The Stray, as he was later called, entered the courtyard unnoticed. It was noon, and the unbearable heat was scorching the bodies hidden beneath heavy, gleaming armor. Crowds watched the royal couple's annual celebrations. The soldiers formed a wall, standing shoulder to shoulder, guarding, watching, watching...
The people, captivated by the sight of the royal couple, cheered.
Only the Stray was waiting for an opportunity. In his beggar's rags, he hid in a thicket of colorful garments and waited for the right moment.
The sun had reached the peak of its soaring journey when, at the intercessor's signal, the sounds of melodious trumpets resounded. The echoes crashed against the rock walls. The shouts and cheers of the crowd drowned everything out. The uncertain, restless, sweaty Stray was waiting for an opportunity. He elbowed his way forward, tried to shout, to step forward. To no avail. As an ordinary man, he had no chance of breaking through the hysterical mob. Using his superhuman abilities would have betrayed him immediately. So he preferred to wait until everything quieted down.
The king, his wife, a small guard, and two sons were passing by in an ornate carriage. The horses neighed, as if frightened by the entire gathering. However, they pulled the carriage calmly.
Beside the ruler stood a tall man. Young, handsome, wrapped in a black cloak. He looked perhaps 30, certainly no older. His long, blond hair contrasted with his clothing. He looked nothing like the soldiers encased in brass armor. Therefore, he didn't swelter in the sun, needing no protection for his fragile body. His name was Belrogen.
The elder of the king's sons stood beside him.
"Do you think he will strike, Master?" he asked with a certain apprehension in his voice, a madness in his eyes.
"I don't know," Belrogen replied. "He was seen five miles from here." At least that's what the patrol back from Pretoria claimed. "
But Mechales and his men returned a long time ago. Who knows where he is now? Maybe he's invaded the city, or waiting in ambush outside the walls? You can expect anything from him."
"If I know him, he's hidden in some backwater in the countryside, hatching plots. He knows I'll be here. So if he's lurking in the crowd, he must have a plan, because he can't do it alone. He knows it, and so do we. No, that would be absurd. He's not suicidal. He wouldn't barge in here, especially with the threat of legal proceedings.
" "Maybe that's what he's counting on?"
"Hmm?" Belrogen looked at the king's son with a grimace. "Speak more clearly." "
You said yesterday that he attacks by surprise. He doesn't even give his victim a moment to parry. Maybe that's what he's counting on? No one expects him here, the guards aren't double-vigilant, even you have your doubts. Maybe this is his plan?"
"Maybe, maybe…?" he muttered. "If he's here, I'll find him. He won't slip past my guards unnoticed; he's too stupid. There was a time when I caught him easily. He'd escape from the tower after a few days, but then it took him two days to return to the dungeon. Now, however, he's somehow more cunning, more suspicious, yet just as stupid as before. A traitor is a traitor. This time, death awaits him, even though our law forbids it. However, after deliberation, the council decided on death for this outlaw. We'll finish him once and for all. Hopefully, today."
The stray, peering from under his tattered hood, watched Belrogen carefully. He read his gestures, movements, facial expressions; he knew exactly what they meant. He didn't take his eyes off him until the carriage disappeared behind the courtyard wall and left for the city. Now he could act; he had time to prepare the ambush he had been planning for two weeks. He knew perfectly well that this was the last hope for overthrowing the king, whom he considered a murderer and a fraud. He was no stranger to the kingdom's politics. He was one of the few who had access to the secret of the ruler's birth. Others remained silent, but he wanted to reveal the cruel truth and overthrow the illegitimate tyrant. Such was the secret, and he wanted to bring it to life...
Night burst upon the city unexpectedly. A large, round moon, along with a thousand stars, adorned the sky. The bustle of the cheering populace ceased. Everyone dispersed to their homes, leaving the streets quiet. It was muggy. The lazy soldiers patrolling the abandoned city seemed to have nothing to do. Gloomy faces moved through the alleys, awaiting the dawn. No one suspected the worst.
Death waited somewhere on the palace roof. Four masked men, blending into the night, awaited the return of the king and his retinue. A stray was there – their leader.
