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.

[Seran]

“Don’t worry, I’ll wash you up,” he said to his weapon soothingly in a most unusual way. Fighter rose into a standing position, staring out at the monsters that had fixed their hideous gazes upon him. “What’choo looking at?” he taunted, narrowing his eyes at them. “Come on. Come at me. Take your best shot. Just try and penetrate my armor, you ugly monsters. Bring it! Do your worst! Come on, is the worst you can do is stand and stare like a bunch of…of…” He immediately recalled a word Black Mage had once used to describe someone he didn’t like. “…Nimrods?” When he remembered Black Mage, he knew it was because he was scared for his best friend. Black Mage was nowhere to be seen. “What are you waiting for? Prepare for your untimely doom, you freaks!” Before the horde of beasts could charge at him, a voice emerged and stopped their advance.
“Hold it.”
Fighter’s eyes widened, and his lungs suddenly pulled air in eagerly as he recognized the hissing voice of the one person he knew best.
“BM? Izzat you?”
Black Mage pushed his way into view, brushing at his cloak and leering down at his ridiculous pants. “Yeah, it’s – “ He suddenly paused, shooting his gaze up warily as he, too, recognized the voice of the other. “Fighter?” he asked with shock, his glowing yellow eyes blinking. “Oh! Fighter, it’s…nice, to see you.” Black Mage reached up and pulled down a wraith’s head by the collar of its ghastly robes. “I thought you took care of him, you fools. Is tossing him into a river too hard for you!” Growling, he pushed the wraith away, stepping forward. It seemed he would have to rid himself of this bothersome pest by himself. “Fighter,” he said calmly, dismissing the legions of evil with a few casual waves of his gloved hand. “I’m…glad…you still live! Come with me, we must rejoice for this horrifyingly miraculous event!”
“But…the monsters,” Fighter answered anxiously, “they’re not dead.”
“Oh, we don’t need them dead,” Black Mage answered heartily. “Why, an army of rebels much greater than these wusses is coming. I came to inform the survivors.”
“I’m so happy you’re alive, best pal!”
“Yes, but keep your voice down. Those morons will think I’m betraying them.”
“Oh, right, right.”

Fighter…

What? Who was that?

Fighter…it is I, do you not remember?

Who…?

Alas, Fighter would not be able to recognize the strange voice that seemed to echo from all around him, and yet, Black Mage acted as though he heard nothing.
“Uh, Fighter, I need to have a private talk with you.”
“Sure.”
“In the inn, alright?”
“In the inn…heheh. ‘Kay.”
Black Mage nodded and turned around, leading Fighter away to the inn. For reasons unknown, it still stood, yet it was abandoned. Clouds of dust rose into the air. Fighter coughed in the impure atmosphere, barely able to see or breathe. Gulping, he felt the dust scratch his throat and grimaced, not pleased at the taste or feel. He squinted through the dust, coughing, trying to follow Black Mage’s shadow wherever it rushed away to. They were soon standing in front of the inn, and as Fighter stood there, staring at its ruined door, Black Mage pushed him in.
“Lowest room so nobody can hear us.”

[Seran]

