Book TWO: Retribution
_______________________________________________________________________
Chapter One: Mercenaries By Trade
The long dry desert of Sarento lay at three of his sides, disappearing off into the distance far beyond the range of his eyes. The sun was setting creating amber brilliance along the wave like sand and a gentle breeze created the image of it flowing with the wind. Even at night with the sun setting the intense heat remained. Once set, however, the desert would become deathly cold as the temperature dramatically dropped. The desert was a strange place and having to deal with both extremes of weather was but one of the difficult circumstances one had to become accustomed to.
The Sarentians (the collective name for the predominant races within Sarento and all native races) had developed a natural affinity for both the heat and cold but to outsiders it was hard to adapt. Sarento was not touched by the seasons and remained sunny all year round with the occasional rain fall only once every few months.
To the north lay a town sticking out like a sore thumb along the picturesque amber sunset. Dusty clay mounds were molded into homes and shops with large white drapes held in place over windows and doors with the occasional drape wedged in to hold back a sand storm’s savage assault. Carts lay scattered around the entire parameter of the village, which was no more than a few hundred meters in width. The carts were not wheeled but instead had skis fastened to its sides which skimmed along the desert with more ease than the wheeled variety would have and were often tugged along by hairy mammals whose name was not known to him. Wooden shelters shielded the animals from the sand storms and offered shadowy corners to stay out of the sun, though they were even more adapt to both the heat and cold than the Sarentians and could exist for weeks without drinking as their humped backs retained water. Open areas fell victim to the sand however and forced people to wear special coverings. A large hat with a face mask in place or robe with a hood was the most common wears.
The people passed him without care, staring blankly past him with their red iris eyes. They were the people of the desert and they were marked as such by the warm color of their iris. Every last one was granted the same color. In many ways the Sarentians were just like the race of Man, or Atraians as they were addressed by these people (even though that title covered many other races than just Man). They lived approximately the same life span and aside from iris color looked nearly identical. The other main race found in the kingdom was the Siran who colonized into Atra many years prior. There seemed to be a few in the village. Men, Dau and other races were scarce but not unheard of, though some of the more rural parts deep within the desert had never seen other races.
One of the larger buildings seemed to be a closed off bar area. The man entered and examined the room beyond. Thick red and white sheets covered most exits and windows to hold back the blustery sand from the seating area with a large table and an array of drinks at one end. A raised platform in one corner was home to two people playing violins. It was a sickeningly cheerful tune. Sitting down on one of the higher seats at the table littered in colored bottles of wine and kegs of beer the man waited for service from the Sarentian barkeep, who sat at the opposite end of the bar talking with friends.
He waited and waited.
“Barkeep,” the man said slowly.
The aging overweight barkeep turned and looked in his direction then scoffed and returned to talking to another Sarentian at the bar. Knocking his fist of the table hard, the man once again called the barkeep.
“We don’t serve yer sort 'round here. Get lost,” the fat barkeep snorted, speaking in broken Atraian.
“My sort?” the man questioned with a concealed smile.
“You Atraian scum!” A patron called out.
The man at the table clenched his fist and cocked his head in the direction of the foul mouth, still with a smile on his face. It was another Sarentian at the end of the table with whom the barkeep had been speaking with. His face was quite red, indicating that perhaps he had spent too much time in the bar for one evening. Slowly, the man stood up and approached the drunken patron who rose to try and meet his stare. The Sarentian was short and frail in comparison, but stood on his tiptoes to try and match the man’s stature.
“You… loo…kin…g… for a fight, ar…e yo…u?” he stammered.
“I was hoping for a quiet drink, but if you are offering then by all means I will fight you.”
The drunkard snorted and shoved the man, who did not flinch under the weight of the old Sarentian’s childlike push. The barkeep demanded that they both leave if they were going to fight. The man did not move. Instead, he picked the drunkards half empty glass of beer up and downed what remained. As he drank the drunkard attempted to strike at the man, but a quick swipe across the neck with his free palm sent the patron crashing down to the floor.
By this time the music had stopped and the quieter people in the bar had begun sneaking out through the main entrance. Relaxed, the man sat down in the seat previously occupied by the drunkard and asked for another drink.
