Beyond the Rabbit Hole

Of Silver, Gold, and Black

Deep in the dreadsea, a triad of seasoned warriors stood before an incarnate of honor and terror. Standing stalwart and tall, the dreadknight Kokabiel waited.

Bjurrin was the first to charge. The last of his pantherbud numbed his thoughts and glazed his mind, while the mushroom-induced rage flushed his body and filled his eyes with red. With his dreadmetal greataxe held aloft, he rushed the dreadknight with indignant fury.

Kokabiel adjusted his balance with one step to the side, then, with one quick motion, he flicked the halberd off the ground and slammed the butt of its shaft into Bjurrin's gut, knocking the wind out of him.

Bjurrin brought the axe down overhead but struck only air. The dreadknight stopped him before he could even enter range of his axe.

Then, with another fluid motion, Kokabiel flipped his halberd around and, using the dull back of the blade, lifted the berserker off the ground with extreme and obvious ease, and tossed him aside like a doll.

Bjurrin flew several yards away, rolling as he hit the ground and sputtering blood from his mouth and nostrils.

In the span of a mere second, the once ferocious and bloodthirsty warrior lay near motionless with only a low guttural groan escaping his lips.

Benard and Serana stepped forward to join their comrade, but stopped dead in their tracks as he was so easily defeated.

". . . huh?" Serana's hands trembled as she watched the scene unfold.

Benard's mouth hung open.

The dreadknight planted his halberd back onto the ground and turned back toward the duo, silent and still.

Benard's hair stood on end, and a sharp chill seeped into Serana's bones. Neither dared to move a muscle, both too terrified to act.

With a bloodied cough and pained groan, Bjurrin rolled over onto his stomach and crawled slowly to his axe. He didn't spare his two comrades a glance; he didn't even think of their cowardice. All he could see was the enemy and the impossible battle before him. As his bloodied fingers curled around the shaft of his axe, he let out a boisterous laugh in between coughs of blood. "Do you see, Storm Father? Witness me! I have survived a blow from a mighty dreadknight!" He hacked up another handful of blood as his legs shook under his weight. "Do you see, watcher? You haven't. . . killed me yet." He let out another meager laugh before turning back to his silent foe.

Kokabiel half turned his head toward the berserker, lifted his halberd from the ground, and. . . walked toward him.

"He's going to die," Serana muttered, her lips trembling with fear. "He's going to die. If. . . if we're going to fight, we need to help him."

Benard did not reply.

"Do we fight or do we run?"

Benard's hands shook. He could barely keep his grip on the dreadmetal sword.

"Sir Benard?" Serana looked over to the fear-struck swordsman, her own heart nearly beating out of her chest.

Benard did not reply, his mind paralyzed by a tangled web of thoughts. Why did I come here? Why did I choose to fight? I knew it would be dangerous to follow Lady Alyss and Lord Morgyn, but. . . not like this. I did not want. . . to die like this. His breath quickened, and he took a step back. . . . anything. I haven't done anything. All this journey leads to, is this? Death? I fought Lady Alyss, I. . . I trained with her. Anger creased his brow and clenched his fists. I trained with her for two measly weeks. How could I ever think that was enough to change who I've always been?