“So, BM, what’s up?” Fighter turned around as he stood in the farthest corner of the room, looking cheerful as always while ignoring the instinct of dread trying to warn him. After all, the room was gloomy, fine dust collected in layers upon the grounds – he could even see his own footprints – while nothing else but towers of crates were in the room. When Black Mage shut the door, it was very dark, but there was a window near the ceiling with the light of the flames dancing through it. Fighter felt he couldn’t maintain his smile for long. As Black Mage’s yellow eyes glowed out towards him, his expression slowly vanished into worry, his eyes barely darting away from their spot as he watched his friend approach him. “BM? I think there’s something wrong?”
“Oh, no, this is perfectly normal.” Black Mage’s footsteps were silent, yet the sound of his cloak trailing along the ground seemed rather creepy to Fighter. It reminded Fighter of the sinister snake, a darker kenshido designed for basically skinning, slitting, and deep stabbing. Fighter had never really dared to use the snake kenshido before since Vargus had warned him how it could ruin’s one noble reputation.
“Normal? Whaddya mean…normal?”
Black Mage seemed to narrow his eyes at his so-called friend. He crossed his arms, his foot tapping impatiently against the ground. More dread tried to flood Fighter, but he was reluctant to let it hold him back. He pushed the feeling away, knowing that dark and creepy was often Black Mage’s thing. Of course, he did not remember, but he just knew it was. There was no doubt about it.
“You weren’t expecting this because you’re stupid. But I’ll forgive you this time if you let me explain what I mean.”
“Uh…okay…”
Black Mage walked towards Fighter again, his cloak still hissing against the ground. The sound of it scared Fighter, for he felt some strong, evil force gripping the room, but he was not sure what it was. Perhaps something was coming to ambush him and Black Mage. Perhaps there were evil artifacts within the crates. When Fighter glanced back to his friend, he had the ridiculous feeling that the aura came from Black Mage.
“Years and years of torment I’ve had to go through with you,” Black Mage growled, pulling a dagger free from its scabbard, his right hand gripping its handle tightly with all of his rage that poured out. “You and your stupidity. You never listened to what I had to say about you. You never knew what I really felt about you. I only kept you as a meatshield. I never kept you as a friend. You never kept your mouth shut, you never made me happy. The only thing that amused me was your fear of spiders and you being tortured by whatever it was. Now you’re worthless. You have no value. I have armies at my command, armies that prove to be better meatshields than you.” Black Mage grabbed his other knife, recklessly pulling it out as his fury overcame him. “Armies that entertain me with the gruesome death they bring and the providing of the irony that is their own deaths. I don’t need you. You’re been a bothersome thorn embedded in my head for too long, Fighter, and now I can finally be rid of it. I was never your friend. You were never my friend. I am going to make you pay for tormenting me. I am going to make you relive your own nightmares, for I am a nightmare, manifest, and my evil will burn in the heart of this world no matter what! Fighter, I am evil. Fighter, I lead these armies of cold malice and heartless blood. Fighter, I was always your enemy, a traitor just waiting for the right time to destroy you.”
Fighter was stunned and shocked at these words. Black Mage’s eyes were burning with rage, rage he had never anticipated, rage that certainly said that Black Mage wanted him dead. He was scared when Black Mage claimed he was evil. He was frightened when he learned his friend was leading these destructive forces of doom and hate. He was shattered when he knew Black Mage had always, always hated him. Fighter wanted to say it was a joke. He slid against the wall, collapsing to the ground with his hands grabbing his ears. It was just a joke. It was Black Mage trying to be a friend by scaring him, and then saying later on it was all a joke to make him laugh. It was all a lie, just to strike fear into him, to subdue him. Black Mage was not evil, he was not the manifest form of his dark nightmares, he was his friend. Fighter was so confused, his hands over his face, and he did not see the shadow of Black Mage looming over him. It was a lie…a joke…a lie…just a little prank. When Fighter’s eyes, peering through his fingers, darted up to the figure standing over him with its knives raised, he was so frightened, that he let out a shuddering yell and scampered out immediately, just as the two knives came down and pinned themselves against the ground instead. This time, it was Fighter who was quaking with anger as he realized the truth.
“You bastard!” he hollered after scurrying along the wall, whirling around to face Black Mage from the darkness. His shoulder was against the wall, the stacked crates obscuring part of his vision towards the treacherous man. “You vile, heartless bastard! This isn’t a joke after all, is it! You want me dead! Your daggers can’t pierce my armor, but those aren’t your ordinary knives!” He pointed at Black Mage’s black weapons, which he felt a dark aura emanating from. Accusing Black Mage for trying to murder him, Fighter watched as the mage pulled his daggers free from the ground, and began to approach him at a very calm pace. Fighter wished he could see the traitor’s expression so he could wipe off whatever smirk was there once and for all. Black Mage raised a gloved hand, his eyes not even closed in concentration, as his hand started to burn in fire. Fighter leapt out of the way as a great stream of fire burst out, setting the crates ablaze and forcing him to flee to the other side of the room. Black Mage watched him go, as though mocking him, then turned and repeated the assault once more. Again, he missed, for Fighter was agile in his current state and there was little chance he could hit Fighter with fire. However, deciding to be strategic, he pointed his spell to where Fighter would soon be, and he let loose the flames once more. This time, Fighter saw it coming quick enough to gracefully kick off the ground and leap over it, without getting even his cape singed. He gripped his sword-chucks, detached them from the chain, and wielded one in both hand. Fighter then reached his occupied hands back, gripped Stabby and Slashy, and drew them forth too. It was truly time to get serious. There was no way Fighter would tolerate words full of such hate. This probably wasn’t even the real Black Mage! But the voice, the robes, the stabbing techniques…the spells…they were all the same…

