Shade, Part 2

Imalend collapsed wearily onto his cot.  His brother, Inomal, and he had just completed their first real day of training under the direction of Offic, their master.  They had lived with him for around the span of one month, helping him build many things around his small clearing, mostly wooden towers with ropes, and other small structures.  They had even dug out a small field of thistles and weeds by hand, constructing a small, square fighting ring in the vacated area.  What was once a peaceful grove was now a harsh training ground, ready for use.

         Imalend rolled over to face his younger brother, who was likewise sprawled on his own bed.  “Ino, Stolior never mentioned going through training this hard, did he?  This is brutal!”

         Inomal heaved a sigh before answering.  “No, he didn’t.  But you heard Master Offic.  Today was just a test of our abilities.  Tomorrow is the real training.”

         Imalend groaned.  “Don’t remind me.  I wonder what that entails.”

         Both brothers contemplated this for a while, until they dozed into a restful slumber.  They were awoken by a loud clang of steel outside, and they rushed out, groggily, to see Offic planting their weapons into the top of a tall steel tower.  He looked up from his work, and saw them staring at him, and he smiled.  He leapt nimbly down, falling fast, and landed in a crouch, dust swirling around him.

         Imalend stared dumbly at the top of the tower, still focused on his curved blade imbedded in the tree-size tower.  “Why did put our weapons up there?”

         Offic dusted off his cloak.  “For the first month of training, you will not need them.  We will work specifically on the physical aspect of your bodies.  Strength, stamina, and swiftness.  That is what you will work on.  After training each day, though, both of you may try to work together to retrieve your blades from the top.  If you manage to get them down sooner than one month, I will step up your training to the next level.

         “But first,” he said, moving them away towards the stream behind the training site.  “My expectations of my pupils.  I have three rules you must adhere to at all times.  First, when I give an order, you do it without question.  Second, you put all your energy towards training.  And third,”

         “And thirdly,” a cruel voice said from behind them, “You must never underestimate your opponent.”

         Tlig’fin was suddenly in Offic’s hand as he faced the intruder.  The man before him strode slowly forward, his head cocked in an inquisitive gesture, a pitch-black sword held in his left hand.  His long black hair hung over the right side of his face, revealing an intense gaze of hatred in the left eye.  “That was what you taught me, wasn’t it?  Master Offic?”

         “And I thought that you had believed that, Slifon Oril.”  Offic replied stonily.

         “I am no longer called by that weak name.  I am the Demon King now.”

         “So the rumors are true.  You have bonded your soul with the Dark Sword’s power.  You have become the creature of darkness.”

         “Well of course.  And the power the Dark Sword has granted me is more than I ever dreamed of.  It is probably enough to defeat even you, Master of Shadows.  Care to try, my old mentor?”

         “If it means freeing you from the clutches of that sword, then yes, I will fight you.”

         “Then you had better be ready to kill me.”  Slifon said from behind him.  “Because I can’t be saved from what I want to have.”

         The hairs raised on the back of Offic’s neck.  That was no illusory double.  Tlig’fin said to Offic.  That was a high-level Shadow Jump.  He has grown very powerful.

         Offic turned slowly to his old apprentice.  “I see you’ve learned a new trick.  Is it the sword’s doing?”

         “No, it was taught to me by the former Demon King, before I slew him.”

         And with that said, he struck Offic like pent-up lightning.  Their swords clanged together, and they both leapt apart, away from the awestruck children.  They met again in a shower of sparks.  Before they split away, Offic caught the smirk on Slifon’s face.

         “You’ve grown lazy, Master.  Your skills aren’t what they used to be.”  Slifon kicked him in the shin, catching Offic off guard.  He went down hard, using his momentum to roll between Slifon’s legs.  Offic drew a thin line of blood on the inside of his old apprentice’s left leg, and then was on his feet again, blocking the ferocious onslaught of his opponent.  In the span of five seconds, their weapons met twenty-seven times.

         Offic spun away, intent on manipulating the air to sever Slifon, when he was hit by a wave of dark energy.  Sparks danced around him as he fell in pain.  He tried to get up, but was hit by three more in rapid succession.  After those, he could hardly move.

