Vermillion, gold, and bronze leaves tumbled, dancing through the mischievous autumn gale. Warmth pervaded the clearing in defiance of the falling leaves, summer’s last ambition struggling to persevere, similar to a newborn fawn fighting to stand.
Two figures - one of blue, one of green - stood face-to-face, eye-to-eye, with enough space for each to reach forwards and barely brush fingertips. While the one in forest green’s light choppy hair stuck out in every direction, the one in blue’s was a long and silky black, polished and composed, save for a wild strand of cowlick; red held a thick, fancy sword forward as blue gripped a thin blade behind their back, each as tense as the other.
A rich pause reigned as the fighters sized each other up. They had bowed a moment before, blade tips pointed downward, as still as a lake’s serene surface and as reverential as a priest, but were now akin to fiery lions circling one another, judging each movement, each breath.
Only the sound of life around them broke the silence. Had either of them been less fixated on the other, they might have found it comforting or peaceful, the idea that their problems were infinitesimal in the eyes of, say, a squirrel.
For all that, anything that was not their opponent drifted away like a leaf on a river, worries and joy alike. One wrong prediction, one wrong move, would lose the duel.
For Augustine Knox, however, this was expected.
Augustine was far from feeble and helpless, - he belonged to the one and only Invulnerable Knox Strunguli, a budding seed yet a seed nonetheless - but his opponent was practically indomitable. Stories of virtue and strength overran the Kingdom, stories of the unyielding and insurmountable Guardian Mathis.
For the aforementioned Guardian Mathis, this might as well have been another day, another victory. The Guardian of Alendo Kingdom had defeated humans and monsters alike, including Augustine’s sisters, the main core of the Knox Strunguli, the children of the Untouchable General. Compared to them, his sisters and Remi Mathis, Augustine found it preposterous that he could win, or more specifically, that the Guardian could lose.
Despite his doubts, he readied his sword, a thin rapier named Felix.
The Guardian moved their weapon simply, aiming for Augustine’s throat and catching him off-guard. He had not expected such a brutal move.
He parried messily, managing to nudge the blade to the right, and stepped back, avoiding the thick blade that quickly recovered to slash at him once again.
Remi Mathis was relentless, a barrage of assaults coming from every angle and possible direction. Augustine barely had a second to think. He found it mind-boggling, how easily Mx. Mathis achieved intricate after intricate maneuver. It was as if their body was jam, contorting to their every need like a loyal servant.
Their weapon - a Zweihander - was likely excessively heavy and elaborate, but they paid it no mind as they twisted and turned. Despite the simplicity and directness of their actions, it was far beyond what Augustine had ever seen. Every move was as precise as an archer pinning a fly by its wings from a mile away.
They sliced and carved the air, mutilating the space where Augustine had been a moment before. It was only by the skin of his teeth that he managed to dodge so many blows, the wind around him marking another jab, slice, or hack at him.
Disregarding his discernable awe, he desperately searched for possible solutions, turning it over in his mind like a child with a playing hoop. They had an advantage in height, skill, speed, and most likely, raw strength, meaning he was hopelessly outclassed. Since the duel had begun, every step he’d taken had been in retreat, the Guardian pressing forward more tenaciously than an electric eel on the prowl (Augustine was quite the fan of aquatics - he had forced most of his tutors to inform him about them as a reward).
All in all, what had been indicated from the start had proven true: Remi Mathis would not lose.
He must either concede or force a draw.
At the end of the day, Augustine would rather be in bed, listening to stories of the deep sea, of all the eccentric creatures living there, and of a diverse variety of other topics. To end this farce was tempting, to rest and recuperate from this humiliation, but he found his body unwilling to comply with his demands.
Each step back should have been a step towards the end, to the safety of no longer upsetting himself by reaching for the impossible, yet he found himself hardening like clay in a kiln or sludge turning to packed sediment. Every strike Mx. Mathis hit, drawing blood against his light skin, it was like the waves on the beach, chipping away at him yet cooling his will into iron.
