Fighter's Nightmare [don't post here so soon]

[Seran]

Fighter’s Nightmare

It wasn’t a calm, dark night like he would have wanted. It wasn’t peaceful with the stars glittering in the black sky above, with the cool breeze lightly flowing through him as though reassuring him, mending the broken pieces of his naïve spirit and quietly whispering that all would be fine. The wind was not there. It was not the wind he knew before. The coolness of the breeze reminded him of the cold, steel surface of his swords, his lovely swords, his beloved and cherished swords. His gaze was cast out to the black legions marching below the hills, their chants shaking the earth with every grunt, with every word they uttered. How he hated them and their treacherous glares. How he hated, despised, loathed the way they desecrated his sacred land, the land he loved and fought hard to protect. But of course, he did not make his decisions, his elfish comrade did. He missed the old breeze that flowed through him like water. He missed the dark, starry skies and the glowing moon. He missed the pure shine of dew in the light, glinting like small beads of glass sitting upon the grass.
Rather, the clouds were covering the skies. Rather, the wind was a stranger, howling and screaming, roaring at him. Rather, pools of blood sunk into the soil, and beads of blood smeared the dying grass. He sneered and scowled angrily at the monsters below, marching along the ruins of what was once Pravoka, chanting and killing anything in their path. He snorted and leered at the foul beasts that had slain so many innocent lives already, and had cast him into a river of ice cold water, where he had thought he would have surely frozen to death. His red hair was still dripping with water. His eyes still gleamed with the ice of the river. His breath still shivered from the depths of those waters, shuddering like an angry dragon, like the Dragon of the Zodiac Kenshido School. Never had he been needed to become so serious. Yes, there were times were he had to brandish his swords and cut forth blood, but that was not as serious as now. Rage boiled inside of him for what the monsters had done. That morning, he had watched Red Mage die at their hands. Shuddering madly, he puffed his chest out, his stained cuirass dull against the light of the fires that blazed across the grass. His shaking hands lifted themselves, curving over to the hilt of his four swords. One grasped the hilt of his Zodiac Kenshido swords, which were bound by a chain. The other wrapped its cold fingers around the slender hilt of a third, golden sword – Slashy. Yes, true, he was innocent and rather careless at times, but that did not excuse him from being a Fighter.
“I am from the Zodiac Kenshido School of sword mastery,” he muttered under his breath. “My teacher was Vargus. After my training was completed, he cast me out…was there something I still do not understand? No, I figured it out long ago…the teachings of each school are in the swords themselves…and I must unleash their fury upon these cursed devils, upon whom I shall invoke my wrath!” With an outstanding, enraged cry, he raced down the hill, flinging his blue sword-chucks from his back, drawing forth the golden sword named Slashy, which he had taken from Drizz’l ages ago. His war cry rang across the air, shattering the chants of the monsters as they turned their gazes on him, grunting with confusion while they watched the lone warrior dash down towards them. Confident, they nodded and muttered to one another, and soon sent out three Werewolves to murder him. The three bulky creatures pounced forth from the ground, barking and snarling, racing up the hill towards the Light Warrior. Fighter saw them coming, and with quick speed, he suddenly disappeared behind his cape and Slashy as a claw scratched against the golden, elfish blade. His cape smoothly hung from his shoulders once more, falling from the arm that lifted it, and the werewolf howled as he swung his arm out, slitting his foe’s throat and watching blood spurt out onto his face. His eyes blinked out the werewolf’s blood. Fighter grimaced, but put no time into hesitation as the two others recklessly jumped at him for vengeance in order to repay their fallen comrade for his death. Fighter flicked his wrist, spinning his sword-chucks, and the blue swords became a blurred disc of death as they spun faster on the chain. Somehow, Fighter was maneuvering expertly with his fingers twirling the two swords by the long chain, and he threw it at one of the werewolves. The disc of death flew forth swiftly and a crack erupted into the air, the beast on his left falling to the ground as it failed to let out a shriek of shock. The last widened its ugly eyes, staring at him, astounded that a human could so easily kill its fellows. The werewolf shoved forth a howl dripping sickeningly with hate, and it dove forward, only to receive Slashy through its heart. Fighter raised his head, took a deep breath, and smirked. He was satisfied at his quick victory. Never had such ever happened to him. Fighter strode over to the carcasses that laid upon the ground, gurgling blood disgustingly as he kneeled down by the second one he had killed, gently grasping his sword-chucks and pulling the blade out of its skull.