Short Story / Wrath of the Fallen
“Mmmm… that was a workout,” Kaze said. He stretched and wrapped his arm around Kaileen while his other hand lightly brushed her hair. His rough, tanned skin draped over the ivory skin she called her own like a blanket, warming her to the touch. She smiled in response and leaned in to plant a kiss on his neck.
“Don’t get used to it,” she began, “unless you plan on making me your bride.” Kaze’s master, Lord Drake, pawned her off to him as recognition for outstanding service; it was a first for any of his servants. That particular campaign also cost him a pair of dear friends and allies of his. By the end of that journey, Kaze returned to Master Drake with the head of the target as well as the corpses of his comrades so they could receive a proper burial in their homeland. She was his prize, whom Master Drake described as “unspoiled.” Kaze assumed this was because any male who approached found himself with a sudden groin injury. She then looked around innocently with a “how did my foot get there?” expression on her face while inwardly dancing in glee.
But theirs was not a forced love. When they first met, the occasion in which she became his prize, she glared at him spitefully. Such a reaction was understandable, yet she underestimated him. Any normal man would have forced himself upon her. She slept alone in his bed for more than 30 nights while he slept on the floor of his own room. He never compromised her security nor did he ever disrespect her. In fact, he took wonderful care of her. Technically, she belonged to him, yet he cooked and cleaned for her as if she was an earthly goddess and he a loyal servant. Fredrick, as well as all the rest of Master Drake’s guard gave him hell endlessly over this, yet he continued to love and cherish her in spite of their teasing. Who could blame him? Her milky white skin, jet black hair, and amber eyes filled him with desire. If she so desired, she simply batted her lashes and struck a seductive pose; he would be pitching a tent in one second flat. Not only that, but her ferocity, modesty, and determination amassed such respect by him that he could no longer help but adore her. Such a violent girl could certainly muster a romantic side when properly treated. In a single night of passion, he confessed his love for her and they belonged to one another since. Three months had passed since then.
Their moment of sweet embrace spoiled when Kaze let out a deep sigh and tightened his grip on her. “You must leave,” he said. “While you still have a chance. If you wait any longer, there’s no telling what our pursuers will do to you.”
“You should be more worried about them than I.” He grinned at her silliness. “If they ever made it past you, they’d have my wrath to suffer.”
“I can just see you bashing the King’s men with pots and pans to death.”
“Well I’m sure as hell not cooking with them, am I? And if it works, why not?” The two lovers giggled, and then her voice grew gentle. “I will not let them cause me any pain. Please don’t worry.”
He nodded and kissed her once more. Although he loathed admitting it, he was afraid more of them dishonoring her corpse than anything else. “I’ll come up with something. Something that will save all of you.”
Restlessly, he pondered for a solution to the threat. Master Drake entrusted the safety of not only himself but his entire family and estate to the young soldier now that the King’s wrath was incurred. Drake served as a well renowned vassal under the rule of King Neias until Drake refused to send his men to slaughter a retreating rebel army. While Drake labeled it a massacre which would be without hope for true victory, the tyrannical swine of a king claimed it would be a cleansing. Due to Drake’s insubordination, the rebel army not only survived, but flourished, causing numerous fortifications to sprout out in the King’s land. As punishment for his ‘treachery’, the King released his trained group of criminals, the Hands of Judgment, upon Drake and his family. Kaze, the Chief Bodyguard to Lord Drake and all his family, knew that their lives rested in his hands and his hands alone. “But no pressure or anything,” Drake told him.
Sleep would be wonderful, Kaze thought. Sighing, he weighed his options. No matter how hard he fought, his beloved Kaileen as well as his master’s family would be raped, murdered, and burned if he attempted to defend them. A man such as him, no matter how well versed in combat, would only be slain like a dog when fighting out of sheer fear of losing those dear to him. He would only fight recklessly under the aforementioned circumstances; he feared nothing more than his beloved’s desecration and that was his greatest weakness. Technique prevails only when wielded by the clear headed.