"We have to be careful," he said. "We're too conspicuous on these red roof tiles." He glanced around, but apart from a cat gliding across the courtyard, he saw nothing. "
This is the perfect time to sneak into the throne room. I don't think anyone expects us to do anything. No guards. It's a bit strange." The large, burly man tried to wipe the sweat from his brow, but the black cloak covering his face made it difficult. "
Let's get to work then," the leader said.
After a moment, their black silhouettes blurred against the red roof tiles in the blink of an eye. They flashed and vanished. The cat, observing from the courtyard, purred, swung its body gracefully around, and scuttled off into the darkness.
Night was in full swing when the king and his retinue returned from their tiring celebrations. He wanted to sleep now, to lie down on his golden bed and fall into a summer slumber. That was all he dreamed of...
The throne room, vast and adorned with all manner of trinkets, was empty on this sultry night. But when the voices in the hall died down, the clatter of feet ceased, four masked men emerged from behind the curtains, led by the stray. The burly giant removed his cloak. "
I'll finally breathe," he said. "I couldn't stand this any longer." He gracefully wiped his high, sweaty forehead. "
Where to now?" The slender, slightly built man turned to the leader.
The leader thought for a moment, scanning the room as if searching for the right path. "
The hall door is the only way in. There's no point in risking the roof. Teiler," he glanced at the fourth man, who had just removed his mask. "I hope you won't disappoint me?"
"I won't disappoint you, boss," came an unpleasantly low voice. "That's what we agreed. I'll go in first and eliminate the guards." I'm covering the main passage. You enter the king's bedroom, kill the traitor, and then you know what to do.
Everyone nodded. They agreed to the previously agreed-upon plan. Teiler quietly approached the brass door. He gently grabbed the gold handle, muttered under his breath, and opened the passage. The other men heard nothing. His footsteps outside, the guards being dispatched, not even the short groans revealing the pain of the murdered. Everything went according to plan. The corridor was clear, and a moment later, the corpses were in the throne room. It was time to face fate and reach the royal chamber. This was the final stage of the mysterious plan.
Who were the conspirators? No one knew. The king had long been informed of the planned assassination, but he had no idea who would come from or from whom. Everyone knew that the stray, sentenced to death, would be one of the assassins. There had to be more of them, because he couldn't have done it alone. It was beyond his capabilities, but with three friends...
The burly bruiser was named Tobian. He had known the stray since childhood. Their joint operations spread terror in many towns and villages. They attacked wealthy merchants, robbed wealthy townspeople, and even a peasant's cottage was not disdained. Tobian was a massive muscleman—that's what his friends called him. He distinguished himself not only for his strength. A sharp mind and intelligence were innate in him. An excellent strategist.
Teiler was a silent killer. In his youth, he wandered the city streets until he came across the stray. They met in a dungeon while awaiting sentencing for theft from a wealthy crimson. The stray discovered in him an excellent fighter with knives and other handguns. He had no scruples and killed silently. The long, curved blade of his knife was shrouded in legend. He supposedly killed over 100 men with it.
A slender man of slight stature was named Mecheles. The nickname was taken from the famous warrior Mechali, who a century earlier had been considered a master of hand-to-hand combat and swordsmanship. Like the famous master, Mecheles feared no enemy and fought like no other in his company. He could hold his own against a group of enemies blindfolded. The warrior's aura was powerful.
His friends knew as little about the stray as anyone else. He was a loner, a master of himself. He spoke little about his past, as if he wanted to keep that part of his life to himself. A mysterious figure, quite frightening even to his friends. He could glare so fiercely that one could immediately tell his mood. No one messed with him or argued with him. He was the leader of the group, and that was all. He was considered a brilliant strategist. That was enough. He came from nowhere and recruited people. Even his name remained a mystery, which is why they called him the stray.
The bedroom door opened quietly, confidently, quickly. The newly installed hinges made no sound. Teiler knew how to proceed in such a situation. He was supposed to enter quietly and unnoticed. And so he did. He glanced around the room, golden, full of splendor, paintings, and works of art. His gaze, however, fell on the beautiful bed covered in exquisite velvet. The king must have been panting beneath it. He left so quickly that he left no trace in the form of prints or sounds. He took his designated place before the stairs, and three men thirsting for the king's blood entered the ruler's chamber. Their eyes were filled with fear and vengeance.