[Seran]

Distracted, Fighter failed to see as he found himself flung into the wall by some form of gravity spell. Except it pushed him into the wall and didn’t pull him into the ground, which he found was not right. Black Mage didn’t know such spells. He raised his head, his cape sliding off, and saw the debris of the crates littering the ground. Black Mage was striding towards him. Panicking, Fighter pushed himself off the ground clumsily and turned to face Black Mage. If he ran again, he would have truly been a coward. Fighters don’t run from their equal foes, they fight! But could he really consider Black Mage as equal? Deciding not to think about it, Fighter leapt forward with his four swords.
“Wreeeeyaaargh!”
His four blades connected with Black Mage’s two evil daggers, which had crossed while Black Mage ducked beneath their blades. Fighter struggled to push them down, but somehow, it was Black Mage who was pushing him back. Knowing he wouldn’t win that duel, he leapt back for another strike, avoiding the sharp edges that swung out to slice through his armor and burn his flesh. He knew just what such demonic weapons could do. He didn’t know how Black Mage got his little hands on them, but he knew this thing, whatever or whoever it was, had to die. Racing forward, Fighter swung his left arm out, Slashy guiding his left Kenshido sword while he made another assault on Black Mage, his right arm flying forward to let Stabby do its job by piercing the black mage’s head. His foe ducked wildly, and the warrior fell forward, but he skillfully lunged all four of his sword down towards Black Mage. Black Mage rolled out of the way, and Fighter pierced the ground, giving him enough support to allow him to perform another graceful front flip, him still gripping his four blades. Fighter whirled around to see a blue-and-yellow little demon rush at him with intense, frightening speed, its eyes fixed on him, right arm flung back in a stabbing pose. He quickly stepped back, crossed his four swords, and defended himself from the attack. Fighter could hear his heart beating in his ears, pounding hard, and the fire outside raged on as though supporting the battle with angry embers licking at the glass window. Reluctant to give Black Mage another chance, Fighter slid his swords down swiftly and took a step back, then pounced forward to stick his swords up Black Mage’s skull – if there was one. Black Mage tumbled down and rolled backwards, before pushing himself back onto his feet.
“Give it up Fighter, and just surrender. I’ll make your death less painful if you do!”
“Shut up! I don’t want to hear another word from you!”
Fighter jumped forward, his cape flying behind him, and with his arms crossed, his four swords lying on his shoulders, he screamed out the lethal attack he wished to never use.
“Venom of the Cobra Fang!”
He swung his arms out swiftly, and his swords all slashed out towards his foe. He did not know that the attack could have failed, for no one had known. He shut his eyes as a tormenting pain cut across his wrists deeply, and he fell to the ground, dropping his swords. He fell on top of them, and let out a scream as his leg fell through Stabby, his right Kenshido sword speared his shoulder, and his left Kenshido sword slide through his armor into his stomach. The pain in his wrists was unbearable. As he looked at them with tears in his eyes, he saw blood pouring out far too freely, his wrists steaming from Black Mage’s unearthly daggers. He suddenly lost the stamina to remove his swords from his body. He knew Black Mage had gotten what he wanted – enjoyment, from Fighter’s unimaginable pain. His mind was overloading with the agony, and he felt himself bleeding to death. Bleeding…bleeding…dying…death was coming for him, he knew…dying…
Black Mage slowly walked over to Fighter, and kneeled down by him. Fighter slowly turned his head, his eyes shining with tears of pain, yet the light in his gaze slowly becoming dull to death. “Help…me…” he squeaked, for one last hope. Black Mage nodded, tore his cape off ruthlessly, and Fighter could hear loud screeches from something carving into his armor. “W-what are you doing…?”
“Leaving my mark of victory,” Black Mage answered coolly. “Good bye. Old pal.”
Black Mage raised his hand, and plunged it down at where Fighter’s heart was to be.
“Mommy!” Fighter screamed once last time, like a doomed child fated to face a brutal death.

