AGE WARNING:
This work is one of dark nature. If you're below the age of 16, then you're better off reading something else. I don't profess to follow the rules of my country where only foreigners like G.R.R Martin and Miura Kentaro can write dark fiction.
A Requiem From Winter Past
~The Wolf, Lion, And Maiden Fair~
His anger is an all-consuming conflagration, Aeravor's snarl cursing that one person he once regarded as a friend: Lars Alies the demon hunter, Lars Alies the thrice-damned traitor. They used to start fights and visit the nearest gi'ya, both always together. They annoyed Tai'Jin till no end, the two always a constant source of Ji'Yon's frustration. Then everything went up in flames, every shard of memory the sharpest knife.
“Fight me like a man,” says the Wildebrand with fists tightly clenched, his strength fled from the athletic frame which has conquered whores and foes for countless years.
“Just to make sure I die like one?”
“You don’t deserve to die like one.”
Lars smiles, an accusation levelling its tip at himself. Not a devious grin or a sellsword's leer, but a haunted man's sorrow. As for the Relentless One, forgive and forget is never part of his language. Mercy is reserved only for the weak, those who can't hold a sword properly. It takes a monster to kill a demon, for saintly souls always perish first. As the saying of his own people goes, mongrel or lion means nothing to the wolves.
The Edge of Answerer stubbornly gripped despite searing pain caused by the enemy's Relic, Aeravor displays his defiance through an audible growl. The fighter makes his stand, raging fire stoked inside a forge of flesh and blood. He can’t cede ground to the pain, he can’t concede defeat. Kagetsu no Ji'Yon is the only woman he will ever love, Lars Alies is the one person who must die because of her. Though he knows what the Phantom of Crows can do, it merely means Lars is not the only person wielding a Relic.
“Kill you! Kill you, kill you, I'll kill you! Lars Alies!”
Bellowed vengeance rampages through the forest, spoken words resounding like a bestial roar. In an awesome show of force, the chains immobilising the ranger shatter before every witness. For the first time since Kain rescued her from the slavers, the taste of fear visits Ciras. The peace and tranquillity ruling as king and queen of this place are usurped by incessant wails, curses and every expression of bitterness echoing. Something is disturbing about this rogue, it's as if either he sees the world as his enemy or the other way around. If there is any part of Ciras' past that she would rather die than be reminded of, it'd be her days as a slave raped before she was prepared to be sold as a mere object. Here it is someone retelling a story of monsters, one created by the gods.
“Kill you! Kill you, kill you, I'll kill you! Lars Alies!”
Bellowed vengeance rampages through the forest, spoken words resounding like a bestial roar. In an awesome show of force, the chains immobilising the ranger shatter before every witness. For the first time since Kain rescued her from the slavers, the taste of fear visits Ciras. The peace and tranquillity ruling as king and queen of this place are usurped by incessant wails, curses and every expression of bitterness echoing. Something is disturbing about this rogue, it's as if either he sees the world as his enemy or the other way around. If there is any part of Ciras' past that she would rather die than be reminded of, it'd be her days as a slave raped before she was prepared to be sold as a mere object. Here it is someone retelling a story of monsters, one created by the gods.
It then happened in a momentary flash, a show of utter madness. Lolyx rushes towards the man of ivory, another man of dusk preparing to strike. The Wildebrand vanished and reappears behind his prey, surely all will end in a single blow. Just like that fateful day under the autumn sky, that first day of the eleventh month. Lars' golden eyes narrow immediately, a crow swooping past. From the opposite direction, a silver chain wraps itself around the assailant's neck. Choked from behind and immobilised again, Aeravor glares at the object of his hate. Unable to utter a word, there is only this far an otherworldly fortitude can go. Senses numbed by the restraint, the sellsword struggles to piece together a shattered focus.
"My thanks, little girl. You don’t have to do this."
If Lars’ statement is intended as gratitude, Lolyx would have nothing of it.
“Little girl? Look, I’m already eighteen. You know what this means?”
“Why, yes I do. It means having a stack.”
“What? You know what you’re saying, you deplorable lowlife?”
“Again, yes I do, my dear grown-up kitten. I know your friend over there is also a looker even with her small stack. I guess she's also eighteen.”
Before a banter abruptly sparked, Aeravor gnashes his teeth. It's so much like a past worth many years of hate, a page in history condemning him forever. If there is truly a life worse than one of despair, it would be this. Lars casts a glance towards the person who used to be his friend, an unattainable dream beckoning.
“You know what it means to be best friends forever? I know that sounds dumb, Aera.”
