Ales raced up a mountain. Behind him, two armies clashed, one in gold and white, the other in black and crimson. But the black army was winning, and the gold was beginning to fall under the tide. Ales yearned to turn back, to go help them, but an inexplicable force drove him onwards, up the side of the mountain. With every step forward, the way got harder. Soon he reached an unclimbable cliff. On top of the cliff, a legion of archers, all clad in black, bent their bows. Ales desperately looked for an avenue of escape, but the only thing he saw was an eagle, soaring high above him. The archers released and the arrows streaked towards him. But Ales was not there. He was soaring high above, looking down at his enemy with one of the keenest eyes in the animal kingdom. Somehow, without him noticing anything different, Ales was the eagle. He folded his wings and dove, letting out exhilarated screech as he did so. Ales pulled up right over the heads of the archers, angling his wings so all his momentum was lost. As soon as he began to fall, Ales changed again. His wings disappeared. His talons melded into massive feet. His body swelled in size, and a trunk came in place of a beak. Ales hit the ground as a fully grown bull elephant. The archers scattered, and with good reason. Their arrows could do very little against Ales thick skin. He pursued them, smashing them aside with his trunk, and trumpeting wildly. The remaining soldiers rushed into a tunnel cut in the mountain. Ales continued on, falling to the ground in human form as he rushed up the mountain once more. Once over the cliff, the slope became much gentler, more of a rolling hill then a mountain. He crested a small rise, and saw his destination. A single stone pillar jutted from the ground, and tied to it was a girl about his age, with raven black hair, and bronze toned skin. In front of it stood a man of about fifty, with a pointed, graying beard, and a cruel, angular face. He wore a crown made of iron, with gleaming rubies set in the face. In his hand he held a sword of iron, with a pommel of ruby. He seemed to be guarding the pillar. Ales' had went to his side, and he withdrew a sword he was sure had not been there a minute ago. It had a golden handle, with a silver white blade. A wing shaped cross guard protected his hand, but he noticed with a twinge of worry, that the pommel had a ruby set in it just like the one in the man's sword. Ales pointed his blade at the man.
"Release her!" His voice was deep and commanding, almost, kingly. The man said nothing, just barred his teeth in a feral grin. Ales spun his sword, the blade feeling perfect in his hands, then rushed the older man
When their blades met, Ales felt tremors through the ground, yet the man did not waver. He was facing a master swordsman. Good. Ales flicked his blade out for a thrust, which was parried. The older man (Ales decided to call him the dark king) spun and kicked him in the chest. Ales used the momentum to turn his fall into a flip, landing lightly on his toes.
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