Prelude
A certain death comes to those that dwell within the sadness of their hearts. The longing of Eurenda's Song is said to ease the pain of a curse, but it requires a strong resistance to love. It's unforgiving when you bare your soul. The profound deep trust that is needed to will the unwilling is against the law of this power. If broken from the bond of Eurenda's Song, the shadow of death was certain to be at your every waking hour. Darkness will scatter around you, when it is light for all else. Your bones will break, but remain intact. Your spirit will die and you will suffer in agony, the last years of your life, without its guidance. It will feed on your heart and mind, until at last you beg for mercy. But mercy will not come. The only love you can possess is that of the Song.
Cyrine stood above his antiquated sword, embedded deep in the frost bitten ground. The varnished hilt burrowed its way in after the Beast amplified his frustration. No words, just a roar of searing sounds that pierced Cyrine's body. Cyrine clamored in resistance,
"Bring forth your most powerful spell, Beast! Not even a thousand of your resonances shall bring me down!"
Cyrine clutched his vest and limped toward his blade; his tattered armor clanked as he inched down down to grasp it. Blood dripped from his face, a scar sooner named Victory than Death. He grunted as he clasped his hands around his weapon and pulled with every bit of might he had left. The sword would not budge.
Beast began to approach him again and the earth shook with a force tremendous as an Armageddon of earthquakes, stretching the grassland, pulling waves of water from the ocean to dry land. Trees thrust violently into each other and at that moment, time stood still for Cyrine. He saw her face, the way wind moved her long locks into her green eyes. Her graceful smile that not even the stars themselves could outshine. He could almost feel her delicate hands on his face, as she spoke softly of her desires.
The dirt on the ground vibrated as Beast came in with his jagged claws.
"Alchlameid, arise to my help! Forsaken, help your brethren even in your passing! By this, I command you!" Cyrine lifted his fist into the frigid air, and ambient energy and light shot out from his palm.
From the underworld, he could call out his ancestors to buy enough time for escape. He mustered up his strength and cast the energy towards Beast, sending it skidding backwards.
