Of Swords and Sorcery: Through fire and flames.
The golden king laughs, pulling his false arrow from the boy’s head, and his arrogance begins to pick up steam as the wart tightens her grip on the fairy blade and the blacksmiths draw their identical twin swords.
I am not amused.
The priest and white haired nun move back behind the gold plated warrior, the girl noticeability bothered by the murder that had apparently occured in front of her. The hard continuous clacking against the church's concrete steps draws my attention, caused by the footsteps of the magus killer and the shadow woman as they run to the battle. But, they won’t make it in time.
As I said, I am not amused.
The boy’s body lurches up, already sealing the wound. Human bodies are fragile and awkward, but the boy has been trained and Gilgamesh, so-called king of men, is nothing but a man.
“Were he my son, Saber, he would at least have made it within arm's reach of me. Sadly a faker’s son is a faker as well”, Gilgamesh says, drawing some blade or other from his gate of stolen weapons.
“Actually, that is the wart of Pendragon, Saber is the man in the dark armour at the entrance”, I say, correcting him, as I place my hand on his shoulder.
He whirls around and blood and sparks erupt from the boy’s body as I divert the blade. He opens his worthless maw and I jam my finger and thumb against his temple. I could crush his head in an instant even with the current limits on my power, but I don’t need to. Not when other means work better. A crack forms, starting from the boy’s left eye extending all the way to his right hip, and flames pour from his left palm, engulfing the golden servant.
To the idiot’s credit he does not scream as he burns, not that he could after I'd kicked him in the chest hard enough to send him towards the high ceiling. After another two seconds in the air his ascent ceases. I kick him in the head as he comes down, destroying the priest’s podium and burying the king’s burning form in the wall.
The others are noticeably disturbed but that’s to be expected, the sons of man have fear as a grand equalizer which drives them. Another crack forms on the boy's right leg, I’ll have to finish this now.
Gilgamesh breaks away and lurches up in a rage, snapping his fingers and launching his fake arrows. The heat of my flames shield me and the clashing of metal tells me the crowd is safe.
“MONGEL! HOW DARE YOU STRIKE ME!” he bellows, swinging a golden blade at me.
I catch it, Merodach I think it’s called, the blade of kings or such nonsense. “I do not consider amoeba when I walk”, I reply, back handing him across the face.
“I have bartered with kings, faced heroes, watched civilizations rise and fall, I am he who burns at the end of the world, you are neither king nor hero, I would call you a clown but even the worst clown I respect for his effort to entertain”, I add, the boy’s face twisting into a smug grin. It’s not my intent but it is the closest expression humans can manage to what I feel.
The golden one reaches backward, undoubtedly grasping for his petty rock drill, but he finds that his gate will not open. I open the boy’s right hand, revealing the odd-looking key, and his face twists in fear, rage and horror.
“RETURN THAT, CHILD!” he screams, trying to snatch it. I pull my hand away and strike him again. The boy’s blood begins to leak from the cracks and I do as Gilgamesh had asked, grabbing the back of his head and driving my knee into his face to knock him unconscious, before following it up by jamming the key into his eye.
I turn to the others as the boy’s blood pools around me. “Before you ask, Wart you know who I am, ask the sage more if you care. Shadow child, understand this, you are neither human nor god, do not give into the idolatry. As for you, Archer, we will speak again, when we do I will tell you the truth about the path you took”, I tell them.
The woman, Sakura, furrows her brow in confusion or, perhaps, guilt and the wart nods, sheathing her sword. Archer opens his mouth to ask what I mean, but I cannot answer as the boy’s body is damaged too badly. As I leave his body resumes its lifeless slumber and I return to mine, content that the so-called king of heroes knows fear and perhaps humility. Unlikely, but I’ll settle for shutting his mouth at least.