“You’re dumb and drunk, Lars.”
“Dumb, no. Drunk, maybe. Seriously, how can an idiot shaft a whore since he doesn't know where to put it?”
“Too many children's tales then, whoremonger.”
“I guess so. Erm... Aera?”
“What? You want me to shut up about your adventures in the whorehouse?”
“Thanks, my friend. Ji would kill me and hang me upside down if not for your promise of timely aid. She likes children's tales, but it doesn't mean anything once she starts breathing fire and fury.”
“You owe me one, Lars. And no best friends forever unless you want me to kill you instead.”
Without a show of farewell save a wounded man's smile, Lars Alies departs. His form disintegrates into a murder of crows, ceaseless caws ringing like piercing shrieks. Lolyx, Adarl, and Ciras are left stupefied, Kain revealing only a frown. Aeravor's fury rages like a massive bonfire as he is overwhelmed by searing pain, darkness cloaking his sight and usurping his mind.
)0(
“Wait, am I seeing things?”
“I doubt so, Lolyx,” says Adarl, the most grotesque sight heralding its coming. Assuming the shape of naked men, nothing is visible between their legs. If they are meant to be women instead, each torso never exposed a single breast. Their bodies are flayed, each form weeping blood never dripped on the ground. For the first time in her life, Adarl knows what the inhumane looks like. Nothing is seen on their faces, eyes, ears, noses, and mouths... none are present. This is a mob whose only humanity lies in the solid physique, but there is something in them making her tremble with joy and fear. How can this contradiction happen in the first place? Why the fear? And where is the joy? She doesn't want to know, for something within understands the day she gets the answer is the day she risks losing everything.
Cale...
As thoughts of unreciprocated love enter her mind, every bloodied slit opens its formless face. Each gaping rift reveals an eye, its length spanning from forehead to chin. The willowy brunette's mind is instantly obliterated, countless evils invading her awareness. She witnesses all sorts of wickedness any and every person is capable of, the wall between humanity and monstrosity eradicated. Women are raped while trapped in cages, many of them forced to please two to three drooling men at once. Dismembered parts of newborn children are strewn at random places, soldiers of fortune cutting apart pregnant mothers. Many are busy slaughtering each other, each victor in turn slain by his neighbour. Altars are preaching lies, their listeners ignoring the dead. Kings and rulers feast alike, every commoner rich and poor ignoring a dead slave mutilated.
Curse you... damn you...
Open up your legs for us...
All lives be damned...
For us, not them... we are the gods and they are the monsters...
You... what do you desire, sweet young thing?
The last statement breaks Adarl apart, her eyes seeing Cale naked and ploughing her. Then there are Irlia and Ciras tied to a tree, their naked forms brutally ravished by an army of men. As for Lukas Broun, his head is lifted on a pole while his body remains impaled on a spike. There is neither guilt nor outrage, only pleasure. All the worst evils and most pleasurable sins are released from a box previously locked, the key none other than its owner herself.
A stinging slap pulls her back to her senses, naked body exposed to an unnatural cold. Adarl realises Ciras is holding onto her shoulders, a motherly figure shielding a sinner. Guilt assails the heart, her mind struggling against the truth. As for Lolyx, her trembling frame guides Adarl's gaze to a towering frame of black. Gone is the man whose name is Kain, for a knight stands tall. Had not a bastion of black defended their honour, a foul army would have easily raped them all
“One swipe of his axe and they died just like that...”
Struggling to understand Lolyx's words at first, Adarl soon knows the reason. A pool of crimson separates them from the horde, another such puddle surrounding her. It is as if something cleaved into these monsters, their blood splattered with nothing else left. She remembers the axe Kain wielded with deceptive grace, a weapon any other person would have gripped with two hands instead of one.
“Where is he, Ciras? I mean...”
Despite knowing the obvious, something in Adarl hopes the answer wouldn't be the case. There's something about Kain reminding her of Cale, the picture of a man turned into a beast.
“You're looking at the angry burnt man if that's what you want to know. And please don't ask me why we're safe so long he stays near us. Just don't you dare run off like just now.”
Answering on Ciras' behalf, no mirth is detected in Lolyx's words. The Tamurian is correct, for there's something in a tower of the darkest storm preventing those monsters from surrounding them.
“If you feel cold, it means you're safe,” assures Ciras, the red-haired girl's words taking Lolyx and Adarl by surprise. “Trust me. I've been through this before.”
Kain takes a step forward, then the second and third.
“Wait, what is this burnt idiot doing? Is he trying to kill us by walking away?”