Fighter!

Cool air rushed into his lungs as his eyes snapped open, he flinging himself forth on the fluffy bed, the voice of Swordopolis still ringing in his ears, the images of the terrifying dream forever engraved into his mind. Bad memory or not, he would never be able to forget such a horrifying nightmare. Cold sweat ran down his forehead, his hands shaking from the flames, the blood, and the pain. He had really thought he was about the die. Fighter stared down at his bedsheets, which thankfully, he had not wet. His hands slowly lifted themselves, and he gazed at his wrists, looking for any signs of steaming blood. He felt his face, which had the expression of horror etched into his face and not death. His breaths were shaky, his lower lip quivering, and he gulped. His eyes slowly raised themselves to meet the shadows of his friends approaching – Thief, Red Mage, and even Black Mage. Thief was the first to come to him, emerging from the darkness to reveal his tan face and his blue hair. Thief looked quite irritable, but that only calmed Fighter, and Thief climbed onto the bed, sitting on his stomach.

[Seran]

“You were screaming ‘mommy’ in your sleep. What’s up?”
Fighter nervously looked towards the figure of Black Mage. Thief raised an eyebrow, with not concern, but mild aggravation, as Fighter’s eyes slowly traveled over to Red Mage.
“RM?” Fighter asked weakly, his trembling hands suspended in front of his chest, one cupped around the other. “Is that – is that you? You’re alive? You’re not dead?”
Red Mage revealed himself as he stepped forth from the shadows, his feather drooping from his red hat, his eyes alert and nowhere near tired or cross, and he blinked at the frightened warrior.
“Yes, I’m alive. Fighter, did you have a nightmare?”
Fighter fixed his eyes on Red Mage for a moment, happiness failing to find its way to him for a moment. He glanced at Thief, then to Black Mage, who was rubbing his eye with an exhausted yawn. His hands fell, and started to nervously grip the blanket, tightening and relaxing. He swallowed hard, in an attempt to recover from what was only an illusion formed by his worst fears.
“A nightmare…” he repeated slowly and quietly. “A nightmare…”
“Oh, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten what a nightmare was!” Black Mage spat, annoyed. “You woke me up! Just tell us what you saw and let me go back to bed! Nimrod.”
Fighter couldn’t help but glance up, smile, and laugh with relief. They could hear sniffles amongst his mirth, and Thief stared at him as though he had gone insane, climbing off Fighter’s bed impatiently. Thief sighed, and his right hand rubbed his elfish ear, his left hand supporting his arm’s elbow. The other two exchanged looks, one concerned, the other scornful. Fighter fell back on his pillow, fighting back his laughter as he heard confused and annoyed voices muttering out from the other rooms.
“S-so you…it…I mean…heh…” He sat up again, grinning nervously in the awkward moment. “Y-yeah. It was a nightmare.”
“So what was it?” Thief asked him, frowning in disapproval. “More bladeless hilts?”
Fighter chuckled as he recalled what his nightmare was about, but as he remembered every moment of horror in it, his smile fell, and his shoulders relaxed from the laughter. It was truly a nightmare.
“I…” he started, trying to find the right words to describe it. “I…it…he…Black Mage, he…RM…er…I…”
“I’m going to sleep,” Black Mage muttered, turning around and heading back to bed. Thief scratched his head, eyes closed wonderingly.
“I’m awake, so I might as well go out for a ‘walk’.”
“Oh no,” Red Mage interrupted, pointing at Thief accusingly. “You’re going to steal from the innocent again, aren’t you?”
“Uh, no. A walk, I said.”
“How can you prove it?”
“How can you prove I’m going to steal? Besides, I’m your leader. You can’t stop me.”
“…Leaders were chosen to face mutiny!”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Thief turned towards the door, and calmly walked off, eyes still closed while he pulled on the doorknob, swung open the door that had never been completely closed, and walked out of the room. Red Mage looked towards Fighter, who was drooling on his blanket, which was stuck in his mouth.
“You want me to read you a story, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Alright, alright, fine…” Red Mage sat down next to Fighter, drew out his character sheet, and started to scribble on it. Fighter sighed, glanced towards the lazy Black Mage, and heard shouts beyond the window as Thief attracted attention during robbery from the bank. Ah, good ol’ Thief and RM and BM! he thought to himself.
Fighter!
Wha-ha, whozzat?
Fighter, it is me! Swordopolis! I have been trying to contact you!
What is it about?
Your nightmare, Fighter, is what it is about. Do you not realize what it means?
Uh, no. Not really.
Oh, don’t make me explain to you.
“But…” Fighter muttered to himself, and Red Mage glanced up from a book he was writing in.
“But what?”
“Huh?” Fighter noticed that he had accidentally drawn Red Mage’s gaze. “Oh, nothing. Sorry.” Red Mage nodded, and as Fighter looked down at his hands, he remembered the terrible pain he had faced just before his tormenting death. He pushed himself farther beneath the blanket, pulled it over his head, and rolled over next to Red Mage for comfort. Red Mage patted him on the head.

