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crazkoala

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       Wind buffeted around Fate, Ivory’s lips against his bare skin. Legions of horses screamed in fury, griffons screeched from their circling overhead. Bears’ bellows resounded clear in the air, and the rolling black cloud overhead surged ever forward, never ending, blotting out the sun and casting the barren land of Wisteria’s castle in shadow. The cry of the phoenix pierced above all; shrill and beautiful.

       The wind picked up as Fate continued his chant, and so did the boiling rage of his fever beneath his sweaty flesh. He shuddered under its wrath, body nearly convulsing uncontrollably. His knuckles had lost all color from their grip on the hilt of the sword belted at his waist. But he pressed forward.

       A frenzied whirlwind gusted over an impossible radius, ripping at anything with an unstoppable blast of air. Figures swayed under it. Fate’s words were wisped away. Light blossomed in patches of still air, growing. It spread contagiously, blinding in its ever growing magnificence. It flooded all of existence, before concentrating into a single, compact orb. Fate let it fall into his hand, watched it light up the tiny crevices of his palm, before whispering one final word. “Ivory…”

       Hush fell over the animals, silence saturated the air. “Ivory,” the wind whispered. Everything was still… calm. “Ivory,” the word echoed, clear and majestic.  It shattered, multiplied, and continued to chime under the hidden sun. The orb glowed brighter than ever before, white as ivory…

       The light burst into infinite broken, powdery pieces, exploding in a dust all over Fate’s skin. The miniscule stars rained down on the parched earth at Fate’s feet. Then all chaos erupted. The army of animals charged forward around Fate in attack. Noise blared, silence became extinct. It all seemed unreal to Fate, as he battled to maintain his wilting consciousness. It all seemed an illusion…

       A volley of arrows whistled from the fortified castle towers, and animals fell. What had he done… Soldiers poured from the open gate, weapons in hand. The cloud descended, uncountable birds composing its writhing mass. The air itself screeched, they dug in their talons; gouged out eyes.

       A griffon landed before him, and Fate swung himself onto its back. Instantly, it rose into the air with two powerful beats of its wings. They landed in the courtyard seconds later, and Fate dismounted. His sprint committed him to the throne room. It was eerily vacant. The rafters were left deserted, all of the crows having joined Fate’s army. The muffled sounds of battle echoed off of the bare stone walls.

       Suddenly, Fate whirled round to find himself facing someone he had not expected. Though his stingy beard had been groomed and braided, and his armor gleamed newly polished, Fate recognized him immediately.

       “Yarborough,” Fate spat, glaring at the man with such ferocity that it seemed his dry, hay-like hair might burst into flames. Yarborough merely drew his sword with a chiming hiss. His broad body blocked the threshold “Move.”

       “Move? Boy, this sword has been eager for your blood ever since it tasted your grandmother’s.” Without hesitation, the sword descended upon Fate in a flashing arc. Fate barely had enough time to draw his own blade and block the blow. Rust rained from the ancient metal.

       Yarborough smirked in amusement. “I see fortune has not found your way since you left us.”

       Raged, Fate swung his sword at Yarborough aimlessly. The metal sang through the air in a clear miss. Fate parried another blow, before countering in a powerful thrust. The air rang with the sharp, unmistakable sound of clashing metal. Fate’s fever and aching shoulder wore him down quickly, and Yarborough shoved him to the ground in one, sure movement. On his knees, Fate’s heart raced, knowing defeat. Yarborough’s hearty chuckle dragged across his ears like slime. Fate brought his sword up above his head weakly. Yarborough knocked it away from his hand easily and it skittered across the floor.

       Yarborough brought back his hands, both gripping the hilt of the sword to prepare for a swing that would surly decapitate Fate. Lips drawn in a silent snarl, Fate unsheathed the dagger hidden in his belt and plunged it upwards. The blade cut through the leather armor and he felt the flesh of Yarborough’s chest give way under the force. The man’s sword clattered to the ground and on his face was an expression of utter shock. Fate pressed the dagger deeper, feeling the Scum’s hot blood trickle from the wound and onto his own skin. It ran down his arm in crimson rivulets.

       Yarborough sputtered and collapsed, lifeless, onto the stone floor. Exhausted, Fate gasped for breath. His skin was scorching, but his blood was frozen in his veins. His vision blurred momentarily and he swayed under the fever. Sweat seeped from every pore in his body. Shivering convulsively, Fate made to stand…

       And was greeted by excruciating pain. Every fiber of his being screamed in agony and Fate cried out. His head sagged, and through shadowed vision, Fate saw the tip of a sword protruding from his abdomen, his own blood dripping from the sharp point. He fought for breath, but every move he committed to made death seem welcoming. Flames licked his body, Fate screeched as he saw the length of the blade grow.

       Suddenly, and agonizingly, it withdrew. Fate was shoved face first on the ground. Clutching the gushing wound in horror, Fate rolled over onto his back, screaming. Wisteria’s appearance burned his eyes. “Witch,” he sputtered, tasting blood.

       “I know what I have to do…”

       She cackled and the noise made Fate flinch away—it was like claws being brought across his face. Wisteria circled above him, her piercing eyes gouging into his flesh. Fate felt like he was drowning. He couldn’t breathe…

       “It is my fate…”

       Wisteria’s words were barely comprehendible in Fate’s muddled thoughts. “We offered you power… riches… anything you wanted…”

       “I love you, Adonis…”

       “And you denied all of it… your pride was too great… and now your death will be the only gift you shall receive.” Fate was vaguely aware, through all of the pain, of Wisteria raising her sword, point directed at Fates unguarded chest…

       “Never forget that…”

       A single note rang through the air, guttural and raged. The roar roused Fate slightly, and he saw the thick brown fur of a bear behind Wisteria. Her horrified expression flashed briefly before Fate’s eyes. A club-like clawed paw cocked back before swinging at Wisteria’s head, clobbering the side of her skull with such force that it caused her to go airborne. She landed some twenty feet away with a thud.