End of the Nightmare [Zorolo]

OoC: It's finally here, Z. =B

BiC:

They say all good things must come to an end, but is the same true for the bad? Can evil and malice disappear just as suddenly as relief or euphoria, or does it stick around in the dark corner of our hearts? Does evil ebb away at the innermost thoughts and feelings of society, only to be pushed aside for brief moments of valor, then rear its ugly head once more?

In the distance, across the hilly and wild flower-strewn fields stood a sleeping giant. Mt. Arat had not erupted in over three hundred years, but that did not mean the people of the area trusted it. Rightly so, since the mountain had since become the home of a viscous demon. Ah, but this was not any ordinary demon, but a demon that could forge swords as expertly as the one that made a sword most fowl: Vaskalen.

The red-haired and quite novice swordsman looked out of place in such a beautiful setting. His clothes were worn and dirty, and his once vivid emerald eyes had a slight glaze in the light. Yet, he was not alone this time. Walking a few paces behind him, extremely dissatisfied with the upcoming meeting was a man also out of place here.

He was like the other man’s polar opposite. He wore a striking, striped business suit that look like it had just come back from the cleaners. The man’s hair was neat and tidy, and his eyes were still the sharp shade of hazel they had always been. Furthermore, on his back he held a large bow and quiver while the other man wielded a sword.

“How much longer is this going to take?” Spoke the sharply dressed man.

“Another hour of walking,” replied the man ahead.

“You need to loosen up, Galan. I mean, just because you got beat up so thoroughly is no excu-”

“Don’t you dare bring that up, Zalif!” The man cut off indignantly.

The man known as Zalif simply rolled his eyes and kept his mouth shut. Galan was much more violent these days, especially after his defeat to what he called ‘The Man in Green’. Mioska told him a bit about the man, and that he had recently passed on. Being a part of the shadows, she could hear things even in other dimensions, so long as shadows existed. Still, the two of them decided not to share this information with either Galan or their master.

In fact, it was a relief for him to know that the shadow-wielding girl was pretty well her former self. It meant all that was keeping him bound to the sword was time, since she planned to betray it. Well, if that moment is to come, it had better come soon, he thought as they began to climb the mountain. It would only be a couple of minutes before the sword met whom it needed to meet.

The young warrior sat up in his bed suddenly. He was breathing hard and looked around nervously. His body had been coated in a thin layer of frozen sweat. This had occurred to the point that the ice had begun to be pushed up for the next layer to form. Still, his awakening that night wasn't anything special... but his dream had been.

Flames... great, roaring flames that turned everything they touched to ash. A roaring inferno of red and blue and, to the ice mage's surprise, black flames. Although the fire itself wasn't threatening seeming in nature, what it did was terrible. The Sorcerer of Blades watched in shock and terror as everything the flames touched was turned into cinder and ash. Lush fields quickly became barren wastelands... mountains covered in snow became little more than volcanic cones...

The Replicator calmed himself a little bit and slid his legs off the bed. He moved over to a nearby window and began to stare out into the distance. Silence gripped him as he continued to consider the dream he had just had. If Z had been there, he would have called it a premonition... if Monroe had been there, he would have called it Collective Consciousness; but that didn't answer what Zachary saw any better.

However, slowly it came back to him. What it was he had seen that had offset his mind so much. That small detail hadn't been important until the past few moments passed, but it struck him like a ton of bricks at that point. The sword. That sword. The short, red haired man... the one Zachary had fought, was there... and he held firmly in his grasp the Hellfire Blade.

At that moment, Zachary suspended any disbelief in supernatural psychic powers or other anomalies that could occur in the human mind and chocked it up to a warning of sorts. "I have to locate that sword..." Zachary said. "I have to finish it... without Z here... I'm the only one who can," the ice mage told himself as he looked at the full moon. "Still... I need to tell Arietta and prepare myself... so I'll leave tomorrow."

Intruders.

Deep within the brimstone catacombs of Mount Arat lived a foul-mouthed and just plain foul demon. Long had he lived undisturbed in this place, except for the odd Demon Slayer or two. Still, his demonic traps, incantations and other nasty surprises kept them at bay. In fact, it did too good of a job since it would keep potential clients out too.

Surrounded by swords, the tall, dark-skinned lizard demon sat. All these swords carried a demonic aura, or presence, or whatever you wanted to call it. The demon prided himself on his abilities to craft swords, as far as he knew, he was the greatest demon forger in either the Mortal realm, or Hell itself. Alas, something felt different today. Yet, he couldn’t quite put his claw on it.

Meanwhile, the traveling duo kept up a fair pace within the labyrinth catacombs bored into the mountain. They didn’t dare slow down since Vaskalen knew of the inhabitant’s habit of laying traps along the right passages. Still, even they were of little consequence to the aspiring ruler of the entire Mortal plain. If they came across a trap, it wouldn’t trigger on a powerful being like it… although the archer would be at risk.