The stray nodded. Tobian must have known the significance of this gesture, because a moment later he drew a long, thin dagger from his belt. Mecheles pulled out something resembling a black vial and handed it to the thug. Without a moment's pause, the man opened the container and carefully inserted the tip of the blade. When he removed it, a small black stain was visible on the tip. Poison. This was how they planned to kill the king. Without slitting his throat, he would die in his sleep, without any pain. The deadly venom of the Zambardian viper, on the blade of a knife, was supposed to cause convulsions, vomiting, and agony in excruciating agony. The conspirators were certain of his death. There was no known antidote for this venom.
Tobian, despite his great height and awkward figure, approached the bed nimbly and silently. He glanced at the gently rippling fabric. It rose in the air, then fell to the rhythm of the ruler's breathing. The giant smiled, twisted his lips in a wicked way, and raised his hand. The blade flashed, then with great fury, it descended toward the sleeping man...
It was like a dream come true. The knife lodged itself in the fabric enveloping the sleeping figure. After such a confident, powerful blow, the body would quickly absorb the deadly venom. The king would no longer live, and this realization sparked excitement, joy, but not one expressed by his friends. Everyone rejoiced internally, refusing to let it out. They were aware that the sudden, emotional outburst of joy could lead to disaster...
But something was wrong. Tobian still held the hilt hidden beneath the pulsing cover. He couldn't remove the blade, as if something were blocking it, holding it, and wouldn't let go. So he yanked with all his might, surprising the other two, and almost landed on the floor, thrown by the centrifugal force. He maintained his balance, threw the knife aside, and drew his saber.
"What are you doing?" Mecheles asked, alarmed. "What are you doing?"
Tobian ignored the words and broke into a sweat. He flexed the wrist that had previously held the knife. At that moment, the blanket rose into the air, as if pushed from below by someone's will. A sitting figure emerged. The cloth covered it in such a way that it resembled a ghost, the kind children disguise themselves as to scare someone. The blanket slid open, and to the conspirators' astonishment, it wasn't the king, but... Belrogen.
"Damn it, where's the king?" the stray shouted.
With those words, Teiler ran into the room, as if summoned by a sound of alarm. Everyone in the hall was astonished, unable to believe their eyes. Their intricate plan was ruined. Instead of a ruler, they encountered the praetor of the main army, the master of the king's sons in the art of weapons, Belrogen himself.
"Gentlemen, what terrified you so? Wait, were you expecting someone else?" the young man stood up and brushed his blond hair behind his ears. From behind their shoulders appeared the hilts of two swords, strapped diagonally to their backs by a leather belt.
No one answered. The anxiety grew, becoming more pronounced, especially in Tobian, who barely even formed an attack.
"Easy," the stray reassured. "He's beyond your strength."
"What?" the bruiser snapped. "If you don't do something, I'll slaughter him myself, without anyone's help."
The young man laughed. The other two drew their weapons. The metal blades of their swords flashed in the air. The stray waited, making no move, not even drawing his knife, as if paralyzed, waiting for the situation to unfold.
The spectacle didn't last long, as the guards burst through the door. Armed, alert, ready for battle. The king walked proudly and calmly down the hall, right behind the officers. He wasn't in a hurry. He looked pleased, and with that same expression of victory, he entered the room.
"The birds have fallen into our trap," he said, amused.
The conspirators lowered their weapons, feeling helpless. They ignored fear, for in their profession it led to ruin. They couldn't bear the thought of being experienced killers, falling into such an ambush. The amused soldiers' faces made them aware of their humiliation. Now, in the damp dungeons of a prison, death awaited them. They had been taken prisoner from which there was no escape...
"Shackle them?" a mustachioed soldier, his helmet perched crookedly on his head, turned toward the monarch.
He raised a hand to restrain the guards. He wanted to savor the triumph and look the stranger straight in the eyes, to read the fear there. But he saw nothing there. The man's blue eyes seemed to mask all emotion, to suppress his bitterness.
"You've escaped us so many times. You've evaded the guards, you've killed, you've robbed. I've been pondering this for a month. How could a typical villain like you be so clever? Did you have an accomplice?
He didn't answer. Head bowed, he waited for the shackles to creak on his hands. Then he would feel relief. His companions and accomplices were disappointed. Their leader's plan had failed. They would all die.
