and with the adrenaline surging through both of them, it would be no ordeal in returning. Unless there were more Formidans.
        There was a clearing ahead, and beyond that it was an empty field all the way back. Ricardo inwardly shouted victory.

        Snap!
        In an amazingly short instance, Ricardo went from running down a forest path, to running into a dirt wall five meters high. His vision went black abruptly. From then on, he had no idea what happened.

 

* * *

 

        Wake up.

        There was no other name for it. It was a guardian spirit. The inner voice that Ricardo had was not of his own—at least he told himself that—and it had saved him a number of times. He listened and obeyed.

        Ricardo rubbed dirt from his face and found he had two black eyes and blood crusted all over his face. He thought his nose was broken, and it sure felt that way. For the most part, he seemed okay, just bruises. His sword wasn't with him. He then took in his surroundings.

        He was in a giant hole. There was no other way to say it. It had a diameter of at about three meters and a height of at least five. It looked fresh, and it obviously hadn't been there on the way to the lake. There were pieces of grass around him that had covered the hole.
        Ingenious, he thought wryly.
        Ricardo wondered where Sharice had gone. Maybe she was in a similar hole? Maybe she had gotten back to the castle?

        He threw his hands into the dirt and tested it. Ricardo wasn't much of a climber, so this would all be trial and error.

        There was a solid handhold and Ricardo pulled himself up. He brought his feet up as far as he could and found a hold. Moving one extremity at a time, he reached the top in less than three minutes. It really wasn't all that smart of a hole after all.

        Ricardo stood and looked around. His sword lay on the ground. He picked it up and inspected it. The blood was dry and cracking which meant he'd been unconscious for a while. But, he still had no idea where Sharice was.

        He looked up.

        A net made of vines held something about ten feet up. How did he miss it? Upon closer inspection, he saw they were thorned vines.

        His stomach knotted itself. A droplet of blood fell from the bundle and landed on his face. Frantically, Ricardo ran to the tree where the trap was fastened. Without notice to the thorns, he quickly undid the knot and lowered the bundle to the ground.

        It fell open more, and a body lay there. Sharice's body.

        Against all training, Ricardo ran, a sense of unholy dread pulling him down like giant shackles and chains. He quickly pulled Sharice's body out and laid it on soft green grass.

        She looked like she had bled to death. Almost every centimeter of her skin had a scrape and was bleeding. Her face was ravaged. Ricardo fell to his knees, began to cry, and further sunk on his haunches. He threw his hands into the air and screamed his pain.

        His only love was dead. The only woman whom he had ever given a damn about was dead in front of him, the woman he was going to propose marriage to lay slain. He ran a hand through her hair. He brought his index and middle fingers to his mouth and laid a final kiss on Sharice's lips. They were cold. He screamed again.

        YOU FORMIDAN BASTARDS WANT CLOSURE? Ricardo shouted in his mind. I'LL GIVE YOU CLOSURE! I WILL MAKE IT MY PERSONAL AGENDA TO WIPE THE PLANET CLEAN OF YOU UNHOLY SONS OF BITCHES!
        Ricardo picked up Sharice's body in his arms and sheathed his sword, not giving a damn about the condition of the sheath. He headed back to the castle at a sprint.

        Only a few remained at the castle. Ricardo and Sharice had been missing for a full day now, and the army had already proceeded to the final battle. Samantha, the head chef, paced the fortifications around the walls of the castle, looking to the sun setting in the sky. She found a sunset to be one of the most beautiful sites ever to be viewed by mortal eyes. She looked at the green field below the horizon.

        A lone deer chewed at a strand of grass and looked up sharply. It darted off into the trees. Samantha then caught motion out of the corner of her eye, and she looked.

        A man carrying someone ran out of the grove of trees. After a moment, Samantha identified him as Ricardo. She almost fell off the battlements she was so startled. She ran down and the wall and set down the drawbridge. She ran out and to Ricardo in the field.

        She ran faster than he did and met him midfield.

        "Oh my God," was the only thing she said. She was too shocked to do anything else.
        Ricardo had been at his full speed for over a kilometer and showed no sign of relenting. Samantha ran with him.

        "Is there anything I can help with?"

        "Just..." he was almost offended by her talking to him like this. "Just leave me alone."

        She stopped in the field, up to her waist in grass. She had no idea how she would have reacted in the situation, but most likely in a similar fashion.

        Ricardo slowed at the drawbridge and walked in. It was quiet. There were only two small platoons here now, and only five guards were on rotation. One came off the battlements.

        "Ricardo!" he shouted. It was Jerald. "Oh God, what happened?"