He redirected an overhead blow, turning into Mx. Mathis’s grip as if a dance partner about to be dipped, and, completely undignified and unfitting for a person of his station, stomped on the Guardian Princess’s foot.
He had hoped to get in a spare elbow jab, but Mx. Mathis promptly wrapped their arms around his waist and dragged him over their knee, squashing him onto the ground face first. They pulled his right arm backward, harshly pressing a knee to his back to add to the tension.
As they reached for his left hand, sword seemingly abandoned, he thrashed wildly before turning on his back while simultaneously freeing his right hand from their firm grasp, slapping the Great Guardian of the Alendo Kingdom across the face like a commoner.
......
As silence regained its reign, and Augustine’s face heated, something dangerous gleamed in Mx. Mathis’s eyes. Any second now, and Augustine was sure they would lose all formality and decorum and rip out his throat with their teeth.
Instead, they gripped one hand on the offender’s throat and another calmly wrapped its fingers around the hilt of a sword. As they brought it down with a calculating yet savage gaze, Augustine was sure he was dead.
It wasn’t until the blood hit his cheek did he realize he had caught the blade. He wrenched his eyes, closed from fear, open and gawked. Mx. Mathis bore down on him, with both their sight and their body weight, seemingly vehement and undoubtedly violent.
He swiftly let go of and avoided the blade, letting it drive into the earth. With Mx. Mathis unbalanced from this movement, if only for a moment, Augustine knocked into them, managing to free himself out from under them.
He scrambled to his feet, fishing up his rapier and pointing it at Mx. Mathis’s neck.
Too focused to be elated at his apparent victory, he glanced at their hands, where they held their Zweihander to his chest.
The kingdom had always known who would inherit the throne.
The Grand Prince Ro, Emissary of the Stars, had been blessed with courage and valor, beloved by all long before the Queen anointed him the Crown Prince. His tales imbued the land with intrepidity and audaciousness, for all knew there was someone in their corner.
Exuberantly, the people praised him like a descended immortal, like a god - the God, like the golden stars in the sky. Every night, people would pray to the heavenly bodies above the Earth and preen, professing his triumphs as their own, for He was their own: their kin, their brethren, their King.
The kingdom had always known who would inherit the throne.
Until Grand Prince Ro died.
“It was a gruesome affair,” they insist.
“He didn’t deserve it,” they claim.
“Why-” they cry, “why him?”
The world of Alendo Kingdom fell on its head, and no one was there to right it again. Having no one to hold them up, the stars fell from the skies, mourning their Emissary and creating an angelic appearance no one bothered to behold.
Prince Jeopod thought it unfair, that such a divine scene dropped the curtain close upon his brother’s life. How enticing each broken heart flashed as it broke away from the nebulous galaxy it inhabited.
Lesser Prince Jeopod was not his brother.
When viewing such a show, such alluring lights, how could he do anything but marvel? The fireplace holding the flames of destruction and devastation belonged to both of them but only he found warmth within it.
He had once overheard an argument between his father and brother. His Majesty found it unwise to send supplies to an unaligned group of fighters that had rebelled against their enemy kingdom, but Prince Ro had contacts within and pledged it was worth it, that by doing the just action far outweighed the rational action.
He had argued that trust was meant to be earned, which Prince Jeopod agreed with. They should earn their trust and utilize that force, but it was just as well that they starve themselves and steal food from the enemy. Desperation was crucial, as a hungry man fought for as long as there was food while an honorable man fought for dignity.
Besides, if they couldn’t manage to survive on their own, would their fighting force matter? Prince Jeopod had never been war-minded, but he found it revolting how obviously some would beg for resources they couldn’t acquire for themselves and would leech off the government the second they got the chance. If they were that determined to bum a free ride, to solicit aid from the Greater Alendo Kingdom, then it was only a matter of time before they became their citizens, wasn’t it?
