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XXXXXThick plumes of ash and cinders rose up from the city, darkening the afternoon sky. Pale blue faded to an ashen gray as war flooded into the streets. Azure blue eyes watched over the erupting discord from the cathedral. Inside he felt the pain of regret over such bloodshed, but he was resolute. He knew it was the sole solution. There was only one obstacle left now. Ivan turned to face the king's bloodhound with a dark smile painted upon his face. “Cut off the head of the snake, is that it?” he boomed. His voice filled the ornate halls of the cathedral. Caine drew his greatsword from its sheath. His amber eyes bore into Ivan's own. Ocular lenses and receptors rotated and focused on his target. His grip tightened on the sword's handle.
“Caine, watch yourself. I'm pulling up his profile now,” Muninn's voice came over Caine's comm link.
“How's the situation in the palace?” Caine pressed his forefinger to the link.
“Echo Company is holding, but they can't out forever. I'm with the king now.”
“Stay there. I'll finish up here and meet you at the palace,” Caine said.
“Caine, don't get yourself killed. Ivan's a veteran with expertise in both blade and magic.”
“Roger,” Caine responded, cutting the link.
Ivan stepped down off the altar, wielding a heavy anchor blade in his right hand. Caine's ocular lens adjusted, recognizing the distinct flow of ether around his form. It was blue, like his eyes, and twisted around every inch of his body like a snake coiling around its prey. The twenty year veteran smirked, stretching his scarred flesh. Deep lacerations cut webs into his face and neck. Some were old battle wounds, but a few were fresh and still bled. The rich lifeblood dripped from his chin, landing on his beaten black armor, still adorned with Damascus blue.
“I knew, since the moment I first saw you, that Odin would send you after me,” he said.
“You are loyal and that is good, but are you defending the right cause? The king is not the man everyone believes he is. He is a coward and a traitor!” Ivan shouted.
“I didn't come to discuss politics,” Caine said calmly as he adjusted his grip. The flat point faced Ivan. “This is more than politics, Caine.” Ivan shook his head, resigning his case. He pointed his blade toward Caine and in his left hand conjured flame with a single uttered word. “Solas.” The tiny embers erupted in the palm of his hand, crackling and spitting heat as the flame grew, engulfing his entire hand. “I will have to kill you then. Then I shall take Odin's head!”
Ivan's anchor blade came to blows, striking the greatsword back with weight and strength. Sparks hissed with the ringing of steel as the two soldiers moved across the cathedral floor. Each time they traded blows, Caine blocked and was pushed back. Ivan was weighed down by heavy armor and a dense sword, but none of that mattered. On paper, Caine had the advantage, yet he found himself placed on the defensive. Years of training and experience in the field had made Ivan a skilled combatant. Quick on his feet and fast even with all that weight on him. In comparison, Caine was slower and less experienced. He was as a dull-witted child compared to the rebel leader.
Caine blocked a skyward cut with the flat of his blade and felt his feet leave the ground. He drifted back a few inches and caught himself as Ivan left hand came toward him, spraying fire all around him. The flames danced across Caine's armor, covering his chest and arms in bright yellow. The heat penetrated every fiber of his being, boiling him inside his sealed suit. The sensation reminded Caine of the battle at Martyr, where the Orslandian warlord had burned him. Even now, he bore the burn marks across his face, but these flames felt hotter. Caine struggled vainly against the inferno and stared up at Ivan. He brought down his blade and again, Caine reflected the blow with his sword. The tip of the blade passed, opening a wound across Caine's shoulder. Caine writhed and cried out as the flames leapt to the fresh wound. It was like white hot tendrils had pierced his flesh.
“Caine! Your vitals are in the red. What is happening?” Muninn's voice was drowned out by Caine's screams. He could barely hear her. The greatsword fell from his hands and a pain emerged in the depths of his stomach. He looked down at the heated steel that ran into his body. Slowly he realized what had happened. He felt weak. Blood came up in his throat, foaming at the corners of his mouth as he stared up at Ivan's icy eyes. “Then the hunter has cut down the bloodhound,” he said. Caine felt the blade rip free of his body and warm blood pool around the wound. The flames felt cold and the pain became dull. Caine's vision blurred to gray as Ivan stepped out of his sight. “Caine!” Muninn screamed into his ears again and again, but there was no response. A faint noise came across the comm link and in a brief moment of consciousness, Caine recognized the sound of a flat line. Then his world faded to black.