        "Formidan ambush," Ricardo panted now, completely wasted from the run. "Has the battle begun?"

        "Yeah, the army left forty-five minutes ago, tops," Jerald said. He looked as if he himself could cry.

        Ricardo laid Sharice's body on bed of straw outside the blacksmith's shop. She could remain until he returned.

        "Make sure nothing happens to her," Ricardo said, knowing he could trust a friend. "If you want to help me, dig her a grave."

        Jerald understood, and as a friend honored the requests. "I am so sorry..."

        "I am too," Ricardo unsheathed his sword, completely uncaring of whether or not they knew of the poisoned water. "And those Formidan bastards are going to be, as well."

        With that, he darted from the castle, intent on one thing: vengeance.

 

        Ricardo trudged through the forest, set on coming around when joining the battle at Leora's Ridge. The Formidan fortress—nicknamed "The Portal Between Worlds"—was located in the side of a mountain which spawned hundreds of caves which in turn spawned hundreds more, making an intricate web of caverns. But, the only way out was through the fortress's entrance. Crayman's idea was to smoke ignite the caves. They had found that Formidan blood burned.

        The path to the actual fortress was in an L-shape from the Amanora castle. The castle itself had belonged to another clan who had abandoned it, and the Formidans had left the human architecture alone, not even bothering to burn it. This made a close camp to their fortress that easier.

        The L-shaped route was through mostly open fields, with patches or forest and the occasional ridge. Then, the turned to a canyon and went to the mouth of the Formidan castle. The army planned to engage the Formidans before hitting the canyon. Ricardo hoped all was going as planned.

        Ricardo's path went through forests and in a more straight-line path. This would have taken the army much longer to go through.

        He jumped over a fallen tree, his sword dirty and dull, and stopped. He heard something. Calling through the trees like a warning, he heard scream—human and Formidan alike. He felt an urgency, a calling, to that point. He got up and ran faster.

        The trees abruptly parted, giving way to a clearing and a cliff. The action unfolded before Ricardo's eyes. The human tragedy, the Formidan defeat, the endless bloodshed. The Formidans were losing huge numbers, and they didn't seem to mind. Where one fell, it seemed like two more came up. The Amanora lines were being devoured like carrion by vultures.
        Ricardo couldn't see a close way down. He was stuck. The blue uniforms under shiny chrome armor were being stained crimson as he waited.

        A line of archers formed behind the action. All pulled their bows taught, wielding flaming arrows. They released their shots.

        Each arrow flew high and fell like a banished angel. More than two-thirds hit a Formidan target, causing each to spontaneously combust and metamorphose into nothing more than a walking ball of liquid flame. The Formidan lines were decimated by this, as each creature usually fell on another, causing the same devastation.

        Ricardo looked at the cliff he was standing on, contemplating quickly if it was possibly to safely get down. There had to be a way to join the ranks, and quickly.

        A whinny sound came from behind Ricardo. He turned.

        An Amanora horse sat eating grass, its rider's legs from the waist down still in sitting in the saddle. Ricardo pulled them out and mounted the horse. He grabbed the reins, tapped its thigh and shouted "Yah!" It bolstered into motion down the plateau to a safe point in which the adjoining valley could be reached.

 

        "FORTISA!" Crayman yelled for the twelfth time. Maybe Ricardo was right, he thought. This battle was taking a turn for the worst. Over half his men had been lost and the Formidans kept coming. This must be a direct gate into hell.

        Normally, Crayman would be riding a horse into battle, but the Formidans really had no upper vulnerabilities that occurred in all of them. There's was a unique race, where each creature seemed physically different. They would also kill the horse before Crayman would even have a chance to move.

        The archer to Crayman's right notched a shaft and pulled back. He released it halfway as a claw shot out of his chest, then another. They pulled apart, cutting his torso in half. Crayman turned to the bloodstained creature and swung his sword.

        Its claws flew to the ground as it screamed, black blood pouring from the wound. Crayman swung again, cutting its torso open down the center.

        Letting his blade slacken in his grip momentarily, Crayman's sword ignited almost to the hilt when it flew through the archer's flame. Crayman thought that he could take out any Formidan he could touch, but any thing that splattered him could easily start on fire as well. He liked the pros enough.

        Swinging a flaming sword like a minion of Satan, Crayman cut across a line of three Formidans. Each screamed as it exploded into flame, spraying a mist of liquid fire that went out in mid-air. The odor was similar to that of burning oil. The thought of using their blood to power lamps pleased Crayman to a significantly deep level. He wondered why he had never thought of it before.