         Get up!  Tlig’fin roared in his mind.  You can still fight!

         “You can give it up, sword.”  Slifon said slowly, sliding his black sword into an equally black scabbard.  “I used the Heart Shattering Rings.  He will have no will to fight for the next hour or so.  But don’t worry.  I didn’t come here to kill him.  Not yet, at least.  I came here to issue an ultimatum to my old Master.”

         He knelt down in front of Offic.  “Give me the four affinity blades you are hiding, including Tlig’fin, or I won’t hesitate in killing you.  You have one month to make a decision and deliver them to me.  Meet me at the towers of the Shadow Order.  Since my servants couldn’t pry the sword away from you, I’ll do it instead.  Don’t be late.”

         He rose and left, not looking back.  It was then that Imalend and Inomal came out of their hiding spot, and ran to their fallen master.  The lifted him gently to his feet, carrying him back to the cottage.  When they got there, Inomal went and got him a damp cloth, putting it carefully on the wound he had sustained on his head.

         “One month until I have to meet him?  Plenty of time.  Listen up, you two.  Your training is now my top priority as well.  Everyday, we will rise earlier than what you are used to, and go to sleep much later.  You will push yourselves beyond your limits at every stage of training.”  Offic’s eyes glinted.  “Slifon needs to remember the third expectation.  Never underestimate an opponent.  Let’s go.”

         For the next four weeks, the three of them trained vigorously  Balance exercises, strength training, endurance runs, sitting beneath a roaring waterfall, sparring with each other.  Whatever Offic assigned, they all did it.  And every evening, the two brothers tried in vain to get to the top of the metal tower.  But try as they might, they couldn’t get more than ten feet up its side.

         Three days before the month was up, Offic prepared to leave.  Before he left, he took the two to the tower again.  “I have taught you two all I can teach you without those weapons, save for one thing.”

         “Affinity blades?”  Inomal queried.

         “Exactly.  There are six affinities in this world, with a sword embodying each affinity.  Fire, Ice, Earth, Wind, Dark, and Light.  Imalend, your weapon is called the Sword of the Earth.  Inomal, yours are the Fire Brand and Ice Dagger.  Slifon carries the Dark Sword, and you old master carried the opposite, the Blade of Light.  Now, that leaves me with Tlig’fin, the Wind Sword.  Also, each affinity is both weak and strong against its opposites, so Light is best and worst in power against Dark, and so on.”

         “Master Offic, why are you telling us this now?”  Inomal asked again.

         “Because when you finally get your weapons down, their minds, for they are sentient weapons, will try to conquer your mind.  You need to be able to counter their control if they try to consume you.  While I’m gone, your only task is to get up that tower.”

         “Master, when will you be back?”  Imalend asked uncertainly.

         “When this business is finished.  Remember, the two of you need to work together to reach the top.  It cannot be done solo.  I’ll be back.”

         “Master.”  Imalend said quickly.  “If they try to take over our mind, why didn’t they do it sooner, when you rescued us?”

         Offic looked puzzled.  “Once you have control of them, you can ask them.”

         He left the two of them there, apprehensive about his safety.  But Offic wasn’t worried.  While the two of them had slept, Offic had developed a new technique that was sure to overcome any enemy.  He was confident in his strength.

         But as confident as he was, the closer he came to the Shadow Order towers, the more worried he grew.  Slifon’s power was incredible, and the Dark Sword seemed on the verge of releasing its true power.  If that happened, Offic would truly be in trouble.  But he did have a last resort.  And when he discussed it with Tlig’fin, neither of them liked it.

         Soon, Offic found himself again descending the Shadow Stairs down towards the four towers.  At the bottom of the stairs, the two guards didn’t stop him.  They merely said, “You’re expected.” and then escorted him into the closest tower.  They opened a hidden panel in the wall, revealing an elevator operated by a group of ropes and pulleys.  The two guards took him to the very top of the tower.  They exited through another secret panel, into a vast room, where one object jutted out of the floor in the middle of the room.  It was a throne, massive in size, covered in blood-colored thorns.  They fanned out in a flower pattern, around the seat, in which sat a figure in black, spiky armor.

