Talented CH1

Night seemed to fall just as quickly as the day had come, sinking everything into a darkness that was all too appropriate for what was to be. All things were sucked up in blackness, even the stars seemed reluctant to show their faces. This was not a time for any kind of light or joy…this was the end of a people.

“Gather up the last of your belongings, have Loyal grab the boys, and get onto the ship.” spoke Raygon with a hurried concern in his voice. “Do not wait for the other Endermen. You and the boys are all that matter. I will hold them off for as long as I have breath.”

Queen Hellayna had never heard her husband speak to her in such a manner, unaware his voice could carry such desperation. Raygon had always been the strength that she counted on, the sword at the front of the Empire of Raygell. Now, he was the Raygiri’s last hope for survival and a martyr running towards his own grave.

“I will not leave you!” Hellayna shouted, tears streaming down her face. “This is our land, our home. We built this place up from rubble and seated ourselves here, as was our right! We promised our children that they would lead a nation and rule in our stead. How can our son hold his head high in the name of Raygell when he cannot view our glory from the heights of a palace, but must read of our destruction from the pages of a book?! I am your wife, Queen of the Raygiri, Saegell of Raygell, and the mother of--”

“Hellayna!” roared Raygon, freezing her speech, “Shut your mouth and do as I say before I throw you and the boys onto the ship myself!” Raygon’s shout rang through the palace halls and into the streets of Arca with a boom so loud that it seemed all creation should hear it. He looked into his wife’s eyes, tears starting to well up, and gently kissed her on the forehead. Hellayna, joining her husband in stark realization and full understanding of his intent, obeyed his words and went off to the escape ships.

He then turned to meet his fate. Opening up the doors of his palace, he viewed his royal city, burning in chaos. The horrid, frenzied screams of those trying to escape the incoming destruction flooded every inch of the city of Arca. The wind blew as if to push through the walls of each building and fires raged all throughout the city, giving it an orange, hellish hue. From atop the hill were his castle lay, Raygon could see the multitudes of Raygiri men and women filling the streets, pushing and trampling each other like beasts. From his opened door, the source of all the chaos was clear and present: a massive army numbering in the tens of thousands wishing to bring death to every living thing that claimed Raygell as its home. The army pushed ever deeper into Arca, looking like a sentient being with many thousand heads and arms stretching on for hundreds of feet. Seeing the host that his enemy commanded, Raygon understood the fate that lay before him.

He knelt down on one knee and prayed, throwing himself into the arms of his religion to find his last moments of comfort. “O Rayth that has watched over me since the day I first saw light, I call upon you for guidance, strength, and bravery. The Haegars wish to exterminate us and wipe my people from the face of existence, but here I stand before them. I ask to be granted the courage of all the Raygons before me, so that I may defend my people and my family. Good Rayth, stand by my side, lend me your sword, and alloy me to make sure my son may live to see his Saegar fulfilled.”

Raygon tried desperately to hold back tears, steady his voice, and muster all of his strength. “But if it is not my day to prevail, not my battle to win, even after I fall from arrows and swords, I will gnash teeth and claw at their ankles to bring 100 men down with me. O Rayth, your voice and guidance gives me strength and I accept the path you have laid down for me.”

With his prayer finished, Raygon rose to his feet to lay eyes upon the Vaemese army once more. The screams of his people only grew louder as enemy force sunk in, the fires only burned hotter, and the night only grew darker. Countless Vaemese soldiers ran through the city, ripping up everything that wasn’t bound to the floor and killing anything that moved. The invading infantry, wearing ghostly armor of pitch black and shining grey, took no prisoners and showed no mercy. The troops poured through Arca like water, bludgeoning babies with mallets and Morningstars, running children through with pikes and spears, goring men with broadswords and axes, and raping women who were not fortunate enough to die from a first slash.

Hearing the unending cries of his people nearly drove Raygon to madness but he knew he could do nothing for them. Raygon pulled himself away from the door and marched down to the port of Lake Loss. The path to the lake was strewn with crippled men and women, broken from wild a trampling. They called out to their leader, begging for his aid. Others, still running for escape, hollered insults and curses at the Emperor for his inaction. Resolute in his mission, he marched on without saying a word.

