The Ancient Prophecy Ch. 12b

The whole army chorused a loud laughter to the well-placed joke. Roberto was beginning to relax as he felt the morale of the army rising steadily.

"Look, the Fairies are here!" Kerish yelled as hundreds of Fairies materialized in the sky, matching the Dragonriders' wonder with their sheer number. "We got zounds of heavenly entertainers for tonight!"

Some of the Fairies were confused with the remark, but gladly accepted the friendly cheers from the army. Lyra, the acting leader of the Fairies, gave Roberto a quick salute.

Shortly after that, multiple dimension doors appeared on another hill nearby, and dozens of warrior priestesses wearing the traditional uniform of the Order of Lycra arrived in the battlefield. Again the troops welcomed them with wild cheer. Priestess Rosa, who was now taking Anna's place as the acting High Priestess of Lycra, waved cheerfully at them.

Roberto smiled. The Alliance Army had been fully assembled.

Hawk quickly seized the good moment. "All right, let's get started! Let's prepare a warm welcome to our enemies!"

A group of Human engineers and Dwarven smiths began to work on their pre-planned fortification while the rest of the army formed a perimeter defense. Using combined teamwork, they should be able to erect the fortification by nightfall, which then gave the troops enough time to rest and prepare for war tomorrow.

The Ogre's massive built allowed it to smash anything into pulp with just a few stroke of its gigantic club, but an angry Dwarf wasn't really in the list.

Unlike other warriors it had fought against and killed before, this Dwarf charged ahead, dodged its swing easily, went between its legs, and sent a mighty smack on the creature's groin. The Ogre doubled over in pain and collapsed immediately. Its last vision before its end was the Dwarf's battleaxe swinging down right onto its head.

Holgreb brushed the sweat and blood off his brows and looked around proudly. Around him lay dead around a dozen bodies of their pursuers. The fight would probably also attract attention from other patrol group, so he could draw the demonic troops away from Atrus' party. Actually, with the blizzard getting worse around him, Holgreb started to doubt if he could find his way to the Emerald Tower to meet back with the party, but the excitement of battle quickly extinguished his fear.

Holgreb chuckled to himself. Perhaps many years ago, when he was just a lowly bandit, he would keep count of the dead bodies one by one, just to brag about it in many taverns in his Dwarven homeland. Now he probably had killed more demons than any other people alive, with probable exception of Atrus, the Demon Slayer himself. If he had still been a bandit right now, he would be proud to have his tales sung by bards across the land and his name spoken with fear in many taverns in the realm. But he was not anymore a bandit. He was now a hero.

Something in the corner of his eyes abruptly disturbed his thought. A lone figure stood afar on top of a small hill. Holgreb couldn't see him clearly due to the storm, but for some reason he felt he could recognize the person's small built. He slowly made his way toward him, yet the lone figure remained motionless, as if it was waiting for him to approach.

As he got closer, more and more of the figure's features were revealed, and his real fear grew. Finally he could definitely recognize the person's small built as a Dwarven feature. His mind raced to find an explanation of why there was a Dwarf left in the Northern Continent, but finally he settled for only one solution. And he knew exactly who his adversary was.

"Gurkhar the Dwarf!" Holgreb cried.

"Holgreb the Merciless!" The figure acknowledged back. "Words canna describe how much I miss ye, old fella!"

"Yer dead, Gukhar!" Holgreb cried back. "Ye died by a thousand arrows in the Citadel Ackbar years ago! What happened to ye?"

"I'm back to do whatever I'm good at, old fella!" Gukhar replied. "Pillaging, of course!"

"I canna believe ye let those stinkin' demons raise ye back to life, Gurkhar!" Holgreb said angrily. Yer not so proud anymore..."

"Yer the one who're supposed to be ashamed of yerself!" the barbarian replied. "Ye're not as merciless as before, Holgreb! Too old for the job?"

"I'm still doing me job, Gurkhar, only for a different reason!"

"That's precisely me point!" Gurkhar roared. "A true barbarian king pillages for no reason at all! But for fun, and for that alone!"

"That's... savage!"

"Oh, now yer what, a benevolent barbarian?" Gukhar taunted. "Even yer mother can swing that axe better than ye!"

Holgreb swallowed hard at the insult. "Don't make me, Gukhar..."

"Quite contrary, actually," the barbarian king flashed his grin and brought up his axe. "I'll show ye how much benevolence has turned you weak!"

