Death's Pariah

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“I barely get to see you anymore,” Stephanie mumbled between kisses. “And you take what little time I have and ask me to tell William you want a fight?” She felt her tongue clash with Jensen’s and she pulled back smiling to him as he held her tightly.

“Yup!” Jensen said as if this should have been obvious. And to be fair, the woman did know that deep down Jensen’s visits to the castles were strictly business. He was, after all, no longer welcomed as a member of the Ixian Knights. She had hoped one of these days he would man up and apologize to Sei and his daughter for his language, but then again she supposed the two of them owed Jensen an apology first.

“Well,” Stephanie sighed. “I called him to meet me here. Once he sees you I’m sure he’ll grasp the idea.” Jensen stroked her cheek and kissed her again, causing her face to flush as he gave her a wink. Turning around he looked upon the entrance to the Citadel and smiled, thinking of how he got the perfect room for his newest trial against William Arcus. The last three times they clashed was an amazing spectacle of mankind’s dedication to destruction. They fought in a slaughter house, they fought on a fairy tails nightmare, they even fought over a twice baked potato.

Jensen knew deep down that he and the Revenant were nothing more than two people with an unhealthy appetite to see things before them break. While Revenant was more of a physical form of destruction, Jensen’s was more of a mental breakdown. Both effective in the same ways, but two totally different results at the end of a fight. It was this yin-yang philosophy that dictated how the two acted around each other. William detested Jensen simply because the immortal could never die, and Jensen hated William simply because he couldn’t break him fully.

Their rivalry had started to create an awkward bond between the two. Both appreciated the other’s skills, for William had known Jensen was a plethora of fighting styles and his agility was second only to Tobias Greenleaf of the Ixian Knights. However, Jensen knew fully well just how much it hurt to feel William’s fist upon his face. A few teeth had been jostled loose thanks to his bone like talons.

So now that Jensen was in a particularly foul mood because of Sei, the immortal decided to divulge in the thing that was a steady constant. Fighting. But Jensen didn’t want to fight Zerith, or a bunch of rookies or some no names. Jensen wanted to fight the one man who wouldn’t bother with pleasantries and get right to what he did best.

It was mid afternoon when Jensen set up his room in the Citadel, the swirling vortex of magic palpable even outside the mass marble doors. He looked down the road, seeing a haze of heat and his lips began to curl into a snarling grin, his breath already building up an anticipated chuckle of the vilest nature. Stephanie saw the haze as well, and sighed as she looked to Jensen, squeezing his hand and kissing him on the cheek.

“I love you,” She whispered in his ear. Jensen put his racing blood on hold as he turned back to her, smiling sweetly.

“Tell the kiddo I love her,” Jensen kissed Stephanie one last time. “And I love you too,” Jensen whispered to her as they rubbed noses. “But I really need to blow some steam. And there’s only two guys who can do that with me; Seth Dahlios, and Willie. And Seth’s out with his girl, so I default to number two.” Jensen smiled to her.

“Don’t lie, you picked William first,” She teased walking away. Stephanie had never stayed around Jensen when William was with him. All the nasty habits that Jensen had, the asshole like tendencies, the dick like comments, and everything she didn’t love about Jensen manifested when he was around William Arcus. She did not want to see the man she love devolve into a roving jackass, so with a polite wave goodbye she walked towards the heat wave on the horizon.

As she neared her mark a good five minutes later she saw the charcoal eyes of William light up. He already was grinning from ear to ear as his hand went o his neck, popping the vertebrae one at a time as he sighed in relief. “At first I thought you wanted to fight me, but I see now that’s not the case,” William called to her.

Stephanie said nothing as she passed by William, holding back the tear that wanted to pour down her face as she thought about how Jensen was probably already laughing like a hyena at the mere sight of his foe. They were destined to fight, she knew, but the sick joy both took was of no taste to her.

“What’s wrong?” The gravelly voice called back to her as William favored her a devilish smile. “Don’t want to stick around and watch me beat up your boyfriend?” Stephanie stopped her tracks, tilted her head back, and then walked forwards again deciding not to comment and feed the fire of the Revenant.

As William neared the Citadel steps Jensen began to giggle to himself with anticipation, feeling all his blood boil at the merest thought they were about to do battle again. Jensen had been studying much from Ta’gaz lately, and he wanted to test his newest arsenal of moves against the lug. William’s boots slapped against the marble and the two stopped to look at each other in the eyes.

“Well Willie,” Jensen mused loudly. “You ready for another ass whipping?” The Revenant gestured the immortal to the Citadel and they both turned in time to walk side by side. “Gotta admit, Willie,” Jensen said fanning the air in front of him. He wasn’t quite sure, but it felt like it had gotten much hotter than the last time he was with the demonkin. “I’m really looking forward to this.”

“I had no idea you had such a fascination with your own death,” William replied back.

“I just like to poke inside your head and see what’s up every once in a while,” Jensen grinned, chuckling loudly as he heard the frustrated sigh escape William’s lips. Jensen’s laughter had left a terrible scar deep within William’s mind, and the sound of even the merest giggle sent the man into a foul mood.

“Room’s up ahead, I think you’ll like it,” Jensen said pointing to the door, giving himself a bit more breathing room. He was positive that William was exuding more waves of heat. It felt like he was sitting inside a fire. He pulled his shirt collar forwards, letting the built up sweat fall down his chest. “You in heat Willie? Is it that time of the year for the Revenant to scream like a jackal and discuss the birds and the bees with the lady folk? I must admit, from what I heard with your battle with Kyla, you defiantly need to get a fix, or get yourself fixed. Don‘t worry, the longer you stay with the Ixian Knights, the sooner Sei will chop ‘em off for you!” The immortal began to laugh again. “Assuming he didn’t already, mister monster on a leash!”

Jensen strode to the doors and ripped them open, the door guard dragging across the stone floor with a loud scrape. With an over exaggerated bow Jensen gestured William in. “Welcome to hell!” Jensen said proudly.

The wave that washed over William was not one of dread or foreboding but of disappointment. He had thought that there was something off about Stephanie's request to meet her at the Citadel but had brightened immensely when he had caught sight of Jensen standing with his cocksuredness and bravado. Sure he hated the guy, wanted to see his very soul torn to such tiny shreds that there was no hope of his immortality ever returning him to life, but it was in a respectful sort of way. The two of them were warriors first and foremost and the continuous conflict between them had forged something of a bond between the two rivals. As much as William enjoyed seeing Jensen get his comeuppance at being tossed out of the Ixian Knights, he had despised that Sei's petty pride had forced it. Sei had begun to overstep his own bounds recently, to the detriment of Ixian morale, and following the rumors that their leader had been prepared to execute Jensen in Cassandra Remi's place by tossing the Knight of Apocalypse out of his army had started a ripple of discontented murmurs. It didn't matter to the rank-and-file that the rumors of Sei using Jensen's death to cover for a serial killer had only been that, a rumor, it only mattered that their 'heroic leader' had torn one of their comrades from them and had shattered his family in the process.

The destructive creature at William's core enjoyed watching Sei's empire slowly erode beneath him while the King in Orange clutched proudly at his crumbling sand castle with delusions of grandeur.

But all of that was swept from William's mind with a single backhanded swipe as the Revenant's glowing eyes fell upon the arena that Jensen had setup for their great reunion. Where once the two of them had stood among a loose jungle of bloody meat hooks was now nothing more than soiled tile stacked in layer upon grimy layer. And where maddening effects of insanity had once dominated the field of battle there was only a single sink and an unflushed toilet. The smell was certainly worthy of being called hell, but there was little else about the room that gave William an impending sense of his own mortality.

Jensen had chosen for them to fight in a bathroom.

William's face alternately screwed up into a mask of confusion and then twisted into a countenance of blazing fury, back and forth as the spinning cogs in his mind freewheeled. If ever there was a time when Jensen's mocking laughter was appropriate then this was it. William stood on the brink of the chamber, literally quaking with speechlessness.

"What's wrong Willie?" Jensen taunted, laughing, "Felicity got your tongue?"

Jensen's mocking words, humorous to no one but the enigmatic immortal, shook William from his shocked stupor. His only reply was a low, deep throaty growl that seemed to shake the air around him. He could see from the light in Jensen's eyes that the crazy immortal had another volley of mind numbing bullshit prepared and on the way and so William did the only thing that he could think of to shut the normally unsilenceable Knight of Apocalypse up. He punched the tiled bathroom wall.

Dust fell from the grout in the ceiling tiles as William's punch tore through the wall and literally shook the tiny bathroom. But as excessive as it might have seen, the quip on Jensen's lips died at the impressive display of inhuman power.

"Uh," was all Jensen could think to say as William pulled his gauntleted arm out of the plate sized hole he had knocked in the wall.

It was the perfect moment for William to fire off a volley of derision at his rival, the pure silence of Jensen's surprise more than fertile soil for the seeds of doubt that William could sow. He had come far since the last time he and Jensen had fought, and while Jensen's skills in combat had grown exponentially, William's body had been forged from a weak, frustrated merger of man and demon to the perfect living weapon. He had achieved what his creator had intended for him but all Jensen could claim was a solid uppercut. Which, the little torch in Jensen's brain suddenly flamed to life and illuminated, wouldn't do him much good in such a small room. But instead of shoving Jensen's idiocy into his face, William did the sensible thing. He hit Jensen in the gut.

The air rushed out of Jensen like a deflating party balloon but it seemed to energize the enigmatic immortal as it did so. Doing his best approximation of laughter without breath, Jensen threw a one-two combination punch at William, hoping to force the living wall of fire away from him long enough to do a flash kick or a shoryuken. William's time spent training with the Ixian Knights' expert martial arts trainers hadn't been in vain however, and instead of dodging back from Jensen's attack William leaned into them, casually swatting them aside with a backhand swipe. The crack of William's bone carapace on Jensen's arm was dreadfully loud in the tiny chamber but William was spared the Knight of Apocalypse's pained yelp by the grace of Jensen still not having drawn enough breath.

Trying a different tactic Jensen lowered his shoulder and lunged sideways, driving into William. But William's inhuman speed once again put him above the attack and the Revenant easily rolled around the clumsy, brutish attack so that Jensen connected only with the bathroom's wall. Behind his opponent, William made his own one-two strike, his fists hammering into Jensen's ribs like combat hammers, snapping several ribs with each punch. This time there was a sound that came from Jensen, a piteous whimper from someone too in pain to cry out.

Whimpering, Jensen spun around and threw a wild haymaker, too in pain to concentrate on his form. William grabbed the approaching arm and spun under it, thrusting his back hip against Jensen's and heaving with all of his considerable might in a hip toss. Jensen's body flailed like a corn husk rag-doll for the two feet that it flew unimpeded but that was changed as his body met the bathroom's sink. Still, the force with which William had thrown Jensen couldn't be stopped by mere porcelain and the sink shattered on impact, driving several shards through Jensen's coat to lodge in his face.

Jesen's flight finally ended as his shoulder connected with the toilet at the bathroom's other end. Like the sink, the materials of the toilet weren't meant to withstand the force of a creature like William, but the sink's explosion had taken enough of the brunt that Jensen's body merely cracked the toilet casing. William observed Jensen's limp form from across the five foot expanse, his face showing neither pleasure nor disgust as the sloppy contents of the toilet oozed from the cracked bowl and onto Jensen's back.

"You think I like this?" he said, watching as Jensen came back to his senses and feebly pushed himself back to his feet. "This isn't a fight Jensen. This isn't even a workout." Jensen's knees wobbled as he stood, threatening to collapse under him if hit by so much as a breeze. The enigmatic immortal muttered something incomprehensible, his parting taunt lost to the shards of sink lodged in his battered, broken face. William half expected Jensen topple right then and there, but wasn't terribly surprised when the Knight of Apocalypse made one last defiant lunge, determined to go out swinging.

Sighing, William sidestepped the lunge and let loose with a punch at his full strength. The blow caught Jensen square in the center of his chest and threw the enigmatic immortal against the wall with such force that the man actually broke through the tiled bathroom wall and flew into the Citadel's corridor beyond. A chorus of surprised gasps and even a woman's scream filled the hallways at the sight of Jensen's mangled, filth-stained corpse sprawled on the Citadel's meticulously upkept floor. A score of Ai'Bron monks rushed over to the body, confirming what William already knew, that he had killed Jensen once again.

"It's pathetic."

Jensen felt the blackness in his eyes slowly fade to a white. A sharp shudder of breath sent convulsions down his spine like tiny ripples of water as he gasped in a lungful of air. He coughed several times, sitting upright in a sharp motion, looking to the dried blood over his shirt and panting heavily as he placed a hand on his beating heart.

The first thing Jensen noticed was that he was forcibly revived outside his normal means of immortality. The feeling itself was rather disgusting to him, dirty and not refreshing like his normal ways of coming back from death. The second thing he noticed was a deep oak table, finally polished and set with gilded leaves that lined the edge in a stunning gold. The carpet, a deep red, ran the length of the room as Jensen slowly took in his surroundings.

He noticed William was in an arm chair, looking wholly bored with himself as he looked to a set of marbles attached to wire, clicking back and forth with kinetic energy upon the desk. Jensen looked to room’s walls, finding all manners of paraphernalia upon them ranging from epic paintings to crossed weapons of varying nature. A chart of the average human body was pinned behind the desk, followed by a small stack of parchment that was neatly piled in a box marked ‘out’ in the same golden leaflet.

Jensen lifted a shaky hand up to his jaw and tenderly rubbed it, feeling the magical energies do a rather sloppy cut and paste job to return it normal. He felt his jaw pop and mentally winced that he didn’t have that ability before. The monks, as wondrous as their magic was, had flaws he noticed. It felt more like a slap together attempt than an actual resurrection and the feeling of undeath creped within him. He concluded he would kill himself to set things right again.