As Raygon came to the entrance of the mighty lake, he saw ships sailing off into the safety of the open ocean. He could only hope his family was on one of them. Lines of citizens pushed and shoved each other onto the still docked vessels, desperate for salvation. Raygon turned his back to the port and waited for the Vaemese army, knowing that they would come for the ships eventually. He meditated in an effort to clear his mind of the sounds of agony that made his skin crawl and heart pound.

After what seemed like an eternity, Raygon heard the footsteps of the army grow near. As the force edged closer, their stomps likened a constant earthquake and their battle cries were thunderclaps. Raygon saw the approaching army and readied himself for what was to come. A gaunt, aged man walked decisively in front of the sea of troops yelling orders and formations. The man’s voice, graveled and heinous, boomed through the air. It was if sound quieted itself out of respectful fear of him.

Just when Raygon was certain that no more rage or discomfort could fill his body, that gaunt aged man came into his view and proved the notion wrong.

“Raygon, don’t you look well!” the old Vaemese General shouted with near palpable condescension. He walked closer, step by step, hands held behind his back, chest puffed out, and chin raised high. “Not one of you will move past me until I give the order!” the man screamed to the troops behind him. “A conversation between Raygon and I is long overdue, is it not?” The General stopped with a good distance between him and the Raygiri, about 20 or 30 feet. They proceeded to shout their words at each other.

“I have nothing to say to you Haegar.” Raygon gritted his teeth.

“That’s quite fine with me, boy. Your people have given my ears their fill. I didn’t know there were so many ways to beg mercy before tonight. You Raygiri call yourself proud. Where is your pride before the fire?! Where is your pride before the sword!?”

Raygon stood motionless, his eyes conveying more hate than his words ever could.

“I get the distinct feeling you would not extend this exchange any longer than need be. Well then, I guess we’ll get straight to it. My men are tired, thirsty, and famished. Your people bleed, scream, and cry. Therefore, I have a proposition for you, Raygiri scum. You surrender unconditionally, forfeit your Arcana, including Rayas, acknowledge Vaemon as the greatest world power, and submit to execution. If all these terms are met successfully, no more of your people will die and this war will be over. If not, I will order all 20,000 of my men to find your wife and children and rape them until there is nothing left but bones and tears. The choice is yours, boy.”

Raygon remained silently motionless, firmly planted between the army and the port.

“Is it truly your heart’s desire to die here for nothing? 1 against 20,000? A mouse against a mammoth?

Raygon responded, not with words but actions. Breaking his statuesque stance, he brought his hands together and cracked his knuckles close to his chest.

Carver shook his head in disappointment and shouted, “Have it your way, Raygon Raygell! I hope you die knowing you will be the last king your people ever see!”Carver Haegar lifted his arm and flicked his wrists toward Raygon and what seemed like a hundred men ran out from behind him, swords and voices raised.

The Emperor clenched his fists and shouted to the heavens, “I am no king…I am a Raygon!” He then stretched his arms out to the side and widened his palms. Flickers and sparks of light shot from his open hand, becoming more numerous with every passing second, until they coalesced into twin swords. The metal of the weapons had a tint of crimson and the hilt beheld a mighty red jewel. He swung the blades down, hitting their edges on the ground, and the swords became coated in flame.

The Vaemese troops ran headlong towards Raygon and he met them with a raging inferno. With each sword swing, he would send a pluming swath of blue and orange fire out. Tens of men fell screaming, burning in their black armor, writhing about in pain. While flame presented tragedy in itself, the steel of the heated swords was deadly in its own right. Raygon split men down the middle, voided their stomachs, and scalped their skulls. The smell of burnt, crackling flesh billowed out and squeezed the air. Those dead bodies that had caught on fired jiggled and bounced on the floor, being pushed around by the boiling fluids inside of them. Not but moments after the men had charged, they were corpses alight like matches. Raygon stood in the center of the newly made cemetery, still in between the remaining army and the port, stained with blood and devilishly shaded by the flames. Not a scratch marked him.

General Haegar saw his fire-soaked troops twist in agony. His brow sank low on his eyes and a frown dragged on his face. Carver was more disappointed in their failure than regretful of their demise. He lifted his hand toward Raygon once more. “Again!” he yelled. Ten times more men ran down to kill the Emperor.

