Red Scar

PROLOGUE-1 The Battle Of Brighylla Plains

The sword was a part of his soul.

The blood in his veins roared in anger as the war eddied and the army flowed like water over rocks of death. The enemy floundered, and the soldiers around him screamed in delight as they finally conquered the last state.

They had travelled through the great plains and the small desert , all long paces to conquer the country that belonged to the valorous. Their liege had commanded domination, by sword or by peace, and they had obeyed him with their every ounce of energy. The battlefield or the court, the war or the peace. But by all means, the seven kingdoms had succumbed to the valorous, out of sheer terror or by the spray of blood, except for this one, the southernmost kingdom of the continent.

The people said their king was a benevolent one, he ruled with an iron fist but a soft heart, that his halls were worthy of all heavens, and his kingdom was that of plenty and content. He hadn't seen much of the kingdom, though, and neither had his fellows. All he had seen was the north frontier of the kingdom and then the green , rolling plains they were fighting upon.

They said there was a great forest south of the city, and the citizens of shakah lived in those forests. It was hard to believe, when they also said that the kingdom was not of barbarians and thieves but nobles and laughter. He hadn't seen those forests at all. But he had seen the people. Lithe but strong, armed with good weapons, that paralleled and sometimes crossed their own weapons' blades. Only thing was the people were no warriors. They were easily defeated. In his ranks there had been a handful of deaths, and on the other side was the shadow of complete defeat.

The sword burned its way across enemy soldiers. His sweat scorched his body and his Armor got damaged brutally. He only threw away his Armor and cut through the enemies with his longsword, the stoneborn. The sky started to sum and the sun fall below the horizon. A slow, sma fog appeared as the battle continued playing away and destruction pored upon the enemy ranks. Fallen heads rolled on the soil and his own soldiers danced the sword with a taste of triumph that they had gained so hard. His army was winning. The liege would be happy, he thought.

After a while, he noticed something strange. The battle was dimming. The almost vanquished enemy was no longer coming in hordes. But still, his ranks were falling back. His soldiers were retreating with looks of pure terror in their faces. A dense fog had enveloped his environment, and he couldn't see much. Perhaps the shakah had finally fought back. If so, it'd be worthy to see what the kingdom had to offer his blade as a sacrifice.

He rushed through the turning soldiers, his feet trodding on the trampled grass and hard soil, his longsword hanging at his side as his trusted friend and protector. The night had dawned, the fog was even denser now than earlier. It was difficult to see, and now he could only see a few wounded soldiers returning back slowly ,but he still ran.

And then, the fog was pierced by a bright flame and a shriek of pure pain and terror. His nerves shook as the sound reached him. Someone, something was destroying his soldiers. Torchering them as if it were a game. The shriek reverberated, vanished, and another appeared with a flash of bright light. He followed the light, to a clearing. There was , surprisingly, no fog here. Only dead soldiers and a towering, lithe man wearing a velvety robe and a strange hood that shadowed his fare face. The enemy.

He uncovered his sword, its sheen bright in the moonlight shining upon the clearing and it's blade broad and heavy. It was the blade his liege had given him to celebrate his 45th  birthday, and he had been the commander of the royal army for a 20 years, the longest in history. The enemy might be invincible, but he would win nonetheless,upon his pride as a soldier of the valorous. He gave a silent challenge to the enemy with his naked sword reaching out.

A great ball of flame, bright as the sun and deathly , flew right at him . The enemy stood silent. He ducked on the soil and rolled away from the trajectory of the flame. Then he got up and charged at the enemy. All of a sudden a vine snaked beneath his feet and he tripped. Another flame ball flew at him, he cut the vine and dodged it, and ran at the enemy again.This enemy was strong, but no swordsman. He only used some foul means to attack him with flames and make him annoyed. But he won't be deterred easily. Still, he was afraid. The man looked powerful, and towering, and the air around him shimmered slightly, as if a halo covered him from all sides. He dodged a few more fireballs deftly, running closer to the enemy. Closer. Closer. He had to wait till he was close enough, then sing with his sword. And after a while, he was close. No flame balls appeared as he swung the stoneborn, the enemy stood silent as stone and still, watching him with his hidden eyes. A glee spread throughout his body. He knew this was the end as the blade struck home, and passed through thin air.

Before he could turn, a hand squeezed the life out of him. His eyes flashed in surprise and then dimmed to the ether. His stoneborn fell. The fog enveloped his closed eyes.

The battle had only started .