While Grand Prince Ro was revered by the heavens themself, Lesser Prince Jeopod had found himself the fall guy of the kingdom’s tough decisions and ill-fortune. A butterfly could perish a world away, yet the people could find a way to link the monarchy’s failures in environmental preservation (which Jeopod happened to lead).
It wasn’t unordinary for one prince to represent righteousness and for the other to take the faults of the kingdom to their guise, and as far as Prince Jeopod was concerned, the foolish fiends never had even the slightest at what was happening, akin to a tone-deaf singer berating an opera singer for talents that would make even the moon envious.
Quite simply, he didn’t care what his subjects thought of him. He found them distasteful and crude, more akin to baggage for him to carry rather than confidants. They were rancid, unkempt, and had no distinguishable integrity.
This isn’t to say he dismissed the notion of becoming king.
On the contrary, he found it entrancing, the idea of people at his beck and call, him being the one to make the decisions. There would be no more waiting on people with barely disguised contempt, no more accumulated slights and snubs from those with no right, no more begging for things he would never receive.
CW: violence, mentions of possible death, sword, fear, swearing
Text Under the Cut
Paranoia and fear invaded Remi, wondering how it could infect them beyond repair. Was there an intruder here? Had it already made it inside? Did someone let it in? Were they betrayed?
The putrid smell invaded their senses as it drew closer and closer and closer, yet their eyes seemed to taunt them, refusing to give even the slightest hint.
The seconds seemed to stretch hours as they forced one foot in front of another, drawing near the forest and ill-boding atmosphere. They didn’t want to enter right away, even if the terrain might benefit their melee patterns.
If there was an intruder, Remi could not let it breach the party.
Even if the estate was heavily guarded, which it was not, the people inside depended on Remi to protect them, including the combatants. They expected Remi to do their duty, and they refused to let them down, no matter how little they desired to do such a thing.
In the distance, branches faintly broke.
Remi entered the forest, their sword sheathed.
As quickly and experienced as a squirrel, they scurried up a thick tree, resting in between two branches that dug into their skin and a small twig of an offshoot flying across their face.
A large coal-like object started to appear. As it drew nearer, more distinctions arose.
The creature oozed black pus from its slime-like body, tentacles attempting to pull itself forward by wrapping around the bodies of the trees. Most trees snapped with a gruesome sound, but a few thick ones managed to persevere. Behind it, plants were withering away, as if it sapped the life out of anything it touched.
Remi ignored the coldness in their heart as they paced through different ideas to defeat the monster by themself. It didn’t appear completely like a slime, more like a solid blob creature covered in some type of acidic… sauce? Was the beast even edible?
Either way, the monster was slowly approaching and seemed to have no obvious weak points. Could they wash the “sauce” off? How quickly could it secrete it again? Would it even kill a human? Why was it here?
As Remi started to move to pass the creature and get a look at its backside, a creepy high-pitched voice gurgled.
“I can smell you…”
The fuck?
A monster speaking wasn’t anything unheard of, but it was rare. You were more likely to find a three-headed dragon, in Remi’s honest opinion. In addition, this voice? It was too comical. They had to be hearing things.
However, Remi trusted their senses and paused. Could this creature really smell them? Did it even have a nose?
Remi decided to stay stationary.
However, as soon as they made this decision, the monster catapulted a rock from within itself, hitting the tree’s body next to them. They startled. Could…. Could it really sense them?
Remi let themself fall off the tree’s canopy, brandishing their sword.
“Hahaha-” a hole started to form in the blob as it chortled- “There was someone there?”
Fuck.
Of course, it was bluffing. Of fuckin’ course.
Despite their despair, they kept a blank face, refusing to impart even the slightest information. It would take more than that to break the thick face they had grown over the years of praise and prejudice alike. Besides, while the element of surprise was important but not vital to success.
Holding their sword out, Remi’s powerful legs pushed them forward to attack the creature, as steady as a mother giving birth. As they passed, their weapon sliced through a section of slime, making a wet thwap! sound as it hit the ground.
