Cold, blood-stenched wind breezed brutally over the battlefield, chilling the dusk sky as the last men staggered into the camps at each end of the combat zone. The light of the day quickly dimmed and faded as fires were lit and torches were set. Watchmen walked slowly, looking out towards the hills, squinting at the growing darkness.
Above the camps, isolated on a hill, stood four men. They stood in pairs, across from each other, their stance aggressive. All men labored in heavy mail with swords hooked on their belt, metal plates covering their chest, arms, shoulders, legs, with heavily scratched and dented helmets in their hands. Exhaustion became clear on every face.
“My king,” whispered one side, “do you really believe that this is the best option?” He glanced at the rival knights. The soft moonlight illuminated his face. His features were soft, young in form that lacked the wisdom of his king's face.
The older man looked at his brother in arms. “My boy, it's the only way. This war will never finish if we continue like this. Thousands more will die before anyone steps back.” His gaze softened as he rested a hand on the shoulder of the boy. “Either way we will continue on.” He turned back to face the men opposing them.
“What is your response?” He called, setting his jaw, his eyes burned with an intensity that few could rival.
“I accept your challenge!” The rival king responded, picking up the glove and drawing his sword in a smooth motion. “Fight to the death, your comrade may continue the fight if they wish. Or,” he grinned, “they can cower and accept the loss for their country.” He glanced at the young boy meaningfully.
“BEGIN!” The kings flew at each other, swords drawn, helmets secured. They clashed violently, turning, swiping and slashing. Their eyes blazed in fury and determination. Together they stepped backwards, breathing deeply before launching in again to attack. The rival king slashed, turning his weapon and jabbing downwards. The old king gasped and staggered backwards, grabbing at his bicep before parrying another attack and fighting on.
The young boy stared on quietly, his breathing shallow and fast, watching each move made, noting the swiftness and anger behind the swipes. He tensed as his king got cut again. He knew his king remained physically spent after the long day. He’d been fighting with his warriors, holding off an attack.
His lord yelped and fell backwards, his sword clanging out of reach. The young boy quickly pulled his sword, but he hadn’t taken a step before a dagger dug into his neck. The rival king’s companion had snuck around and attacked him. The young boy struggled silently, attempting not to distract his king.
His king glanced around, his eyes landing on his comrades' position. His eyes widened. He gasped, yelling “Christopher! Don’t fight back, you must live!” He rolled away from a downward strike, the effort taking all his energy.
The young boy threw his elbow back, connecting in an unguarded spot on the man’s side. He slipped around the dagger and shoved the man backwards before turning around.
His eyes flashed and his sword burst into white-golden flames. He lifted it, his eyes bored into the rival king. His voice erupted in a roar as power like lightning rushed through him, through his sword, and into his prey. The rival kings’ eyes widened as he shrieked in pain. A white fire burned through his flesh, boiling his blood into a vapor, dissolving his bones into a liquid.
The young boy watched as the last of the kings’ skull melted, the empty sockets breaking away into a puddle of burnt liquid. When nothing remained of the warrior he turned back to the man who’d accompanied the rival king. He spoke, his voice booming and calm, “You will run back to camp, make everyone pack up, and you will never bother the Kingdom of Razium again. You have lost this battle. Return and die.”
The man, holding his side, turned and sprinted back the way he’d come, glancing fearfully behind him to check he wasn’t followed by the powerful young boy. He didn’t stop running until he got to camp.
On the hill, the boy shook, his eyes returning to the golden glow they usually were, his body slumping over onto the grass. His head tilted upwards to the sky as he fell into a deep sleep, whispering his kingdoms pledge,
Everything I am is for my kingdom Razium, and my savior Raziel. For always.
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