Lolyx's fear ends up unproven, the icy fortress still standing strong. The objects of horror suddenly descend upon a man armoured by darkness, each one's fingers replaced by massive claws. Attacks come wave after wave, each blow ripping open a massive wound. Nausea churning inside her gut, Adarl vomits as the gruesome scene of slaughtered mothers haunts her again and again. As if to taunt her and as if to jeer her, like a demonic jester out to mock her.
Pain lit its flare inside Kain, the beacon of torment fueling his unquenchable fire. His focus never dimming and ever-burning, every swing from the Cleaver of Mountains reduces their number by more than one. From the ground he is at, his weapon annihilates everything even if any stands at a distance away. From where he is standing, assaults against his head and chest are repelled,. Every gash closes up by itself, each injury healed feeding the momentum only a monster is capable of. Where his armour used to be rent, the gaps vanished.
The diabolical entities are swiftly reduced to a score, yet the berserker is now having a harder time. Where it took but a single blow to wipe out three or four, the very same deadly stroke is unable to repeat this feat. Adarl grips tightly onto Lolyx, Ciras wrinkling her frock with both hands. Their black knight hasn't shown signs of fatigue, yet who knows when the possible would arrive? One more goes down to the dust, then the second one follows.
A loud sound of shattered steel suddenly invades the spectators' ears, a roar eerily resembling a wolf's howl shakes the ground. Trees sway violently as if seized by a tempest, the air turning from summer to winter. Greeting Lolyx's widened gaze is a realm of ice and a frozen lake, the tundra bereft of life. But there's something in it, a life of its own. It curses the world for all things given and taken away, the roaring blizzard challenging some manner of a god at work. It's like a brazen rebel cursed with nothing to gain and blessed with nothing to lose, a blasphemer mocking death itself despite his mortality.
“Winter?”
Hearing Ciras echoing her thoughts is nothing less than shocking, a bewildered look paying no heed to Lolyx. It's one thing to behold an illusion, quite another to realise she's not the only one. For all she knows, Ciras might have seen the same thing. Something isn't right as the Tamurian murmurs vulgarities at an annoying blonde no longer around, an empty attempt to vent her frustration. A biting wind brushes past the trio, the cold assailing them as the obnoxious mercenary ignores them. No strides are made, only a walk towards the battle ahead. Ciras tries to warn Kain, her voice ends up trapped in a cage that is her throat. Eyes of azure blue replaced by jewels of crimson red, she's a witness to a mocker's look supplanted by a monster's visage. There's no arrogance in these steps, his shoulders hunched like a beast stalking its prey. He vanishes instantly, three single-eyed monsters hacked down without mercy or reprieve. His quarry isn't Kain, the ones battling him are. Seizing the advantage offered by the unlikeliest ally, Kain makes his advance.
The sight is nothing short of a song sung by bards, two men who were foes now turn themselves into comrades. When they fought each other, sanity was present. Side by side, only madness defines this alliance. The resultant formation is simple, brutal is its efficiency. Kain's power and fortitude serve as shield and cloak, his partner's precision and flashing movements are the spear and dagger. A rain of fire showers sudden judgement upon the remaining ten or so, a storm of icy wind slows them down. With a devastating stroke, Kain slays them all, his attack ripping the survivors apart like a violent gale stripping trees of their leaves.
To every watcher's horror, the sickly mass of liquid around the supposed victors moves towards Adarl. Her mind promptly empties itself, there's only this much she can endure. Without thinking, Lolyx manages to drag her friend away before what is feared materialises. Getting themselves before Kain's feet, the three maidens pay no more than a glance to a being of insanity stepping forth. To face a monstrous giant covered with eyes, its grotesque arms of mangled flesh wielding a spear of bone.
A blinding blanket of white abruptly invades Ciras' mind, her heartbeat slowing down. Gasping for breath, the scene in front of her is one the Teutonian has never seen before.
Why does it feel so real and sorrowful?
As if in reply to her thoughts, the boy turned around.
“I'm going to become a hero you can be proud of, Ciras. Just wait for it.”
He is standing in the middle of a meadow, sandy blond hair covering his nape and sapphire eyes revealing an innocence befitting of his age. Ordinary features hiding something extraordinary, he reveals a grin untainted by a cruel world. It is a portrait of solitude, for nearby stands a cottage bereft of life. No smoke rises from the chimney, no sound is heard behind closed doors of lacquered wood. Then he walks off, away from the empty house and away from her eyes brimming with tears. The boy starts growing from a scrawny frame to an athletic build, never once does he look back. Is this the journey of a hero? The kind he spoke of?