“So, you stuck around to watch me get resurrected? Very…nice of you?” Jensen was wholly confused as he looked to the Revenant, who’s charcoal eyes turned lazily to greet his, a less than enthusiastic smirk on his face as he shook his head.

“Not really,” His gravelly voice spoke. “It’s more like I have to sit here and wait. Apparently, the Citadel frowns upon what I did to you.” William muttered, a slight chuckle escaping his lips. Jensen rubbed his jaw again and looked to him hesitantly.

“What did you do again?”

“Punched you through the magical walls of the room’s barrier.”

“Ah,” Jensen mentioned offhandedly. “I didn’t know you got so strong,” Jensen scooted his chair further from William. “Stay the fuck away from me, alright?” William smiled a toothy, warming grin of spite as Jensen shook his head. His favorite battle opponent was quickly becoming his least favorite. He recalled twirling and dying, and that was rather bad. William and Jensen matched eyes again.

“Is that piss poor performance going to be a common thing with us?” William joked. Jensen gave he a sneer as he laughed crassly to mock his satire, both men’s eyes turning to the back of the room as a door was flung open. A purple robed individual entered the room in a brisk walk, shutting the door behind him as he walked forwards and sat behind the desk.

Jensen looked to his aging face and counted all the wrinkles around the man’s left eye, already hitting double digits before the sage sighed heavily, bringing his fingers together and steeping them over and over as the forefingers tapped against each other. His bald head had a trace remain of a few white hairs and in some ritual that should have ended twenty years ago he took one of his hands and gently parted the thin hairs over his head, as if that would hide his skull.

“Gentlemen, please be seated,” The monk said diplomatically. Jensen and William looked to him, looked to each other, and then looked back to him. “Thank you,” He whispered respectfully. “Now you both have been sent to this office due to your actions today. The Citadel of Radansath doesn’t tolerate the destruction of our sacred property. You all understand that by signing the wavers to participate within our halls is not something that you should just gloss over. Now, what do you have to say for yourselves?”

Jensen and William blinked a few times, turned to each other and blinked some more, then looked back to the man they assumed was an elder of the Citadel council. Then, they both looked back to each other, just to make sure they were fully grasping what was being asked of them, and turned back to the man.

“Uh, sorry?” Jensen ventured a guess.

“It’s not my fault squishy over there was so pathetic that he broke the wall,” William huffed in a low growl.

“Hey, fuck you too!” Jensen said happily as he flipped the Revenant off. William smiled.

“While I understand that you two are both built to destroy, you must learn to temper your humors when in the Citadel. The ability to fight within our rooms is a privilege, not a right.” Jensen looked to the older man and began to grow softly slack jawed. Was he seriously being given a parental lecture about rights and privileges? He couldn’t believe it, so instead of tuning into the man he did what he did best. Observe women and find their most attractive asset.

Jensen noticed quickly there was no women around. Shrugging, he looked to William. His eyes are creepy, Jensen thought.

“A reputation that follows you both is something that will stick forever, and the reputation of the Ixian Knights should warrant you both to be-” Him, not a great pair of legs. I know for a fact his hands are just charred and all rocky like. Don’t care what people say about bones and his bone like talons, it feels like a rock! William slowly stole a glance to Jensen, and began to narrow his eyes in confusion as the immoral looked to him with an appraising eye.

“The hell…” William mouthed in disgust, lifting himself uncomfortably as Jensen eyed him down.

“While I wouldn’t use such language, yes, Mr. Arcus, how in the, as you said, hell, the two of you think it’s okay to defile the Citadel is-” Definetly not a great ass. Rather flat, honestly. Is that a snaggletooth? No, don’t think so. Good, cause his teeth were already bad to begin with.

William looked more and more uncomfortable as the elder kept his eyes closed, or open, Jensen wasn’t really sure so narrow was his look, still rambling about the damage and his feelings being hurt. At last William shuffled, lifting himself up a bit to re-seat himself so he sat away from Jensen, his shirt lifting up just a bit.

Eh, his body isn’t much either, kinda big in that…WHOA! Jensen looked to William’s abs, seeing the perfect mounds of a six pack settling upon his skin like it was sculpted by the gods themselves. Each twin set was a perfect match, neither side longer or wider than the other. They nestled in perfect harmony within the flesh, a deep oval line cupping both sides and settling them neatly. Whoa…nice abs.

Jensen looked to his own abs. They were nice. But not that nice. William looked back at Jensen, and actually sheepishly shied anyway from the immortal, deeply uncomfortable with the sudden attentions the man gave the Revenant.

“Mr. Ambrose, do you have anything to say about this? What do you plan to do?” The elder said angrily in a higher tone of voice. Jensen looked back to him with a shrug.

“If the walls weren’t so shoddily built I’d say we have a solution. However, that’s not up to me to dispute. What I can say is that at least you’ll know Sei Orlouge will fix this problem. He and the Ixian Knights will gladly pay for the damages.” The elder looked to Jensen with a less than accepting grimice.

“No,” William said, genuine mirth in his deep, grating voice. “As one of the generals, I assure you Sei will pay for all the damages.” The elder looked to both of them, and with a soft smile he nodded knowing that things resolved itself. Exactly what was resolved, Jensen didn’t know, but it seemed everything was in the right now. With a yawn a stretch, Jensen lifted himself up and turned to the doors. William did likewise rising up and lifting his jacket off the chair as it creaked in joy to be free of his bulky weight.

“Please gentlemen, do not let this happen again. If it does, I’ll have to ask you to never enter these walls again.” Jensen waved the man off with a lack of care as William passed the elder an uncaring glance. When they both left the halls they walked a respectful pace away from each other, but in silent concert.

The marbled floor glistened in the afternoon light, casting a warm glare off the white and black checkered tiles of this particular floor. They passed a few armored statues of different nations, a few leather bound suits across a nude models to display them prominently. When they walked down the winding staircase Jensen found a monk sitting at the front desk, a soft recalling look on his face as he snapped his fingers in remembrance, turning in his chair and pulling out a folder. Jensen knew the monk was Belsavius, the monk responsible for introducing Jensen to William.

“What’s the word?” Jensen greeted to the man as he stopped. He felt the billowing heat of William walk past him and he was silently grateful the lug was walking away.

“I remembered you asked for another grade ten challenge. This one I think you’ll like.” William, despite himself slowed his gait to a crawl as he looked back to Jensen and the monk. With a sigh Jensen just waved the demonkin over to him, inviting him on the news.

“Now ten is Ramah’s level, right?” Jensen asked as he scratched the back of his head. The monk nodded.

“That was the lizard who wiped the floor with you, Talen, Duffy, and Zerith right?” William spoke, his curiosity enlightening his eyes as they began to burn in anticipation. Jensen shrugged.

“Say what you want, he was tough as nails. Would kick your ass!” Jensen joked. William looked like he would be licking his chops and running his hands over the other if he wasn’t in public. The monk nodded to Jensen again as he plopped the folder open.

“This legend doesn’t have a name per say. He was simply known as the Storm Herald. Whenever he fought, the weather would begin to drastically change to a raging storm. This was on the desert continent of Fallien, mind you, so you can understand the unique nature of such an event.”

“Okay, so what’s his story?” Jensen asked crossing his arms over his chest. Belsavius cleared his throat and pointed to a few pictures, turning so William could have a peek. The demonkin grumbled, looking into the folder and glancing at the pictures of thousands of soldiers colliding in a rainstorm. Each ancient picture was replicated onto the smaller photo. Technology these days was amazing.

“Well, the Storm Herald was never killed…in fact the legend goes he had a weapon so powerful that it could cut through any armor with ease. That included body parts, mind you. Even the best defensive spells and abilities were not but butter, cleaving through all with a skill unmatched since his time. He also was peculiar in that he shared a rather dirty habit of yours.” Belsavius grinned. “When he died in battle, his eyes would glow with an eldritch energy, and he would reanimate himself and get back into the thick of battle.”

“Another immortal? Seems everyone has that these days…” William said in a loud whisper. Jensen flipped the man off and looked back to the monk. Belsavius smiled.

“He was never killed, according to legend, but he did have a place of rest. He led himself and one thousand of his most loyal warriors deep into the deserts to build his temple home, and he never returned. Not a single one of them did for that matter, and there were no descendants that returned to civilization. The most peculiar thing is no trace of them existed at all after they left. It was if they vanished into thin air. Some say he merely waits until the time is right to march to war again, with his legion of warriors at his side and the call of the storm at his back.” Jensen looked to the folder with drooling lips.

“He sounds fun. How did you manage to bring him to the Citadel?” Belsavius shrugged. The magics the Ai’Bron monks employed was always convoluted and mysterious, and it was no surprise the man gave no answer. “Well, I think I got a winner. Set up the room.” Jensen said passing the man a small stack of coinage. Belsavius nodded taking it and smiling.

“No problem, it’ll be down the hall. Had a feeling you would want to jump at this one. Rooms ready. I’ll continue to search for more opponents for you Jensen.” Belsavius bowed lightly and walked back to his desk.

Jensen looked to the folder, flipping a few pages with ease as he grinned to himself. “Still looking for a challenge Willie?” Jensen looked to the Revenant, grin spreading from ear to ear in mischievous intent.

William shot Jensen a look that warned the immortal of all the inhuman things would befall him if he deigned to enter the fight without the Revenant’s presence. William wasn’t exactly known for having a level temper and his battle with Jensen had been so underwhelming that it had threatened to leave him in the foulest of moods for days to come. An epic fight with an undying opponent who could actually put up a fight was what he had come into the Citadel for and he was damned sure not leaving with the option still available.

“I’m game if you are immortal,” William snarled in excitement. “I’d be a fool to pass up the opportunity to watch another legendary fighter utterly destroy you in combat wouldn’t I?”

“Yeah, yeah, fuck you too Willie,” Jensen shot back without thought. If he had any hesitance fighting alongside the person he hated the most in the world it didn’t show. As much as he disliked William he knew the demonkin could bring it in a fight, as his own recent resurrection had proven. And if Ramah’s strength had been any indication of what they would face against this Storm Herald then he would need all the help he could get.

“Well then monk,” William shifted his attention to Belsavius, “show us the way.”

The two fighters followed close behind Belesavius, their eager footsteps echoing in opposite rhythm. Jensen walked with a light, almost airy bounce in his step, his every movement radiating excitement. William, on the other hand, trod upon the flagstones with firm, heavy steps, giving off a complete sense of overwhelming physicality. William heard a frustrated exclamation from one of the side corridors and barely caught a glimpse of their purple robed lecturer glaring at them. The glee in William’s burning eyes almost taunted the man to try and stop Jensen and him from facing the Storm Herald. The monk did not.

“Well then gentlemen, here we are,” Belsavius said, stopping in front of a dark alcove and gesturing inside with a broad sweep of his arm.

“Thanks Bel,” Jensen stepped into the alcove with a laugh, giving the monk a thumbs up, “I’ll be sure to think of you at least once while I’m kicking the Storm Herald’s ass.”

“I consider myself honored,” Belsavius responded with a short laugh.

William passed the monk with a lot less fanfare, giving their guide only a short, cursory nod of thanks as he entered the alcove. Jensen had stopped just inside his eyes slightly bulging from behind the sarcastic grin he perpetually wore. William didn’t have to wonder at the cause of the immortal’s fascination for long however, as one look at the swirling portal of chaos just in front of them was enough to give William the same expression.

The Revenant had seen his share of Citadel battle chambers since coming to Radasanth and knew that there were as many variations on entryways into the magically generated fighting rooms as there were people in the building looking for a fight. He had thought that nothing as simple as a chamber’s door could impress him, but the complete foreignness of this one made that an obvious lie.

Runic tiles surrounded the circular opening, the glowing sigils carved upon them bleeding light into the swirling mass in the center of the portal. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness inside the alcove, William saw that the tiles weren’t attached to anything in particular but that they formed a complete circle that stood anchored in midair by their own eldritch power.

“Whoa,” Jensen muttered in a low, breathy tone.

“For once we’re in agreement,” William replied, not taking his eyes off the portal.

“You two realize that you actually need to step through the portal to find the Storm Herald, don’t you?” Belsavius’ voice broke the two warriors from their reverie and William turned to see a mocking grin plastered on the monk’s face.

“He’s right Willie, you’re not afraid are you? Come on,” Jensen said, jumping into the swirling portal without another moment’s hesitation.

“And he wondered why Ramah kicked his ass,” William muttered, shaking his head as he stepped cautiously into the swirling mixture of magical energy.

The entire world seemed to dilate around William, space distance wrapping around each other and then back around the Revenant. An incessant, buzzing hum seemed to emanate from everywhere around and within William, and a variety of colors and sensations lit his every nerve on fire. The experience seemed to stretch on for hours though it only truly lasted for a fraction of a second and when the oddness faded William found himself dumped unceremoniously into a bed of fine sand on top of Jensen.

“What the hell Willie,” the immortal screamed, “get the fuck off me.” William scrambled off of him but found that the transition Belsavius had put them through had left his legs rubbery and unable to support him. Both he and Jensen lay in the sand for a moment, too disoriented to stand.

“They really went all out on this one,” Jensen laughed, rolling over to make a sand angel by waving his arms and legs. William grunted and pushed himself up on to his hands and knees so that he could look around.

There was nothing in sight but rolling dunes of sand and clear blue sky stretching on well past the horizon. The sun somehow seemed larger in the sky than it was in Radasanth, and the beads of sweat already forming on Jensen’s brow made Willilam glad that he was immune to all but the hottest fires. Though he had never been to Fallien, the stories that he had heard left him with no doubt that the desert island was where he and Jensen had been transported to.

A handful of gritty sand splashed against the side of William’s head. “Don’t be so dour, sourpuss,” Jensen called, laughing as he scooped up another handful of sand. “The Knights of Apocalypse have sent me to die in enough deserts that they’re practically my second home.” The immortal noted the death glare that Willilam’s burning eyes thrust upon him and wisely dropped the second handful of sand. “Well them and frozen wastelands, and primal beast filled jungles, and raging storm-tossed seas, and …”

“Shut up Jensen,” William snapped, knowing that the man would continue to ramble on incoherently until William broke down or something killed him.