Ah well, not like it would be a huge loss, now would it?

*/\/\/\*/\/\/\*/\/\/\*

At last, a customer who could make it through the endless maze of tunnels he dug into the volcano! Fifty or sixty years came and went since his last customer. However they were, he’d have to give them a discount if only since they relieved his boredom. Alas, when they finally arrived, he’d find himself greatly shocked at just who had stopped by.

“Humans!?” He exclaimed when they entered his cave. In the shock brought on by this development, he instantly went to grab one of the many swords hanging on the wall. “You’ll never take me alive human scum!” He exclaimed as he pulled his finest down off the wall.

“Beat me with such an inferior blade? I laugh”, came a voice from behind him.

“Inferior? Do you know to whom you speak!?” He shouted, turning around on the spot.

“Do you? Tremble, puny demon and beg for forgiveness. I am Vaskalen: The Hellfire Sword, and the second most powerful Apocalypse Blade!”

“Ha! You? Vaskal-.” He started, but when noticing the sword clutched in the head-head's hand, he stopped. “V-v-v… Oh, mighty Vaskalen! Please, forgive my rudeness.” The demon threw himself to the floor. On the walls, the vast number of demonic blade, once begging for their creator to spill their blood, stopped dead. There was no sentient sword who didn’t know Vaskalen, or any of the other Apocalypse Blades.

“Arise, for I have need of your assistance, Blacksmith.”

“Anything, oh great and powerful sword!”

“Repair my broken blade and you will have your life when the world is mine.”

“Oh course! I shall make it better then it ever was!”

“You’d better,” Vaskalen replied before being handed to the demon by Galan.

Zalif stood there the whole time; mind ravaged by worry an anxiety. Where was Mioska? What was she planning to do? When would she come and stop this? Alas, if only he could see into the shadows. There, he might find the answer.

Like all mornings in the house, breakfast was somewhat uneventful. Galliard and Algretta were busy working on inventions downstairs, Luminari was upstairs blankly staring at something, the Sorcerer of Blades guessed; and Arietta was bringing all those people food. As for Zachary, he was preoccupied eating his breakfast in peace, but he still had to talk to Arietta about what he had to do.

Still, this was one of those mornings where the only thing if Arietta was upstairs was the awkward silence before the Replicator told her what he had to do. Those days were the worst. He hated having to leave his house any more. After all, he had done his best to keep the promise he had made to her, but it still proved quite difficult from time to time. When events like this most recent dream occurred, they had to be answered.

Finally, she emerged. The gypsy sat down and began to eat her breakfast, and the two sat quietly. Essentially, all there was was the sound of the knife and fork scraping against the plate, and the grinding sound of food being consumed. Still, the woman knew something was wrong. "What's up, Zach?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at him suspiciously.

"I had a... a nightmare last night, and it has me... somewhat bothered," he commented, looking down at his food. "I think it might be a... a... What'd Monroe call it...?” he pondered, pausing to think.

"A premonition?" she asked, smiling slightly.

Zachary nodded. "Yes. I had a dream that was scary... an evil from my past has reemerged... and I want to finally settle the score with it... or perhaps fate wants the score settled..." the ice mage said as he sighed.

"Before I met you, I fought with an evil sword named Vaskalen, the Hellfire Sword. It defeated me and would have killed me had it not been for timely rescue by Zorlo. Still... I hadn't thought about it until now..." he commented, becoming almost quiet. "So... if I'm having dreams like that now... it means something is about to go wrong... or something, I'm never really sure..." Zachary commented as he folded his hands onto the table, sliding his plate forwards.

"Well, if the world is in danger, then you have an obligation to go help it," the woman commented, smiling. "After all, Zachary Leos, if you don't and we all die, I'd be upset. However, you'd better come home, otherwise," Arietta commented, giving the Sorcerer of Blades a sharp stare.

"I know, I know," the red haired warrior commented as he stood up. "I'm heading off," the Replicator said with a smile as he moved to grab his jacket.

"Finish your breakfast first," the woman commented, sitting down to eat.

"Good idea," Zachary said as he sat down and finished his breakfast. Quickly, he headed out into the desert, his jacket slung over his shoulder, and looked around. "Now then... where to begin?"

In the deep cavern, the walls, saturated with a crimson glow, gave off a feeling of foreboding to the Archer. Standing a fair distance away form the source, the heat still had him and the swordsman sweating beads. The crackling and bubbling of magma filled their ears with the occasional hammer strike, which threatened to rupture their eardrums. The lava pool cavern filled the archer with dread at what was to come. Every fiber of his being wanted to rush in, kill the demon, and toss the sword into the infernal abyss…

Yet, his mind told him it would be suicide.