Holgreb took a step back at the view of the weapon. The whole realm of the Dwarves would tremble at the mere mention of Gurkhar the Dwarf's battleaxe. The old weapon now featured many notches, but the axe had claimed hundreds of lives. Many of the victims were innocents, and it was said that their blood remained flowing within the metal, making it the most fearsome weapon in their side of Seraphim. The magical nature of the weapon was questionable, as only few lived to tell the tale.

"Raise your weapon, Holgreb! Let the duel begin. Then we can decide who's the best in this side of Seraphim!"

Holgreb hesitated. He knew that his odds in this duel were not good. Through the battle along his journey, he had been quite wounded here and there. The blizzard around him wasn't helping either, although neither Dwarf would find it favorable. However Gurkhar had issued a formal challenge, and refusing such thing would be the lowest of all degradations.

Therefore, he lifted his own battleaxe.

"Very well, Holgreb the Benevolent, show me what you're made of!" Gurkhar said. "But I, Gukhar the Dwarf, vow to the heavens, that I will drop you dead in three passes!"

"Your confidence is empty, Gurkhar! The gods will laugh at you!"

Gurkhar roared mightily and charged down the hill. Holgreb, who was in the foot of the hill, knew that he was in disadvantage, but the common rule of the duel was to match the charge with his own. Slightly hesitating, he lost some momentum at the charge, so he went for defense instead. The battleaxe came hard and furious, but Holgreb met it with his with matched intensity, praying that the folks back in the castle foundry knew what they were doing. Sparks flew as both weapons crossed path, but Gurkhar's added momentum won the match and pushed through the block. Both Dwarves went past each other and departed, increasing distance between the two. The first pass was over. Gurkhar was unscratched, but Holgreb was left with a long cut across his chest. The chain mail he was wearing had succumbed to the dreaded weapon as if it was nothing but paper.

Holgreb clutched his open wound and winced as the chill of the Northern Continent entered his flesh and rattled his bones. He tried to hide his pain and bit down his cry, but he knew that Gurkhar was now enjoying his misery.

"Yer getting too old, Holgreb," Gurkhar sneered," and too benevolent, too."

"It's not over yet, Gurkhar..." Holgreb replied. "Ye don't know what yer saying."

With no further waste, the two Dwarves charged into each other again. This time, however, Holgreb claimed the higher ground in the duel, therefore earning the momentum advantage. His swing came true and the battleaxe reached its target even before Gurkhar's axe had finished its track. Holgreb pressed on with his attack and quickly withdrew as soon as the cut was finished. He got away quickly, but not before receiving another cut on his right shoulder. Gurkhar's anger and ferocity made him oblivious to all pain and injury as long as he could inflict double the pain to his opponent. And for Holgreb, even the slightest injury would be fatal. With two wounds contributing to his collection of bruises, his survival rate would drop significantly.

His attack, however, yielded a similar long cut on Gurkhar's belly, although the attack wasn't as impressive as Gurkhar's. The barbarian king was wearing only simple leather armor. Had he worn the same chain mail Holgreb was wearing, the attack would have been easily deflected.

For a moment Holgreb was filled with doubts. Was it actually true that his newfound purpose had actually made him weak? Or had his old age finally caught up with him? Gurkhar was just as old as he was; yet he was stronger. He had to be stronger in order to win...

Then the thought struck him. Was he fighting this to win? He was no longer a bandit. He was no longer a duelist. His purpose was not to win. His purpose was greater than that. And in order to achieve it, he had to survive the fight.

With that, Anna's favorite quote came to his mind. If you can't outpower your foes, you can always outsmart them.

"This is it, Holgreb! Yer're dead by the end of this pass!"

Holgreb didn't answer. He just smirked and raised his axe.

"Die, fool!"

Gurkhar charged forward with all rage and might, but Holgreb remained where he was, maintaining his grin. Gurkhar took this as a sign of resignation, so he dashed faster, making sure that his last blow would be most impressive. His battle-hardened mind calculated his foe's position and swung his axe at the perfect moment. All was well, until he saw Holgreb move.

But instead of meeting his charge, Holgreb moved backward. And he moved amazingly fast, and Gurkhar knew that he would easily avoid the swing. But his axe was already on the move and refused to stop its flight. When the swing had been completed, Gurkhar found himself being at a severe disadvantage, as he had wasted his turn swinging through the air. He could only watch in pure horror as Holgreb's axe made its move.

