Tales of a Lost Sword 3

idk. Does anyone still read this? =/

Episode 3 Ascent and Descent
The throne sits empty in the splendorous hall. Grandeur is not wasted in this magnificent space. Tapestries adorned with centuries of fables hang from the rafters of the hall. The flag of the royal family descended from Grendel hangs above the cold throne.

The royal-blooded prince Arai steps into the vastness of the hall, his footsteps echoing with every step, a silent crowd watching his every movement from the sides of the hall. His boots tread lightly on the red carpet laid out for him. Yet still his footsteps ring, as if voicing the terrible emptiness of the ceremony. A coat of finest Lycanthrope fur sits on his two proud, erect shoulders.

He comes at last to the throne, ascending the last three steps onto the royal stage. The ascension is complete. Arai faces the empty throne for a long moment, gazing at it with his vivid yellow eyes. He turns, faces the royalty gathered breathlessly before him, and sits, crossing his legs, resting his cheek on an upright arm.

The noblemen and members of the royal family burst into applause, cheering on their new king. Arai merely continues to stare onward, towards the distant horizon outside, where the blue sky sparkles, past the balustrades of the castle to which he is confined.

Arai comes to the end of the hall. His echoing footsteps come to a halt as well. The day is nearly over, and as the sun sets over the horizon, the darkened and elongated shapes in the hallway grow even larger.

The vivid orange of the sun’s glow, however, is reflected off Shirley’s blonde head through the pillars holding up the roof. Arai watches Shirley intently in silence. She returns his gaze for a long while.

Finally, she speaks up. “Arai—er, no, excuse me! Your Highness—”

“Shirley,” Arai interjects rather sharply, “sorry, but I must be at a meeting with some of the other noblemen right now. They get very upset if I am late. We shall speak another time.” Without another word, he begins walking again, his footsteps echoing ominously even as he strides past her.

“But, your Highness!” Shirley shouts after Arai desperately.

“Sorry, Shirley!” Arai says as he leaves. Suddenly, he stops, and turns. He glances back briefly at Shirley, the tiniest twinkle in his eye. “And there is no need for you to call me ‘your Highness.’”

Shirley exhales softly, a mixture of amusement and gloomy frustration. The door slams shut behind Arai. As the sun sets, Shirley is left alone to stand in the twilit darkness.

Blood drips from the very tip of the girl’s forehead, runs down the bridge of her nose, and passes by her cracked lips as it falls onto the cold stone floor. Mira slowly raises her battered head, staring at her dark surroundings. She is sitting in an empty jail cell, her arms bound behind her.

Very little light seeps into the dark room. Not a sound stirs in the emptiness of the place, save for her slightly ragged breathing. Yet after several moments, a loud bang slam signals the opening and closing of a door somewhere outside the confines of the cell. Footsteps steadily make their way towards the lonely cell where the girl is held captive.

Mira narrows her eyes, attempting to focus them against the pounding pain in her forehead, where blood continues to run down her face. She stares forward, scrutinizing the darkness. From the dim light, she barely discerns two figures standing in front of her.

“Well, well, what do we have here,” a wheezing, high-pitched voice says.

“Please tell me,” Mira whispers, barely able to maintain a steady voice in her exhaustion. “Please tell me why I’m here. Why…why’d you kill everyone? What is the meaning of this?!”

“What did I tell ya, Chief?” a second, mocking voice says laughingly. “She’s an adorable little girl, ain’t she? About to die and still worryin’ her little head off about her dead friends.”

“Silence, Soma,” the wheezing voice replies.

“Answer me!” Mira shouts suddenly, gaining strength by the moment. She stumbles into a half-standing position. “I haven’t done anything to deserve this! Why am I here?! What did my comrades do to deserve being killed?!”

“Hybrids,” the wheezing voice answers.

Mira immediately freezes upon hearing the word, as if struck dumb. She falls back onto her knees, her eyes wide open, unable to construct a retort.

“I see you are familiar with that term,” the voice continues. “Yes. That’s exactly what you are, aren’t you? A filthy, disgusting hybrid. Nothing but dangerous vermin unfit for society.”

The second figure shifts suddenly, allowing more light to fall upon his face. The face of a red-haired man with a murderous glint in his eyes greets Mira. He grins when Mira’s eyes fall upon him, showing his teeth as he brandishes a rifle at his side.