“Caine, watch yourself. I'm pulling up his profile now,” Muninn's voice came over Caine's comm link.
“How's the situation in the palace?” Caine pressed his forefinger to the link.
“Echo Company is holding, but they can't out forever. I'm with the king now.”
“Stay there. I'll finish up here and meet you at the palace,” Caine said.
“Caine, don't get yourself killed. Ivan's a veteran with expertise in both blade and magic.”
“Roger,” Caine responded, cutting the link.
Ivan stepped down off the altar, wielding a heavy anchor blade in his right hand. Caine's ocular lens adjusted, recognizing the distinct flow of ether around his form. It was blue, like his eyes, and twisted around every inch of his body like a snake coiling around its prey. The twenty year veteran smirked, stretching his scarred flesh. Deep lacerations cut webs into his face and neck. Some were old battle wounds, but a few were fresh and still bled. The rich lifeblood dripped from his chin, landing on his beaten black armor, still adorned with Damascus blue.
“I knew, since the moment I first saw you, that Odin would send you after me,” he said.
“You are loyal and that is good, but are you defending the right cause? The king is not the man everyone believes he is. He is a coward and a traitor!” Ivan shouted.
“I didn't come to discuss politics,” Caine said calmly as he adjusted his grip. The flat point faced Ivan. “This is more than politics, Caine.” Ivan shook his head, resigning his case. He pointed his blade toward Caine and in his left hand conjured flame with a single uttered word. “Solas.” The tiny embers erupted in the palm of his hand, crackling and spitting heat as the flame grew, engulfing his entire hand. “I will have to kill you then. Then I shall take Odin's head!”
Ivan's anchor blade came to blows, striking the greatsword back with weight and strength. Sparks hissed with the ringing of steel as the two soldiers moved across the cathedral floor. Each time they traded blows, Caine blocked and was pushed back. Ivan was weighed down by heavy armor and a dense sword, but none of that mattered. On paper, Caine had the advantage, yet he found himself placed on the defensive. Years of training and experience in the field had made Ivan a skilled combatant. Quick on his feet and fast even with all that weight on him. In comparison, Caine was slower and less experienced. He was as a dull-witted child compared to the rebel leader.
Caine blocked a skyward cut with the flat of his blade and felt his feet leave the ground. He drifted back a few inches and caught himself as Ivan left hand came toward him, spraying fire all around him. The flames danced across Caine's armor, covering his chest and arms in bright yellow. The heat penetrated every fiber of his being, boiling him inside his sealed suit. The sensation reminded Caine of the battle at Martyr, where the Orslandian warlord had burned him. Even now, he bore the burn marks across his face, but these flames felt hotter. Caine struggled vainly against the inferno and stared up at Ivan. He brought down his blade and again, Caine reflected the blow with his sword. The tip of the blade passed, opening a wound across Caine's shoulder. Caine writhed and cried out as the flames leapt to the fresh wound. It was like white hot tendrils had pierced his flesh.
“Caine! Your vitals are in the red. What is happening?” Muninn's voice was drowned out by Caine's screams. He could barely hear her. The greatsword fell from his hands and a pain emerged in the depths of his stomach. He looked down at the heated steel that ran into his body. Slowly he realized what had happened. He felt weak. Blood came up in his throat, foaming at the corners of his mouth as he stared up at Ivan's icy eyes. “Then the hunter has cut down the bloodhound,” he said. Caine felt the blade rip free of his body and warm blood pool around the wound. The flames felt cold and the pain became dull. Caine's vision blurred to gray as Ivan stepped out of his sight. “Caine!” Muninn screamed into his ears again and again, but there was no response. A faint noise came across the comm link and in a brief moment of consciousness, Caine recognized the sound of a flat line. Then his world faded to black.