Finally, after tearful goodbyes to his love, his allies who stood by him in countless bouts, and the people he served, he sat in wait with sword in hand. Sunlight peeked through the cracks of the wooden walls and shined into the restless warrior’s weary eyes. The glaring light gleamed golden off the ebony blade which was crafted to perfection. All who witnessed his blade’s beauty sought after it. Any who watched Kaze in battles of the past witnessed him slicing through shields, weapons, and men alike with ease; he wielded it as swiftly as one would a feather. The pommel consisted of a ring of gold with a blood red jewel resting in the center. Its black grip was surprisingly comfortable and the cross-guard resembled two black wings akin to that of a crow outstretched. When Kaze was a child, a strange man who donned indigo robes and appeared shrouded in darkness bestowed the lovely blade to him. He said nothing more than its name, “Achillion,” which literally meant “Wrath of the Fallen” in the old tongue. With this blade, Kaze annihilated adversaries of the King for nearly a decade, and then protected Drake with it for four years more; he left his life of peace at the tender age of sixteen. Ever since, his comrades referred to him as a demon in battle. This day, Kaze knew, ultimately decided his true prowess.
There he sat, holding the fierce blade, listening and awaiting his prey. With a harshly audible clatter the doors to the estate suddenly burst open, wooden splinters soaring through the air, and hordes of the Hands of Judgment poured into the room. Unshaken, Kaze bided his time above them in the attic, his eyes bloodshot from tears and the blinding light, gazing down at his foes through a hole in the ceiling. He counted at least thirty of the brigands in the room. Did they all enter? Surely they would not be so stupid, he thought. Once he saw that the stream of entering pillagers came to an end, he slammed his legs down through the ceiling and dropped to the floor below. He immediately ran his blade through the brigand guarding the door and pushed him off with his foot. The fatally wounded foe stumbled back, knocking down unsuspecting victims with him. One of them briefly spouted a fountain of blood into the air. The fool’s weapon was not sheathed and it must have sliced into him from below.
“They were stupid after all”, Kaze told himself as he closed the door, content to find that they did not take notice of the straw lining the entire estate’s walls. He tossed one of the candles he set up beside the door up into the attic, and then another behind him, causing his only exit to ignite into flame, and the other trail of burning straw above him led the flames all around the estate. The inferno grew and erupted, encircling the anxious brigands into his incinerating trap. “I assure you all there is no exit other than this. I saw to that before you arrived. You will die here with me.” The flames rose behind him, casting a haunting image of a man shrouded in darkness into their eyes, only his blazing eyes and his fiery golden hair visible to them. “Step forward and die as men, or burn alive as animals. Sadly, there is no escaping this hell or the next, my friends.”
For every murderer who stepped forward, an equal number of corpses laid before the crimson-eyed demon they faced. He struck them quickly and mercilessly, eagerly desiring the certainty that none lived to tell the tale. At least twenty opponents fell as victims to his blade before their leader stepped forward. He was a nasty older man with a platinum bird’s nest for hair and he was missing as many half-rotten teeth as a child might. A pitiful sight. The smoke filled Kaze’s lungs and he grew woozy, his already bloodshot eyes making sight a difficult accomplishment. “Finally a good fight,” the old man said.
“So that’s what the man who already lost about two dozen men tells me, eh?” Kaze sneered at him and charged. Before the old man could even completely raise his cumbersome yet gruesome axe into a fighting stance, Kaze sliced the blade clean off with Achillion, making it little more than an iron stick. He then followed this movement with a swift slice at the chest, causing blood to spurt out the nasty old man’s bare torso as the force pushed him back. One of the more innocent looking men stepped forward to protect him, but Kaze merely parried his blows and pushed him away, leaving the man with nothing to do but witness the death of his commander. The leader pried a saber from one of his dead men’s hands and charged once more. Kaze narrowly evaded the swipe and grabbed the sword right out of his hands, then swiftly severed his opponent’s arms from his body, pushed him against the emblazoned wall, and shoved the saber directly into his chest to pin him to it, allowing his men to witness the codger burn alive before them.
Feeling his breath becoming harder and harder to muster, Kaze quickly cut down the remaining enemies one by one until only one survived. This Hand of Judgment, the young lad who formerly stepped forth to protect his leader, raised his sword once more against the weary warrior. He spoke, tearfully, to the man soaked in blood. “Why are you doing this, Kaze? Glory?”