A massive chandelier hangs overhead a huge meeting room in the middle of a castle floating in the sky. A huddle of finely dressed noblemen and officials are seated around a table, at the end of which is an empty throne. A pair of guards stand on either side of an archway leading into the room. Each presses a trumpet to his lips to herald the arrival of the king.

“His Royal Highness Arai Mage enters!”

Arai strides into the room as the trumpets play, a horde of guards and officials following him into the room. He nods vaguely at the various men and women gathered in the room, before taking his seat.

“I apologize for making you wait,” Arai says as he settles into his seat. An attendant hurries to his side, placing a silver plate of food at his side. Arai reaches towards the platter, and picks up a freshly baked chocolate muffin. He takes a large bite from it.

“Now let us decide the best course for killing my grandfather, Grendel the Really Old.”

She stares at the black birds flying higher and higher into the sky, out of the forest. Ophelia turns back to the test laid out before her. She glances worriedly back out the window. She turns back to her test. She picks up a pencil and circles an answer. She goes back to the window.

Somewhere, a bell rings signaling the end of class. Ophelia’s classmates rise to their feet, relieved at the sound of the bell. They file past her, delivering their tests to the instructor, a middle-aged man, sitting behind a desk at the front of the classroom.

Ophelia finally catches herself, grabs her bag, and places her test on the desk with the others just as the last student leaves the classroom. Ophelia glances back through the window again, before departing into the hallway outside.

She runs past throngs of students, emerging into the cool Ellinian air outside, where she immediately begins jogging towards the forest where she’d last seen her sister Mira.

“Mira!”

However, there is nobody in sight. Ophelia stares around perplexedly. “Huh? Where’s everybody…?” she mumbles to herself, turning her head about.

Up above, hidden behind a shroud of tree branches and leaves, sits a stranger, spinning a rifle ruggedly in his right hand. He hums a song to himself, an eerie tune made creepier by the unsettling tone of his voice. He stops spinning the gun. He grabs it, and points it straight at the girl below, staring at the back of her head through the crosshairs.

“Bang!” he shouts in a half-whisper, laughing riotously to himself.

Silence descends upon the cool morning air outside the Ellinian forest. Ophelia continues to look around worryingly, looking for any sign of her sister. She takes several tentative steps towards the forest, as if hoping to spot her sister returning from within.

Ophelia suddenly feels a hand grasp her shoulder. She spins around immediately, and spots a group of thieves staring at her. Their leader, a rugged looking assassin with a Red Pilfer worn crookedly on his head, is staring down at her.

“Well, what do we have here,” he says, toying with a Wolbi in his hand.

“Good job, Chief!” one of the bandits behind the assassin shouts. “You sure hooked a cute one this time!”

“Yeah, she’s loads cuter than that granny from last time,” another states.

This statement causes one of the assassin’s eyebrows to twitch. “Are you insulting my refined taste in women?” he growls back angrily.

The crony jumps in surprise at his leader’s wrath. “N-Not at all, Chief!”

“Anyway,” the assassin continues, turning back to Ophelia as he pats her shoulder roughly. “How’d ya like to come home with a winner tonight, cutey?”

Ophelia glances around nervously, and takes a step backward. However, she quickly finds herself surrounded. “I-I’d rather not,” she whispers.

“That wasn’t a question,” the leader mutters in a low voice, any pretense of propriety disappearing from his face. He raises a Wolbi and presses it against Ophelia’s throat, slamming her into a tree.

Suddenly out of nowhere, a Steely flies through the air and stabs the assassin right through the middle of the hand. He drops his Wolbi in surprise, and curses loudly. He grabs his hand as he glances around the area nervously. “Ouch! Who the hell threw that?!”

A Night Lord appears in front of Ophelia and the assassin, a pair of Steelys in his hand. Sunshine reflects off the metal plate on his Dark Identity. He glares menacingly at the band of thieves.

Ophelia stares fearfully at the Night Lord from behind, who is shielding her from the group of thieves. She gulps as she senses the power emanating from the Night Lord.

“Who the hell are you?!” the assassin snarls.

“Name’s Kunai,” the Night Lord growls in reply, making a rapid motion with his hands, “and sorry, I don’t have time to hear all your names,” he adds, as he stabs the thief through the stomach with an Avenger.