The sandstorm ravaged the city of Al’Obeiid as Arlandra continued after Josiah Avenberch, trapping him in a small building as he prepared for what he hoped would be the end of his encounters with Grey Skull. He meditated, searching deep within himself for answers, for some inspiration as to what he should do. In this relaxed state he travelled back through his memories to the day that his family, the Order of Eldaviir, crumbled and burned into nothingness. He had been a free man ever since that tragic day, and yet the memories still plagued his mind, and they were the reason he remained faithful to some tenants of the order and yet discarded others. His mind wandered forward to the day he obtained his anomaly powers, and he saw himself using his incredible gift to destroy Garn Pallerii and prevent the destruction of a nation. He stared guiltily into the eyes of men he had killed, and contently into the eyes of those he had saved. He saw Juliet smiling, and then burning, and he forced himself away from those terrible memories to arrive somewhere more recent. He witnessed Josiah’s lifeless expression mocking him and he kneeled and wept. Arlandra conjured all of his anger and transformed it into the long lost passion for the art of killing. Embrace your darkness.
Al’Obeiid was now no man’s land. Josiah had fortified himself nicely in the centre of the desolate city, and it was obvious that he knew Arlandra was coming; at least half of Josiah’s men were on guard duty, many more had set about looting what they could from the abandoned buildings. The worst of the storm passed and the dusty haze that remained gave Arlandra the perfect opportunity to strike. Josiah’s men were prepared though, they wore goggles and masks just like he did. There would be no happy endings in this fight. Arlandra was taught to only eliminate the target, but in his eyes Grey Skull was the target. In the words of Aprillen, Goddess of Death: everyone dies.
The work was slow and gruesome but eventually Arlandra cut his way to Josiah Avenberch. His heart was pounding, the blood on his hands warm. Josiah emerged through the haze, surrounded by his personal guard – six elite soldiers – and the light of a fire beamed from his golden mask.
He spoke, unsmiling. “Arlandra, how nice it is to see you again!” He raised his arms in a welcoming manner and then pointed. “Either you are very good at sneaking past my men, or I simply lack the aptitude to pick capable underlings.”
Arlandra drew his sword. “I didn’t come here to talk, Josiah, though I will at least say thank you for reminding me why I am here.”
“I’m glad to see my little demonstration back at Mount Khallem wasn’t for naught. This wasn’t the result I was hoping for but I can’t expect everything to go to plan. I thought I’d see a little more fury in your eyes after I humiliated you and everything you stand for.” Josiah indicated for his men to draw their weapons and advance. The scraping sound of swords being drawn from their sheaths and the crunching of footsteps on the sand seemed to surround Arlandra, but despite this he wasn’t afraid.
Arlandra took a deep breath and channelled the energy within him, he felt that familiar burning sensation in his fingertips as the unholy power within was released, and then he concentrated on the energy radiating from Josiah’s guards. Mystical beams of crimson floated from the assassin’s hands, sailing through the dusty haze and invading the bodies of his enemies; the light flared brightly in their eyes before they fell to the ground, lifeless.
Very rarely had Arlandra obtained such a heightened sense of control over his anomaly powers. He saw by the fluctuating green trim of his aurora that Josiah was surprised, so much though that he instinctively summoned his sword; it extended from nothing in a dismal green blur and then transformed into a blade. Arlandra saw this as a small victory, the first show of force to ever leave a chip in Josiah’s impenetrable defence. “Your sword Freyr,” he said, “does it work on you as well? Do you know fear?”
Josiah relaxed himself and chuckled. “I have said it before: only a fool knows no fear. I have a fear that injustices like the building of Ludovic’s Cage will forever go unpunished, but unlike most people – most mortal people, people unlike you and I – I do not run from my fears. Our gift has given me the power to control not only my fears but fear itself.” Josiah looked at the motionless bodies of his elite guard; from his aurora he seemed strangely delighted that they were dead. “Fear weakens one’s resolve, it dulls the blade and weaves second thoughts into the minds of the most seasoned warriors. I am glad to see that at last you have acquired the resolve to kill me.” He raised his sword at Arlandra and drove a mental dagger into the assassin’s mind, but it was resisted. “You have the resolve, but determination alone is insufficient. I want to know; do you have the skill?”
Josiah flew forward with a thrust and it seemed they were fighting two battles; Arlandra diverted his attention from parrying a mental jab to parrying a physical one. He recalled Josiah saying that he did not enjoy fighting, and yet his attack was ravenous and without mercy. They locked blades and Arlandra threw his weight against Josiah, hindering his balance and creating an opening to strike. But Josiah’s aurora expanded rapidly, turning red and jagged like a bloodied cleaver, and Arlandra’s mind was assaulted with images. A dark and fiery realm leaked from his subconscious and from it Juliet was screaming. It took all of his strength to force the image away and when he did he quickly diverted an attack that slashed his left arm.
After one more mental assault Arlandra realised that Josiah would first attack his mind and then his body in sequence; the first was a staggering blow to weaken his defence and the second was a subtle jab to finish him off. The technique was taxing on both of them but Arlandra guessed that Josiah had more strength than him, in fact he feared it, and Josiah was allowed another opening. Josiah bashed Arlandra’s sword and pierced him through the chest with Freyr. Arlandra gasped and choked as the icy blade was yanked out again, and with blood seeping into his lungs his staggered away. He wondered how this had happened. He placed a hand over the wound and felt blood dribble through his fingers. I was afraid… that death…
Josiah’s spell shattered just in time for Arlandra to roll aside and dodge the strike that would have killed him. He felt strange, knowing that a few seconds ago he was dead, and then he realised that the illusion was another of Josiah’s tricks.
Josiah was panting heavily behind his mask. “I didn’t think you’d catch on in time, though I did warn you about fear, it weaves its way into the most seasoned warriors. For just an instant the thought crossed your mind that you might lose this fight and I seized that fear and made it real.” He charged forward and raised his weapon.
Arlandra was ready this time. He deflected the next mind invasion perfectly – it took most of his strength – but he feigned to have been caught by it. He stood motionless like a spider in a web and waited for Josiah to strike, then he channelled that dark energy within and released it from his sword. Arlandra knew this attack was unstable and that at its worst it could completely vaporise a normal human. In a shock of red light Josiah was thrown down into the sand with smoke rising from his singed clothes, he rolled onto his hands and knees and coughed, and blood dripped from his cracked mask and ran down his neck.
The use of such power sapped the remaining strength from Arlandra’s body. Like Josiah he fell to his knees and tried to stop the world from spinning. Vomit rose in his throat and he heaved over the sand, trying to resist the tremendous weight of his body.
Josiah spoke as he dragged himself onto his feet. “You have… far exceeded my expectations, Arlandra. You are… perfect.” The last Arlandra saw of Josiah was as he stumbled off into the desert haze. “’Till we meet again.”
Arlandra lowered his head and admitted defeat, knowing that he had played right into the hands of the enemy. They seemed destined to do this forever; one unable to end the other.
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