Verses of sorrow and rage shake Ciras back to her senses, a poem of fury singing its ire. The reciter wasn't that unknown boy, his voice belonging to the repulsive scoundrel inexplicably aiding Kain. Her sight recovers in the timeliest manner, wide-eyed horror greeting a scene of someone impaled through the chest. Materialising itself once more, the land of wintry wrath now devours the ground carrying everyone. The haunting image of resurrection appears, death reversing itself through a flash of lightning and frigid wind. The killed becomes the killer, a piercing wound surrounded by frost seen on the monster's chest. The eyes close as if peace has arrived, fire consumes the dead like a parchment fed to a furnace. It's a surreal sight, for who would imagine a diabolical entity understanding tranquillity upon death?
Silence prevails, the victor facing the one he helped. Inner fire unable to sustain the exterior, Kain sheds his armour as darkest steel melts like snow before the springtime sun. Eyes of crimson red remain unchanged, the creature of madness moves towards him. Knowing things have entered another state of peril, the hulking knight is already physically drained from the previous fight. Such is the price of having the River of Inimitable Steel. Using one Relic isn't a burden, but two at the same time would have killed any user. Kain is no ordinary wielder, but not even a monster could have ended up unscathed from the crushing weight oppressing body and mind.
“I'm going to become a hero you can be proud of, Ciras. Just wait for it.”
He is standing in the middle of a meadow, sandy blond hair covering his nape and sapphire eyes revealing an innocence befitting of his age. Ordinary features hiding something extraordinary, he reveals a grin untainted by a cruel world. It is a portrait of solitude, for nearby stands a cottage bereft of life. No smoke rises from the chimney, no sound is heard behind closed doors of lacquered wood. Then he walks off, away from the empty house and away from her eyes brimming with tears. The boy starts growing from a scrawny frame to an athletic build, never once does he look back. Is this the journey of a hero? The kind he spoke of?
Realm of ice and force of storms
Mocking death my answer calls
Before foes my blade is keen
Demons and mortals not a god is seen
Arrow's flight and fatal swing
Reprisal and a steely ring
One remains, the world asunder
A wolf stands where all faded
Verses of sorrow and rage shake Ciras back to her senses, a poem of fury singing its ire. The reciter wasn't that unknown boy, his voice belonging to the repulsive scoundrel inexplicably aiding Kain. Her sight recovers in the timeliest manner, wide-eyed horror greeting a scene of someone impaled through the chest. Materialising itself once more, the land of wintry wrath now devours the ground carrying everyone. The haunting image of resurrection appears, death reversing itself through a flash of lightning and frigid wind. The killed becomes the killer, a piercing wound surrounded by frost seen on the monster's chest. The eyes close as if peace has arrived, fire consumes the dead like a parchment fed to a furnace. It's a surreal sight, for who would imagine a diabolical entity understanding tranquillity upon death?
Silence prevails, the victor facing the one he helped. Inner fire unable to sustain the exterior, Kain sheds his armour as darkest steel melts like snow before the springtime sun. Eyes of crimson red remain unchanged, the creature of madness moves towards him. Knowing things have entered another state of peril, the hulking knight is already physically drained from the previous fight. Such is the price of having the River of Inimitable Steel. Using one Relic isn't a burden, but two at the same time would have killed any user. Kain is no ordinary wielder, but not even a monster could have ended up unscathed from the crushing weight oppressing body and mind.
The menacing figure closes in on his newly found quarry, shoulders hunched and arms never straying paints a portrait of death made flesh. A cool gentle wind breezes past those before a murderous intent, a man of similar build and features stands between hunter and prey. His garb is a long coat dark and blue, his pants of a lighter shade and boots of leather grey. Brown gloves cover his hands from below the elbows, a curved blade sheathed is gripped near its small rectangular crosspiece. Unlike the red-eyed monster, his hair is long and flowing. Like the entity during his previous form, the stranger's straight almond eyes are of azure blue.
Deathly silence is the duel between them, an eternity taking place. Then miraculously, he turns and walks away. Not the unnamed saviour but that unknown monster, such is how the standstill ends.
“Aor.”
Words calm and firm catch Adarl, Lolyx, and Ciras off their guard, for they have never seen someone introducing himself in this manner. As for Kain, he takes a stride.
“Enough, Kain Lamrec. I know you want to cut me down. Do not test me.”
Kain knows his full name, something snaps inside his mind. There's something in him denying the truth, that very thing moves him forward by a single step. Aor responds in the same way, his crouching posture preparing to strike.