“Not in this lifetime,” he quipped back, finally rolling unsteadily to his feet.

“That can easily be rectified,” William growled under his breath, unwilling to provoke Jensen any further. Both men stood up and looked around, taking in the vast featureless plain around them.

“So where is this legendary fighter?” William asked, his frustration mounting with each idle moment that he was forced to stand around with someone who was one of his least favorite people on Althanas.

Suddenly, without warning, Jensen cupped his hands to his mouth and began yelling. “Hey Storm Herald, olley olley oxen free.”

William shot the immortal another death glare but this one went unheeded.

“”Yo, Herald of Storms,” Jensen continued to yell, turning in a slow circle to spread a maximum amount of annoyance. “Stormo Heraldo, Heraldicus Stormaximus, Guy who’s not quite as good as Sei at controlling the weather, where are you?”

William snapped. Fine grit sand crunched under his boots as he stomped over to Jensen. “Thaynes damn it,” he snarled, raising his fist to punch the Knight of Apocalypse in the back of the head, when the roar of thunder burst across the open sky. Thin wisps of cloudy white coalesced out of nowhere, and the stifling desert heat was suddenly punctuated by a cold whipping wind. William paused, looking up at the sky in incredulity.

Jensen turned, seizing the initiative while William was distracted. “Hah,” he yelled, thrusting two extended middle-fingers into William’s face. “Shows what you kno…”

Jensen’s victory taunt was cut short as the ground around them suddenly shuddered. Without preamble, the two men fell, the sand around them spinning in a solid whirlpool as a vast nothingness opened beneath them. It was all either of them could do to take a lungful of air before they were plunged deep into the ground.

There was a certain feeling to falling. The entire breath in your body trailed upwards, and each scream seemed to warp quickly out of the range of the ears. Your limbs always felt light as a feather, and the exquisite feeling of all your insides bunching together as if they huddled for dear life was not achievable anywhere else in the world.

Jensen had fallen before. He fell to his death at least thirty times he was aware of on first hand, but no matter how many times one jumped, the body always reacted the same. He screamed, eyes burning from the rapid wind as sand danced around them like gritty rain. William also let out a bellow of alarm, hands clawing the sky for support that wasn’t there. Jensen found himself doing the exact same thing, despite knowing he wasn’t going to find something. At last he managed to get enough willpower to look down, and his trip abruptly ended.

Both warriors landed upon a hill of sand, rolling off to the side upon a polished obsidian stone floor. Jensen felt his feet lift up before him as he toppled end over end, seeing the whips of William’s coat fly upwards before he rolled away from Jensen’s sight. When he stopped his decent and momentum he felt the world shifting in circles around his head, a dizzying disorientation making his body loosen itself all in one go.

There was a split second of emptiness where Jensen felt nothing at all, then as if his body rebooted itself, all his nerves kicked on and he felt tingling pains shoot through his entire body. However painful the feeling was, he didn’t mind it. Even as he groaned loudly slowly sitting upwards he was thankful for the pain. Pain meant nothing was broken or missing, and pain meant he was alive.

“Willie?” Jensen called out, realizing for the first time that there was little light in the area they were part of. The immortal listened to the sounds of a deep grumble, and slowly William’s hand lifted up, followed by his face which was half covered in sand. He swatted the debris off his chin and did a quick body check, but it seemed the Revenant was alright.

When the two met eyes they nodded to each other, groaning as they met in the middle of the base of the sand pile, feeling tiny bits of grit bounce of their jackets. The demonkin looked to the surrounding area as Jensen did likewise in the opposite angle the Revenant did, and with a powerful swat of William’s backhand across Jensen’s arm he pointed towards a looming light at the end of a narrow bridge. Jensen looked forwards, narrowing his eyes as he adjusted to the low lighting, seeing a feint glow emanating from a cave mouth.

“Seems as good as any place to start,” Jensen mumbled rubbing the back of his head, releasing tiny particles of sand onto the ground. William nodded as his reply as they both walked forwards towards the bridge. The stone floor was a deep shade of obsidian, the cracks almost pure white in stark contrast to the smooth surface. Everywhere Jensen looked the walls were made of natural stones as was the ceiling save for the floors and the cave mouth and the bridge. Jensen also observed there were no desert creatures in the area as well. No scorpions or snakes or lizards or…anything. Jensen waited a moment, pausing before stepping onto the narrow declining road that led to the bridge’s walkway.

“Willie, do you hear that?” Jensen asked. Slowly the Revenant titled his head, closing his eyes as if the action would help him in his endeavor. There was a moment of pause before he opened his eyes, his charcoal like orbs looking to him with a smug face.

“I strangely hear nothing,” William said lightly. “I assume that’s your point…” Jensen nodded.

“Is it just me, Willie, or do you think this is a little elaborate for the Citadel?” The two walked forwards again as the immortal tested the bridge with a probing foot. What thoughts the Revenant had on the matter, he said nothing. Jensen stepped onto the obsidian stone bridge, and bounced. Nothing happened. Looking back to William he shrugged and headed further into the area.

The more Jensen thought of it, the more things seemed a bit out of place. While there was no way the immortal could place it, he knew the battle room wasn’t on the usual par for the Citadel. It seemed like all the magic in the arena was missing, replaced by something far more ancient and eldritch in form. Magic that wasn’t bound into a single place, but prominent throughout the areas where the Obsidian touched. Almost like a pulsing heartbeat. He noticed the difference when he played in the sand, feeling the real weight behind the grains and grit, but not the magical feel to it. The air didn’t seem synthetic either, and the sun’s heat was blistering for the few seconds they spent outside.

“Walk faster,” William grunted with bated breath. His hands pushed the immortal forwards, nearly tripping him if he didn’t skip ahead a few steps. He gave a dark look back to William and then turned back to the cave mouth. When they reached the entrance to the cavern, both men paused. The light had an almost green tint to it, and it still had yet to grow closer. While the inside of the area was illuminated, there was no light save that feint glow at the end of the abyss.

Jensen observed the details of the floor, finding hand built tiles of the same obsidian stone painstakingly placed in perfect geometrical lengths to make equal shapes. No stone seemed smaller or larger than the other, and the sand and dirt one would expect to find was none existent. Jensen felt a creepy vibe from the area as he entered the low ceiling pathway. Even William seemed to keep his eyes on the road with a quiet interest, eyes calculating everything.

“You get a bad feeling, Willie?” Jensen asked. “Cause if you get scared, you can always hold my hand!” Jensen let his lips curl into a sinister grin, the light casting a creeping glow upon his features sinking in his eyes and over emphasizing his shadows. Jensen saw the demonic glare of William, and the light did it justice as his features were only highlighted, leaving an almost black back drop save for his nose, his eyes, and the tips of his scowling lips.

Jensen turned quickly away from the demonkin, still smiling as they approached the end of the pathway.

As much as Jensen’s taunts made William want to haul off and blindside the idiot, there was a certain amount of sense to his words that struck a chord in the back of William’s mind. As loathe as he was to admit it, he did feel a nagging doubt about this challenge. Why, for one, had Belsavius’ chamber put them in the middle of the desert and not just toss them into combat with the Storm Herald? William seemed to remember the fliers Jensen had plastered all over the Ixian common rooms when he has started this new spree of lunacy. These legendary fights were supposed to be tougher and more difficult than a normal Citadel fight because the monks didn’t just recreate the fighters with their standard magic but actually connected a slip of the fighter’s spirits to the creations. In doing so they made their legendary fighters partially real, something that was far more dangerous than any illusionary foe could be.

But hadn’t Belsavius said that the Storm Herald couldn’t die? If that were the case then how would they be able to infuse a portion of his essence into this fight? And why had the monk given the two of them that humored, knowing smile when they had asked about it?

Did that little shit actually send us to Fallien? William wondered, coming to a stop as Jensen held up a hand. Just ahead of their position the faint glow which had illuminated the polished obsidian walkway ended abruptly. It was as if the darkness of the tunnel had come suddenly to life and swallowed their path.

“Scared of the dark, Jenny?” William asked, turning Jensen’s own mocking words back on him. “If you are you can hold my hand.” William could only barely make out the sardonic look that Jensen shot back at him, the immortal’s face seemingly draped in darkness.

“What’s wrong fucktard, not smart enough to come up with your own material?” Jensen chuckled, though he kept his voice low. William rolled his eyes and prepared to go back to ignoring the immortal when he noticed that Jensen’s face had disappeared into the shadows.

“Shut up and come here,” William said, suddenly glancing at the sides of the chiseled tunnel warily.

“You’re coming on to me now? Look I know I’m dead-fucking-sexy, and you have some great abs, but I’ve already …”

“Damn it Jensen, get over here,” William snapped, cutting the immortal off. Jensen tensed in indignation but quickly saw that William wasn’t just talking to provoke him. It appeared as if he would stay where he was regardless of William’s warning if only to spite the Revenant but practicality won out in the end.

“Ok, ok, here I come,” he said in exasperation, throwing his hands up. But despite his words Jensen remained standing where he was. “What the fuck?”

William knew from Jensen’s tone that the immortal wasn’t playing around this time and noticed that his entire body was now covered with the cloying shadows which had crept over him.

“William, dude, I can’t move,” Jensen yelled at him, panic evident in his voice. Regardless of Jensen’s vaunted fearlessness, William knew that even the enigmatic immortal was prone to the overwhelming fear of being helpless in an unknown situation.

William looked from Jensen back down the corridor that the two of them had just come down. They hadn’t found any side passages that he had seen, and though the walkway was only dimly lit it was unlikely that they had missed one. “Hey! Don’t even think about it douchefag.” Jensen yelled. It was evident that though William could no longer see Jensen, the immortal could still see him and didn’t like that William was edging away from him.

The darkness had almost completely swallowed Jensen by now, and only the edges of Jensen’s outstretched hands could be seen. Not having any love for the immortal, William shuffled backwards several steps, staying well ahead of the approaching wall of darkness. It wasn’t his fault that Jensen had blundered into whatever trap the Storm Herald had put on his Tomb, and he didn’t really care that much for the loudmouthed immortal in the first place.

“William, seriously you asshole,” there was a definite hint of worry in Jensen’s voice now, a hint of fear echoing from the approaching nothingness. William closed his eyes and sighed. Just as there hadn’t been any side passages in the tunnel there wasn’t any way that the two of them had seen to get back out of the sand pit that had dumped them there. If there was any way of getting out of the Tomb then it was to go forward. Silently, William walked forward into the approaching darkness, ignoring the outstretched tips of Jensen’s fingers that were even now being swallowed.

Once inside the darkness William found that he, like Jensen, wasn’t able to move. The darkness felt cold and oily, but the worst of its effect wasn’t how it seemed to ooze into everything around William but how it seemed to be drawing the very warmth and strength from him. William tried to call out, yelling to Jensen, but no sound issued from his lips, as if the darkness were stealing his very ability to talk. Though the immortal was only an arm’s length away, he and Jensen might as well have been on different continents.

The silence was overwhelming, something the likes of which William had never experienced before. Even his brief moments of death in the Citadel hadn’t given him the same isolated feeling that the living darkness in the Storm Herald’s Tomb did. Seconds dragged into minutes as the darkness, for lack of a better word, fed from William. And then, out of nowhere, a crackling hum sounded from deep within the darkness, sounding like a beehive held under water.

“You still there asshat?” Jensen’s voice suddenly appeared, though faint and indistinct.

“Wishing you weren’t,” he replied.

“Can you move?”

“No. You?”

“No.” William swore softly. Despite the change in the darkness the fact that neither of them could move left him with a very bad feeling.

“What’s happening to you?” Jensen asked, sounding like he was wondering if perhaps William was experiencing something different than him.

“Feels like this damned darkness is sapping my heat,” William replied

“Well then it’s good that you’ve got enough to spare, burn boy.” This time William’s only reply was to grunt. The next moment he found himself dumped unceremoniously to the ground and heard that it was the same with Jensen next to him.

“See, even molesting darkness is intimidated by your abs Willie,” Jensen laughed weakly. “Have a painting drawn of Sei’s stupid face resting on those abs and you’d have the perfect Ixian recruitment poster.”

William struggled to push himself back to his feet, finding his limbs strangely numb and heavy. Jensen stayed on the ground, apparently preferring to giggle at his own inane humor and roll around. “Plus it would show everyone how gay the faggot fairy king is so they know exactly what they’re getting into,” he added.

“Shut up and get on your feet,” William snapped.

“Tell me that ‘Gay-Sei and Man-Abs’ wouldn’t have people flocking to the Ixian cause,” Jensen continued. Without warning the environment in the Tomb shifted once again as a pulse of green light swept over the two bickering warriors, brightly illuminating everything around them. A blasting report echoed down the tunnel in time with the green flash, reminding William of a burst of thunder.

“I think you woke it up,” Jensen giggled as the flash and thunder faded.

William, however, was less interested in Jensen’s banter than he was on the intricately interwoven runes which covered the obsidian floor tiles and which now glowed with the same sickly green light that had just illuminated the tunnel. He realized that the living darkness hadn’t been a trap to stop people from reaching the Storm Herald.

It had been an alarm to wake him.

Jensen felt his insides churn at the pulsing green light. It tingled his neck hairs like the feeling before lightening struck, and the immortal giggled uncontrollably as the sensation tickled his nerves. William looked to the warrior, snarling as he angrily gripped Jensen’s arm and lifted him up from the ground. As soon as Jensen’s skin stopped touching the ground he felt the currents of energy in his body simmer down, and the fit of laughter slowly died on his lips.