A female Sarentian who had not run away checked the body on the floor and found, to her horror, that he was dead. The force of the blow had been so strong that the injured Sarentian’s neck lay twisted one hundred and eighty degrees around so that his face almost looked the opposite direction than normal. She backed away, coughed violently, and began screaming. As she ran for the door the man grabbed a knife sitting atop a plate of warm food on the table and threw it over his shoulder. It struck the screaming woman in the back, downing her immediately.
“Can I not enjoy one quiet drink?!” the man shouted with sudden rage.
The barkeep backed away as the order for another drink was stated once more.
“If you try to run, I will kill you. Now...do your job and pour me a drink,” the man stated slowly.
Silently, the barkeep took small steps back behind the table and presented the man with another tall jug of beer. He was shaking as he placed the full jug down as gently as he could and had turned a very pale white, despite the natural tan of a Sarentian male. The man eyed up the beer before him and nodded slowly as his rage subsided.
“You may go now,” the man said.
Without a second thought the barkeep disappeared to the opposite end of the bar, backing up as he did so he was facing the man at all times. He eventually disappeared out of sight and exited the bar, possibly through a back door. Just as the jug of beer reached his lips there was another commotion outside that distracted his attention.
A group of Sarentian’s clad in cream leather armor with curved scimitar swords attached to their belts entered the bar and surrounded the seated man. They drew their weapons and waited for him to make a move, but he did not and instead began to gulp down his drink contently.
These were the law keepers of Sarento, the lax type assigned to care for crumbling down excuses for a settlement like such a place he now found himself in and were most likely hired mercenaries rather than fully trained knights of the realm. The leader of the six person squad addressed him in the Sarentian language and demanded he turn round to face them slowly with his hands above his head. Who were they to order him? They were not worth his attention, they did not deserve it.
“Leave me be,” the man muttered, almost in a whisper.
One of the group lost patience and grabbed at the man’s free hand. He was swiftly thrown away across the length of the room as the man pulled his arm up and stretched it out, yawning loudly. The other knights backed away, now more cautious and confused at the strange being before them.
Exchanged whispers in their native tongue were half heard in the man’s ear. They seemed to be deliberating what kind of person he was and if he was some kind of mage. The man laughed to himself at the stupidity of the so called law keepers. They thought he could not understand their language, that he was as ignorant as a normal Atraian. A long silence followed as the guards ceased their whispers as the man stood up, turned, and addressed them all with a mocking bow.
He was quite tall when stood straight up, around six foot high with a well toned muscular body and clad within dark leather armor and shrouded in a brown cape not of Sarentian make. His hair was chestnut brown but dirtied by the sandy air and his eyes a soft blue. He did not seem to bare any weaponry on his person, concealed or otherwise. Calmly, the man stretched out a hand and straightened his palm directly in front of one of the Sarentians. A satisfying crack sounded out as he bent and straightened his fingers.
“Alas this place is not worthy, not worthy of living in my world,” he said succinctly.
Sparkling dots of red light pulled from the air mysteriously and into a ball of energy in the center of the man’s palm, growing from nothing and increasing in size and magnificence. There seemed to be a dull droning sound in the air as the beads of light circled and sparkled casting shadows the color of blood in all directions, coating the bar’s walls in its brilliance. The Sarentian’s exchanged worried cries in their native language as the man set his sights on the knight furthest to his left.
“Cresen emba! Teplo ses vevek Apocalypse!” one cried.
The ball of light expanded into a large beam and fired from the man’s hand, consuming the knight he aimed for in an instant and carried on through the length of the bar and out the wall at the opposite side causing chaos as it went, disintegrating anything it came in contact with.
After the first blast subsided, the man fired again and this taking down another stunned knight and destroying another corner of the bar. By now the screams and calls of people outside echoed through the air as they watched beam after beam being fired from the bar before eventually the building collapsed in on itself.
People gathered around as the upturned sand and dust settled once more. One Sarentian traced with his eyes from the pub down south through three sand rock buildings where one beam had fired, leaving nothing behind and a long trench of burnt sand in place of the old buildings. If there had been people inside they were now, without question, dead.
“Mesembral!” a female Sarentian cried.
Rocks from the rubble of the pub moved and were pushed aside as the Atraian man stood up tall and proud. His eyes were blood red and his teeth were gritted. He began to scream out as a red flame engulfed his body which slowly expanded into a sphere. The burning ball began to grow in size and burned away sand, rock, and rubble around him. People began to run as the sphere’s speed increased but those too slow to react where soon consumed. Their bodies twisted and melted to bone within seconds and then to nothing as they were evaporated.