"We could stand like this for hours, and they still wouldn't tell us anything," Belrogen said impatiently.
"Yes, yes," the king mused. "There's no point in waiting for morning. They're to be hanged tomorrow, so let them rest in the dungeon. There, they'll come to their senses when rats as big as cats start gnawing on their bodies." He turned to the soldiers. They roared with laughter...
A moment was enough to seize the opportunity. The mustachioed soldier with the crooked helmet, who had been whinnying the loudest, was drenched in blood. The blow landed diagonally on his head. The severed ear, along with half of his face, detached itself from the rest of his body and slid to the ground. A widening pool of thick blood formed. The surprised king stopped laughing, looked ahead, and immediately blood spurted across his face – from another victim. He suddenly rubbed his eyes and saw the stray mutilating another guard. Even Belrogen didn't react. The desperate man wanted to carve his way free with his sword, break through the line of guards, and escape.
The rest of the conspirators didn't remain idle either. They took up arms to aid their leader.
A clatter, a scream, a panic. The guards fell quickly and silently. Without a whimper. Red liquid sprayed everywhere. The stray rampaged with his sword in hand, striking with such precision that the hand of a true master was evident.
A swing and a single attack was enough. No cover, dodge, or parry was enough to resist such a powerful attack, which he presented to the terrified Tobian guard. The mighty bruiser commanded respect in action.
The others were no less impressive. Mecheles' swift cuts finished off the enemy. Teiler also killed effectively...
"Are you mad, Belrogen? Why are you just standing there? Fight!" the king shouted, panicked, trying to escape through the corpse-blocked exit.
The commander of the Praetorian Guard watched the carnage with interest. When the king managed to break through the collapsed passage and began urging the men from the hall into battle, he slowly reached behind his neck to draw his saber. He didn't need one, the other.
No one heard the hiss of the weapon being drawn from its sheath. The young man grew serious and spotted the weakest victim. A light flashed, bright and warm, but unpleasant against the skin. Belrogen attacked. Everyone felt fear. The brightness emanating from the young man's body was paralyzing in its glow. Teiler was the first to turn toward him, shielding himself with his weapon... but he couldn't. The saber was embedded in his flesh. Up close, it looked like a sword, with a slightly curved blade. It pierced painfully, causing internal bleeding. Teiler looked despairingly into the attacker's cold eyes.
"But how, how is it possible? So quickly..." he stammered. Thanks to Belrogen, the weapon sank deeper. A groan, fear... Teiler closed his eyes, he was dead...
"So, gentlemen?" Belrogen's wicked smile appeared on his face. "Don't you think this fight is too much?"
No one spoke; Teiler's body, covered in a pool of blood, lay limp on the ground. They had almost dug through the guards' barrier, freedom was close, but a new enemy had emerged, one that wouldn't be so easy to defeat. "
I thought your friend would put up a stronger defense against me. But oh well... what can you expect from mediocrities like you?" The young man quickly holstered his weapon; he probably wouldn't need it anymore.
"Damn you," the stray grimaced, "we agreed otherwise!"
"Hahaha, you're talking about a plot against the king? That I was supposed to help you with it?"
The leader wiped his sweaty forehead with his hand. His intricate plan, hidden from the world and even his closest friends, had fallen apart.
"No good," he thought, "he's a traitor! But well, that was to be expected..."
The stray lowered his weapon, as if resignedly waiting for his friends' reaction.
"What are you doing?" Tobian exclaimed indignantly. "Just because Teiler is dead doesn't mean defeat. Grab your weapon and fight!"
"Calm down, he's too strong, even for you. I counted on him, and now he's failed me, the damned traitor.
" "What? You underestimate me, don't you?"
The bruiser raised his sword and, with a roar, lunged at the young man. The man ignored the attack. He raised his hand, palm open, high above his neck, then clenched it. The bruiser suddenly, as if collided with an invisible wall, lowered his sword. He clutched his throat, gasping for breath, as if something were choking him. He fell to one knee, didn't last long, and a moment later was writhing on his back in pain. He turned red, he was exhaling, and the more the young man clenched his fist, the greater the darkness obscured his eyes.