Where once there was naught but the infiniteness of the black abyss, there was now the illumination of green light casting long shadows upon what was assumed to be the outer cloister of the tomb. Jensen looked to the walls and the floor ahead of him, feeling the pulsing eldritch power slither along the cracks of the obsidian stone. As it raced back and forth in neat rows it illuminated the room in an eerie glow. Yet what was more disturbing despite the creepy vibe of the ancient magic, the pulsing glow, and the still silence that accompanied it, was what the two fighters saw before them.

Row after disciplined row of sentient statues stood, head bowed into the chest, sunken eye pits soulless and empty. Arms were lifted so that both hands crossed the chest in a resting position, a long, curved blade favored by the desert people resting upon their hips. The blades themselves were made of the same obsidian stone the floor and walls were created from, and the energy seemed to spark upwards the statues, softly illuminating a single rune upon the chest that rested just beneath the wrists of the crossed arms.

William lifted a pointing finger towards the walls, and Jensen saw large serpentine like sarcophagus’ built into the wall. A solitary rune was upon the beasts chest, and as the power rippled outwards those runes softly glowed with the pale green light. Jensen stepped forwards and William gave him a momentary glance of caution, the immortal nodding in kind. The heavy steps of William shuffled in Jensen’s ears as both men took a row of sentinels and walked down it. Though separated by the statues, they kept their gait in step, not pacing ahead of the other as they observed the warriors. Jensen took a large gulp of air and risked touching a statue, William’s eyes keeping the immortal in sight.

He gently grazed the armor plate of one of the statues, and nothing seemed to happen from the initial probe. Jensen let his hand rest on the shoulder, his fingers nudging the bony like protrusions that wrapped around the collar to the back shoulder area. He took another breath and lifted his hand, knocking on the statue’s head.

“Anybody home?” Jensen ghostly whispered. Nothing happened, and William grunted, moving forwards without him. Jensen stopped looking into the soulless eyes of the automaton, feeling an emptiness begin to stir within himself as he walked onwards. He caught up to the Revenant, keeping his lips sealed as the crackling sound of eldritch magic echoed in the tomb like a distant storm. William paused momentarily as he looked at a few statues, and then he turned back to gaze at the ones behind them.

“These ones are different,” William observed loudly. “Better armor, and better weapons.” Jensen saw the two handed staves with a long curved blade upon the end. Jensen looked to the soulless creatures, seeing their faces and taking a step back to observe a few of the previous statues.

“Each one behind us, Willie,” Jensen said softly. “They don’t have faces. I mean, they do, but they are all chiseled the same way. Not one is different from the others,” Jensen’s fingers pointed to the elite warriors. “These ones must be a personal bodyguard, or a retinue of some sort.”

“Something isn’t adding up,” William’s gravelly voice echoed in the vaulted tomb. Jensen nodded in agreement, but he was thinking how this was way to elaborate for a mere citadel battle room. Why go to so much trouble, so many lengths for a mere fight? When he fought Ramah and the others, he was put right into the thick of things. So why now the sudden need to walk down memory lane of the Storm Herald?

“Ten by ten sections,” Jensen muttered. “Ten by ten portions on the wall. Two walls,” Jensen turned to the elite troopers. William shook his head walking forwards.

“Exactly one thousand,” He muttered. “There are one thousand statues in this room, be they indistinguishable statues, body guards, or whatever the hell the Storm Herald keeps in his walls, but there is exactly one thousand of them.”

“Wait a second.” William gave Jensen a confused look. “Look at these formations, they mean something! Yes, I got it!” Jensen said assuredly as his voice rose in excitement, exuberant that he had something relevant to share. “Think about it, these are all set out in a parade fashion are they not? Fallien Military protocol is the first warriors you place in a parade is the grunts, the nobodies, the unmentionable cannon fodder. As the parade progresses you hit the next unit of the elite forces. These elite are flanked by the specialist forces!” Jensen pointed to the walls. “These statues are set in-”

“Marching formation,” William said finishing Jensen’s thought. “Awaiting orders.” Another loud echo boomed throughout the tomb rattling the walls as bits of dust fell from the ceiling. They took a moment to make sure the roof wasn’t about to come down on them, and slowly they turned towards the final vestige of constant light. Jensen looked to William and both men nodded as one, moving towards the doorway.

Jensen pulled out his punch dagger and twirled the bar in his finger tips, gripping it at every third twirl to ease his tension as he felt his heart begin to pound his chest with excitement. The soft patter of rain hitting stone drifted in a muted song down to them as they entered the narrow passageway, looking to the walls and finding nothing but the obsidian stone work. It covered the room from head to toe, and each step they took clicked and echoed down the passageway. The green light they saw earlier rippled in a more concentrated fashion, dancing down the cracks before splitting down multiple paths and charging whatever runes were held upon the stone.

At last they entered a small cave room, a mere twenty feet by twelve feet closet compared to the rest of the tomb. Like the passageway it was built from the same obsidian stone. The ceiling, the walls, and the floor all hummed lowly as they reflected the green glow of the polished shine of the black stones. Settled deep within the center of the room upon a raised Dias was a sarcophagus of the deepest black. It was as if the material it was made from had sucked out all the color in the area, and swallowed it never to be seen again. It’s bleak look mirrored the darkness that had swallowed Jensen earlier.

Four tall columns lifted to all but the top of the ceiling, and swirling hieroglyphs were illuminated from the base and spiraling up each column. William looked to the columns and leaned closer to Jensen. “The top, they aren’t all lit up.” There was the crash of thunder and the tomb pulsed again, and a rune upon the sarcophagus, located where a human chest would be, glowed so bright that the greenish tiny faded into a pale yellow, before it sparked to the columns casting a bright luminescence upon each hieroglyph and awakening the final few glyphs remaining. The eldritch energy in the room cackled with power as a baleful wind swirled around William and Jensen, both men turning and shielding their eyes as the rune upon the coffin began to beat like a heart.

It was feint at first, the color draining, but as it beat the color would return and last longer, and Jensen felt his own heart beat with it. Jensen felt his entire being clawed at by invisible forces, and William grunted in alarm as they both retreated back. The punch dagger in his hand was struck by the eldritch power, and the steel weapon shattered into thousands of pieces.

The howling wind continued to swirl until the glowing rune stopped pulsing, and all the light in the room vanished from the columns and the walls. The sarcophagus absorbed all the light, and even in the pitch darkness, it’s deeper shade of midnight was visible. Jensen looked back to William, and for the first time he saw the smallest hint of fear in the Revenant’s eyes. Jensen felt his body grow cold, for he had never seen William so startled by anything in his life. Still, he looked back to the sarcophagus and waited. There was a long pause, a painfully slow passing of time as William and Jensen didn’t make a peep.

A crackling sound of thunder struck the desert above them, quaking the tomb, and the rune cast light outwards in a blinding fashion as the sound of stone scraping against stone grated Jensen’s ears. Jensen felt his body retune itself as the four columns of the sarcophagus glowed once more, and a bony first made of pure Obsidian grasped the lid of the coffin.

All the waiting and anticipation was over as Jensen felt his blood begin to boil, the feeling in his stomach returning as a wild grin spread across his face, vile mirth coating his words. “Wakey wakey hands off snakey…” Jensen giggled, feeling his blood sing with the call of battle.

Jensen’s incessant giggling had William rolling his eyes and wondering if he could just kill the annoying little prick and deal with the Storm Herald himself. But the pulsing wave of green energy that burst from the Herald’s sarcophagus once again had him thinking differently. The energy caused all of the small hairs on his body stand on end as it rippled over William, causing the Revenant’s entire body to shiver. However powerful the Storm Herald was in physical combat remained to be seen, but it certainly put up a good pre-fight show.

“Alright then,” William growled, finally sloughing his human form as the entire obsidian form of the Storm Herald’s skeletal frame raised itself from its resting place. William’s charred demonic form covered his body in less time than it took to blink, the burning heat of his molten blood crisscrossing his body with glowing orange lines of fire. His clawed hands and feet twitched almost unconsciously, the steel hard bone carapace which now covered them grating on itself with a low, grinding rumble. A wave of heat, hotter than the burning Fallien desert above, rolled from him in visible waves. To all outside viewers William had once again become a living embodiment of fire and destruction, and he was ready to kill.

A warning side glance from Jensen told William that the Knight of Apocalypse wanted to move around to flank the emerging Herald, using their superior numbers whatever advantage they could get in the enclosed tomb. But William’s blood lust was a roaring bonfire by this point and the red tide that filled his vision cared little for tactics or battle strategies. Ignoring Jensen’s advice, William chose to charge the Storm Herald head on.

Green forks of electricity followed William’s footsteps across the glowing obsidian runes in the floor, each crackling in time with the rapid staccato that William’s claws tapped out. William crossed the cavernous burial chamber as a blur, his demonic power pushing him to inhuman levels of speed as he sought to get the Storm Herald in his grasp. A single claw led his charge, outstretched and eager to rend his foe limb from bony limb. There were few intelligent creatures on the face of Althanas who would not quell at the sight of the power swollen demon coming at them, bent on their demise. But if there was any fear in the Storm Herald, any emotion whatsoever, the ancient warrior’s skeletal features betrayed nothing. In the face of an unpleasant demise at William’s hands, the Storm Herald did nothing more than lift his head and turn his empty eyes upon the Revenant.

The rapid clatter of William’s clawed footprints across the obsidian floor instantly fell silent as the Herald’s gaze transfixed him. An instant before William would have laughed in the face of anyone who told him that it was possible to halt his demonic fury with nothing more than a look. Now however, William would have to maddeningly agree. There was something in the pure pools of darkness that burned like a flame and spoke to William of an ancient, undying power. It was as if the Storm Herald was the creature Jensen could be if his derangement over his immortality hadn’t broken the Knight’s mind. William, held motionless by the Storm Herald’s gaze of black flame, knew immediately that he and Jensen didn’t stand a whisper of a chance against this ancient monstrosity.

The glyphs around the room hummed with electrical power as the obsidian along the Herald’s left arm rippled, coalescing into a six-foot long war scythe which glowed with the same sickly green light that illuminated the chamber. Jensen blurted out a warning but before the Knight could move to aid his charred companion, the Storm Herald flicked the scythe’s blade across William’s outstretched claw. Still held in stasis by the Herald’s gaze, William could do nothing but watch helplessly as the scythe’s glowing blade slid effortlessly through his thick bone carapace, neatly severing his arm right above the wrist.

The scream of pain that tore out of William’s lips was a perfect opposite for the perfect silence which surrounded the Herald’s every movement. If there was a benefit to the Herald’s brutally effective attack, it was that the wave of pain which accompanied it was enough to break William free from his induced helplessness. Acting purely on instinct, the wounded Revenant clasped his remaining hand over the stream of viscous fire which oozed from the stump of his right hand, ignorant of the Herald’s follow-up back swing. William’s eyes flicked away from his wound at the last second, too late to react to the shimmering blade which closed mercilessly on his neck when he found himself catapulted backwards, out of the scythe’s arc, and deposited unceremoniously on the floor.

“Holy fucking Thayne shit Willie,” Jensen spat in amazement, only a second after he had saved the Revenant’s life. “Yedda’s saggy tits you fuckwad, get your ass moving.”

To see before him the man who had on repeated occasions utterly dominate the immortal lose a hand in the first five seconds of the fight was absolutely terrifying. The lifeless appendage flew aimlessly in the air towards the edge of the room, where it would sit for all eternity. Like a snapping wet towel the Knight of Apocalypse gathered his bearings and quickly saved the life of a man he rather would have enjoyed seeing die.

Now standing before the Storm Herald gave Jensen pause, seeing those endless pits of despair he called eyes look to him with such inhuman, emotionless feeling that Jensen’s heart sank. But he had learned the lesson well from William to never be still before the man with the weapon to cut through bone. Easily he lowered himself and began to shuffle side to side in his favored Caeiporiea battle stance, eyes never leaving the grim warden of the obsidian tomb.

Jensen’s gaze watched the Storm Herald cock his bony face to the side, looking to his fighting stance with confusion like one had done so many different times before. With a small, graceful half turn the tattered cape that adorned the Storm Herald lifted before him like a sheet, followed by a bright green glow that caused Jensen to turn his eyes away. When he looked back the Storm Herald was gone.

“Shit! I lost him!” Jensen turned to William, who’s wound was still leaking out fiery blood. The Revenant merely looked to his comrade in arms and shrugged, making the immortal shrug back. “Don’t expect me to pull all the work!” Jensen spat angrily looking around. William’s reply was a dark grunt of pain as he cradled his injured arm, coal like eyes scanning for signs of the enemy.

“Jensen, roll!” William shouted suddenly, and the immortal obeyed instantly, feeling the air whish where his torso had once been. He came up to his feet, looking behind him to see the Storm Herald’s body lift back up, holding his war scythe upwards and leaving his other hand open at his side.

“I didn’t even hear him!” Jensen shouted, lifting up two throwing daggers. He kissed the iron on each swiftly, before turning in a discus throw to add all his weight to their flight. The weapons went loose in the air and aimed right for the Storm Herald’s face. Creepily, he didn’t even flinch. The Storm Herald didn’t even react with haste, but instead tilted his staff lazily forwards. Green energy lanced upwards from the ground and through the staff, before arcing outwards like lightening, pulsing around the two daggers and disintegrating them into nothing.

“Uh…” Jensen felt his mouth gaping to see his two weapons utterly destroyed. Sure, people had dodged them, others even catching them, but nobody had ever before just obliterated them. It felt like he was cheated out of something.

“Do they ever do anything?” William snarled in spite. “I have never seen your daggers land on their mark, ever!”

“Don’t see you do anything helpful!” Jensen spat back. “At least I got all my limbs, stumpy!” William gave him another threatening growl and Jensen turned to him and lifted up his middle finger, glaring at his ally. Jensen then turned back towards the Storm Herald and nearly screamed in a high pitch squeal to find one hand reaching for his face. Jensen ducked down and punched the ancient enemy in the gut, rolling his shoulders and starting to use the Storm Herald as a personal punching bag.