Raygon met the assailants for a second time and massacred them, for a second time. It was as if their numbers did not matter; one cannot kill what one cannot hit. Raygon moved around the battlefield with the grace of a dancer. Swords whizzed centimeters away from his face, axes grazed his arms, and staves never found their mark. Raygon was more at home in combat than in his castle, as his years of training showed. His mind seemed to see things almost before they happened. He heard a voice in his head that told him what to do: jump left, duck down, swing low. Some call it conscience, others name it instinct, while Raygon called it his Rayth.

Carver spoke only one phrase as he watched hundreds of his men die screaming, “That is why I brought 19,000 more.”

Raygon stood alone once more with countless men littered around him. While this battalion managed to scrape and bruise the Emperor, they were still no contest.

…But all was not right for the Raygiri…something was off. As he looked down at his swords, he noticed their fire start to dim and soften until the flames were gone completely. Raygon shook his hands wildly, knocking the swords against ground.

“What have you done Haegar?!” he shouted.

Carver held his fist up, marking for no more men to attack. “Have I finally earned the privilege of your words Raygiri?”

“Answer me!”

“You are not the only one that can use Arcana fool.” With that, General Carver Haegar lowered his hand and another swarm of men rushed from behind him, larger than the last.

Raygon dropped his twin swords to the floor, through of their use. He then clapped his hands together, bringing forth flickers of light between them. Once again, the streaks multiplied and took on the form a sword firmly resting in his grip. This summoning was different from the last and was but a single, silver broadsword with a jagged yellow gem in its guard. He wrapped his hands tight around the grip and the gem glowed with equal intensity. Raygon lifted the sword above his head…then swiped down with ferocity. A strike of lightning descended from the sky and blasted the incoming Vaemese. Men combusted and flew into the air as smoldering cinders while others were brought to their knees by the roar of thunder. Still they charged, though, unrelenting in their assault.

The great sword itself was charged with electricity and vibrated with yellow and blue pulses. Each time the Raygiri Emperor slashed his opponents, sparks dashed out every which way. This sword swung with more power than the last and slathered entrails and organs across the landscape. The air became thick with blood, ash, and screams. The dirt was saturated in arterial fluids and voided excrement of fallen warriors. Raygon himself was painted red, stained with strings of clotted blood and chunks of torn flesh. His victims violently seized, knocking their heads to bleeding and twitching so as to snap their bones. The 3rd wave fared no better than 1st or 2nd, only managing nicks or grazes. But once again, Raygon saw the energy drain from his sword. It became heavy in his hands and he relinquished it to the ground.

Raygon brought his shaking hands up, looking them over front and back. He had never lost the power of an Arcana before. Why would it happen now? The voice in his head moved his eyes over to the swords that his enemies had brandished and he saw a smooth black crystal resting in their guard. They were Arcana, just like his weapons. “They sever my link”, he thought to himself. “When they cut me, I lose my Arcana.”

“By the look on your face, I would say you have figured it out.” Loudly jabbed Carver. “How else do you think we could have taken you monsters down?”

Raygon opened his hand wide again and pulled an ornate dagger from the flickering light that shot from his palm. Heavy breathes rocked the man’s body up and down. The Raygiri was a masterful fighter, but even he had his limits.

“Why do you torture yourself exile? Stop with these trinkets and toys and show us Rayas. As long as you continue to waste my time, I will continue to throw men at you.”

The thought did cross Raygon’s mind, as Rayas was the most powerful weapon in his arsenal, but the notion was quickly erased. He could not risk losing it.

“Have it your way, Raygiri scum.” Carver flicked his wrist once more. Hundreds of men bared down and were slain like those before. And just like before, Raygon lost his Arcana. Every wave of men pushed Raygon closer to the grave, inch by inch. His scratches turned to gashes, his pricks become deep slits, and his breath weighed tons. Yet, he fought on. Carver flicked his wrist, men ran, men died, and an Arcana was lost. After a while, Carver’s wrist began to ache, but so Raygon persisted, defying the army alone.

Wounded, exhausted, and staring death in the face, the Raygiri vowed to himself to not enter the grave without holding someone’s hand. He looked up and pointed at Carver, speaking through his stressed lungs.

“You want…Rayas? Fight me…yourself…Haegar.”

“Do not try to goad a Haegar, boy. You throw torches at a wildfire.”

“I will…die…right here…right now…if you don’t…draw a weapon.”

Carver would have none of that, for if Raygon died, Rayas would be lost with him.

“You truly are the bane of my existence. My family should have done away with you 3000 years ago. I will do what my ancestors could not.”

