A Melody In Silver

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Action and Adventure  |  House: Booksie Classic
This is a short-story that contains light violence, sarcasm, and a rallying speech. Enjoy.

Submitted: December 03, 2014

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Submitted: December 03, 2014

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With the flick of a barely visible wrist, a small flash of light pierces the veil of darkness and a severed head falls to the ground with a sickening thud as moonlight glances over the silvery blade so freshly soiled. Green blood splatters the hand holding the blade as an indignant expression flashes across the weathered face of a man. He hates these things, his eternal enemies the Draven. His people had long fought these monsters back and forth across the empty land they stood upon. For years his people bled, and died, in combat with the Draven. For years he watched young men and women train their whole lives for battle, only to be devoured with nary a kill of their own.


Another scurries towards him as he grunts in annoyance. "Damned spiders." He mutters under his breath. With another almost negligent flick of his wrist, that spider follows its dead brother into the afterlife. "What was that Sol?" His friend Jase asks. Sol glances at him with barely disguised frustration as Jase dispatches another monster spider, his blade trailing a long arc of green ichor. "I said I hate these damned spiders! Put your head on straight or your going to lose it." He growls. Jase just smiles at him gleefully.


"How many is that now, old man?" Jase asks. Sol glares at him. "259," He grunts. Jase whistles loudly as he dodges a Draven's long, bladed leg. "Impressive, for an old man." He says. Sol shakes his head, increasingly annoyed. "Shut your trap, and do your job. Here comes another set." The two SparkMasters take deep breaths and ready themselves as hundreds of fresh arachnids skitter over the ridge before them. The skritch of their legs on the loose pebbles reaching Jase and Sol from some distance away. It's enough to drive any regular man insane, but BladeMaster's Academy taught them to resist the almost hypnotic effect of the echoing sound.


The heaped bodies of hundreds of dead spiders gives testament to the power of their training, and the dual SparkBlades they wield. Beyond the small wall of dead is a massive wasteland, full of dead trees and unending sandstorms. The only living things in this forsaken place is the BladeMasters, and the seemingly endless hordes of the arachnid host.


Sol sighs quietly, "We can't do this forever Jase. Any idea when the others will show up?" Jase shakes his head as he cuts down another pair of spiders, his blades giving off rainbowed light as they strike. For hours upon hours, they fought, until each motion returned to base instinct, until their armor dripped long rivulets of Draven blood. Behind them, a fresh group of SparkMasters looks down upon the carnage and their eyes widen, for beneathe them stand but two of their own, where once there stood many hundreds. Further, their eyes widen, as they take in the ever-growing number of dead spiders piled around them, the long arcs of splattered blood. For a moment, they watch, completely astonished, as the two survivors beneathe them seem not to grow tired, but to thrive on the fight. One of the group steps forward, his face ashen as the dead, but fire in his eyes. He turns to look at the others behind him, catching their eyes one by one until all were focused on him. He takes a deep breath, and releases it slowly, "There, my friends, stand two of our brothers against odds that would waver any others. There, they stand, fighting their hardest though their comrades lie dead around them." He turns to the battle and flashes his teeth. "I, for one, will not let them fight alone." With this, he whips around and draws his blades in a motion and crosses them over his chest, his voice rising as courage sears his veins. "Shed a tear here, now, for once we fight there will be no time to mourn. Shed a tear and fight all the harder!" All together, they draw their blades and give a powerful roar. But their battle cry echoes far greater than it should, for behind them a great host of warriors has gather silently, but now they cry. Their feet pound the dirt, their blades ring a peircing melody, their eyes shed a single tear, and as one they crest the hill, their voices rising...

Atop another dark hill not too far from them, 9 glowing red eyes watch unseen. Watching, waiting...furious.

 


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