The warden of the tomb shuddered under each blow, using his scythe to scare William off from capitalizing on the moment. As Jensen punched the enemy green spikes of electricity began to flourish around the Storm Herald, climbing up Jensen and sending tingling sensations up and down his muscles. Jensen howled in a mixture of pain and laughter, feeling each punch drain himself as the green energy pulsed all over his body. In short time he lost the energy to fight and felt his entire muscles turn to mush, his nerves alight with pain as if on fire. Jensen collapsed into himself upon his knees, hands barely holding his weight as he shook violently watching the green energies slowly pulse out of his body, returning strength to his limbs.

He didn’t even hear the scythe lifting upwards and cutting through the air as he went to decapitate the immortal.

The steady flow of searing blood from William’s stump cut to an oozing trickle as the Revenant’s healing ability kicked in. It still hurt like wildfire but there were more pressing concerns at the moment. Besides, he reminded himself, it’ll grow back in a day or two.

Jensen had initially fared better than William, dodging the Storm Herald’s surprise attack and countering with his own flurry of blows. Having been on the receiving end of that particular attack on several occasions, William knew just how effective it could be. But at the end of it, the Storm Herald remained standing, unfazed, and Jensen was the one on his knees. Each blow that Jensen had delivered had given the Herald had rebounded with the same electrical energy which pulsed through everything in the tomb. Apparently the Herald’s defensive powers weren’t limited to his paralyzing gaze.

As enjoyable as it would be to remain still and let the Storm Herald behead Jensen, William had to begrudgingly admit that the Knight of Apocalypse had saved him from a similar fate only moments before. Besides, he grunted to himself, this wasn’t a battle he could win on his own.

William drew on his demonic power and surged forward, uncoiling from his kneeling position like a striking snake just as the Herald’s scythe flashed down. Knowing how dangerous the glowing blade of that weapon was, William instead chose to test his luck by making a grab for the weapon’s haft. The weapon’s descent stopped well before landing the killing blow on Jensen, thrust aside by the raw brute strength of the fully manifested Revenant. For as powerful as the Storm Herald was, William proved to be the stronger of the two.

The Storm Herald cocked his head slightly, as if appraising William for the first time. The darkness in its eyes locked on the Revenant, and William could once again feel the ancient evil of the creature freezing his very bones. Without thinking, pure instinct taking over to save himself from the same attack that had removed his arm, William slammed the stump of his wounded arm into the Storm Herald’s face. The brutish attack reopened the clean cut wound, spattering all three combatants with a fine spray of burning blood, but it did serve to disrupt the Herald’s gaze. Ignoring the fresh shock of pain that screamed from the end of his severed stump, William cocked his arm back and slammed it into the Herald’s face a second, and then a third time.

As with Jensen’s attacks, each blow that William landed struck back at him with a jolt of painful green energy. Knowing that he couldn’t keep up his assault and still be an effective force in this fight, William let go of the Storm Herald’s scythe after the third blow and then pivoted and lashed out with a heavy spinning kick that caught the Herald in the ribs and threw it back against the side of its sarcophagus.

“Get up you pansy,” William growled at Jensen, reaching down with his hand to pull the Knight back to his feet. Each ragged breath sent a fresh wave of pain arcing across William’s body, and he was already pant heavily from his wounds. “I thought you said that your man-hug training was supposed to toughen you up and wasn’t purely for pleasure.” William was satisfied to see Jensen flip him off, though it was apparent that the Knight felt just as battered as William, minus the missing hand.

Still, William thought as he glanced from Jensen to where the Herald was pulling itself back upright, at least we’ve done some damage back to it.

As the Herald gathered itself back onto its feet to face the its two opponents William was gratified to see that a spider web of cracks spread across the right side of the creature’s bony countenance, and that several ribs had been shattered by the dual attacks from Jensen and him. But all positivity dropped from William’s mind as soon as he saw the glow of the green energy that pulsed from the tomb’s floor and ran up the length of the Herald’s body. Every wound that the energy touched flowed back together, as if the Herald’s entire body was made out of living stone, and as the glow faded William saw that not a single scratch remained on their opponent’s body.

“Thaynes damn you to the Pyre,” William snarled at the Herald as Jensen muttered a few choice phrases that William chose to ignore. As a reply, the Herald pointed his staff at the pair; its head infused with the same glow that had preceded the disintegration of Jensen’s throwing knives.

“Move,” both men yelled in unison and dove in opposite directions. A beam, of light silently split the air between the two of them, only a fraction of a second after. William rolled from the spot where he had landed and came up into a crouch, ready to dodge again as needed, only to see the last wisps of darkness from the Herald’s cloak fold in on itself.

The Storm Herald had once again struck and retreated without a sound.

Jensen felt his lip quivering as he the electricity at last poured out his body and back to the floor. William Arcus, hated enemy and eternal rival, had saved his life. Normally that didn’t mean much to the immortal. If anything, it was usually something he frowned upon, but the fact that The Revenant saved his life meant something that continued to make the lower lip of Jensen quiver.

“We don’t stand a chance,” Jensen’s voice was ghostly in it’s forming, barely crossing the void to William who was looking all over for the Storm Herald. His coal like eyes tracked each inch of darkness, frantically as his chest heaved up and down. When the words took time to sink in he looked back to Jensen and his eyes belied the anger his tone would speak in.

“Coward?” William panted heavily.

“No, thinking realistically. We don’t stand a chance. Sorry but your stumpy arm isn’t going to bludgeon him to death. You kicked the bastard so hard it destroyed ribs, hell Willie that kick would have killed even Sei or Ta’gaz!” Jensen stressed his point as he turned behind him swiftly, but seeing only the soft glow of the rune upon the sarcophagus. Jensen turned back to William.

They looked to one another for a long time, as if silently weighing the options and explaining them to the other. In a few short moments The Revenants head softly began to bob up and down, his breaths still short and pained.

“Let’s get out of here,” He grumbled moving quickly towards the exit. Jensen turned with him and moved towards the exit of the tomb. They would find the Citadel door, rip it off its hinges, and never mention the Storm Herald again. It would be nothing more than just a nightmare on stormy nights, and for possibly the next three weeks Jensen would be spooked by the merest shadow. At least, though, they would be gone of him.

They moved in silence down the twisting hall of the tomb, and when they entered the outer cloister Jensen noticed several of the soldier’s eyes were glowing with the same baleful green tone that was illuminating the glow on their chests. As he was about to hit the exit into that mass William’s one good hand gripped his jacket and pulled him back in time for the immortal to watch two war axes swing downwards and nearly cleave him two. Skeletal bodies stood forwards, scraping their obsidian weapons along the ground and making white lines in the smooth surface as they silently marched forwards. The shuffling sounds were not like a zombie or undead, but focused and just as coordinated as a fully functional human being. Though slower in their gait, they were all the mor imposing for their stoic advance.

Jensen pushed off William, laughing wildly as he pulled his punch knife out along with his other throwing dagger, digging both forwards into the chest plate cleaving through the material and slamming one of the constructs upon the floor. Their stone like bones fissured and snapped as he pushed them down, glee fully laughing all his pent up frustrations as he took the knives and stabbed them repeatedly into the creatures face over and over.

When the warrior’s partner moved forward to attack Jensen William’s bulky frame body checked the creature into the wall, the obsidian stone spider webbing with cracks as the light in the tomb guardians eyes phased out. A third warrior began to approach, but Jensen’s quick arm left his dagger lodged into the eye socket of the beast, quickly throwing out a glaive that bounced off the creatures collar bone and upwards into its cranium. It flew out the back of the head into the abyss of stone guardians, and the warrior collapsed to his knees, then to his chest as it died.

“We gotta run, Willie!” Jensen shouted in joy, bubbling with energy as he giggled ripping the knife free and standing upwards. William nodded as his demonic body charged forwards, a roar of defiance as the entire tomb pulsed with the green energy. The ribbons of eldritch power lanced across the floor and up the stone like guardians, and eyes shifted as heads turned towards the intruders. The elite warriors all held a war staff similar to the Storm Herald, but a bit smaller and without the large rune imprinted upon the midnight black blade. They began to march forwards, weapons held in a halberd position as they began to move forwards, their trot as implacable as the march of death. Jensen felt all his joy siphoning out, as if they were pariah’s of joy and he noticed even William was having toruble keeping his rage up, but the demonkin wasn’t bowed by them like the Storm Herald. He lifted up the two handed axe single handedly from a fallen warrior, cleaving it into the skull of one of the elite, where it crumbled and collapsed looking to him with cold eyes of the void.

Jensen cart wheeled forward, flipping upwards and coming down with a fierce over head kick slamming an elite warrior into the ground. His hands lifted upon the haft of their war staff and Jensen began to pull when he realized the things weighed as much as he did. Giving up on the idea of a makeshift weapon he did what he did best, and laughed like a hyena as his body turned and pirouetted to a rhythm of music that only the pulsing blood in his system could create.

The two moved, carving or dancing away from the hordes of the Storm Herald’s legion, both either laughing or roaring as they fought. Jensen kicked, William punched, they slammed warrior’s into other warrior’s, but as they fell the eldritch energy in the tomb pulsed and slowly their deathless eyes glowed once more. The immortal and the Revenant were half way through the parade ranks when they all closed and attacked, and Jensen felt his mind weaken to see such numbers against them.

There was a wail of terror, a scream of primal rage and power all in one that echoed in the outer cloister. Jensen turned back to the entrance of the Storm Herald’s resting place watching the shadows swirl and out the Eternal warrior, the Storm Herald, Death’s Pariah, came. He looked to Jensen and William and lifted his hand out, stretched like a general of a mighty army as his fore fingers hovered before him. The warrior’s they killed at the entrance began to shift, bones snapping back into place and the stone smoothing over as they were reanimated the same way the Storm Herald had been. One was crawling forwards, torso still reconstructing as it paced angrily forwards. The other two lifted upwards awkwardly before they turned, joining their brethren in the fight.

Jensen turned in time to avoid a spear thrust, hand whipping out and cracking the jaw of a warrior then turning in a half spin, kicking the beast into a group of its partners. He turned again, body being slammed down to the obsidian earth where the lightening washed over him, draining all his will to even live. The endless advance, the endless march, the drone of the lights that sucked away his very soul. They were never even meant to step within the halls of this tomb. The two of them were never meant to witness such horrors.

Jensen felt his body being lifted as William roughly dropped him, both men back to back as the army surrounded them. There was not even an illusion of hope anymore, they were dead. The Storm Herald began to march forwards, his army closing in on them.

“Hey William,” Jensen said softly, his arm nudging the demon. William nudged his back, gently as well. “Before we die, I just want you to know, I hate you…” Jensen said with all the love and affection he could muster.

There was a silence.

“I hate you too.” William said back, a little less edge to his gruff tone.

Both warrior’s screamed savagely, a radial call of defiance and insanity as Jensen laughed and William roared. They never stopped as they charged, pushing off the other and meeting their doom head on. The Storm Herald paused, looking to them quizzically, before it stopped completely in it’s march, instead merely watching Jensen and William fight.

Every nation, every tribe, had stories of legendary warriors who persevered through futile situations and triumphed over overwhelming odds. Real warriors, legendary or not, listen to those storied and smile pleasantly, knowing them to be fabrications of fantasy and yet unwilling to break the façade in the hopes that, should they be faced with such a situation, the impossible could become possible. This was one of those situations, two capable and experienced warriors against a legion of undying foes, and both William and Jensen knew that there would be no legendary stories told about their final, defiant charge.

The two men fought back to back like gods of war incarnate, felling elite obsidian warriors in waves, bringing the duo step-by-step closer to where the Storm Herald watched with silent interest. But no matter how many warriors the two of them felled, the green aura of the Herald’s power resurrected them no more than a second after they dropped. Exhaustion wrapped chains of steel around William and Jensen’s limbs, and countless slashes wet their entire bodies with their own sanguine fluid.

Jensen was the first to go down, the immortal’s madness causing him to leap away from William to confront a trio of obsidian soldiers. Dulled blades caught the light from the pulsing green energy as they swirled expertly into and around the warriors, but even though Jensen had no problems claiming another three undead lives, it was the claw of a shattered enemy that proved to be the immortal’s undoing.

William caught the movement from the corner of his eye but was unable to yell a warning before bony obsidian fingers, pointed as his own talons, bit into the back of Jensen’s ankle, neatly severing the tendons that allowed the immortal to remain standing. Jensen fell with a startled scream and was instantly buried under a pile of undying bodies. Even still, the last sound that William heard from under the press of blades and claws was the rising madness of Jensen’s laughter.

Well that’s it, the words rang through William’s mind with a hollow finality. As much as he hated the idiotic immortal, there was no one he would have rather had at his back in this situation. Now, with Jensen gone, it would only be a matter of seconds before Jensen’s end caught up with William.

Frantically, William lashed out at everything around him. There was no longer any precision to his strikes, just mindless fury and a desire to inflict as much damage as he could before the end came. Somehow, through all the frenzy, William found his burning eyes drawn to where the Storm Herald stood watching the deaths of the first people to dare to challenge him in untold years. The sight of the Herald, pristine and confident in his supremacy, filled William with a dreadful rage. Bolstered by his newfound surge of emotion, William burst out of the clustered soldiers around him, knocking bodies aside like chaff before the flail as he swung his stolen war axe around him.

Even that rage couldn’t sustain him forever though, and with only a moment of freedom, William decided that he needed to at least let the Storm Herald know that he wasn’t untouchable. Summoning all of his rage, all of the hate and fury that fueled him as Ta’Gaz had taught, William tossed his weapon aside with a snarl and thrust his remaining hand towards the Storm Herald. A sharp pain stabbed into his back, just below his ribs, and tore forward until the tip of the obsidian blade protruded in front of him, steaming with the Revenant’s molten blood. Knowing that it was now or never, William pushed the last bits of himself into his hand and let the magma shot fire outwards. Darkness filled William’s once again human eyes, but it didn’t claim him before he had the satisfaction of seeing the surprised look on the Storm Herald’s face as the explosive shot erupted just in front of him.