Carver Haegar placed his hand on his scabbard and brought forth a blade with steel soaked in black, a guard ordained with a green crystal, and hilt colored grey. The gaunt, old man proceeded to run, still spry for his age, with the entirety of the remaining troops behind him. “Let me see her, boy! Show me the sword that felled a nation. Show us what life and death looks like. Show us Rayas!”

“Careful…what you…ask for…Haegar” spat back Raygon. Putting his fists on top of each other, light came forth and swirled in the air. Where the light of his previous Arcana were flicks and sparks, this was gushing and viscous, almost a physical shining. The wind sprinted in circles around the valiant Emperor, whipping up bloodied gravel and dried leaves. The blinding light grew long and slendered itself into the shape of a sword. With a scream from Raygon, the light repulsed with a bang and a steaming, gleaming sword rested in his hands. The blade’s width was almost as wide as man’s palm and the length was much longer than an arm. Gold symbols of a long dead language designed the faintly yellow steel and led to a massive golden crystal embedded in the guard. The blade edges hummed with power and radiated brilliant golden light. This was Rayas.

[AK1] Raygon drew the sword high, prayed once more to his Rayth, and then ran screaming into battle. He moved with re-invigorated quickness, darting to and fro, slashing up and down. Even with the swords hugeness, Raygon was skilled enough to hold it with one or two hands and swung it with the speed of a dagger. It slid through armor like cloth and left a trail of molten gold on in its wake. When the blade touched an enemy’s skin, the hilted crystal glowed and they were robbed of their life, even from a scratch.

As the battle raged on, though, fatigue took its toll. Swords began to swing ever closer to Raygon which would spell his doom. Muscles began to tire, breathes became short once again, and awareness started to falter. Slowly but surely, Raygon knew that even with his ancestral sword, his time was at an end. In the thick of the battle, he resigned himself to a warrior’s death but he would not go alone. Raygon wildly scanned the battlefield for Carver, finally distinguishing him from the other thousand troops. He cut a path to the old general, splitting men open and sending them flying on his way to him.

When they met, they locked swords and the hate that they felt for each other clashed, turning the air stale. Raygon swung hard against Carvers Arcana, but it would not break like other swords. Carver used every move he knew to try to best the Raygiri, but they were stalemated. If only the fight were between the just the two. The old General occupied the majority if the Raygiri Emperors attention, giving the other men small opportunities to stab and slash Raygon. Every man that touched him was slashed to ruin, but the damage was done. Raygon felt it deep inside his bones, down in his heart and soul.

…But he would not give in! When Carver swung next, Raygon put up no defense and the let the blade sink deep inside of him. Hot, grimy pain emanated from the horizontal slice in his gut…but this was the plan. Raygon placed a hand on the blade to keep it in his side and swung Rayas down with the other hand. His blade inside the Raygiri, Carver could do nothing when the sword came rushing to his forehead, carving him through like an axe on a stump. Blood spilled out of the Vaemese General’s mouth as his eyes went lazy and the strength left his body. As strange and misplaced as it was, Raygon felt all-encompassing happiness run through him as his mortal enemy fell limp to the ground. That happiness was short-lived, though, as all manner of blades entered the Emperors back.

Pierced like a pincushion, Raygon fell to his knees, swords and spears continuing to run through him. He held Rayas with an ever loosening grip and could feel the sword growing heavy in his hands.

He would not lose Rayas, he could not.

With his last few breathes, he squeezed the grip and reverted the sword back to its light-bound, ethereal form. Rayas vanished, back to a place where only Raygon knew it to be, much to the anger of the remaining Vaemese.

But it was done…it was all over. Raygon Raygell fell to the bloody ground of the battlefield, limp and numb. As his chest hit the floor, the Vaemese assailants cheered and shouted over him, prideful of their victory. As the vision started to leave his eyes, he grew tearful…but not because of his defeat or the cheers of his foes. As what seemed like a gift from his Rayth, Raygon Raygell fell down to face the Port of Lake Loss…completely empty. Not a single ship bounced on its water, all of them safely on a voyage to Arma. As the light truly left his eyes, bloody tears poured down the man’s cheeks as all he could see was his mind’s eye, which visualized his beautiful wife and baby boy, alive to see another day. Raygon smiled with his final breathe.

The Raygiri Genocide was over.