[Skit]

Wow, Seran. That was very, very, very good. Great use of imagery, and emotions were shown really well without being melodramatic. Excellent job.

[CelebrenIthil]

First I was amazed by how beautifully you write, then I was angry because RM was bluntly "dead", then was wondering were Thied had gone, then I had to admit you describe combats very well, then the dream ended, everyone was back and alive so I was happy. ^^
Actually, I don't know if your story is finished but the end is simply too cute. ^^
Awwww.
*pats Fighter on the head too*

I'm really glad you depict RM as someone gentle. ((Is he reworking is stats in order to write a book to read it to fighter or did his intention was to describe his character sheet to him until sleep ensues? XD ))
lol, if it's not finished, then I'll be reading!
~kisses!

[Seran]

Thanks for the comments, I greatly appreciate them.

To Skit- Yes, I used to be rather a dramatic writer at first. But eventually, I learned how to be something of an actor by nature and used some form of logic based on human behavior, so I tried my best not to get too dramatic.

To Celebren- Yeah, I purposely made it seem that Thief, for some reason, was not seen throughout Fighter's nightmare. He was mentioned, but not seen. And yes, I didn't like to write that Red Mage had 'died'.
I liked the ending too, because I thought about making it cute. I respect Red Mage, and he's the most -- ahem, balanced in the group, if you know what I mean. He doesn't do violence as Black Mage and Thief do, and doesn't exactly have as many mind defects as Fighter.
...Yeah, he was rearranging his stats in 'story-writing' and 'storytelling'. Buahaha!

To sk3l3t0n- Many thanks. I get really descriptive about things...

And yes, the story is finished. It took me two days to do it all, but yes. It's finished. I may possibly post more fanfictions...on nightmares...or something else...

[Mondt]

Originally Posted by Seran

or something else...

Like when this realy does happen? But where Fighter doesn't die? :ninja: No, I'm not implying anything.

[Seran]

Perhaps. Just perhaps. Thanks for the inspiration.
Bwahahaha!
I really ought to stop doing that, might attract attention someday.

I can do a nightmare for Black Mage...I have the right ideas...