“Glory?” Kaze laughed at the youthful man, but choked a second later due to lack of oxygen. He caught his breath. “Glory is an illusion. It is merely a precursor to self-satisfaction. The cause? Nothing more than the amount of people who respect your name. I have no need for glory.” The panting youth charged forth and ran his sword directly through Kaze’s chest, the blade halfway through him. Kaze cringed, but stood still. “This is spite towards your tyrant king. And love for a concubine.” He laughed menacingly once more and pulled the blade further into him and the man closer along with it. “Tell him I killed everyone myself and burned the corpses. He will not have his vengeance. As for you, you were the sole survivor. You will escape through the back. I could tell by the way you fight that you are a good man. You fight for reasons not of your own and only to survive. Let your conscience be your guide.” Kaze stopped for a moment to catch his breath and continued. “There is a painting of a boat in the study. Behind it, a window. That is the only unobstructed way out. Go. And take my sword as proof of your success.” He handed Achillion to the young man after speaking his last words and removed the Hand’s blade from his chest. Kaze then fell to the ground, and the last sight he witnessed before closing his eyes was the surviving man carrying the Wrath of the Fallen with him, leaving the mighty warrior to suffer a burning grave.
Kaileen looked over him tenderly as she caressed his cheek. With her other hand, she poured water from a pitcher into his mouth, causing his never-ending thirst to subside for a moment. She sighed, thinking him a stubborn fool who should have fled with them so that he never would have suffered so, but she knew without the story of their deaths that the Hands would gather once more and continue hunting them. “Oh, Kaze… you’re such an idiot.”
He groaned and responded gently. “You’ve been saying that for nearly a week now, but I haven’t had the energy to say anything more than a few words. Now I can finally give you a piece of my mind.”
“Oh yeah?” She loved to challenge him.
“Mmhmm.”
“And that piece of your mind is?”
“I love you, Kaileen.”
She smiled and kissed his cheek before giving him some more water. “I love you too, Kaze. What else can I get you so you’ll shut up and go back to sleep?”
“How about your sweet tush in bed with me?”
She smacked him playfully, giggling, and then spoke to him quietly, with sincerity. “I still have no idea how you made it out of there.”
“I didn’t. I assumed you saved me.”
“As if I would go back for you.”
“It would have made quite a story, wouldn’t it? A slave who, once freed, ran into a burning building to save the man she loves, who just happens to be her owner.”
She laughed. “Owner? You never owned me and you know it. We found you lying in the charred grass near the estate.” She turned away slightly. “I’m sorry, but we couldn’t just leave you there like you wanted. We all waited in the forest and headed back as soon as we assumed they left.”
“Odd… Well, how’s my wound?”
“Wound?” she asked. “Aside from resembling a roasted duck, there wasn’t a scratch on you when we found you. Someone up there must love you. That means I’ll be smacking them around when I get there so they know who you belong to.” She giggled once more and ran her hand through his hair.
He shut his eyes and an old image haunted him. “Has anyone come for us since?”
“No, not really. Well, perhaps. A man came to see you. He told me to tell you to take back what belongs to you. And he said… he said something about how the dead cannot rest until they have their vengeance. Thought I was imagining things, but Drake saw him too.”
Kaze stared off in the distance for a moment. “Well, then. We’d better rest up. We have a rebellion to join.”
“How did I know you would say that?”
“Because you’re a sexy witch! Tell Drake that we’re joining their cause.” Catching Kaileen off guard, he grabbed her and pulled her down into bed with him. He closed his eyes and kissed her lips deeply before she could protest. “But first, let’s make use of all this bed rest.” She was more than happy to oblige.
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Okay first off you just throw us into your world in this story with no character discription and nothing to show us where they live. These are a little short to be chapters they are more like pages.
Your sentence with the word but does not need to be there it’s perfectly fine without it. Also rule of writing never start a sentence with and or but.
Make the chapters longer by adding more discription. Watch the Scorpian King a few times or Red Sonja for making girls swoon.
It needs a lot more work, try describing the village give us some character background we need to visualise the setting and surroundings.
Keep working at it and I would like to read the revised version when it’s ready.
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Not very grasping at the begginng; not the background, only the physical of the characters was described. It just needs more writing of detail and character development and there were a couple of paragraphs too long. the plot is good but it could be better, though that’s just my opinion
I think it is sweet, how the excerpt here begins and ends with the cute lovers. Though if this is indeed extended into a novel, the beginning exposition should be stretched out into the actual story. For such a short story, it is dense with exposition, which I found boring. A chunk of it separated the first scene from the second scene, but not very well, and I found myself wondering how he got from bed with Kaileen to being in the midst of battle, though part of it might be the formatting of the page. All in all, I found this piece to be enjoyable and light, though, as you mentioned in your note, there is work to be done if this is to become a novel.
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