The return of the one long gone

As the battle rages Part 6

The clash of metal on metal. It was a horrible sound, cringeworthy. Scott had listened to it for the first 5 minutes of their battle and it was already too much. Not only did it sound horrible but it brought back memories Scott would much rather forget. Memories that he had left behind. 

"Giving up?" Conell spat, "My my Elinar you sure are unfocused." , "Oh be quiet Xornoth. I would never quit, and my name is Scott." he continued to slash and dodge. Blood and sweat was mixing to form a concoction of battle. Chaos raged as the champions fought. "You may not quit, but you run." the cyanette froze. Everything he had done the past couple years. He had ran. He ran because he was a coward. He ran because he didn't want to face the possibility of losing. He ran because it was his first thought. He ran because he was scared.

Pain. It shot through his body, forcing a strangled cry and hot tears. He was on his knees. "Kneeling to your new ruler?" a laugh, two. Exor. Scott just cried. Not because of the pain. The loss. Not even fear of death. He cried because his brother was right. He couldn't fight, not anymore. He was weakened. Blood ran down his shoulders, his arms, onto his hand. It was red. It was sticky. It was warm. A reminder, of his loss, maybe death, a life, not this, another. The same colour on his hands, not because he killed but another killed his husband. He stood. Back then, when the world was like this, chaos and suffering, he had carried on, till he was slain by the sword of a king, a madman. He would do the same now, maybe to the sword of a champion, a ruler, a brother. He would fight till he could no longer breathe or walk or talk. The battle continued.

"Aeor come to join the show have we?" the maniac voice or Exor asked. "Always." The two stag gods were opposites. Whilst Aeor was a beautiful blue with elven robes similar to Scott's, gold antlers and striking black eyes, Exor wore blood red, a suit made of leather and red eyes darker, more sinister than the clothes themselves. Attention was on the fight. Everyone watched in horror as Scott fought on, bleeding and weak. "Looks like I win. Elinar is bound to fall." Jimmy couldn't help but think it true. Watching his husband fight was always a phenomenon that amazed Jimmy. His graceful movement, eyes glazed in a lust for blood and lips quirked into a sure smirk. It was heat breaking to see his still graceful movements slow, sometimes out of place, clumsy, with tired eyes that were painted with distress and an unsure frown. "Not so fast. Scott his more powerful than you think, it will just take the right prompting." , "Can we not help?" Grian asked, "No." was the only answer.

"We have an audience. How about you say goodbye." with that Xornoth had lurched forward, turned Scott to face the crowd and shoved him onto his knees. He didn't know what to say, what to do. He was drained. The smell of dried blood creating a stench with sweat and tears, salty and metallic. "No words. How about I have some mercy. Obviously you are weak. How about I stop fighting you. Just kill the one closest to you." He was awake now. Jimmy had been threatened. His eyes darkened. Bloodlust. Revenge. Vengeance. Like when Skizz had murdered Jimmy. Had ripped a hole in his heart that wouldn't have repaired till time later. "Keep. Away." he hissed, "Why. You can't keep figh-" a scream, pained. A sword, handle decorated in blue, gold and white had plunged through his heart. Blood fell as the body of Xornoth went limp. A cheer as the tyrant clad in black, took his last breath. 

Scott was panting heavily now leaning on the cold obsidian for support. The slash in his shoulder aching and still bleeding. His arms were sore and tired from attacking and defending. His legs felt like they were about to cave, his bodyweight feeling like stone, heavy and cold. He looked at the body of his brother. He wished to feel remorse, maybe a slight sadness. He was void. The adrenaline had faded. His eyes dull again. He had his revenge. He wanted to leave. He wanted to run. From the pain, the sadness, the blood, the lust for blood. He couldn't. The strength to do so nowhere. His eyes were closing and opening, dropping in and out of consciousness. The cyanette kept fighting for a time, the others coming to help. Their words above water to him. Their faces moving with the waves. He was drowning. He drowned.