         Slifon rose with a jovial grin.  “Come to your senses, Master Offic?  It’s good to see you submitting to me for a change.”

         As he strode towards the older man, he dismissed the two guards with a glance.  Offic smiled when they left.  “You believe me to be submitting to you?  You must be more confident than I thought.”

         Slifon stopped a few meters away.  “What are you talking about?  You came here before the month was up because you found it was futile to resist me.  That is why you’ll hand over the four remaining weapons for me.”

         “Remaining?”

         Slifon swept back his cloak to reveal a sword on each side of him, the dark on the left, with an intensely white blade on his right hip.  “As you can see, I hold the Blade of Light, my brother’s old weapon.  I left it here when I visited you, just so you could get your hopes up about maybe defeating me.  I took it from Stolior when I killed him.”

         Offic allowed himself a moment’s hesitation, and then responded.  “So, I see.  Or did you leave it here because it wouldn’t bond with you?  Maybe that was the case.”

         A vein over Slifon’s eye was the only sign of his irritation.  “We are men of action.  Small talk does not become of us.  Since you won’t hand over the weapons, I’ll take them myself.”

         The two of them drew their weapons, and Slifon tossed his cloak and the Blade of Light back to the throne.  Offic eyed it warily, as if thinking about using it.  Slifon saw his hesitance, and launched himself at Offic.  His sword was a blur of ferocious strikes and slashes.  Offic calmly parried them, watching for an opening when he could dart in.  He knew a simple secret; when someone gets angry when fighting, they get careless.  Unfortunately, Slifon was good enough not to be careless.  His anger only enhanced his fighting, and Offic found himself being pressed backwards.  It was only a matter of time until he could open up with his attack.

         They danced around the room in deadly tandem, Slifon full of rage, Offic his calm opposite.  Parry, riposte, duck, parry again, jump back, slash.  These were the only things in Offic’s world for the moment.  Tlig’fin was helping too, revealing attacks Offic missed, which protected Offic even more.  Offic backpedaled, deciding to take the fight to another level of difficulty.  As he prepared his technique in his mind, the black rings shot out again, knocking him to the ground.  He lay still as Slifon angrily strode towards his limp body.

         When Slifon reached down to grab Tlig’fin, Offic leapt up, slashing a deep wound across his chest, knocking him backward onto his back.  Offic looked contemptuously down at him.  “That attack won’t work on me.  Try again.”

         Inomal looked at his brother as he said this.  “What?  We’ve tried everything we know for the past three hours.  Just give up, we can’t get up that tower.”

         Imalend looked pleadingly at his brother.  “Please, Ino, one more try.  I think we can make it work.  We just need to try again.”

         Inomal sighed, then smiled.  “Why not?  It’s not like we have anything else to do.”

         “Okay.  Here, go on the other side of the pole.  Now grab my wrists, no not like that.  On both sides of the pole.  There you go.  Now I grab your wrists and we slowly lean back until we balance each other.  Okay, now we climb.  Left foot first, on three.  One, two three.”

         Slifon looked up in surprise at Offic.  He wiped his hand across his chest, feeling the blood seep through his fingers.  “How did you become so powerful in such a short time?  And on such a scale of power?  It’s not possible!”

         “Of course it is.  You believed I would give up when you attacked me before with your most powerful attack.  But you forgot one thing.  I know you, and you underestimated me.”

         “A mistake soon to be remedied.”  He laid his sword against the open wound.  When he removed it, the blood was gone, and the wound was closed.  He rose slowly, swaying in a steady rhythm.  “Feel the wrath of the Demon King.”

         His sword raised slowly, a dark aura seeming to seep out of the ground to envelope him.  It coalesced around him, and then focused into his sword.  The darkness of the sword grew even darker, and then suddenly was in front of Offic, stabbing towards his gut.  Offic hurriedly Shadow Jumped over to Slifon, who turned around and smashed his palm into Offic’s jaw.  The Dark Sword hung suspended in midair where Offic was a moment before, being held up by the dark aura rather than Slifon.