The explosion of red fire grew and grew until all of the small settlement was gone, leaving nothing behind but a large sandy crater in the land. In the center of the hole the man stood huffing to himself.
“No one...no one is worthy,” he panted.
Joel Dawson felt sick to his stomach and had a pain in his shoulder the like of which he had not felt in many years. He twisted and turned in agony as he awoke to unfamiliar surroundings and panicked as someone grabbed his hands.
“Lay still, Joel!” a familiar voice cried.
He gave up and let the hands of his friend lower him back down onto what must have been a king sized bed. The air was musky, very warm, and heavy with dust. He still had not adjusted to the warm weather of Sarento. It was always hot. Too hot. He could not fathom how people could live which such conditions all year round. He had already had two bouts with severe sunburn on their travels, but luckily his body learned to adapt and soon neither he nor his friend were affected so badly by it. It was convenient to have such a special body. However, regardless of his body’s strength, it would never take away the sense of heat or stop him sweating.
There was an open hole in the dusty gray wall of the small room letting brilliant sun light shine in and warm the base of his bed where his feet lay. The last memories he had prior to waking up in the bed he now found himself in were of walking through the town at night. He must have been unconscious for the night or perhaps even longer. He turned his head slowly to face his friend to find out some answers.
“How long have I been asleep?” Joel asked slowly, feeling the dryness of his mouth pulling at his words.
“Unconscious is more accurate. About three days. You have been suffering from a terrible fever, but I believe your body has now rid it from your system or has become immune.”
Three days?
He could not believe it.
A glass of fresh water was held to his mouth and he began taking large gulps. He choked but continued to guzzle it down. It was warm, but cold water was always a luxury in Sarento.
“My power saves me again, huh?” Joel questioned, as he felt his shoulder. “What happened to me, Leon?”
Leon Sansec pulled back from his friend and rested his back against the gray wall behind him. He wore a cream colored long sleeved shirt and brown trousers with a pouch of money strapped to his belt which jingled as he moved. His armor was within their luggage along with Joel’s, they only wore it when necessary these days. Slowly, he swept the fringe of his dark red hair with one hand before sighing loudly.
“Some nights ago you were found unconscious in an open street. Your bag and its contents were scattered out around you. Witnesses believe you were attacked by a thief looking for an easy score. Do you remember anything about who attacked you?” Leon asked.
After a moment of thought, Joel recited what he could remember. He had been visiting a weapon smith that lived in the town they currently rested at and was on his way back to the inn when he was approached by a figure covered in cream colored clothes and cape, similar to the standard dress for a Sarentian male but at the same time different in a way. They had no abnormal Aura and did not seem to pose a threat at first, but then the figure suddenly attacked Joel.
For someone with no power they fought with their fists with incredible skill. Leon and Joel had agreed that they could not use their enhanced abilities within villages and settlements in case they raised suspicions, so the two had fought on an even level. At some point, Joel could not be sure when, he felt a sharp pain in his shoulder as if he had been stabbed and then everything went black.
“Here is the bag you were carrying. Is anything missing?” Leon questioned as he handed Joel an old leather satchel.
The missing objects were apparent to him in an instant.
“Damn it! My journals!” He cursed angrily. “…But why take my journals? Could he have been one of Kain’s spies? He could have sent them to incapacitate me and steal the journals, but there is nothing in there that he wouldn't already know…”
Leon frowned, “So he was after the journals…interesting. That may have been his main objective but his secondary objective was most definitely to kill you. He stabbed you with a dart in the top of your left shoulder coated with an extremely potent poison. It causes unconsciousness within seconds and death within minutes. The doctor whom examined you said it was made from special herbs found only in Vail of all places. However, it seems whoever attacked you did not factor in that our metabolism is not normal. Your body was able to fight off the poison and now you are almost completely recovered.”
With that, Leon explained that he would leave Joel to rest for another day and then they would continue onwards. Joel stopped him as he was leaving, remembering that they had a job to complete on the day after his attack.
“Do not worry; I carried out the job and received payment from the Guild, it was an uneventful task,” Leon explained. “We still made a loss however, after paying for your treatment and bed, but no matter. The Guild has offered some more jobs.”