With his renewed vigor, Holgreb swung his axe across Gurkhar's exposed chest. Hundreds of pictures of the past suddenly flew past by his eyes as he heard his axe made contact with the evil Dwarf's flesh, but he brushed it away. Years ago he would have matched his swing with his victorious war cry, but this time he remained silent as he made his kill. He wasn't proud of the kill. He knew that he would regret it. But he knew that, if this was what it would take to save the realm he dearly loved, then it had to be done.

And everything was done before he finished his last thought. The third pass was complete, and both Dwarves had been separated once more, although they were both close. Without even a slightest grunt, Gurkhar's form collapsed to the snow. A pool of blood began forming beneath him and expanded fast.

Holgreb slowly approached Gurkhar's body, stomping his feet hard on the snow to announce his advance. According to duelist tradition, the victor would soon behead the loser's head, lest the loser will live the rest of his life in shame and vengeance. But even Gurkhar couldn't explain what happened when Holgreb tossed his battleaxe aside

"W...why...?" He asked in his dying breath.

"Because you're dying," Holgreb said softly. "Your wound is mortal."

"No... why...?" Gukhar struggled.

"Why do you lose?" Holgreb echoed. "Because I have a purpose to fight. Ye have no purpose. Ye have no one to fight for but yerself. For ye, winning gives glory, but for me, winning means so much more."

"C...coward..." Gurkhar breathed.

"It is my deepest regret, Gurkhar, that, unlike me, ye don't have a chance to understand this. May Lord Guardian, if he's listening, have mercy on yer sorry soul."

With that said, Gurkhar closed his eyes and breathed his last. The barbarian king of Seraphim had died for the second time.

Holgreb threw his gaze to the north and sighed. Then he released his left hand, which had been grasping his wound. Immediately his wound tore open and blood poured free. His wound, too, was too severe. His legs went weak and he collapsed to the snow.

As his mind slowly went numb, he thought of his friends. "Sorry, Atrus boy... Me suppose me canna be by yer side in yer fight..."

And he closed his eyes, but this time, it's with a smile.

And Atrus jerked wildly that Aurelia had to slam against him and covered his mouth with both her hands to keep him quiet. A slight yelp this close to the Emerald Tower would definitely invite plenty of unwelcome guests.

Anna could only watch both of them wresting on the ground as Lynn stayed on guard. After a while Atrus regained his composure and struggled to keep his breath stable. Slowly his body relented, despite the pain the demonic blood was causing him.

"Sorry..." he mouthed weakly.

"Don't mention it," Aurelia said as she was inspecting a scratch on her forearm. "This is just flesh wound..." she paused, then quickly added, "No pun intended. Not that I said your wound can't be cured."

"I'm sure he understands that," Anna quickly answered for Atrus. "What happened?"

Atrus said only one word. "Holgreb."

The party was silent. They knew what that meant. Holgreb was gone.

"The mad warrior has fallen..." Lynn whispered. "His valor would not be forgotten."

"I really didn't mean all the things I said, Dwarf..." Aurelia said in her cracking voice.

"He died for us," Anna concluded. "We must not let his sacrifice go in vain."

"Yeah, we'll let them pay!" Lynn said, almost screaming.

"What did you see?" Atrus demanded.

"The tower is just over that hill," Lynn reported. "Getting there is the hard part. Companies of Orcs and Ogres guarded the pass and Goblins blocked the northern path. Hordes of Trolls guarded the only entrance to the tower."

"I've heard tales about those monsters," Anna said. "Tough to kill. Used to be quite plentiful near swamps around Aragon until a large contingent slaughtered them all about fifty years ago."

"I suppose they seem to be quite plentiful back where they come from," Aurelia said.

"We have to somehow sneak into the tower without attracting too much attention. Even three of us won't be enough to protect Atrus." Anna stared back at the menacing tower before her. "All we need is one good distraction..."

"I know one," Lynn said slowly. "I'll distract them."

That invited sharp glare from both Atrus and Anna, but Lynn quickly added, "All I have to do is draw away their patrol. I can easily escape with my wings. Once the way is clear, make a run for it. I may not be able to rejoin you inside the tower, but I can evade capture until I hear words of your victory."

"I'm tired losing one friend after the other," Atrus scowled. "What makes me think that you're not going to just waste your life for me, just like many others have?"

Lynn looked sadly at the weakened hero and gave him a warm smile. "You have my word, Champion of the Guardian. I will be rejoicing with you in time of your victory."

