Garden Of The Abyss

"...Elder Bakar, they're coming."

A young man wearing only baggy trousers made of patched-together fabric entered the humble cottage of the village elder, panting as he brought the news to the man of ripe age. The structure of the home kept alight by torches holding white flames was made of a clay-like material, exhibiting ornaments lavish with the old culture of Baldrea.

"I see."

Bakar stroked his beard slowly, running his fingers through his bristly facial hair as he sat atop a large, beige pillow.

"They...they wiped out Merunda and Toppanza already...Ambazhu is next."

Stammering out these words, the young messenger with locks dirtied by twigs and dirt in his rapid travels looked up at the elder who remained still with this information.

"Ambazhu will not be next. This village is under my protection, and it has been since the start of this war. The Ambazhu vale has never fallen into enemy hands; that will not change while I breathe."

"...Thank you, Elder Bakar…!"

The gratitude from the young man was utterly genuine; the fear looming over the humble village was very much real--Bakar knew as much as he stood his aged body up, stroking his beard as he left his cottage.

The sun had already begun to retreat beneath the veil of the stars, leaving a subtle orange hanging in the sky.

Though Baldrea was a land not known for its riches or innovations, the bond between nature and man was unbroken; beautiful pastures coated the land, extending past the roads and running along the mountains that overlooked Ambazhu.

Standing timidly outside the elder's abode were the warriors of Amazbhu, though Bakar knew from one look that the term "warrior" was disingenuous. Though they wielded spears, though they wore the strapped-together leather armor found dusty and withered in the storage of Ambazhu--it was clear what they were to the elder's eyes.

They're just boys. All of our good men have already fallen, Bakar thought.

"...Elder Bakar…?"

One of the designated warriors of Ambazhu asked with a meek voice; he looked to be no older than his early teens--holding the spear that stood taller than himself.

"What is it?"

"I was one of the scouts...there's so many of them. It's impossible...we can't hold them off. Wouldn't it be best if we left Ambazhu…?"

As quick as these words spilled from his lips, a glare was reeled in from the elder as the young warrior shrunk behind such a gaze.

"Nonsense! We will not abandon our home. This is our land, our people--we will not falter--that is our pride as Baldreans! We will burn our enemies away! Reduce them to ash! We will teach them that invading our precious land was their worst mistake!"

Bakar howled his words with a booming presence that left all the dozen, put-together warriors silent.

I remember the smell well; the aroma I etched into the tranquil land I once stood tall to protect. Flesh; burning and charred--so many I baked with my flames; their howls of agony became the passing winds in Ambazhu, he recalled.

--These thoughts sat at the forefront of the old man's mind, but something else intercepted these fleeting, unheard memories. It felt as if a bubbling warmth converged on his head, seizing his mind as his head ached and throbbed intensely. Something in between a passing second and the next had occurred, though it was far too quick for the distracted Bakar to register it.

Before Bakar had realized it, all he saw was darkness--his vision was stolen from him as it felt like the world was spinning around him, spiraling like the flames he used to protect himself.

What? He thought.

Bakar still didn't grasp what had happened, feeling a deep nausea settle into the pits of his stomach like a primordial sickness, taking hold of his body through a fluctuation of melting heat and freezing cold. The flames that caressed him like a protective mother instantly dissipated by this trance he was put into.

"How're you feeling, Dread of Ambazhu? I am assuming quite dreadful at this moment. That is my "Blade of Certain Triumph"--it seems your age has withered your senses; I thought for sure you would've seen that one coming."

Galaggher spoke quietly, now standing in front of the old man who didn't seem to register his close presence.

Held in his left hand, a blade formed of verdant magical energy shined; it had no proper form, shifting and flashing, but nonetheless maintaining its rough shape reminiscent of a longsword.

"Bakar, snap out of it!"

Fedrin clawed at the lip of the window, shouting out to the man who was his companion in the hellish realm.please visit

Knowing full well the scorn of the host would befall the high elf, both Jae-Seong and Ren pulled the man back--though it was hard to see such an intense expression present on the usually collected elf.