He had cost them some of their valuable money. Joel cursed to himself a second time. They had been traveling for so long that money had become a serious problem for them. However, Sarento had a federation known as the Guild which hired out mercenaries on jobs, be it protection, investigation and so on.
The presence of knights of Sarento was not always strong since the long war had begun and now people had to rely on Guild mercenaries to handle their business. Just recently the Guild was officially sanctioned by the capital as a policing branch of the kingdom’s military. Since coming to Sarento, Leon and Joel had been carrying out jobs for the Guild and had become apprentice members. They specifically kept away from jobs which were classed as oculets which meant assassination, but these, unfortunately, were the highest paying.
It had been a difficult chore joining the Guild because they were Atraian, but they eventually persuaded its leaders after defeating fifty warriors in a popular brawl event. Now they had been members for quite some time and were accepted as powerful mercenaries by many of its members. Joel often wondered if the adoration they received was similar to how Leon was treated when he was a Demon Hunter.
It was a very similar freelance system when compared to the Demon Hunters of Atra. A collection of leaders created Guild offices around the kingdom which people could offer jobs to. For a price, that Guild outpost would then offer out these jobs to mercenaries who possessed a Guild card, which confirmed their membership. Non-members were offered jobs as well, but at a heavily inflated price for the job details. The Guild made profit on mercenaries buying information, the mercenaries made profit from the job’s client and the client got a job well done for their money.
The job Joel had slept through was to bodyguard a supply cart as it traveled from the town they were now in to a neighboring settlement. The client was worried that an opposing business would attempt to hijack his stock on the road to force him to close down. The rivalry between businesses in the town had been steadily getting worse over the past few days and was creating a large number of protection jobs.
Sometimes it felt too much like they were doing someone else’s dirty work, but they had to do it. Without money they would starve, especially in the so called Endless Desert they now found themselves in. Joel had his own reasons for needing a lot of money as well. Sighing slowly, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift into a relaxing sleep.
********
Another day and night past before Leon and Joel collected their belongings and left the inn they had been staying in. Joel carried his satchel over his shoulder and a heavy fully filled back pack which held his leather armor, spare clothes, and camping supplies. Caught between the back pack and his actual back was a sword sheath wrapped up in fabric and his trusty Dau bow, Samilo.
Leon carried a similar backpack laden with supplies but no longer brandished a weapon on his person. The weapon he had used as a Demon Hunter was lost many years ago in the final battle of Atra. He did have the royal sword of Atra (Escander) with him though, concealed amongst his baggage. He did not use it to fight, nor did he show it to anyone. The sword was passed down from Atra’s king to son for many generations and now it was Leon’s turn to possess it. However, he believed it was his late brother, Torra, who was the rightful owner of the blade and he would not wield it as the king of his people. Leon would mock Joel sometimes and ask whom he had under his command, but Joel had always believed it was to hide his real feelings of distress and dismay. Perhaps one day Leon would take up the royal sword and retake Atra from Kain’s sinister clutches.
Their current destination was still unclear to Joel. All he knew so far was that they were heading to the Guild’s outpost in the town to check on any big jobs before leaving. The Guild outpost was a large upright cylinder shaped building with two floors and cream colored with red flags draped from its walls. A stone with Sarentian writing carved into it sat at all the outpost’s entrances, explaining the various rules they imposed.
Inside, a fat Sarentian male sat behind a large desk littered with papers and scrolls, smoking on a long brown pipe. Behind the outpost owner sat a huge collection of pigeon holes and within each were copies of job scrolls filled out by clients and then copied in case of multiple applicants to a job. To the left and right of the door, partly concealed by rounded stones, were two other Sarentians openly armed with large scimitars.
The outpost owner nodded at the two as they entered, recognizing Leon from when he collected payment for the last job. Leon and the owner began to converse in Sarentian. Leon was fluent in the language, whereas Joel could barely speak a word of it. He had always meant to learn, but never had the time.
On the left of the lower floor, beside one of the guards, was a medium sized wooden bulletin board with various scrolls stuck on them. These were where the knights of Sarento put wanted posters or offers of rewards which were not part of the Guild. It was part of the agreement between the Guild and the king of Sarento to allow them to operate that they be allowed to freely show the posters in all outposts.
“Joel,” Leon said, grabbing his attention. “One of those posters is about him. I will see if we can take it.”