"Leave him, Belrogen," shouted the king, who had forced his way back to the throne room through the ranks of survivors and astonished soldiers. "Don't forget, we need them alive, not dead. We already have one corpse, I don't want any more!"
The grip loosened, and the bruiser caught his breath.
"Damn it, I thought I was finished!" He stood up with great difficulty and looked at the young man with disgust.
"Damn you," the wanderer said, "you wanted to fight me, fine, I agree! But leave the rest alone. Besides, if I win, you know nothing can save the king, don't you?"
"You can do anything with the king. I don't care. I've been waiting for you for months and I won't miss this opportunity. I know you haven't shown even a fraction of your power, I'm counting on you to do it now.
" "What are you talking about?" the monarch asked, concerned. "That's not what we agreed on!"
"Shut up, you old fool, I only care about him!"
Tobian looked at the leader in disbelief.
"Are you sure you know what you're doing? You don't stand a chance against him. He's not a man, he's a demon!"
"Don't worry, I know what I'm doing. You don't know everything about me, and I'll try to deal with this demon, as you call him, once and for all. It's up to me to put him to death." "
You have a great sense of humor," the young man said, and laughed cruelly. "Do you think you can defeat me, you vagabond? Or rather, Tunibis!
" He said nothing, just reached for his dropped sword...
The courtyard was deserted, quiet, and dark. Even the light of the large moon failed to illuminate all its corners. The torches on the towers had gone out, no light came from the windows, and the city was frozen in darkness.
The fair-haired youth stood just by the entrance. He leaned his back against the warm wall, calm, confident. He kept his eyes closed, gently thinned his hair, adjusted the belt that held his sword diagonally, and muttered something.
"The darkness doesn't bother you, maybe make it brighter?" He opened his eyes and looked toward the left gallery. From there came the sound of footsteps, growing louder and louder. After a few steps from the depths of the night, he heard a clang, then silence, dull and long. "
What are you waiting for? Show yourself. I know you're there. I see everything you do. "
A moment of peace, concern, and then the voice of a stranger rang out.
"There's no denying it, you're hard to surprise, Belrogen." He stopped, right by the well in the center of the square, and concentrated on the outline of the barely visible figure.
The young man closed his eyes again, adjusted his back so he could lean as comfortably as possible against the courtyard wall.
"Yes, indeed. You know perfectly well you stand no chance against me. I surpass you in every respect, and yet you dared to fight." I admire your courage.
"Don't be so confident, you haven't yet experienced my full strength. An unpleasant surprise awaits you.
" "Really? I saw you fight back then... during the riots in the capital. And you think you can oppose me? You're an ordinary warrior, maybe a little better than those mediocrities of yours trained in a self-proclaimed army. I'm above all that, I can do more than you can even imagine.
" "Really?"
"Yes, as a warrior I have my honor, I know what I'm talking about, I never lie in matters of combat. I've never met anyone who would oppose me. That's why I was so eager to meet you after you beat Delrages. And he was the best, so they said..., but after what I saw in the capital, and today..., I have doubts whether it's worth staining my hands with your blood?"
His eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, and both silhouettes were becoming visible. The stray stood calmly, making no unnecessary movements, probably waiting for a favorable opportunity.
"Are you talking about honor?" The one who killed mothers and children in cold blood?
Belrogen grew serious, smoothed his hair once more, and looked at his interlocutor so that his blue eyes turned into a sea of scorching hatred.
"Yes, it's true what you say." He stopped leaning against the wall and straightened his clothes. "I killed women and children. I murdered everything that moved, and it doesn't run up a tree. The same will happen to you. You just have to be patient, Tunibis."
However, Tunibis, ignoring his words, drew his sword with a confident movement. He looked intently at the blade as if it were his last hope.
"Do you think you can defeat me with this?" He unhooked his belt, which fell to the ground along with the weapon. "I won't fight with iron! See how much advantage you have? Try, attack, maybe you'll succeed, but I warn you, no one has ever defeated me!"
The stray waited patiently for this moment. He knew his opponent would want to show his superiority and abandon his weapon. But he didn't know one thing...
A moment was enough for the courtyard to be enveloped in light, a spark, a flash...