        "Father!" someone yelled. He associated the voice with Valendo and ran toward where it came from.

        Valendo stood bleeding from a wound in his left shoulder. It looked deep, but he could still move his arm without a hitch. He swung one handedly with his sword and cut down a monster.

        "Son, light your sword!" Crayman shouted as he extended his blade. Valendo quickly glanced and did so. They looked like two fighting sword mages.

        "Father, we are not doing well!" Valendo punctuated his sentence by slaying four Formidans. The lines fell and continued to be replaced.

        "Ignore it and fight!" Crayman called. He swung at a Formidan and severed its head. It then exploded into an inferno that licked at another two monsters, igniting them in unity, like a sacrifice to a previous sacrifice.

        Valendo's only answer was a grunt of disgust. A look of rage crossed his face as he embraced his sword in both hands and pushed forward, swinging left and right, right and left, without stopping. The enemy fell as if were offering absolutely no resistance at all.

        Crayman squinted with rage and pounded forward, following his son's example. There was hope yet.

 

        Ricardo's stead flew onto the battlefield with the speed and agility of a horse fit for a king. As soon as he was within twenty feet of the battle he dismounted and took his sword. A Formidan looked up from a body he was tearing apart and charged him. Ricardo swung without remorse, stunning the creature. Not finished, he swung again, effectively paralyzing the creature. Another swing killed it. He swung again, tearing off its legs. He swung again, rending through its torso. The defiled body lay on the ground oozing blood in proximity, only stopping or curving on weeds. Ricardo was nowhere near finished.

        Seeing how many others had fire swords working for them, Ricardo quickly found an archer's flame and made his sword burn. The Formidans stood not a chance.

        Pushing his way forward without any problems at all, Ricardo continued to swing. The body of a fallen comrade lay slain on the field, and Ricardo picked up his sword. He put the point into the flame of his sword, igniting it as well.

         Just realizing he had absolutely no armor, Ricardo felt more rebellious, more free, more powerful without it. He smiled sadistically, which was very unlike him, and dashed into the fray, completely taken over by the rage he held inside.

 

        Valendo met up with Crayman again in the melee. Each enraged and so full of hate that it blinded their judgment to a point of nothing but killing. They hardly acknowledged each other.

        They kept swinging, their swords never running out of fuel with the fresh kills. Valendo raised his blade with two hands and brought it straight down. He lifted it and pivoted just a few degrees and did it again to another creature. It seemed to fill him with a great pleasure, being able to destroy the biggest bane in his life.

        Each Valendo and Crayman had their backs to the other, fighting together on a subconscious level and not even knowing it.

        Valendo broke this involuntary strategy as he pushed forward. His pivot-swing strategy was excessively simple yet very rewarding. One creature became smart of the system.

        As soon as Valendo raised his blade, the creature swung a mandible—or maybe it was a claw—upward into his left shoulder, tearing his arm out of the joint. Valendo screamed and dropped his sword. The smell of blood enticed the others. The first creature swung again, tearing off Valendo's right arm in a down-swinging motion. He screamed again as blood poured from both torn apart sockets. His sword had fallen after the second swing, but what was he to do? Put it in his mouth and start swinging?

        Quickly humbled and brought down from his level of invincibility, Valendo collapsed on his knees. He was done for.

        "Angelika," he said, defeat more than evident in his voice. He was near tears. "Forgive me."

        The first Formidan swung both its claws, which were definitely mandibles. Valendo screamed again as his legs were severed mid-thigh. His torso fell back as four Formidans pounced on him, completing the kill.

        So involved in the battle, Crayman didn't notice a thing. All he noticed was a sword on the ground. He slayed a creature and picked it up with his left hand, wielding both swords like the clan leader should. Swinging each in a coordinated pattern like a machine gun and a propeller, he rarely had to parry.

        Crayman continued on his death march, until he noticed he could no longer see any of his own troops. This wasn’t saying much, considering he had little clearance over the tops of the Formidans.

        The Formidans were forming a wolf pack, so to speak. Crayman began to realize that a circle of vicious minions was surrounding him. One of the imps came from behind Crayman and swung a serrated limb upward through his nether regions. Crayman screamed shrilly as his pelvis shattered from the blow, the claw cutting almost as high as the navel. Crayman’s legs lost all support and he eloquently slammed to the ground. He was afraid to look at the wound, afraid to see if he still had genitals. With the pain that flowed through him like acid in his bloodstream, he would be willing to guess he was a eunuch.