"Nobody can blame you for losing, old soul. This ethereal blade is my innate ability; it was simply a matter of when, not if. Dread of Ambazhu, you were indeed one who was once strong."

The knight spoke somberly as he allowed his verdant blade manifested by his ability to dissipate, only wielding his greatsword now with just his right hand as he reared it back--pointing the tip at the old man who remained in a trance.

"It's time to rest now, old warrior. Death in such enthralling combat...I bet you're not too sad about this, are you? I can only wish our journey to hell is paved the same, Bakar."

Galaggher spoke quietly, letting none others be privy to these words meant only for his opponent's ears.

"BAKAR---!"

--Shout as he did, Fedrin's call was carried off into the wind as he could only watch what transpired next.

Thrusting his blade forward with no urgency or true force behind it, Galaggher slowly slid the girthy weapon of steel through the center of Bakar's bare chest. It was an awful sound; the parting and squelching of flesh as the crimson fluid waiting inside flooded out onto the sound in abundance.

Even Fedrin recognized it was too late to do anything, falling to pained tears as he averted his eyes. Though the others were unable to commit to that mercy upon their souls, witnessing the fall of the veteran warrior.

I could barely see it...it was a slash of some sort, but he was too far for the reach of that sword to hit...what was that? Ren thought.

Though such a massive hunk of steel sat through his torso, Bakar couldn't register the pain; all that he felt was an encompassing warmth.

What is this…? Why...am I so...happy? All of the pain in my body...washed away. The memories...painful memories...I can't conjure them; all I can think about...is my village...my family.

"...How fitting; one who is the shell of their former self, a destroyer, shall die in such lonesome darkness. It's what we deserve, after all, we're killers--you and I both."

--These insulting words from the knight were not what Bakar felt; even in such abundant darkness, left only with his own thoughts--the old man could somehow, through a distance uncrossable by mere steps, felt the warmth of his family beside him.

That's right...they're waiting for me. My beautiful daughters, my strong sons, my precious grandchildren, my adorable great-grandchildren, my nieces, my nephews--I'll be home soon, Bakar thought.

It was the final, comforting memories of his family that guided Bakar from the plane of the breathing; with this warmth, the beating of his heart halted.

As the mass of steel was retrieved from the man's chest, a gaping hole remained as blood flooded out. Even so, a small smile persisted on the dry, bloodied lips of the old man as he remained standing for a few moments more.

"WINNER BY KILL, GALAGGHER! A FLAWLESS VICTORY BY THE CHARMING KNIGHT!"

Without any care for the brutal death that had transpired within the confines of the arena, the announcer's proclamation stirred up bright, encompassing cheers. Replacing his indifferent, almost disappointed frown with a smile, Galaggher accepted his victory, waving to the cheering demons that filled the many rows of the towering arena.

Before Bakar's body would finally fall forward, the high elf raced out in a flash to catch the limp, still warm body of his companion.

"Bakar…!"

Tears dropped from Fedrin's eyes as he looked down at the wrinkled, small man; he was as light as a feather, yet felt so heavy in the arms of the distraught elf. In such sensitive moments, memories engraved themselves into the mind--remembered by certains smells; flooding Fedrin's nostrils was the scent of blood that caked into the river of sand.

Galaggher looked down at the two for a moment before swiping his blade, ridding the steel of the blood that freshly stained it before returning it to its sheath.

As the knight began to leave the arena, he was stopped by sharply released words.

"Coward...you call yourself a knight!? That was a cheap trick! It was underhanded! He was much stronger than you! Coward! I'll take you down, Galaggher…! Just you wait!"

--The high elf spoke with such fresh, burning emotions fueling his words laced with hostility as tears traversed his cheeks.

"The days of my knighthood have long since passed. I simply used whatever means necessary to win; that's all. If you should meet me in this arena by your own merit, remember that. Well, I'll be waiting."

Without turning back, Galaggher left those few, quietly spoken words before exiting the arena.

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