Belrogen was speechless as the stray suddenly appeared before his eyes, like a ghost, blurred by the light of a mysterious brightness. He was just above his head, preparing for a powerful swing, the sword, as if embedded in gold, radiating inexhaustible power. The hatred in the young man's eyes turned to fear and dread; the blade of fate was already reaching his shoulder.
A powerful whistle and the crunch of breaking stone echoed through the courtyard. The stray was struck in the forehead by a splinter of wall, but he didn't care. He looked around; there was no prey; he must have dodged it somehow, managed to escape like a lamb from a wolf's attack.
"Damn it, where is he?" the thought flashed briefly.
He jerked his arm and tore the weapon from the rock. He raised his hands, howled as if in triumph, carried away by rage... he sensed, he knew where he had fled, not for long...
The stray was enveloped in light, brighter than before; the ground trembled as if something large had collided with it. He once again charged at his defenseless prey. It was just beyond the cloister, hidden behind one of the columns in the darkest corner.
Driving like the wind, he collided with a pillar. A thunderclap echoed through the entire space. Another victim of the attack, the column collapsed in ruins. The young man, terrified, could only see in the ever-brightening light the bloody eyes of the stray, who this time blocked his path and refused to let him escape. But once again, the victim tore itself free from the lion's jaws. Once again, it vanished so suddenly that the bloodthirsty attacker could only see the whoosh of a fleeing figure.
"Where to?" he roared, clenching his fist, and with a sudden blow, he struck forward. He found only air, but after a moment, as if struck by a brass battering ram, the young man flew with all his might into the courtyard wall. Bricks buried him...
Finally, the silence, the brightness emanating from the stray's body ceased, and darkness enveloped the courtyard once more.
The sound of uneven footsteps drew ever closer to the place where the victim lay beneath a layer of smoking rubble. Tunibis sheathed his sword, muttered under his breath, and approached. He couldn't see the enemy, couldn't feel his breathing or heartbeat. He blocked the path with piles of bricks. He looked at them boldly, seeming confident...
He slowly climbed the collapsed wall. He looked around, adjusted his belt with a movement of his arm, crouched, and began to shovel away the stones, one by one. The pile turned out to be smaller than he had expected, so after a moment, he touched the ground. The body was gone. He rolled aside the largest stone—perhaps there? No—a deadly thought flashed through his mind like an arrow. He raised his head, a dangerous message reaching his senses. His pupils, staring at the gaping hole, suddenly dilated—he heard the dangerous whistle of a flying blade.
He was struck in the shoulder, howled in pain, and the impact knocked him flat on his left shoulder. Instantly, despite the wound, he rolled onto his back. He was in time, this time parrying the blow—his right hand, holding the sword, unwounded, formed a defensive posture.
The young man had launched a counteroffensive. As the stray was digging through the rubble, the man grabbed the weapon he had dropped earlier and then attacked. He fell suddenly, from behind. He rolled across the courtyard like an avalanche hurtling towards his fate, took a swing, but the enemy managed to defend himself.
The stray lay there, having already parried one blow, but the young man, carried away by a fury of anger, as if possessed by a demonic force, fell into a rage. This time, it was his scream that pierced the area, and a gale of wind erupted around him, like a whirlwind that destroyed everything. Tunibis only managed to shield himself from the fierce wind, but he lacked the strength to resist such force, and flew off to the side.
The young man, however, continued his concert, which would have impressed any warrior. A bright glow joined the whirlwind, illuminating the area. It expanded with the intensity of the scream, burning everything, glowing and inspiring terror. Then, like lightning after a summer storm, lightning burst into the circle of death. A stray noticed them, regained his composure under the cloister, and cursed. He saw a figure, not human, not divine, but one he had never seen before. The young man's face changed beyond recognition, taking on a more mature shape, and his eyes... looked like boiling blood, full of evil and hatred.
The young man's body was covered with a mass of muscles that tore through his clothes, revealing the figure of a hero. Only his long, blond hair remained as before.
Belrogen calmed down after a moment, panted heavily, and turned toward his enemy. He drew an arc in the air with his blade, gripped the hilt tightly, and began to approach the paralyzed victim.
"I didn't think... how... how was I supposed to know you'd sold your soul to the devil?" the voice sounded like the growl of death. The young man was getting closer and closer.
