The Splendid

Chapter I

The ocean’s hunger forces waves to gnaw at the cliffs feet, taking just a few grands of loose sand with each crashing upsurge. The night stares at the waves with a pure white pupil of curiosity. In the distance of the horizon lightning strikes softly and silently as the wind picks up and climbs to the top of the rock-face and swirls around the feet of a god-like man. Four hundred or more men stand around and trap this one figure against the cliffs edge in a crescent moon shape, bows and arrows ready and pointed at their enemy: one man. One hundred feet is as close as any brave man will foolishly go near this war enthusiast.

The eyes of this demonic soul are as black as evil itself. His long red hair seems coloured by the lives this man has destroyed. His face is covered by cloth leaving him a mystery to those who fear him. Leather boots, bear hands, and a cloak are the only clothes visible from the archer’s point of view, along with the white line of the moon’s bliss shining of the man’s blade.

Blood covers this one powerful man that even the archer’s arrows quiver with fear. They only know this man by his title: the demon of war. He has killed and slaughtered villages, castles and entire kingdoms. He has ruled this land with a ruthless fist and a blade of hard white tungsten covered in the blood of those who defy him.

With the intention of ruling for years to come, the demon of war went blindly into a battle with a handful of men against thousands and now has finally been exhausted to his limits. With teeth bearing he breathes in and out, heavier and heavier. The men whimper as the heavy pants of the man remind them of a hungry bear roaring at them. The smell of wet iron stains his nostrils. The handle of his sword is sticky, yet very comfortable, but hard to grasp and swing without the fear of it slipping and leaving him defenceless. With four fingers and a thumb straight and spread, the demon man holds out his palm arm’s-length and towards the small army.

He is not ready to give up his power, land, gold, and throne so easily. His entire life has been about control. The last thing he is going to do is loose what he has killed thousands, maybe tens of thousands, to earn and have in his possession. What has been years in the making is now crumbling before him. Though he doubts if he’ll live, he will not let anyone here return home with the satisfaction when telling the death of the demon to the nearest bar.

“Lay down your weapon and face your charges, or be forced to feel the wrath of my men’s arrows!” A fat gold covered man walks forward, holding out his thick figures with rings of gold, diamond, and ruby strangling them. The prince breathes calmly at a hundred feet. A medallion with a greedy green emerald sits at the rich man’s heart.

The demon man replies with nothing more than thirteen words. “Your arrows may have range, but they lack the power to kill me.”

“Perhaps you’re right.” The fat prince strokes his beard and smiles. “You are hereby sentenced to death for the murders of innocents, the destruction of my brother’s kingdom, the practice of demotic magic and the chaos our land is now placed in. Your death will bring peace to my sleep and the sleep of all who still fear you.”

“Your sleep will be the death of you!” The man spits far but hits the ground way in front of the prince. The prince stares at the grass covered in disrespect in anguish.

“Archers!” The prince stands back and karate chops his arm towards the outnumbered man.

Arrows shred through the sky like spooked crows, whistling and screaming as the head to their target. The demon response with smile and swings his swords in every direction. Slicing, spinning, rolling, dashing and jumping, the man uses every last bit of energy to avoid only fatal arrows, allowing few to pierce him. The ground begins to pile up with projectiles as the men fire at will, watching in astonishment and fear as none of their arrows do as they are told. Sparks fill the air around the demon as he slashes back and forth with such speed that the hollow scream of a banshee can be heard.

“Cannon!” The prince shouts and laughs at his dancing opponent. “Fire!”

Several explosions firing in sequence and smoke spews into the air as the ground near their target shoots up into dirty fountains of death. Stones and dirt beat against the sides of the tyrant and mud cakes onto him as blood spills from his wounds. Thirteen arrows stick out of him, none dangerously deadly, but still very painful.

“Will the fire power of cannon be enough to seal your fate?!” The prince baffles and sits down on a golden chair as he watches the fireworks.

“Only a THOUSAND cannon will give fate the chance to end me!” The Demon Shouts and lets out an almighty roar as the seven cannon shout again. The man may be outnumbered, but he still does not believe his is outmatched. He holds his hand out front and with one last breathes he whispers the words.

“Chaos brings peace.” His eye light up into flames as he set fire to the cannon balls that head towards him. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven orbs of charcoal hit the ground around him, turning into ashy piles of harmlessness. The archers and cannonries stare in awe and regret as the man lifts his arm once more and points it directly at them.

One at a time the men burst into flames, turning into black anorexic statues within seconds. The men scream as their numbers burn to the ground the prince squeals and run away, only to be engulfed in flames a moment later. He screams and attacks the air in pain and terror as the world around him turns in to crispy death and doom.

The demon laughs uncontrollably, the chaos fuelling his humour and madness. The world in front of him is turning into a beautiful painting of chaos as men become soil for the grass.

“HA, Ha, ha, you will never have my throne!” He shouts with eyes of a mad dog.

“Having fun?” The demon spins around to see a man holding a katana to one side. “Not for long.”

With no more than a few seconds to defend himself the paper thin razorblade slashes down the demon’s chest. Bleeding and in pain the demon of war stumbles back disoriented as he swings his sword left and right. Blood pours uncontrollable as he heads to the cliff with a crazy and confused face.

“I’ll kill you!” the demon shouts.

Suddenly his foot loses ground and with a crashing blow, the demon of war head-butts the cliff’s edge and begins his decent to a watery grave.