         It changed direction, zipping towards him at a blinding speed. Offic slipped to the side, though not before he was nicked by the blade.  As it did so, the dark aura exploded, throwing Offic into the wall under the pressure it emitted.  He lost his breath, and lay breathing quietly as Slifon picked up his sword from the ground.

         “Thank you, Dark Sword.  Your power truly is unstoppable.  The Nightmare Spread is the ultimate attack.  Offic is finally dead.”

         “You severely underestimate your opponent if you believe me dead, my old apprentice.”

         Slifon jumped backwards with fright as Offic got to his feet.  “That attack wasn’t half bad.  In fact, somewhat effective.  But now that you’ve shown me the limit of your power, let me show you mine.”

         Offic drew deeply into the reservoir of strength that was Tlig’fin, and allowed it to flow through him.  “Dance of Blazing Shadows.”  He whispered to Tlig’fin.

         Of course.  It replied.

         Small dark fires blazed to life instantly around Offic, casting smoke to hide him.  Spoiling the effect, Offic charged straight out at Slifon, sword rushing down.  Slifon blocked the stroke easily in midair, when his side ripped open under an unseen force.  “But I blocked your attack.”  He said feebly to Offic.

         “Unfortunately for you, you only blocked the illusion of me.”  Offic said from behind him.  “I evolved my tactic of illusory doubles, so that the illusion moves with me until the last second.  But I’m not done.”

         Offic raised his sword in salute to Slifon, blade pointing up towards the ceiling.  “Glorious wind, I beseech you for your power.”  He stood there for a moment, when a gust of wind whipped through the room suddenly.  Offic stood stock still, not budging, when his sword suddenly shattered into thousands of fragments.

         “Ha!”  Slifon gasped.  “You couldn’t handle the power of your affinity!”

         “But this is the power of the wind.”  Offic replied, waving his hand.  The fragments hovered loosely in the air, balancing on small updrafts of air.  “This is the technique called The Thousand Rose Petals Falling in the Night.  It is the pinnacle of the wind’s might.”

         He waved his hand again, and the thousands of shards went thudding through Slifon’s body, completely incapacitating him from head to toe.  Slifon lay there on the verge of death, blood everywhere.  A tear rolled down Offic’s cheek.  “I pity you, my old student.  You let your sword seduce you.  That is so tragic.  I thought you were better than that.”

         Slifon muttered something incomprehensible.  Offic leaned closer hearing the words, “Don’t pity me.  Don’t pity… the darkness.”

         With a final effort, Slifon shakily raised his blade high, plunging it deep into his heart.  He lay still, and Offic slumped away, tears of shame coursing down his cheeks.  He weakly motioned with his hand, and all of the fragments of Tlig’fin pried themselves free of Slifon, reforming on the hilt into a complete sword once more.  There was a cackle of evil laughter as Offic moved the secret panel to the elevator.

         He whipped around to see Slifon back on his feet, all wounds completely erased, and no sword in sight.  But there was something different, something even crueler than before.  “Surprised to see me alive, Offic?  It isn’t surprising.  That fool finally gave up to me completely, and just in time.”

         “What?”  Offic sputtered, fear rising swiftly in him.

         “I finally took his body, you stupid man.  It is I, Seras, the Dark Sword.  The true Demon King.  I have lain dormant for some time, but now I shall leave the world in ruins after you die.”

         Offic staggered back, and luckily too, for the monster was in front of him, stunningly long claws ripping the edge of Offic’s cloak.  The other claw-filled hand snapped around, catching Offic across his left eye.  “Now you shall truly taste death, fool.”

         A swirl of darkness materialized above Slifon.  No, it’s Seras now.  Tlig’fin said to Offic, shaking him out of his stupor.  The darkness condensed, firing towards Offic no bigger than an orange.  Offic hastily ducked, and it zoomed behind him.

         “Have you forgotten the stories of the Demon King, Offic?  I can control it, so don’t think you can dodge it forever.”

         And it was true, for it looped up and backwards towards Offic.  Offic danced out of the way again, narrowly avoiding it.  All thoughts of attack were lost to Offic as he looked for a way out of this.  This attack was Darkness Weight.  The Nightmare Spread was a mosquito bite compared to this blast.  Offic then realized how to defeat Seras, the true form of the Dark Sword.