Leon exchanged a few more words with the outpost owner and then handed over some coins. The fat Sarentian slowly pulled himself up and span his chair around to face the pigeon holes. Placing a chubby hand into one, he tossed a scroll to Leon then huffed and returned to his pipe blowing.
“I thought reward offers issued by Sarento knights were free?” Joel asked.
“Oh, they are but they won’t let us have the one on the board. We have to pay for a written copy,” Leon replied with a smirk.
Knowing that Joel could not read the scroll’s writing, Leon stretched it out in front of them both and read it out loud.
“By order of the Council of Sarento, a twenty thousand piece reward will be awarded to the brave one amongst you who has the ability to slay Apocalypse. This Atraian has destroyed no less than six of our settlements and has killed hundreds of innocent people. He is said to have the strength of one hundred and magic unlike anything capable of our best mages. The Council of Sarento is not responsible for any injury sustained while attempting to kill this demon. The last reported sighting of Apocalypse was due south of the Ectar settlement.”
“They must be really desperate to ask mercenaries and assassins to try and kill Tylor. I fear for the lives of anyone stupid enough to try,” Joel sighed.
“Does that include us?” Leon remarked. “Ectar....I believe I saw that on the map…”
Trailing off, Leon dropped his backpack to the floor and began searching in it for a map of the kingdom that they had purchased many months prior. He scanned it with his finger and made a satisfied noise when he found the settlement on the map. It was north of their position, around thirty kilometers.
“I doubt he will be there now, but he was heading north…” Leon said, thinking out loud. “Joel, I want us to go here,” he then said, pointing to a southern mountain range a few kilometers south of the settlement they were in.
He explained that during his time in the settlement, while Joel was recovering from his attack, he heard of a so called prophet living in a cave near the top of the mountains who was able to predict the future. She was revered by a tribe of nomads that lived at the base of the cliffs and when one of their numbers turned eighteen they visited her to receive guidance. It was said that nothing she had predicted had ever failed to come true. She had been able to say when it was that rain would bless the land, when a baby would be born and even when someone would die.
“What makes you believe all this?” Joel asked.
“Her name,” his friend replied. “The tribe that worships her...they treat her like a god and they call her Seka.”
The name struck many cords in Joel’s heart. Seka was the name of the one who gave the Destined their power. The Destined power was a deep rooted strength that a select few were supposed to use to defend Pesmega from her brother, Kain, who was consuming the western parts of the world in darkness.
Kain had already captured L’Carn and Atra, the latter being their homeland. Fierce wars still raged in the northern kingdom of Vail but it still stood. Sarento had been untouched so far, no force pushed through from Atra over the years. They seemed to be wary of something and perhaps it was Apocalypse. Regardless, Sarento had begun work on a huge wall to separate itself from Atra completely and to make it impenetrable so that they could concentrate on the war effort in Vail. The wall or gate was apparently being funded by the Guild and was nearing completion after many years of work.
Seka used to invade their dreams, to speak to them and encourage them to continue on and to fight the Sect. However, instead of listening to her, Joel and Leon followed after their cursed friend.
Tylor had been a Destined as well, the most important one, the Center Point. It was the Center Point’s job to rally the Destined together to face Kain as one and destroy him, but many years ago as they fought along side one another in an attempt to kill Tai, something went horribly wrong. Tylor had been possessed by something and had now become what the people of Sarento called Apocalypse, named after some kind of ancient monstrous demon or so it was said. It was their only goal now; they would not leave their friend to be damned regardless of what Seka told them to do. It seemed that because of their defiance she no longer spoke to them in their sleep.
“Could it really be that Seka?” Joel asked. “She was supposed to have died and lost her physical body when she used the last of her strength to try and create an eighth Destined’s seed, right?”
“I do not know and there is no way to be sure, unless we seek out this so called prophet and ask her ourselves,” Leon replied.
The journey to the settlement would take them a while on foot. Moving at great speeds in the blistering heat was impossible. They would have to find shelter at midday, be it behind a sand dune or amongst a palm spring, as the temperature rose far too much even for their bodies. If they did have to move on foot it would be best done at night, when the temperature drastically dropped. Of course they could try to find transport, but that would cost valuable money.
“I assume your trip to the weapon smith a few nights ago was uneventful?” Leon asked as they walked out of the Guild outpost and headed towards the open desert.