“Choke on it,” he muttered, coughing blood with every syllable. A wave of fire and force washed over him from the explosive magma shot, carrying shards of living stone with it. The warriors around William were hurled bodily away by the powerful blast and William, now unsupported, collapsed onto the glowing obsidian floor. The only sound in the tomb following the explosion was the rough, sputtering gasp of William’s dying breaths. He had to have hurt the Storm Herald with that attack, he thought, but when his head was jerked up in the cold grip of iron hard fingers, William knew that he had failed. The black pits of the Storm Herald’s gaze washed unmercifully over him, and William didn’t even have a chance to sputter one last defiant word before the glowing blade of the scythe came down on him.

Jensen felt the world swirling around his body, aches and pains rattling his bones as his body twisted side to side. The feeling was like walking into a vortex of power, being carried by the rift of energy and spit upon the ground at high velocity. As his eyes opened he shot right up, letting out a quick gasp of air as his lungs felt like they took in breath for the first time. They burned, but in a good way.

He took several breaths to steady himself as he looked left and right quickly, but all he saw was the sun and a feeling of familiarity. When he looked forwards he found a robed monk of the Citadel smiling to him, and Jensen sighed in relief as he collapsed backwards onto his pillow. The monk walked to the side of his bed, sitting on a stool and pouring a glass of water. Something strange the immortal noted was that whenever he came back to life the thing that hit the spot the most was a cold glass of water.

“You had us worried for a moment,” The monk said softly. Jensen took the glass and adjusted to rest against the backboard of the bed he rested in. He looked to see Belsavius’ eyes warmly gaze upon him and Jensen nodded to the man gulping the liquid down. He let out a sigh and smacked his lips before looking to the Ai’Bron bonk and tossed him the empty glass.

“You guys, by the way, suck!” Jensen said bluntly. “I mean, suck!” Belsavius merely smiled to him as if he had no idea what Jensen was talking about. “I have never been in a room so huge before! Not to mention the sand pits and bridges and the tomb! What was all that about? Usually you plop us right into the thick of it!”

“And what the hell was with the wait? We said screw this and wanted out! Where the hell was the door, Bel? We ended up getting surrounded by the Storm Herald’s goons! I thought for safety reasons you guys always have exits ready for when someone wants out?” Jensen looked to Belsavius for answers and the monk only shrugged in his response.

“We do, but their was some feedback interfering with the magic. I can get technical with it, should you want me to, Jensen Ambrose.” The immortal looked to him, saw he wasn’t bluffing, and instead looked around the room.

“Where’s Willie?” Jensen asked. “I wanna know how he went down. I got dog piled something fierce after having the tendons in my leg cut like choice beef.” Jensen saw Belsavius flinch at the details as he stood up and pointed to the corner of the room. Jensen tested his feet, wiggling them around and noticing he had no tendon damage anymore, but the wound was still tender. Carefully he placed his feet upon the floor and with careful, painful steps he began to walk over to William.

When he approached the man he noticed the first rather out of place and disturbing looking thing. His hand, which had been cut off, was halfway done with regenerating. That made Jensen wonder how long they had been in the hospital wing of the Citadel. He had heard that some people take weeks to recover from serious injuries, but not he. The immortal had always returned the next day without fail. Was he really out for that long? Or was William’s regeneration that fast? He thought a bit more and concluded with a final question: Did he really care?

Before he could get an answer he saw the Revenant’s coal like eyes flutter open, the fire inside only at a simmer instead of intense heat. The two looked to each other, not saying a word as they merely noted the other’s existence. There was an awkwardness forming between them, for to have experienced the events they had was not something to people could just gloss over and ignore. Especially considering their history. If anything they seemed to have bonded over the fight, but to call each other friends was still an idea that didn’t cross Jensen’s mind. William Arcus was still the bastard he couldn’t fully break, and Jensen Ambrose was still the prick the Revenant couldn’t kill.

They just liked killing things together, that was all.

When he saw the chest wound on William he decided that the Revenant wouldn’t be saying much, and probably needed his rest more than anything. He flashed a grin to the man, that same sardonic, overly flashy smile that he was known for, and merrily flipped the demonkin off.

“Be seeing you, Willie,” Jensen said warmly. “Been a blast.” With that said he turned around and started laughing, obnoxiously loud just for William, and without even looking he could feel the intense heat emanating from the Revenant as he walked away. If ever there was a way to describe the two warriors, it would be William as the pilot light, and Jensen the match to set the light ablaze.

~*~*~

Days had passed, a few weeks and rumors had finished spreading around the Ixian Castle about William’s fight with Jensen. The immortal learned that they had spent two days in the infirmary passed out, and the Revenant checked out later the same day Jensen had. He stumbled home, ignoring the gossip that spread around him, and went to his chambers. Jensen didn’t mention much about their fight as a whole, but mentioned he got the fight he had searched for.

He was sitting in the bar he frequented, sipping at his beer when he found the bartender waving him over. Ashley was a cute tender who usually offered the immortal free drinks in exchange for his ear, letting the woman rant about this and that. He didn’t mind the trade off at all, cause he ignored her words and instead looked at her cleavage. But the urgency in her wave made him pause as he went to the bar and found a letter.

Not uncommon to receive mail Jensen at first lowered his suspicions, but a nagging feeling began to burn within his mind. The letter, which usually is mailed in an envelope, was instead a thick, leathery scroll bound by ancient thread that looked frail, yet sturdy.

“Everytime I touch it, it feels like I’m being struck by little bits of lightening. It’s weird. Try it.” Jensen shrugged, opening the letter and finding no such feeling, but as he looked to the words his eyes scanned he began to furrow his brow in confusion.

Letters, or pictures, or runes, whatever they were he didn’t exactly know, was displayed in a fading black ink, written by no doubt some brush or feather of some kind. The complexity of the script was like nothing he had ever seen before, and the leather in his hands felt rough and cured by the hands of time. He sniffed the ink and wretched, realizing it wasn’t written with traditional ink, but some sort of blood, like an insect of some sort.

“That’s pretty writing,” Ashley peaked over the top of the letter. “It looks like one of those Fallien scrolls!” Jensen felt his heart skip when he heard the word Fallien. The archaic words, the letters, made no sense to him. “I wonder what it says,” Ashley mumbled loudly, as a hint for Jensen to elaborate.

“I have no clue…” Jensen rolled the scroll up quickly and grabbed the band that tied it together, looping over the rolled up leather three times. He dropped off the gold, patted Ashley on the head and ran towards Sei’s Tomb. Usually the tomb was guarded, but he had known of the more secret entrances that Sei had yet to block off.

It took a half hour to cross Radansath park and find the hole to the tomb covered by thick brush. He slid down the dirt, kicking up his heels as he landed on the spot he usually did and followed a set path he had learned that led to Ixian Castle. It paid to go out for walks, he thought happily as he began to break into the very place Sei swore him to never be allowed.

After twenty more minutes of walking he climbed a makeshit ladder and pushed a few stones aside, finding the latch that moved the faux stone wall portion. A large portrait of some great leader swung open, and Jensen hopped into the Library of Ixian castle. The three story building was huge and this particular portrait was in the sub level located by the books about cooking. Why a portrait of some great warrior was watching over cookbooks was anyone’s guess but Sei Orlouge’s, but it was a convenient place for Jensen to feel confident to walk without being seen.

He moved quickly towards the medical wing using the shadows and the secret paths he discovered when he snuck in to see Azza during her school time recess. It was only a final ten minutes and he waited five more to make sure the Mystic was by herself.

Wait a second! a familiar voice broke into his mind and Jensen froze. Two guards walked by the area he was about to reveal himself, and Jensen clung to the shadows tighter as he took in a deep breath. When the guards were gone he heard the softest rumbling of a purr, and something heavy brush up against his knees. Jensen knelt down and began to pet the cat Felicity, Aislinn’s sister, and the creature darted over to Aislinn’s room to ensure nobody was inside.

We missed you, Felicity thought to Jensen. He ran to the door and opened it, letting the cat inside first as Jensen twirled into the room. Felicity jumped upon a table of plants and purred again, meowing to get Aislinn’s attention. Company sis. It took a moment for the Chief Medical Officer to look up from her paperwork, but when she did they flew upwards in a flurry as she picked herself up and ran to Jensen, hugging him tightly. Jensen smiled as he twirled her with him, laughing gently before he put her down.

“What do we owe the pleasure of the scourge of the Ixian Knights?” Aislinn asked. Jensen cleared his throat and stood tall and Aislinn took that as a cue he was being serious. She already knew it wouldn’t be long before Sei’s mental tracer would locate Jensen’s exact location and call his guards.

“Buisness today, I need you to give me information on a nasty hunch I got. It’s a letter, I need how old it is, and what the hell it says.” Aislinn looked to the scroll and carefully placed a hand to her chin in thought.

“At least a hundred at first guess, but let me do a quick once over. I may need the winds to aid me on this,” She said absently as she took the scroll. She was about halfway to her desk when she tossed it onto it, shaking her hand as if she had been electrocuted. “Odd that, it’s got some sort of enchantment on it…” she mumbled to nobody in particular. Jensen looked to Felicity and the cat jumped into his arms, where he held her up and she crossed to his shoulders, nuzzling him before purring as he scratched her chin.

As he expected, Aislinn’s office was a mess of paperwork, medical herbs, and folders and reports with one bed in the corner that looked always unkempt and rarely ever used. He knew the girl to be a workaholic and he had been trying his best to break her of that habit. Though the thought of her new found guardian spirit did bring a sense of joy to Jensen.

“How’s Loki?” Jensen teased, as he knew the guardian spirit of Aislinn was a koala bear that was a total pervert. Aislinn’s gave him a shut up look before curving a finger for him to come to her.

“The winds tell me this has a foul taint to it. The magic in this scroll is not born from the winds, but is eldritch in power. We are talking pre demon wars magic, a magic that is very rare to find today. It also seems this parchment is ancient, and I would logically deduce the same period of time I mentioned prior would produce this old of a leather. The writing upon it is written in what I believe to be a scarabs blood. The dung beetles have a bluish tint to their color and it was quite popular in ancient Fallien times. Usually a pot was reserved only for a king or a very influential noble.”

“The winds told you all that?” Jensen asked.

“Well, no to be perfectly honest. Some of that just happens to be from the knowledge I picked up in my travels. Fallien was helpful in my medical education. This dialect, I unfortunately can’t decipher. It is an ancient Fallien glyph that is just beyond my comprehension. I would need something to aid me in learning what it says.”

“Don’t bother…” Jensen said. “I can read it just fine.” The immortal shivered as he heard her speak, and he didn’t lie. Those words he had absolutely no right to understand or interpret, were clear as day to him. His suspicions were turning to darker and darker thoughts.

Cavalry is coming, you better amscray Jensen! Felicity’s ears perked up as she gave off the warning. Jensen could hear the trod of several boots all marching in time to his, seeing the shadows of several men walking to the door. Jensen felt a panic but before he could act upon his base instincts another, taller shadow pushed the men aside before a gruff voice ordered them to take a hike. Jensen knew that voice and he grinned, beginning to chuckle softly. It only made sense, the more he thought about it.

William’s hand appeared as the door opened, the Revenant’s coal like eyes flashing to Jensen and in his repaired hand was the same scroll Jensen held. He looked to the one in Jensen’s hand and despite himself he smiled.

“Want to go for another trip?” Jensen said in a taunting manner, waving his scroll to William.

By the end of the fifth day of their wallowing travel from Corone to Fallien, there were few people on board the luxury vessel Decadent Radiance who were surprised at the sight of William's gloomy countenance brooding at the stern of the massive yacht. It had surprised them at the outset, to be sure, for a cruise on the Decadent Radiance was one of the most luxurious and pampering trips that could be found to ferry passengers between the two island nations. That meant it was also one of the most expensive, and the high-born aristocracy wasn't used to the sight of so obvious a ruffian as the Revenant aboard their cruise. And yet, despite the multiple complaints and the paranoid ramblings that the effete passengers made to the ship’s crew, William had perfectly minded himself and was thus, himself a paying customer, afforded the exact same rights and privileges that they were.

Not that this had been William's first choice of travel however. Being slightly less festive and debaucherous than the rest of the vessel's normal passengers, William vastly preferred to take a less social vessel. But Jensen had been very insistent that the two of them make their travel in style, and while William wasn't exactly known for his tolerance of the immortal's wilder flights of fancy, Jensen had offered to pay both fares in full out of his own pocket. That the money used to pay for said tickets was doubtless connected to the rash of art disappearance from Sei's personal gallery wasn't something that William really wanted to worry about.

And so William maintained vigil over the same reclining spot at the back of the Decadent Radiance, watching the gentle rolling of the waves and feeling the warm trade winds lightly caress his skin. Strangely enough, he found that he had gone the entire trip so far without having felt the urge to kill anyone on the vessel outside of Jensen, something that was slightly marvelous in his opinion. Apparently his encounter with the Storm Herald had been enough to quell his baser instincts for a good while.

"No I tell you it's absolutely true," a voice interrupted William's silent vigil. Idly, the Revenant shifted his attention to the speaker, a portly middle aged man currently doing his exercise rounds above decks with a slightly less portly friend. Though William had never felt the need to make either man's acquaintance during the cruise, the sight of them was familiar to him as the two men maintained a very rigid walking schedule and passed him by at least twice a day.

"If that's really the case," the man's friend said, "then you're guaranteed to make a killing from your holdings in Kalapesh."

"I know, right," the first man beamed, incredibly enthused about whatever topic the two of them were discoursing. "Who would have expected the largest storm to hit Fallien in over a thousand years to be so fortuitous? It might as well have been raining gold."