         “I’ll take it on.”  Offic shouted suddenly.

         “You delusional fool.  Are you so eager to avenge the weakling I now control?”

         “No, that is not my reason to fight.  I fight because the Slifon I knew was a good person, and I can’t stand seeing his image distorted by your evil, Demon King.”

         “Silence.  You shall pay for your impudence.”

         The dark thing zoomed straight at him, and Offic pointed Tlig’fin at the ground, in a posture of defiance.  Inches away from Offic, the ball changed direction radically, orbiting him faster and faster, until it shot straight up at the roof.  When it connected with the dark stone, it vaporized most of it instantly, opening a hole to the outside world.

         “Thank you, gracious wind.  And you also, Tlig’fin.”

         It is my duty to respond to your commands, Shade.  I didn’t realize the Hurricane could be used like that.

         “Neither did I, Tlig’fin.  But we’re running out of options.”

         The sword heaved a mental sigh.  We knew that if it came to this, we would act without hesitation.  It was nice knowing you, Shade.

         “I’m sorry, old friend.  But we have to stop this evil.  Goodbye to you too.”

         Seras snarled.  “Stop standing there chatting with your pitiful sword and fight me, human!”

         Offic looked at the dark form of his old apprentice, controlled hatred and sadness warring in his eyes.  “Fine.”  He held Tlig’fin above his head.  “Assemble, ye fragments of wind, scattered across the world.  Assemble, into your divine instrument.  Assemble, for it is time to awaken the Ultimate Twister.”

         At once, everything was blasted by gales of wind flying into the room.  They almost became tangible as they packed together, circling the room in their frenzy.  Seras was slammed into the wall with the gentleness of an anvil by a stray gust.  Offic stood in the center of the room, the catalyst of the storm.  His sword started to sway around him, catching all of the winds in the room.  There was a flash of lightning, and then all was still.

         Seras picked itself up to see Offic holding a magnificent blade, like the wing of a giant bird.  It splayed out around his hand, tapering along the blade to an infinitesimal point.  “Cyclone.  The true form of Tlig’fin, the Wind Sword.”

         “I see.  Your trump card.  But why didn’t you use it earlier?”

         “Because of the downfall of this blade.  Tlig’fin is no more.  This form erases the consciousness of the sword, so it is a plain sword with immense power.  I didn’t want to lose my companion, but it was unavoidable.”

         Seras laughed contemptuously.  “It still won’t help you.  I am the all-powerful Demon King.  None can stand up to my might and live.  Now, prepare for my final strike!”

         “Fine.”  Offic said, all traces of happiness vanished from his voice.  “I shall show you the power of the wind.  So says the Master of Shadows.”

         Energies swirled and clashed in the limited space of the room as the two affinities prepared to destroy the other.  Darkness swirled like an eddy around Seras, but Offic stood perfectly still, balanced and ready.  “Feel the death of all life with this attack!  Overdrive!”

         “You always did leave yourself wide open, no matter what name you use.  Now, be boxed in with your own corruption.”

         He swirled the new sword around his head once, pointing at four points around the Demon King.  As he pointed at each one, he muttered a single word.  “Western, Southern, Eastern, Northern.  Let the winds of the world strike with fury.”

         Just as the black aura spread away from the Dark Sword’s true form, four blazing pinnacles of light appeared on the floor.  They each connected to the rest, forming a glowing box around Seras.  The darkness moved to the edge of the box, but could move no further, and only went up to a height of just above Seras.  It kept pouring out of Seras’s corrupt soul, though, crushing him with its evil.  Offic walked away once he saw the last of the magic dissipate within itself.

Offic arrived back at his cottage battered and weary, struggling not to fade into unconsciousness.  He looked madly around for Imalend and Inomal, when he heard weary laughter coming from the tower.  He looked at the base, but they weren’t there.

         “Up here, Master!”  Imalend called.

         He looked up, smiling, for he saw them clutching their weapons like long-lost friends.  Seeing them accomplish what they had thought impossible, Offic realized that they might be able to work together to restore his sword to its original form.  To restore his lost companion to him, as it once was.