“There was no Dau. They didn’t speak our language either so I couldn’t find out if they knew of any…” Joel said, trailing off.
“I doubt we have enough money, Joel. I know it means a lot to you but economically we cannot afford to restore Pesmega. The dauraniam metal it is made of is extremely rare and very expensive.”
Dauraniam alloy was a material found only in mountain ranges far from Sarento and was mined by Dau crafters, specialists in creating weapons of both power and beauty. For the most part the Dau lived in peaceful camps throughout the snowy mountains in Atra, but some that choose to integrate themselves into Atraian and Sarentian societies made a living creating weapons and selling them.
The bow Joel carried was made by a Dau and was enchanted by ancient mystical runes that blessed any arrow fired from it, intensifying its potency against demons. A broken sword that he carried with him was also made by a Dau and used the metal of which Leon spoke. It was named after the world and was also thought to mean unity. Pesmega had belonged to Tylor but was shattered in the last battle of Atra. Joel collected all the shards of the metal he could along with the hilt after the battle had ended and kept them with him at all times within the sword’s original red and gold sheath. Over the years whenever they stopped in a town Joel would search out weapon smiths to try and find a Dau capable of repairing the sword, but so far he had been unsuccessful.
“I will find someone who will restore it one day,” Joel said in defiance. “And I will do whatever I have to.”
********
The friends had walked for hours and held off resting for as long as they could, even when the sun was at its peak. Now it was early evening and the sun had just set to the distant west. Already the temperature had begun to rapidly drop. Leon was busy setting up a small tent they had purchased some time ago behind a mound of sand using stones to weigh the ends down as the sand was too soft for sticks. Joel was near camp, standing in a meditative position with his eyes closed and arms out stretched.
His breathing was slow and calm as he moved his hands and feet like an elegant dance moving around in circles and sidesteps occasionally outstretching limbs as if to strike the air in slow motion. Coming back to a resting position, Joel brought his elbows to his sides and spread his feet apart. The sand around him began to swirl and billow upwards becoming gradually fiercer, as if being made to move by an invisible force.
“Joel!” Leon called. “Do not do that here!”
“There is no one around for miles!” Joel called back as he released his grip over the ground around him. “...We need to train,” he insisted.
“We cannot strengthen our Aura here. Even if no one can visibly see you, Kain’s assassins would be able to sense the power!”
Let them come then! Joel thought to himself. We can’t allow ourselves to grow weak or we will never be able to save Tylor. Why does he not understand that? Nothing has been the same since…
Deciding to agree with Leon on this occasion (to avoid an argument), Joel ceased his training and joined his friend outside the tent. Kain had eyes and ears everywhere, that much was true. One of his assassins in reasonable proximity would be able to sense his Aura if he strengthened it far beyond normal levels. However, Joel was still concerned that they did not do enough training anymore. Leon had all but stopped completely except when he convinced him to duel. Despite the former Demon Hunter ceasing training, he still remained the stronger of the two. That fact still made Joel's blood boil sometimes. But Leon was older, if years even counted anymore, and also had the intense training to fall back on even if he was getting lax.
Digging through another pouch in his back pack, Leon retrieved two small wooden mugs and handed one to Joel. He then proceeded to search for an aqua colored sphere stored in another pocket. Holding it firmly in one hand over one of the mugs Leon quietly spoke the word water.
The blue ball immediately lit up with an eerie glow as water dripped from it into the mug. As the mug grew full Leon spoke the word again instantly stopping the flow of water and dimming the glow within the sphere. Passing the sphere to Joel he then did the same.
“This sphere only has another two or three uses left. After this we have…two more,” Leon said, after checking the pocket he had pulled the sphere from.
Gulping down his water, Joel nodded and passed the empty mug back to Leon. They had purchased the water spheres some weeks prior when the realized just how often they would be forced to trek along vast areas of sand on foot.
“Fancy a quick sparring match before bed?” Joel asked after a moment of silence.
“I suppose so, for a short time. What is the tally at?” Leon quipped as he stood up.
The tally to which he spoke of was the wins against loses that the both of them had in sparring matches with each other over the years. They did not use Aura (though their natural strength and skill increase was unavoidable) or weapons; only fists. This was the closest thing to training that Leon took part in. So far Leon had won their matches six hundred and thirty times against Joel’s two hundred and seventy.