The two men disappeared around the other side of the vessel, merrily puffing from the exertion of their exercise. William had all but taken to completely ignoring the various conversations that had passed him by throughout the trip. After all, he didn't want people prying in on his business so the feeling had to be mutual. But the mention of a freak storm over Fallien was something he couldn't ignore, and the comparisons to his recent encounter made it all but impossible to forget.

"What the hell happened out there," he whispered, his fingers unconsciously falling to caress the ancient parchment that he, like Jensen, had received. He wasn't sure, but he knew that it was something that Jensen would want to hear about. It only took William a moment to move from the relaxation deck on the Decadent Radiance to the spot most likely to find Jensen at any given time, day or night; the gambling hall.

“By all the Thayne’s holy shit, it’s William Arcus,” Jensen roared as soon as William entered the gambling room. A variety of card and dice games filled the sprawling room, games designed to part the more foolhardy passengers from their money with the aid of the well stocked bar that maintained a steady flow of fluid lubrication. From the sound of Jensen’s slurred outburst, he was about as lubricated as one could be without having to worry about alcohol poisoning.

Not that the immortal had anything to fear from alcohol poisoning.

“What you doing in here Willie,” the roguish warrior said as William approached, “aren’t you s’possed to be guarding the rear end or something?”

“I think you’re actually funnier when you’re incoherent,” William grunted, looking questioningly at the three voluptuous women who looked surprisingly unlike Stephanie and who were as draped over Jensen as the money from Sei’s pawned ‘To the Savior of Alerar War Trophy’ could make them. William thought about shooing the ladies from the table so that he could speak to Jensen in private, all it would take was a stern scowl to send the shallow bimbos running, but realized that their presence made no difference in the long run. “I just heard something that you might find interesting?”

“I don’t see what’s so important unless you finally decided to pull the stick out of your ass,” Jensen giggled, eliciting a round of giggles from his hangers-on.

“How about the fact that a massive storm appeared over Fallien about two weeks ago?”

“So?” Jensen took a gulp from the nearest drink and wound up with most of it in his lap.

“So it was the biggest storm to hit Fallien in a thousand years and it happened,” William leaned forward and punctuated his last words with all the sternness he could muster, “two weeks ago.”

A light, distant and dull, flickered to life in the animal hindquarters of Jensen’s brain.

“Wait, you don’t think,” Jensen started, stopping slack-jawed in the middle of his sentence. An annoyed glance was the only reply he got from his companion. “Shit, Willie, I am too drunk for this.”

“My condolences,” William said, rolling his eyes sarcastically.

“No man, I’ve drank enough to drown Steppenwolf’s stupid pink afro,” Jensen shifted forward, attempting to push his new friends off of him only to succeed at planting his face on the wet table. “I need to get this out of my system so I can think straight. I need you to kill me.”

There wasn’t much about the two warrior’s conversation that reached the dim, alcohol addled brains of the three bimbos, but that pronouncement was one of them. All three scrambled back, looking alternately quizzical and horrified as they turned their attentions from Jensen to William and back. William sighed and reached over the table, bodily hauling Jensen over it. “Obviously he’s had too much to drink ladies.” William pulled Jensen’s fat coin purse from off his belt and tossed it onto the table. “Why don’t you have a couple more drinks on him while I tuck him in.” Most of the women’s hesitance was overcome by the sounds of the heavy coin purse jingling on the table, though they still glanced warily at William. “He’ll see you bright and early first thing tomorrow, I promise,” William grunted and heaved Jensen across the gambling hall and out the door.

“You’re sure you want me to kill you?” William asked as he dumped Jensen onto his bed. William certainly had no problems with killing Jensen as many times as it took to sober the man, though he had a gloomy feeling it would only be necessary once. Still, he didn’t want to draw any attention by having someone randomly stumble upon the corpse before Jensen recovered.

“Sure as Sei’s a fairy faggot,” Jensen laughed, flashing a thumb at the Revenant. “I won’t be hung over when I come back because it wasn’t the alcohol that killed me.” It was a close thing though, as William could tell that Jensen’s speech bordered on the dangerously slurry. “Just promise me one thing,” Jensen said as William reached for the immortal’s neck.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t rape me while I’m dead.”

“I’ll try to restrain myself.” William rolled his eyes and then, with a savage jerk, snapped Jensen’s skinny bird neck.

It was like clockwork, the way Jensen regenerated. Simple injuries normally didn’t take long to re-heal, and a neck snapping wasn’t very creative in the death department. Terribly efficient, all things considered, but not really thought provoking. Either way one thought about snapping another’s neck, it did the trick.

Jensen awoke when the ship was in its sixth and final day of voyage. Jensen tested his neck, turning it around and rolling it and finding satisfaction in his newly knit bones. His feet swung to the end of his bed and Jensen found something lurking in the shadows in the corner of his room. He groggily swung his legs over and found William peering out his window, and the immortal stood, recalling something about yesterday that sounded important.

“Why did you kill me again?” Jensen asked with a loud yawn. William, who hadn’t noticed Jensen awoke, turned his head softly and pointed out the window. Jensen took a moment to regain his sea legs, and then moved to the spot where the Revenant watched.

Though far inland it was like a blotch of black ink on a white canvas. Several miles into the desert land of Fallien was the unmistakable grey clouds of a monstrous storm. Jensen watched the swirling clouds and could see the bright flashes of lightening striking the earth. He turned back to William, who merely shrugged.

“We hit port in an hour. You got our papers,” William said gruffly pushing past the immortal to the door. Jensen nodded patting his side.

“I got them in the form of gold, Willie. Bribe money, it’s why I sold one of Sei’s Gisela trophies.” William paused. Jensen, who was still patting his hip, began to pat harder, and more frantically as he began to panic. His money! His precious money was missing! Jensen freaked out as he began to search his bed. “Willie! I need that money! We have nothing without that gold! I set up the whole thing in advance, it’s going to cost us hundreds of gold to get through with this.” William sheepishly looked to his own gold purse.

“Dammit, Willie!” Jensen shouted. “I said thousands, not pittance!” William’s coal like eyes scanned the immortal as he growled lowly.

“You said hundreds, and we need to find those idiot wenches you were schmoozing with. I tossed them your money since I thought you didn’t need it!” He defended his actions as he ripped the door open, his feet pounding against the yacht floor boards making them creak. Jensen rolled his eyes chasing after him.

“The one time you use your brain Willie and it fucks up the whole operation!” Jensen shouted after the Revenant. The first place they stopped was the gambling hall, but they found no trace of them. They checked the bar, split up, and searched each deck of tenants. At last it was Jensen who spotted his money as he walked hurriedly towards the relaxation deck and found two of the woman sunbathing with their bikini tops un-strapped on their back.

When they saw him approach the tallest of the two grabbed the coin purse. The other’s face contorted into a giggle as Jensen held his hand out, looking to them for his money. The taller one gave him a mischievous smile, and Jensen lowered his head, smiling back.

“We really got two ways this can go down,” Jensen whispered. “You can hand it over, and I’ll buy ya something nice to go with that ugly ass face of yours, ya know, spruce it up so it hides the bruises daddy gave you, and be on my way. Or…”

Jensen didn’t even have to speak, for William stepped up behind the immortal, his palpable wave of heat brushing past the immortal and into the two woman as they cowed in fear. Within seconds the coin purse was tossed to the two knights, and Jensen smiled bowing and tossing two gold coins at them.

“Go buy yourself some make up, ya whores.” Jensen smiled as he passed by William, walking below the decks as the tourists began to prepare for docking at the Kim’lad port. He waited a while until he found someone wearing a red bandanna, and Jensen began to bounce the bag up and down in his hand as he whistled a child’s song about stars and how they twinkled. As the bag was tossed up the man with the red bandanna walked by, tossing up another bag, this one bigger like a satchel, and Jensen walked forward grabbing the bag as the gold coins vanished behind him, the man with the red bandanna opening it. Jensen lowered his tune, and waited for a brief moment, the man with the bandanna whistling the same tune Jensen had been not moment’s prior. He went back above decks and William noticed the lack of money, but the procurement of the satchel.

Jensen tossed the flap open, and pulled out two pre-stamped and official notations for travel and passage to the land of Fallien for one month. William pulled out his papers and held them ready as the yacht made way to anchor, not bothering to ask just what the hell happened.

~*~*~

As would be expected from the desert, the heat was unbearable to all but William. A small guide had pointed them in the direction they wanted to go based off the directions the immortal gave off the scroll, but the guide stopped at a certain point, claiming that the land was filled with dark magic. It was all the two warrior’s needed to hear to move forward into the blistering heat to find out what exactly the hell was going on.

The trip itself had taken them another four days of nonstop travel, the immortal and William stopping only to eat and then move onwards. The sun cast down on them heavily, but as they neared their destination a powerful wind began to urge them forwards. The breeze was nice, a pleasant feeling on their sun kissed skin as they wondered further into the sea of sand. They climbed over several dunes, mostly keeping to themselves as they focused on their prize, a light conversation about the training methods of Hotorui and Ta’gaz.

On the fourth day they had walked into a valley that looked recently unearthed, a powerful wind blasting away the dunes that threatened to swallow it once more. Dark clouds cast a grey lighting over the desert, and the heat that was once almost unbearable now was a distant memory both men longed to embrace one more time. Jensen looked along the statues of mighty god like beings, their poses very dramatic and with flair. He could easily discern which were warrior gods, and which were tricksters. One statue, made of bure Obsidian and graphite depicted what most people envisioned the specter of death to look like. Another looked like a humanoid dragon, with silver wings and talons that could cut even the strongest metal to pieces with ease, but these statues, these beings, were nothing but guardians of the tomb that was stretched before them.

They looked to their scrolls one last time, both reading the print. They looked to each other, and both knew they were thinking the same thing. It was Jensen who spoke first his fears.

“If we go in there, William,” Jensen said with a straight face. “It’s not going to be the citadel. It’s going to be the real thing. We’re going to walk into potentially something that will kill us, for good.” Jensen took a moment and decided to make sure he got all his concerns out. “Hell, even I am actually afraid if I walk in there I will never leave again. But…” Jensen looked to the entrance of the tomb, a bright green rune blazing with eldritch fire similar to the one that burned upon the chest of the Storm Herald. “I won’t let Stormo Heraldo dictate what I fear.” He took a few steps forwards and then flashed a smile to William. “But if ya get scared, I can always hold your hand…” Jensen laughed as he turned back to the entrance.

Jensen moved forwards without saying much more. He let the Revenant make up his own mind. Inside were the answers Jensen seeked. He wanted to know them. He had to know if his hunches were right. Did he fight the real Storm Herald before? Was he really in the citadel? Was it all fake or true? He had to know, and with that he found his courage once again.

“Wakey wakey, hands of snakey!” Jensen shouted into the abyss.

Entering the tomb sent a shudder down William’s spine which, involuntary as it was, annoyed the Revenant. All signs of light faded within a few feet of the entrance, requiring the two warriors to pull torches from their packs lest they be reduced to wandering in the lightless abyss. Even as callous as Jensen’s attitude was towards their journey, William doubted the braggadocios young man was willing to go that far.

Despite being well equipped to traverse such environs, it took them several minutes to get their torches lit to the point that they would remain burning in the face of the whipping wind that surged out of the tunnel. It was that wind that had kept the tunnel’s entrance relatively free of obstructing sand. But as frustrating as it was to have to fight against the wind to keep their torches aflame, William had to admit that the frustration was somewhat calming to his nerves. Unlike here, the air in the Storm Herald’s tomb has been unnaturally still.

“You still waiting for me to hold your hand?” Jensen laughed, though even his usual mocking tone was somewhat subdued in these closed-in environs. William moved past the giggling Knight, doing his best to ignore the man until he was needed.

Firelight from the torches provided the two men with a much better view of the tunnel than they had had during their excursion into the tomb. Softly flickering light illuminated the sectioned floor tiles revealing their obsidian makeup. That gave William another momentary pause, but again there was a difference to the tiles that filled the Revenant with relief. Instead of smooth, polished obsidian intricately etched with complex runes and sigils, this stone was old, grooved, and pitted with the ravages of thousands of years of weathering. The howling winds that came down the passage kept the passage free and clear of dust, but William was certain that if it hadn’t, the layer of dust would be thick enough to show that they were the first beings to traverse this corridor in a long, long time.

“Uh, Willie,” Jensen prodded, “not to interrupt your doubtlessly fascinating study of the floor or anything, but you might want to see this.” William pulled himself from his rumination and looked down the corridor at the spot Jensen’s torch was currently illuminating. It was a grouping of the same alcoves that he and Jensen had first encountered as they approached the main area of the Storm Herald’s tomb, though this one was as old and faded as the obsidian floor and was unoccupied. Still, the sight of it erased all doubt from William’s mind. They were in the same tomb where they had so recently died.

“Damn,” William murmured, suddenly filled with the alternating desires to run away and to run forward. But William was a warrior at heart, and chose to forge forward with renewed purpose. He knew full well, as did Jensen, the likely outcome of their journey. But why would someone go to all the trouble of bringing them to Fallien with the ancient letters without a specific purpose.

Emptiness leered at the two warriors from hundreds of shadowy alcoves. There was no sign at all of the army that that the two of them had faced in the Citadel, the Storm Herald’s undying legion of obsidian warriors. If anything had ever occupied them however, they had long ago been removed. Assuming everything in the tomb was as old and worn as it appeared, that is.

But there was only one catacomb that William was interested in, the sealed obsidian block that lay at the center of the tomb’s deepest room. The sight of the Storm Herald’s sarcophagus filled both warrior’s with a sense of trepidation, but there was no turning back at this point. William moved carefully, examining every facet of the Herald’s resting place in intricate detail.

“Hey Willie,” Jensen yelled from across the room. His booming laughter seemed forced, something William attributed to the tenseness of the situation. “You know how I told you can hold my hand if you get scared?”