Galan seemed anxious as well, although the archer could tell he just wanted his master back so they could bring more death and ruin. Zalif remembered when they first met, although he would rather forget. The boy seemed somewhat disturbed, but was okay when you caught him at the right moment. Now, he seemed… no, he was, little more then a soulless puppet doing its master’s bidding. He felt some pity for the boy, but he brought this fate upon himself.

The sword, meanwhile, was thoroughly enjoying itself; dipped time after time in the lava until the blade was nearly molten. The demon was taking great care to repair the sword as best he could, pouring a liquid compound of metal into the cracks and massive hole that Gabriel’s Arrow created. Vaskalen sat in a rocky tub for this procedure so that the heat would have no effect.

When the demon was happy with his progress, he poured some water onto the sword, hardening the one side so he could repeat on the other. Zalif could do nothing but watch as his greatest became a reality before his eyes. Did that shadow girl give up and flee to another dimension? If she hadn’t, where was she and what was taking her so long?

*/\/\/\*/\/\/\*/\/\/\*

Under any circumstance, she would be an odd sight: if not for her purple hair, or blood-red eyes, then for her choice in clothing. Today, the case would be that she chose the normal style for the region, but it was the colour. In this heat, anyone wearing all black would be carrying a death sentence, yet it did not matter to her. She traversed the golden dunes and cracked dirt with on goal in mind: to find him.

But what would she do when she found the kid? He’d probably try to kill her, so he’d let him have a shot, try to get all that aggression out. All in all, when she would explain that they had the same goal, she knew he’d cooperate.

It was a strange feeling. An odd, almost scared feeling swept over the red haired warrior. The two now stood inches apart, looking at each other. "Have I met you?" Zachary asked, quirking an eyebrow. He felt as though he had seen her, but couldn't quite click as to why.

"Yes... at least I think we have," she commented, looking at him.

"I'm not sure," Zachary stated as he crossed his arms. "Still, it isn't usual to find someone walking around the desert in black like you are, so hearing you out seems like a good idea," the Replicator stated as he quirked an eye at the woman.

"I need your help," she commented. "I need you to help me stop Vaskalen, the Hellfire Sword," she said.

"How... how do you know about that sword?" the Sorcerer of Blades asked as he quirked his eye again.

"I was... am... his servant. I seek to be free," the woman said.

"And I seek the end this nightmare," the ice mage commented as he clenched his hands into fists. "Take me to the sword!" the Replicator said in a commanding voice as he kept a keen eye on her, looking for any trace of deception. "After all, I don't know where he is."

Mioska gave the red-haired warrior a cold glare, as if examining his very soul. “Your distrust in me is extremely obvious, yet we do not have the time to argue. As we speak, A demonic sword smith is mending Vaskalen. When it becomes whole, it will only take mere hours for the sword to regain its full power.

“If that happens…” she trailed off.

“The world will be destroyed,” Zachary finished. “Well then, what are we waiting for!? Take me to where that sword is… Now!”

The girl looked him in the eyes once more, she didn’t like being commanded by anyone, let alone some kid. Alas, the longer they remained idle, the better the foul blade’s chance that it would regain its full, devastating power. She sighed and replied to him, “Fine, take my hand and hold on tight. We will pass into the shadow realm and to the Sword of Hellfire.” She then extended her hand.

He quickly took her hand and gripped it tight. Using the shadows under her feet, she seemingly melted into the desert sands, pulling the slightly magical swordsman with her into the darkness.

*/\/\/\*/\/\/\*/\/\/\*

A cackle echoed through the labyrinth of caves and tunnels, out to the very surface of the volcanic mountain. Clutched in the demon’s hand, no longer dependant on blood for power, nor reserving its power was the Apocalypse Blade of Fire… the mightiest sword ever forged in the depths of hell. The hole near the base of the blade no longer existed. Vaskalen: the Hellfire Sword was complete once again.

Mioska, wherever you are, get here… soon, Zalif thought in desperation as the sword laughed hauntingly.

Zachary felt the dizziness fade as he appeared and looked around. He had never really gotten used to any kind of magical transportation. Although he had explored darkness more than most others, it was still one of those feelings that left you quite disoriented. "So..." he commented, looking around at the shear desolate nature of the surroundings. "I guess whoever lives here doesn't want many visitors," he said, trying to lighten the mood as he looked back to the woman.

"So... now that we're here, show me where the sword is. Its about time that it and I settle this score. It can't run anymore. Although it was once the hunter, I'm making it the hunted," the Replicator commented as he clenched his hands into tight fists. A kind of fury began to bubble up inside of him. Although he had gotten somewhat used to the feeling, it still struck him as odd from time to time.

"Let's go," he called over to Mioska, waiting for her to lead him away. Now was the true time for the final battle. Or, what might be his final battle. Zachary was never a person to deal in any kind of absolutes, even when he knew the fight could be terribly mismatched.