Tunibis, wounded and dazed, stood up, clutching his left shoulder, from which blood was gushing. He looked at the sword lying at his feet, bloody and dirty; it seemed he no longer found hope in it.
"It's true," he said with difficulty, "you're not the only one who knows the devil's tricks."
"Surely you still don't think that despite such power, you can defeat me? I sold my soul to Lucifer himself, and he doesn't negotiate with just anyone. And you, I presume from your abilities, sold yourself to a lowly devil... who was looking for a naive victim."
The stray noticed that the enemy was already dangerously close to striking again. He began to retreat along the columns, slowly, but still firmly on his feet. He couldn't believe the attacker's eyes could be so filled with evil, so much so that he could feel the malevolent energy emanating from them.
The first thing he heard was the scrape of steel striking the ground. He lost concentration, sharpened his senses, but he didn't see the young man; only a streak of distorted air swirled before him. The sword lay on the ground, abandoned and defenseless without its owner. Again that thought, again fear pierced his mind. Something reached his senses, but he didn't know what it was; only after a moment did he understand.
The blade, on the side where the blood was leaking from his arm, cracked. A terrible pain shot through him. He couldn't turn; it was too late. He remembered little of it, only the crack of crushing bones as his body collided with the stern wall. Behind him, he lost consciousness, another thought bursting into his shattered mind.
"Damn, he caught me from behind." A moment later, he saw nothing but untamed blackness, completely losing his mind.
Belrogen, in his inhuman form, stared at the victim for a while longer. He only stopped when he heard a few claps from the palace balcony.
"Is he alive?" the king asked.
"Yes, he's still breathing, but soon... he'll die with the blood flowing out of him.
" "Aha," the king mused, "all the better for him. I don't know if he could bear torture?" He thought for a moment and turned toward the palace passage. "Aha, one more thing. Don't let him miraculously come to life. I don't want that. Best... finish him off on the spot, and I'll deal with the prisoners personally.
" "I'll do as you wish, my lord!" he drawled quietly.
The king disappeared into the building. The young man returned to his former self—he looked like a handsome boy again. He approached the dying stray and stepped into the pools of blood that had soaked his boots.
After a moment, however, the dying victim raised a hand, his bloody fingers touching the leather lining. The victor didn't even react, just watched and savored the sight.
A gurgle, a moan, and a quiet cough. The last signs of life escaped the stray's mouth. He wanted to reach even higher, but he no longer had the strength.
"Will you do me one last favor?" His words were barely audible, muffled by pain.
"What would you like?"
"Could you hand me the sword? I want to die with dignity, not like a defenseless animal."
The young man smiled, no longer resembling a ruthless beast in human skin.
He reached for the sword, and as if drawn by a magnetic force, it moved to his side.
"Well, I can still do this for you." He leaned down to place the weapon next to the dying man.
The stray managed to summon up one last dose of energy. Unexpectedly, he grabbed the young man's wrist and clenched it with all his might. The young man looked into his eyes, covered with vengeance, and saw a seed of hope slowly beginning to sprout.
"Do you think this is the end?" You're mistaken, my dear..." whispered Tunibis.
"What..." He didn't get to finish. He realized something was wrong. He began to lose strength, his wrist heated up as if it had been immersed in a cauldron of boiling water. Terror, ignorance, fear. After a moment, everything stopped.
Belrogen felt his collarbone broken, his back lacerated, blood trickling down his cheek from the huge hole in his arm. He couldn't speak. He only saw his body, young and strong, smiling at him sarcastically. He heard a voice.
"You see, just because I sold my soul to a lowly devil doesn't make me weak. Besides power, I also received a certain gift, the ability to leave my own body and move into another. So now I'm in your body, and you're in mine. And I have bad news for you. Soon you'll bleed out, and you'll spend all eternity repaying your debt to Lucifer."
The young man tried to move, rage pulsing within him to its limits, but his body was too weak. After a moment, he stopped moving, like a defenseless fish washed up on the shore of a lake. He closed his eyes, unable to do anything. He had allowed himself to be approached in such a childish manner.
He only heard the victor's receding voice.
"So the king will die after all. I won this fight, dear Belrogen.
" "We will meet in hell," he thought, then lost consciousness.