Swiftly turning around, they barely glimpsed the slight of acid darting towards them before their body, trained by years of combat, catapulted them to the side, almost avoiding the attack entirely.
Remi’s hand burned.
It was like a wildfire left unchecked, but their instincts told them they couldn’t spare even a second to take stock of the damage unless they desired to be filled with similar wounds. Steeling themself, they prepared their blade for a similar attack; a predator ready to pounce.
Another round of acid hit, one droplet passing within a millimeter of Remi’s nose while they gracefully dodged. Attack after attack came at them, but they were deceptively light on their feet, dancing as if playing around with Yagi.
A purple gas slowly peeled off the intruder like smoke on fire; the vapor licking at Remi’s ankles. They stumbled backward, covering their mouth to no avail - the gas slipped through their fingers and into their airways like a boa constrictor slowly wrapping itself around its prey.
They began to hack violently and clutch their throat. If the spot on their hand had been a wildfire, this must have been a supernova, a star struggling not to collapse within their lungs. It shone brightly, bursting from within.
As they staggered backward, running from the fumes, their grip on the Bastard sword imperceptively loosened, and the monster seized this chance by snatching a tree from where it lay, broken from its stump.
As the tree grew nearer, Remi hazily realized it had thrown the tree towards them. Unable to accurately evade, all they could do was steady their stance and tighten their grip on their sword.
Strangely enough, despite their impending death, they only considered how they must send gratuity to the one who had offered the sword in the first place.
The sword, Unnox, had been a gift from some frivolous boy attempting to off-handedly woo the distinguished Guardian Mathis, but now it was the only thing standing in the way between them and death.
The tree hit Remi Mathis.
Or, to be more specific, it hit the sword named Unnox.
In a moment of respite from the mind-muddling poison in their body, they plunged the sword into the ground, and the Royal and Illustrious Guardian Princess of the Greater Alendo Kingdom ducked.
A horrible cracking sound they could feel in their teeth, followed by a harsh, grating scrape hit the back of their head. Pain blossomed, but no more than their hand. In fact, euphoria rushed in their veins - they were alive.
Remi chuckled madly, turning over onto their back before wincing. They soon forgot the pain in favour of delirium, however.
“Hahahahaha! HA! Ha! Ha!”
The world swayed and turned like the silks of a dexterous dancer drifting through the wind. The smell of a rusted key overwhelmed their senses, unlocking their gag reflex. Warmth pooled behind their head and across their cheek.
Stumbling, they crawled to their feet, vaguely aware had a goal, a task that needed fulfilling. Three broken swords stood at their feet, or at least, what they assumed was their feet (they had too many to count).
They were faintly aware of how bad this situation was, but an appropriate reaction could not reach through the levels of fog clouding their brain. The fog tilted and turned, providing an impregnable defense against the lone archer attempting to send a message through the fog.
While Remi adjusted, the creature Ryiel wasted no time in casting splatters of acid at them, mentally comparing themself to an artist as the substance burnt into his canvas’s skin and muscle. They must have been confused and lost, but they still had managed to minimize the damage, drifting out of the way at the last second and only damaging their left arm.
The human snatched a broken tree branch about as wide as them and tripped forward, managing to separate a small part of Ryiel’s vast form. It didn’t hurt, per se, but enough of these attacks could defeat him.
Not that he thought this human had the ability.
Grumbling about how toxic his poison was, and how the human should have just died already, he received a message.
“Hah,” he sighed lowly, his glutinous body wobbling with the effort. It was about time to leave. Disappointed, he haphazardly let out another round of acid attacks before beginning the process of transportation.
As a fog drifted in around Ryiel, jet black this time, Remi awkwardly thrust forward, the branch crashing into his center of mass and one of his Stalleo Crystals. Ruma.
As he cursed, Ryiel disappeared without so much as a pop!
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