The Cursed Inheritance

The wreckage trembled under the melee of combat, heavy air stank with appalled horror and vengeance. Alaric remained stiff with new sword, clenched fist though trembling body.

He panted for breath in spasmodic gulps, each very conscious effort on his part to preserve the agony. Before him was Magnus, looming like a death specter, ghastly grin no sign of being scared or terrified.

Shadows themselves had an otherworldly power, ground crawling shadows contracted into hunger creatures. Alaric's sword hummed with energy, runes burning greenish blue as if draining the fury burning in his chest.

He never once did hold a blade so ferocious, but old strength kept his temper in check, a beast power snarling at the periphery of his mind.

Magnus stepped forward, curled clawed hands. "You've made yourself a very interesting thing, boy. But do you know how expensive it is to kill a monster?"

Alaric didn't step back, his heart racing like a war drum. "I'll soon find out."

And Magnus charged forward, a black blur of ill intent. Alaric parried blindly, his sword recoiling in distaste at the savage rush to his throat. The impact shuddered through his arm, and he fought to maintain his hold on the hilt. His jaws locked hard together and he riposted, cutting diagonally across Magnus' ribcage. Steel bit deep inside him, and Magnus' lips parted on a hiss as thick blood gushed from the wound.

Alaric had hardly time to enjoy his triumph when Magnus struck back with a lash. A fist shot out, punched into his ribcage, and sent him sliding across stone floors. Nerve spasms of pain flashed through his ribs, but he gritted teeth and fought back up by rolling over on them, living at millimeters of distance from a deathblow. He was quick—but not quick enough to Magnus.

The demon-possessed man tilted his head, amusement gleaming in his dark eyes. "You're improving. But you're still weak."

Alaric ignored the taunt. He couldn't afford doubt. He tightened his grip on the sword and rushed forward, feinting left before spinning into a downward slash. Magnus dodged, but the blade carved through the air with unnatural speed, forcing him back.

Walls of the temple trembled upon every blow of blade against claw. Air became frothy due to sparks during every touch of metal. Alaric overstrained himself inward to hold back, but this other chap was incredibly strong. Magnus used two for one punches Alaric could use.

Pain seared down the shoulder of Alaric as a claw ripped across his skin, tunic and vein opening. Magna spilled onto the cold stone below, but still he did not fall. Could not fall. He must keep going, must fight.

Magnus laughed harshly. "You will break eventually. There is only so much that holds. As it did your mother."

The words spewed forth by in a white rage blazing in Alaric's blood. His vision was already beginning to slip away, not because of pain—but because of fury. The runes on the blade of his sword burned into searing light, hotter than ever he'd felt. The air thickened, heavy with power he'd never felt.

This power. what is it?

There was a voice in his mind, old and powerful. Your will is the sword. Let it burn your fear. Let it be your flame.

Alaric took a deep breath, letting himself be present where he was. He'd spent his whole life informing himself that he didn't control anything, and here he stood now facing the beast that had ravaged everything he'd ever known. And he lived.

Magnus' smile faltered for the first time as power flowed into Alaric. The impending strike made the sword tremble in his hand, sensing his increasing determination.

"Finish it," Alaric snarled.

He hit first, his steel aglow and burning with fire. The first cut held fast, taking bite after savage bite deep into the arm of Magnus. The second took like an equal fool's cut, splitting his chest.

Magnus cried out in torment, a dark stain moving on the section of his body wracked in frenzied spasm.

Magnus's first backward step.

Alaric pressed on, blow for blow. His punches were no longer wild, flailing swings—now he was delivering punches of power, controlled blows, driven by something bigger than himself.

Magnus stumbled back, black ichor freely streaming from a dozen wounds. His gasps were stiff, spasmodic puffs, his nerve unraveling. "This… this can't be."

Alaric would not let him breathe. With a last, anguished shriek, he thrust the sword home, into Magnus' chest. But before the sword even had time to quiver, Magnus' body fell into darkness.

A burst of power sent Alaric crashing to the ground and onto his back. He sprang back from a pillar, pain coursing through his body. When finally he could make his way to his feet, stumbling, Magnus was gone.

The ruin was silent, except for Alaric's heavy breathing.

He had won. Not the war, but the fight. And that would have to do—at least for now.

Growling at the hilt that pounded in his hand, he knew one thing.

This was just the start.

The evening had been forever wandering up and down in front of Alaric, the fight still raging within his mind. He forced himself ahead, his legs weary but his mind receptive. The temple was not destruction; it was a fire, where his own path had actually begun. The darkness of the past hung over the air, reminding him to keep going.

He buckled the sword, second weight now, to his own waist. The sword had chosen him, but why? From where did the power running in his veins come?

Walking along the path from the wreck, a presence settled over him. Someone or something lingered nearby. Night was no longer Magnus's ally.

The crunch of leaves sliding across the edge of the glade, and Alaric's white-knuckled grasp on his sword. "Show yourself."

Something emerged, wrapped in tattered robes. His face was hidden, but his voice carried the age-softened wisdom. "You wield the sword of kings. But courage will not befriend you."

Alaric's chest rose and fell with great gasps. "Who are you?"

The stranger did not answer, but disappeared into the shadows. "Follow me, if it is revenge you seek."

Alaric stood up, faltering, before continuing. The road to revenge was a long one, but he had started walking it.

And he would not rest until his mother's spirit was at last resting.