“This is my final warning, foolish boy knight. Gods do not exist, but know that I am the nearest thing to one.”
Ignoring words of cold mercy, a huge stride takes the raging hulk within striking distance. His eyes burn with unyielding fire, his war cry hauntingly reminds Adarl and Lolyx of Cale. Dismissing the Cleaver of Mountains making its descent, a single flick of Aor's arm begets a flash of steel and a giant's head.
The fight is over as Kain stays rooted on the spot, eyes hard as stone widened before narrowing. Everything inside him screams a warning which must be heeded, for this is a god making his stand. A demon and monster he's unable to defeat, words denying the existence of gods nothing less than truthful mockery. His heart is already racing like a horse provoked by a pack of slavering wolves, his body coated in sweat. Speech departs from his mind, silence becomes his only friend.
“Where are the children?”
Roused from stupor and emotional numbness, Kain turns his sight towards Ciras. Her bravery is a timely balm, a target the white-haired monster of a god is heading to. Helplessness remains as king, a conqueror paralysing him.
Move! Move, damn it!
“A brave man any given day can see, a woman of resolve even years may not be fortunate enough to behold. You, fair maiden, are one such woman.”
Fingers caressing Ciras' chin, Aor's azure eyes gaze into her. Terror seizes the Teutonian, her courage exposing itself as nothing more than a facade. There is no warmth in that touch, it's as if this person has died despite his living breath and visible life in those eyes. Then her panic vanishes, like dew before the noonday sun it ceases.
“They were nothing more than what people like you would call a ghost.”
“Wait, ghosts actually exist?”
Reckless words blurting out from her lips, Lolyx immediately curses herself for being the same kind of person as Cale the cretin. Her father was right all along, that being an idiot has never been a question of who and what but when and whether.
“Ghosts are but a figment of longings and regrets. Laws are pulling the strings and puppets are what you see.”
“You mean yourself? What do you know about that thing causing those monsters to appear?”
Adarl's animosity shocks both Lolyx and Ciras, it's not so much a matter of blame but the undisguised hate against someone who just happened to be there. Getting up with a sigh, Aor turns his back.
“Tell me, coward! What are you afraid of?”
“You demand an answer, an answer I shall give.”
The caressing air heralding Aor's coming announces its arrival once more, it is as if this is the only answer to her anguish. Adarl's mind is now the mirror image of her willowy body, perhaps more fragile. Eyes of bluish calm never shying away from the challenge of a victim's glare, Aor's long white hair billow with the wind. Then he speaks, words concerning a boy he knows so well about.
“A wolf knows best every man, those like him are known by demons as well. It takes a monster to slay a demon, a cycle to prove two sides of the same coin. From evil demons are begotten, from the world monsters are birthed.”
As he departs before the awestruck and seething, the nearest thing to a god leaves behind these words.
“Befriend a wolf and he will tear out your throat. Extend unto him your hand and he shall bite it off.”
)0(
The same thing is happening again, nothing has changed. Aeravor's unconscious self wakes up, the Relentless One descending to the bottom of an icy lake. His eyes are closed, his body remains sober. He's branded an enemy of the world, but that's because Ji'Yon was declared as one in the first place. His only love became a foe because the world couldn't tolerate her way of life, its enmity conceiving vengeance. Part of him was tiring, the other half determined to reach the other end.
The other end of life...
The other end of winter...
The other end of the past...
Will it be the future?
His back gently reaches the bottom of a watery pit, opened eyes greeting an endless stretch of clearest blue. Not that of the sky but one of frigid water. He still can breathe, this means he's alive. He remembers someone calling him Iarlben, one of regal birth and the queen of Homm'Nua with whom he shared the same bed. Aeravor understands the meaning of that word, for this is the only path he knows: A life belonging to the sword and mind of steel, for Iarlben means Steelborn.
Then something erupts inside him, a fiercely burning fire stoked inside a forge. He recalls what was once said to Ji'Yon, it was a beautiful night of festive fireworks. Life is about lighting one's pyre, to set itself alight so nothing will be wasted. There is nothing fanciful about dying, yet here his life stands and laughing at death itself. A mother he never knew made sure a curse could save him, not one of bitterness or words but something else. His mentor's words haunt him, Araea eos Clochneid's statement snapping at his heels at every turn.
“No life deserves to be ended without a chance to live if it's wrong for a person to be hanged without reason. So live on even if you can only do so as Chaos Incarnate. If the world hates you, mock it. If people wear masks all the time, remember these words from a friend long gone: Never a hero and never will be.”
)0(
Glossary
Gi'ya: Yaguryo term for a brothel.