Atrus maintained his sharp glare for a while, making the other two companions rather uncomfortable. But finally he relented and gave a slow nod. "Very well. Be careful, Lynn." His gaze suddenly turned serious again. "And don't die!"

Lynn beamed and bowed her head. "I am touched by your care, Champion. I shall not fail you."

Before she left, however, she threw a knowing gaze at Adriana. Suddenly the thought struck Anna like a lightning, and a wave of fear and pity washed over her.

Lynn was going to die. And that look said, 'Take care of Atrus, for I cannot.'

She hid her tears as she watched the Fairy departing to the other side of the mountain.

Goddess Gaea slumped against her throne, exhausted and defeated. Lord Daemon had raped her over and over again that night, directing all his anger on her poor body. Atrus' party had, thanks to Calem's magical blizzard, managed to hide from Daemon's magical observation. He did witness Holgreb's battle with one of his lackey Gurkhar, only to discover that the Dwarf's brave act was only a diversion, allowing the rest of the party to escape.

Deep in her heart Gaea was proud of her son. Atrus had found formidable warriors as his friends, and they would surely help him fulfill his destiny.

Her thought was shattered when Daemon pinched her nipple painfully, making her scream. "Don't even dare bringing that hope up, my love," Daemon threatened coldly. "I may have lost them, but I know they're coming. Soon they would be here, and I can't wait to see them personally."

"Your demise is coming fast, demon!" Gaea cried, despite the pain.

"Remember, my love, the Champion is wounded terribly." Daemon's eyes burned with lust of vengeance. "I shall enjoy slicing his poor form to dices!"

"Don't put your hope too far, demon! I shall share his glory in your defeat!"

"Unthankful bitch!" Daemon spat. "I shall have my victory! My army is ready to move. Once I slay the Chosen One, the gate to the Underworld will be fully opened, ending the reign of the Gods and your petty existence! You will be nothing but a service wench to the Army of Darkness! Perhaps then you will be grateful that I choose you to be my bride!"

Despite her renewed resistance, Daemon's threat struck true. She could only slump on her seat and sob.

Daemon summoned his army general in his vision. "Prepare the army. You may attack the petty Elven kingdom when ready."

King Roberto of Aragon inspected the preparation for battle. He was pleased indeed.

The Dwarven craftsmen, assisted by a group of Human engineers had worked fast, too fast, in building fortifications. In just a few hours the army had erected their tents. Scouts returned from their mapping journey, only to be welcomed by the smell of cooking fire. For the night the fear of battle momentarily vanished as the army sang and danced together around the bonfires. There were no more enmities between the Humans and the Elves, or the Dwarves and the Fairies, or the Wizards and the rest of the group. They would laugh together, sing together, and sleep together.

As the dawn was breaking, Roberto knew, they would be ready to die together.

The army was ready for battle. Commander Hawk was already busy getting people to their formations and barking last-minute orders. All army leaders had taken their places with their armies. The great General White Lion was straddling his warhorse proudly before his Human army detachment. Prince Farn was leading his Dragonrider detachment on his pet dragon. General Kerish would be leading his Dwarven footmen on foot along with his men. Lyra the Fairy would be leading her Fairy group in their heavenly choir during the battle. Lord Garmeon was already with his group of wizards, ready to spell doom to the invading army. Finally, the Priestesses of the Order of Lycra would be joining the battle led by their own Priestess Rosa, although most of their ranks would remain in the camp to tend the injured.

Princess Maya joined him in his post. "The army is ready, my Prince. We are awaiting your command."

Roberto just sighed. "Then here it is, the battle of the ages. Is victory even in the horizon?"

"Why, of course, my Prince," Maya replied softly. "Just like we discussed yesterday, the Army of Darkness only wishes to decimate us. We only need to survive and hold ground on this hill."

"I really hope Atrus and others can act fast. We can't hold on forever."

"Master Atrus will surely do his best," Maya assured. "Have faith a little..."

"Yeah, perhaps I should."

Their conversation was disturbed when the ground beneath them shook hard. Roberto caught Maya's body just in time for the second tremor, and they both fell on the ground. When the quake was gone, Roberto threw his gaze toward the army. The fortification luckily survived, thanks to the experts who had built it. However, army commands and war cries were heard everywhere. When he stared at the western plains, he found that three small swirling holes had appeared in the air. And the holes were already spitting out monsters from the depth of the Underworld.