The Hunchback of Notre Dame: Heaven's Light

The Western Border

The northern border was nothing more than a terrible devastation and bloodshed. After hours of riding in order to return to the ranks, the student ward, Johnathan Kristoff was welcomed by the completely beaten battlefield. Spread all over with the bodies of the bold French of the trusted Captain. Slowly, he finally had his wits about enough to urge his steed to tread across the field.

John took his sword out, prepared for anything at this point as he searched until the sharp glint of pure gold caught his eye. Instantly, he jumped off his horse and ran toward that small bit of light. Only the Captain wore armor of gold.

"Sir? Sir – Captain!" the lad cried.

It was Phoebus, lying pinned to the mud with a cutlass stabbed through his left arm.

Upon hearing his voice, Phoebus gave a sharp grimace and gave out a low moan when he tried the slightest movement.

Of course, how could he forget? There was a sword stuck through his arm.

Also, he had a fatal stab in his right side that needed mending, fast. Suddenly he heard someone run to him and he forced himself to open his eyes with all the strength he could muster. There was young John, looking down at him with terror filled eyes. The injured Captain of the guard's face broke into a small grin of relief before grimacing again.

"Now...do you.... Now...now do you realize...why I sent you off?" chuckled Phoebus even though he was not well.

But Kristoff was so crushed that he couldn't even lend a smile. Kneeling beside his sire, he was deeply at loss of what to do.

"Oh, Captain...I..." the boy choked, hardly being able to control himself. "Come-come on, sir, I...I have to get help." John wisely recommended as he saw the misfortune of his sire's arm.

"Now would you just stay calm? Please." cringed Phoebus. "I had worst scrapes than this. Believe me."

"Well, may I, at least, get you to safer quarters, sir?"

"That would be best. Yes." the Captain groaned.

With that, John began to tend to Phoebus' arm and hesitated when he came to the thought that he had to pull the dug in sword out. When Phoebus gave him a trusting glance. John nearly got the impulse to vomit when he grasped both hands around the silver handle and shut his eyes before he gave a massive pull upward, Phoebus gave a strained, pained yell.

"AAAGH...damn...ugh! That's...going to scar." the weak Captain relaxed after that awful surge of agony.

"I'm. I'm so sorry-" John gasped after he threw the sword aside.

"That was only the worst." said Phoebus weakly.

Relieved that his guardian was still alive during all the chaos that took place here, John knelt down and hoisted the Captain's good arm over his shoulders and helped him to stand.

When Phoebus saw the devastation clearly for the first time, his heart broke. John allowed a tear to escape, but Phoebus was more than grieved. He was stalk, raving furious at what that had done to his dearest, most trusted soldiers. Also, the sight of the fallen city burning as though it was firewood made his rage just as heated as its flames.

"After all they had sacrificed to keep Paris safe." Phoebus growled, hatefully. "It was all for nothing."

Now everyone was in jeopardy; his Mistress with his unborn child, and his close friend Quasimodo who risked his very being for them, her for the most part.

All those innocent people, tormented to death. The worst thought had come when he realized that Notre Dame's elegant towers remained deathly silent. Suddenly, there was the sharp whicker of a stallion, not that far from them and Phoebus and his ward looked upon the loyal stallion, Achilles with a spear stabbed through his shoulder.