Fatality

Prologue

The orange morning sun glimmered as it lazily rose over the horizon. The low-lying, grass covered hills stood slouched around the perimeter of the valley, a large section of which was clear and sandy, the grass having been trampled away by wars and battles long past. To the north was a dense green wood, bustling with fragile life. The mage resting on the edge of the wood, observing the blood-covered plain, backed away from the field when he heard the distant marching approach.

A small army clambered weakly over the top of the west hill, waiting meekly for their opponent to arrive. A figure in shining silver armour, brandishing a gleaming sword rose over the eastern hill's crest, her pale yellow tresses fluttering in the slight breeze, and dark skin shining regally in the sun. She stood stout, but powerfully, and held herself in a way that told everyone that she never lost.

She, the leader of the rebellion, turned and yelled down at something on the far side of the hill, calling her army to join her in battle.

They climbed the hill to meet her, the sun casting their shadows over the cowering opposition. They stood for a few moments, observing their foe, before they hurtled down the slope of the hill and onto the dusty plain painted with previous armies' blood, yelling and screaming.

From the sidelines, it was an epic battle with a clear winner – with powerful weapons and glowing magic on the rebellion's side – but all that was thwarted when their leader fell. The previously victorious army distracted, it was a perfect opportunity for the enemy to gain confidence and strike them down.

And strike them down they did.

When the young mage saw this, he rushed to the leader's side in blind fear. The coal-dark hilt of the blade lodged in her chest shone brightly with spattered blood. Steeling himself, he created a small, swirling bubble of calm around them, semi-solid and safe, and grabbed the hilt of the unknown dagger firmly. The black blade came clean out of the leader's body, with near to no resistance. The mage examined it, came to a sudden realisation as to what exactly it was, and threw it down beside him hurriedly.

He was just in time to see the body turn to dust before his eyes.

Blinking in confusion and surprise, he watched as the dust floated off into the distance through the shield he had put up – which should not have allowed anything to come in or out – and left behind her armour that had rusted and lay in a heap, and a small iron pendant. He pocketed this with caution, and turned back to the blade that lay at his side. The edge glinted in the light, flashing the mage in the eyes and fracturing his concentration.

The barrier around him crumbled, allowing the sounds of the surrounding chaos - swords clashing, magic burning and twisting, people shouting and screaming and dying - to reach his ears once more. He grabbed the blade, dashed to the sidelines again, and collapsed. He shivered at how close he had come to joining the leader.

He travelled farther into the woods he had come from. He came to a clearing, sat and examined the things he had collected – the Mortality Blade and the iron pendant.

He placed the dagger carefully into his satchel, and wrapped the pendant's leather string around the satchel's strap. He staggered forward in exhausted shock, crashing into trees every so often, not even noticing the softly snickering figure floating along behind him.