        As a single tear of pain flowed down his cheek, he came to his senses. He realized that he had left himself open. He wondered how painful his death would be.

        A Formidan, larger than any of the others, and more humanoid than most, strutted forward. The other creatures stepped back, giving him a wide berth. He hissed something to them, and they all left. It was surprisingly clear after they did, as the battle had obviously shifted in those few fateful moments.

        Crayman hoped he was near passing out. He wanted to get this over with. Even if they didn’t kill him, he would never leave this field.

        The giant creature—which Crayman assumed was the leader—grabbed his head and pulled him off the ground. He held neither sword anymore, and his legs swung below him, completely useless and dead.

        “Do you see what we have done to you?” the creature hissed. He aimed Crayman toward one heavily desiccated body. It had neither arms nor legs, and most of its organs had been pulled out.

        Sudden revelation smashed through Crayman’s wall of pain. “Valendo!” he screamed hoarsely. The outrage was almost palpable. “BASTARDS!” he wailed.

        “It is too bad you will never be able to regret toying around with my patience.” The giant put a hand under Crayman’s chin, and one on top of his head, and he began to crush, slowly.

        Crayman screamed through forcibly clenched teeth. It was a very throaty scream, one that would have caused the hairs to stick up on any human’s neck. But, the monster continued to push.

        Crayman could do nothing but try to die. The pain from the rest of his body was nothing compared to this. His jaw was near cracking.

        There was a gut-wrenching pop sound as Crayman’s teeth exploded into their sockets. Blood flowed from his nose, and it began to pool in his lungs. The leader continued crushing.

        Another stomach-churning pop as both of Crayman’s eyes burst. He stopped screaming. His brain no longer had the capacity to breath.

        A gray liquid began dripping from his ears and nose as the brain cavity finally became violated. Crayman’s head was at least two inches shorter than before. The creature put more strength into pushing until the brain matter rivulets became rivers. With one final crack of resignation, Crayman’s skull caved in and collapsed completely. The leader dropped the body. He spat on it and skulked away.

        The saliva began to smoke as it ate through the bare and bloody flesh.

 

        Ricardo could only see a few humans remaining. The image daunted him, almost enclosed his mind in a wall of self-defeat and fear. He knew that he had nothing left to live for, so he fought like a madman. He knew that if this battle was not won, there would be nothing gained, and everything lost.

        A banshee across the field wailed. Ricardo spun toward it, and with his right hand, tossed the sword he had picked up. It swung like an axe until smashing point-down into the freak’s skull.

        Ricardo lifted his other sword high above his head and came down with it. The monstrosity below him skittered backward with a screech of offense, sending Ricardo’s sword into the dirt. The creature looked at him for a moment, as he struggled to free his sword. It turned and ran.

        He stopped pulling on the sword. He looked around in awe. Every single live Formidan ran from the battlefield. A few humans remained standing; fifty times that number lay wounded or dead.

        Ricardo pulled the sword up. This was an empty victory. Or was it a victory at all? He thought for a moment.

        The only reason they would pull out would be for a tactical advantage.

        “The castle,” Ricardo gasped. He sheathed his sword and dashed toward his horse, flying with the speed and grace of a mother bear running to her cubs. He swung himself over the mount and galloped away, pushing the horse to its limits.

        Underground caves? A war on two fronts? Teleportation? Ricardo knew they had gotten there somehow, to the castle, and a knot in his stomach told him they had the upper hand. If the castle fell, the final base of operations, the entire Amanora clan fell. All for nothing.

        Ricardo reined in the blazing horse as it came to a ridge. Ricardo looked on. He shook, and a single tear rolled down his cheek.

        A pillar of smoke rose from the castle like the trunk of a tree, blackening the sky. The flames left nothing untouched. The flame was near white, and even the stone walls seemed to be melting from the heat. Ricardo jumped off the horse, and when he touched the ground, his legs folded. He fell to the soft mossy ground and wept. His entire family was dead. The love of his life was dead. All his friends were dead. What remained of his life burned before his very eyes. The question came to him, of whether or not he had anything worth living for. At the moment, there was nothing he could think of. He knew his father was dead, although he did not see it happen. He also knew that no one got out of the castle. The Formidans were quite comprehensive when it came to an all-out extermination.

        Thoughts flew threw Ricardo’s mind. Would he kill himself? Why keep living? What was left? He continued to think, and cry, and watch in complete horror as the castle burned. He was more appalled by the fact that he couldn’t do a damn thing than anything else. But his mind shouted to him then, telling him what needed to be done. Ricardo would move on for one thing, and one thing only.

        Vengeance.

 

∞

 

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