“What, you’re scared now so you want me to reciprocate?” William rolled his eyes at the frustration he felt that Jensen couldn’t even manage to be serious for one minute. “Not going to happen.”

Jensen held something up in his outstretched hand. “Too late,” he giggled. William’s eyes widened in surprise as Jensen’s offering came into focus. It was, without a doubt, the most disturbing thing that William had seen since this trip started, because it was the hand that the Storm Herald had cut from William.

“No that’s not possible,” William whispered, glancing from the severed hand to the sarcophagus. Even Jensen’s tittering seemed to have petered out. “We were here? That bastard monk actually sent us here?”

“Then what’s in there?” Jensen pointed to the sarcophagus with a single outstretched finger from William’s hand.

“Give me that!” William snapped, grabbing his hand back from the immortal. “What do you think is in there?”

“Let’s find out, shall we,” Jensen said, surging past William before the Revenant could stop him. Laughing hysterically in the moment, Jensen shoved the lid from the sarcophagus with a single kick to release what lay within.

When Jensen shoved his foot onto the lid of the stone sarcophagus, he didn’t know what to expect, but he was tired of waiting. To many things were adding up in his brain creating whole new questions he never thought to ask. If they had been in this tomb, and they fought the real Storm Herald, then why was his legion no longer here? Why was everything inside the tomb wore down, empty, and aged as if touched by the kiss of time? And how the hell did Belsavius, a monk who never left the Citadel, know all about a legend such as the Herald?

The stone grated against itself, a gravely like moan in the tomb as it shunted aside violently, then teetered before collapsing upon the floor. The impact made a loud, obnoxious noise as Jensen cart wheeled backwards to stand next to William, the demon’s hands lifted into a defensive position. The energies of the tomb pulsed, and his blood raced as he felt the storm overhead turn even more violent, strikes of the lightening making the bellowing thunder echo to deafening noises in a crescendo.

The immortal was prepared now, ready to meet once again with the Storm Herald, but nothing ever happened. The wind above slowly died back to it’s baleful saunter, and the tomb continued to lie in dead silence. A soft green glow emanated in the dimly lit room, casting long shadows over the Revenant’s face. The two stalked forwards, never lowering their guard. Jensen elbowed the other knight softly, stepping in front of him. William nodded, letting the immortal take point.

He peered inside and wrinkled his nose, before turning back to the demonkin. “You’ll never believe this,” Jensen said with a strait face. “A note is in here, from Sei. He wanted us to learn how to be a team and set the whole thing up. Turns out the Storm Herald and he are buddies.”

“You’re lying,” William grunted angrily, pushing Jensen aside with barely contained fury. He stepped into the light of the sarcophagus and peered into the void. “Nothing, there’s,” He waited a moment. “Nothing at all.” Jensen nodded his head.

“At least my alternative scenario would have made sense,” Jensen peeved. He was growing more and more irritated with the Storm Herald and his games as of late, but he kept his patience for the moment. “Well, more sense than this crock of shit game of tag.”

“It still doesn’t add up,” William turned to Jensen, the full fury of his demonic impatience baring down upon the Knight of Apocalypse. He turned his head back to the coffin, and placed his hand inside feeling around. “Why the storms? The ancient letters? All these tricks and charades?” William pounded his fist against the side of the stone, denting it as flakes of dust fell to the earth like a tiny shower. “Damnation, it makes no sense at all!”

William slammed his fist inside the casket once more, and this time he tripped forwards, stumbling as the sound of stone shattering filled the air. The Revenant quickly pulled his arm out, and Jensen moved forwards, looking to the inside of the sarcophagus and his eyes went wide. He put his hand into the coffin, pulling out shards of the stone and the demonkin next to him began to help until they both lifted out a rather huge slab of stone the size of the inside of the casket. With a grunt of effort they ditched it to the side, and peered inside once more. A tingling sensation made Jensen’s hairs raise as his hip muscles twitched.

Without even thinking of it Jensen pulled out his scroll, dark lines of green energy pulsing over the waving script. The storm above once again waxed strongly, creating a tornado like sound as wind shoved sand all over the place outside the small room they lived in. William looked to his scroll, watching the ink slowly fade away and reshape itself to the image of the energy coursing around the pages. Jensen saw his do the same, taking the shape of the Rune emblem of the Storm Herald, the rune bleeding droplets below itself, creating an image of a orb.

William’s page bled into the shape of a powerful war scythe, the very same one the Storm Herald had used to lop his hand off. Inside the casket, the energy quaked the stone, until it shattered falling to the side as debris and dust, an alter lifting up from below it. This alter was made of the purest white marble, a stark contrast to the Obsidian stone pillars that shimmered with energy. The immortal and the Revenant took a step back as the alter finished raising, a golden top slowly peaking upwards in the shape of golden wings, unfurling with a sigh like one who breathed for the first time after holding their breath for eternity.

Jensen and William didn’t move, eyes cast around in awe and suspicion. The shadows swirled before the alter, forming into the shape of powerfully built man, easily taller and more toned than Ta’gaz. His sandaled feet took shape first, his bronze body forming up as the veil of shadows created a fluttering cape behind him. A skin tight black armor plate formed next, etching out every detailed muscle on the god like being, almost as if it was a suit of leather armor, but the immortal knew it to be made of the same Obsidianite that was everywhere. A shaved head tilted upwards, a silver rune dangling from a leather strap falling onto his chest plate. Piercing green eyes that lit up like small flashes of lightening made his grin all the more sinister.

“The Storm Herald,” William breathed, paralyzed by those eyes that devoured his soul. Jensen looked into them, seeing past the green glow and witnessing the infiniteness of death and the ages of time that hid behind them, all trapped within a well of eternity that was his pupils. Jensen felt horrors unable to be given thought, saw tragedy unable to be given form, and smelled the rot of mortality unable to be given sight. He knew that he was all but dead, and that could change within moments.

The Herald of Storm stepped before them, looking to each and smiled, a vile, sinister smile as he gestured towards the alter, and then stepped past them. Jensen turned quickly, the Revenant already in his demonic form turning as well, but what they saw was the wisps of darkness as the Storm Herald was eaten alive by the shadows, a haunting chuckle that put even Cassandra Remi’s to heel.

Both warriors stood still, neither making a move until Jensen at last sighed, turning to the alter. He took a second take, eyes blinking as he saw wings form at the edges into two talons. One held an orb that pulsed with the eldritch energy, small lines of power flashing back and forth. The other held the Storm Herald’s war scythe, the weapon’s blade looking as deadly as ever.

Jensen went to lift his hand up at the same time William did, the immortal taking the Revenant took the war scythe. The orb crackled at his touch, the power within it exploding outwards and into his chest. Jensen fell to his knees in agony, torments beyond his imagination making him wish for the kiss of the grave. Every image of his many deaths filtered into his mind, making his lips part in a silent scream, until he rolled on the floor, the orb vanishing from his hands.

William looked to Jensen as the immortal slowly got to his feet, cradling his stomach. He took in deep, panting breaths as his eyes looked upon the demon, sunken and full of eldritch energy. “What do you think this means, Jensen?” William asked.

“That, that he wanted to thank us for bringing him back.” Jensen closed his eyes and tried to gain his breath.

“Then it would be safe to say that the man has some way to take them back when he wanted them. Still, I wonder how they work…” William let the thought linger as he turned to the immortal.

One hand lifted upwards, and without hesitation the Revenant lifted his scythe upwards, then slashed across Jensen’s chest. The knight’s collar bone, ribs, and lung all were easily cut through, hot crimson blood flying outwards in a gushing spray, the lips of the immortal trembling as it dribbled down his face. Collapsed into a heap, Jensen died.

William looked to the body, then smugly grinned as he stepped over the body heading out. With his pass to leave Fallien in his pockets and his gift from the Storm Herald in his hands he headed towards the path of divine judgment, but before he even got one foot out the tomb of the Storm Herald, a bubbling, dark and sinister laughter built from behind him. With a growl William turned, finding Jensen standing tall, wounds cleared as if they never happened, and the immortal laughed with sadistic glee.

“You can’t kill me that easily,” Jensen taunted. “I can feel this power! Ha, HA HA!” Jensen charged forwards, and William easily gutted the immortal as he ran past. His innards were easily spilt upon the ground, and Jensen fell into the wall, wheezing in laughter before he died once again. William waited, looking at Jensen, before he walked on again. Two steps past the immortal and he felt a wind pass by him, a shudder of life, and the breath of the undying immortal take root once again. Turning he found Jensen rise to his feet, cackling with insanity as he rose again.

“How utterly irritating,” Was William’s words to the laughing jackass, turning and heading back to the port. The whole time Jensen couldn’t stop laughing as he followed behind the Revenant.

~*~*~

There was still one thing William and Jensen didn’t know. They knew within ten minutes of hitting the sea port that beyond the shadow of a doubt, the Storm Herald had risen. Unnatural weather and violent thunder storms plagued the land, and whatever settlement was in the path of the storm inevitably was found barren and empty. Though none of the major or even minorly significant settlements of the desert continent were affected, the smaller, tribal like homes were vanishing without a trace and none of the Fallien people knew why. Yet the two knights did, and Jensen felt a twinge of guilt for unleashing the biggest danger know to the world. As for William Arcus, he merely smiled, wholly satisfied to know he had a hand in the destruction of so many.

That still left, however, the one thing. The key that linked everything together. Belsavius the monk. How did a Citadel monk know of the Storm Herald, and furthermore his resting place, and further still the way to awaken him? The voyage back to Corone was long, but William and Jensen agreed to one more thing before they parted ways again. They had to ask the monk for answers.

They entered the marbled halls of the ancient fighting arena, walking to the desk where they both knew their quarry would be seen. They carried stone faced masks of intent, their looks causing others to step away as they made their way towards the counter. There, in the swiveling chair they found the robes and when they reached the counter William grunted loudly, and Jensen tapped the polished wooden countertop.

“Welcome to the citadel,” A friendly, female voice spoke. “Oh, Mr. Ambrose and Mr. Arcus, a pleasure to see you again!” Jensen’s eyes narrowed in confusion, and William even looked a bit surprised. Jensen recalled seeing the face before, and it was the same doctor who had aided Jensen after his very first fight with William. He assumed the woman had aided the demon as well, but still, sitting in the chair that belonged to the their query was rather odd.

“Belsavious,” Jensen said to the woman, seeing her pointed ears behind her white hair and mentally forcing down the tidal waves of racial intolerance towards them. Business before pleasure. “Where is he?”

“I am afraid to inform you that Belsavious has left the Citadel about two weeks ago,” The elf said. “He mentioned something about a terrible mistake and righting a wrong. He gathered his weapons and gear and left without saying much more. The grandmaster was sad to see him go, as am I. Did you want me to, well, uh, you both look like you want to punch me,” She said sheepishly. And she was right. William’s face was filled with rage as was Jensen’s. They turned to each other with a growl, standing before the elf and talking freely.

“So no answers,” Jensen huffed.

“Nope,” William replied. They sighed before they started to walk away.

“Um, Mr. Jensen?” The elf piped up. The immortal turned, feeling the heat of the Revenant walk away, ignoring the woman. “I do happen to have the files Belsavious left marked for you and your usual festivities. If you wish to resume them, you can always ask me.” Jensen just flipped her off, making her pout as Jensen caught up to William.

“Hey, jackass immortal,” William said looking over the sky towards fallien, making out the smallest black dot of a storm cloud over the seas. “No more level tens.”

“Tch,” the immortal placed his hands behind his head as he walked. “Don’t have to tell me twice.” They walked in silence, heading for the door, but before long the immortal cracked a small grin. “Though I do know of this one level ten Belsavious was talking about…”

The Enigmatic Immortal requests the following Spoils:

Breath of the Undying: Jensen fused with the eldritch orb that once belonged to the Storm Herald, fusing his ancient necromantic power with the immortality in his soul. This gives Jensen the ability to speed up his regenerating power, allowing him to come back to life even faster. In game terms, Jensen only needs one post to come back from minor deaths: Neck Snapping, impaling, stabbed in the eye, anything that would kill him, but NOT INCAPACITATE HIM. He will not get back up if he’s beheaded, or he’s cut into two pieces, or any other Overkill situation and will take the normal one day’s worth of regenerating time as usual.

Canon: The Storm Herald has arisen! This ancient warrior had once plagued the lands of Fallien and harvested souls and used eldritch magic to crush his enemies. Defeated once before and entombed, the warriors Jensen Ambrose and William Arcus had unknowingly awoken him. He commands an undying Legion of warriors and monsters that number 1,000 strong, and sticks to the outskirts of Fallien. He never invades densely populated areas…yet…

Requested Spoil:

Warscythe of the Storm Herald - A single blade runs down the top third of this obsidian weapon which, despite its appearance, is composed of the same living stone that the Storm Herald himself is and is as light and strong as mythril. A potent weapon in its own right, the true power of this scythe becomes apparent when the wielder activates it, causing small discharges of green electrical power to arc from the weapon as the blade glows with a sickly green light. At that point the blade of the scythe can cut through any barrier; living, armor, or magical; in its path. The warscythe can be activated for up to three attacks per day (regardless of whether they hit or not) at which point it reverts back to its normal mythril state until the next day.

Judging this as a quest because, well, that’s what it was.

STORY ~ 23/30

CHARACTER ~ 25/30

WRITING STYLE ~ 18/30

Wild Card ~ 8/10

Total: 74/100

EI gets his spoils as requested, 3400 Exp, and 100 GP

Rev gets his spoil, however, I am not going to say it can break any barrier three times a day. I’ll allow twice for minor guards (wooden shields, iron armor, etc) and once for more advance stuff (Higher up glass, Livol wood, anything about Mythril, etc etc). He also gains 2650 exp, and 100 GP.

200 GP deducted from Silence Sei to pay for the broken citadel room.

Exp-GP added.

Rev leveled. Hooray.