The Conflict

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic
Two adversaries. One Spectator.

Submitted: December 19, 2011

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Submitted: December 19, 2011



In a forgotten desert, devoid, of life, stand two men. Protected from the sifting sands by a white marble arena. Two opponents stood facing each other. One man, the Knight, was armored in pristine white, a shining beacon of light. The other, the Assassin, was dressed in black, a walking shadow. Like statues, they waited. The only movement was their veils fluttering in the howling desert wind. Suddenly, silently a third man arrived. His footsteps thudded in the emptiness, as he walked through the stands. After what seemed to be an eternity, he sat down, and the battle begun.

The Assassin charged in, as the Knight prepared to defend himself. The Assassin pounded on the knight’s impenetrable defense. Invariably the Knight blocked every swing. The Assassin swung faster as the battle raged on. Eventually the Assassin seemed to be everywhere at once. The knight was nothing more than a white blur as he held of the Assassin’s demonic assault.

Suddenly the Knight changed tactics, and took a single swing. The Assassin’s momentum threw him to the ground as he blocked it. Now the battle had reversed. The Assassin rolled from side to side avoiding the Knight’s stabs at him. Then the Assassin kicked the Knight in the shins, in a desperate move to retake to offensive. It dropped the off-balance Knight to the ground. The Assassin hopped back up to his feet, and kicked the Knight’s sword away. Desperately the Knight grabbed a handful of sand, and leaped up at the Assassin’s face. With his free hand, he grabbed his veil and ripped it away. He threw the sand in the Assassin’s face. Naturally, the Assassin dropped his weapons and rubbed at his eyes. The Spectator watched in horror as he saw the Assassin’s face was his own.

As the Knight grabbed the Assassin’s sword, the Spectator ran down the stands toward the opponents. The Knight danced around the Assassin playfully tapping him with his own sword. Across the arena, the Spectator ran toward the conflict, as he passed the Knight’s sword he picked it up. Finally, the Knight tired of taunting his enemy, and kicked him in the back of the knee to drop him to the ground. As he raised his sword to decapitate the Assassin, he was stabbed through the chest with his own sword.

The Knight fell, dead, and the Spectator stood staring at the corpse, relived. A sinister smile crossed the Assassin’s lips as the spectator approached. Silently he bent down and ripped the veil off the Knight. The Assassin let loose an insane laugh as the Spectator stared down at his own face frozen in a mixture of shock and pain.

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