Leon stood up slowly and brushed himself down before following Joel a few meters away from where they had set up camp. He watched as his young friend began stretching in preparation for the duel. Every sparring session began this way, but then more often than not Joel would over extend himself in the fight and make foolish mistakes.
The former Demon Hunter was not stronger than him or faster or more skilled, yet he still won more often. To him, it seemed like his young friend relied on his Aura too much over strategy and that was why he lost. If he fought a weaker opponent then he would win by sheer strength alone but when fighting someone equal it was not power that decided the victor, it was the strategy they used that would dictate the outcome.
If only you realized that, Joel, Leon thought to himself. You could be so much better than I if you only controlled yourself more…
In the early years following on after the battles in Atra, Leon had tried to teach Joel the ways of a Demon Hunter. The Hunters' suppress their emotions to control them so they do not effect them on the battlefield. But after losing so many loved ones in those horrible battles Leon found he could no longer suppress his own feelings and thus could not effectively teach his would be student.
Now he had completely given up on the training that had consumed nearly all the first eighteen years of his life in favor of living as Tylor did. Leon smirked to himself as he remembered the discussions he would have with Tylor - the moralist as he would call him. To him, Tylor was like a lost boy in the world outside the island he grew up on. He did not want to fight or hurt people and did not understand how people could be so callus to one another. Tylor did not cover his feelings and instead used them to guide him to do what he felt was right. Leon had tried to aspire to the same way of thinking, but it had been a hard process.
This change of heart was much to the anger of Joel, who still wished to learn how to control his darker feelings. As a result, Joel gave into anger over the years and let it put him into a rage on more than one occasion and when in this rage his skill dropped drastically. It was because of this that Leon was able to beat him despite his lack of continued training. He still hoped that one day he would help his young friend control his anger, but it was too late for the Demon Hunter training from his previous life to be of any use.
“Ready?” Joel asked, snapping his attention back.
After a nod of agreement from Leon the sparring began.
Leaping a short distance towards one another they began exchanging a fury of punches and kicks at incredible speed. The sand around them was pushed and pulled from side-to-side creating a subtle hole where they fought as if trembling before their wake. So far they were even, matching blow-for-blow and counter-for-counter with neither showing signs of failing. Each attack was almost mimicked by the other even as each changed fighting style. Eventually Joel settled into a fighting style which relied on fists and Leon to a defensive style.
Prior to the final battles in Atra Leon would not have known the first thing about hand-to-hand combat of this nature, but because he was a Destined the knowledge of such things were granted to him when he discovered his power. He had the fighting skill of all the Destined in his bloodline that went before him as if he had trained with each weapon or stance himself. This was also what kept him so skilled despite lack of training. The combat memories of previous Destined were always there, ready for him to tap into as the situation demanded.
The two met once again using different styles and continued to spar. Joel’s constant stream of fierce punches were all deflected by Leon’s defensive stance. Eventually, after knocking another fist away, Leon broke his own stance and leapt forwards in the air planting a boot firmly to Joel’s chest, knocking him backwards into a sand dune. Joel stood up, visibly angry, and coughed as he spat some sand from his mouth. Leon decided to take the offensive and changed stance once more before attacking again. Midway through exchanging blows, Joel broke off and dropped his guard.
“Six hundred and thirty one,” his friend sighed.
“You’re giving up?” Leon replied.
“I made a foolish mistake trying to break your defense with my straight forward offensive when you can move as fast as me. The correct approach would be to catch you off balance going in from the side to stop the counters or strike back with a throw or tackle. Don’t worry, I will be ready for that next time!” he grinned.
You say that every time…
Joel watched as Leon entered their small tent from afar, still standing on the sand mound he had been hit into during the sparring session. Rubbing his chest with a cold flat palm he lifted his dirty tanned shirt and saw a bruise in the center of his chest. Leon had not pulled any punches, but the bruise would not last long thanks to the quick healing potency of the Destined. He punched at the air as he thought about what he did wrong. He had made a stupid mistake, which always seemed to be the reason he lost.
But if we used our full power…if we used Aura! Joel thought to himself. Then I would definitely win! I know it…
Looking up to the starry sky above him, he kicked at the sand with his boot and cursed to himself.
_______________________________________________________________________
Questions & Comments: iandawson@destinedbooks.com