Masters of the Blade

Clashing blades and claws resounded like small thunderbolts across the blood meadow. The blood of human and monster alike spilled across them; the naturally vibrant bloody color of the grass made it impossible to tell either way. With the arrival of the warpainter, a chill crept across the battlefield. It swept across the bloody-colored grass like a march of a hundred demons. Everyone’s attention was drawn to him. One or two instructors struggled to fight while their attention was being drawn his way. Leo and Arte were still frozen solid. Thoughts swirl in their minds like a hurricane, but no amount of theories between them could quell the growing discomfort in their chests. Memories of the hero they once knew mixed with the visage of the one before them.

The hero, known as a paragon of heroism, honor, and virtue, was now a force full of resentment and hatred. The energy seeping off his body was thick like molasses and oozed into the sky above him, mixing into the dark of night.

“Move.” He commanded.

The monsters parted instantly, leaving several instructors standing before him on the path to Leo and Arte. He began taking a casual stroll through the meadow without even a hint of fear. Valeria drew her twin swords, a longsword accompanied by a shortsword, something she hadn’t done even in her training with Arte. The dean raised his cain handle and beneath a gleaming blade revealed itself, as he opened his eyes.

“Arte, Leo. Take Caius and get out of here. If we lose you here, the world is finished.” Valeria states.

Arte’s eyes widened, and she looked over to Leo.

“You two need to build your skills more. This isn’t a fight you’ll be able to handle.” The dean added.

“You want us to run away? We can’t do that.” Arte states. “If we leave…”

“Everyone will die,” Leo adds.

Valeria grabbed Arte by her shirt.
“We know! But the two of you are this world’s last hope. A being like that can’t be done with your level of skill. Right now, both of you are burdens.” Valeria states.

Arte wanted to retort, but she knew the truth deep within. She gnashed her teeth while feelings of inadequacy boiled from within. Yet, she still looked up at Valeria.

“Don’t count us out just yet. For now, you just focus on fighting him. I won’t run. Just fight him for as long as you can. If you can hold out, then we can win.” Arte states.

“You need to listen!” Valeria exclaimed. The dean placed his hand on her shoulder.

“Valeria. Even if they ran, do you think he’d let them get far? He’d chase them to the ends of the earth.” The dean states.

“So we’re screwed either way.” She sighed. “Fine. What’s the plan?”

Arte pulled them together and explained her plan. The Warpainter continued his walk through the meadow, stopping as a log was dropped in front of him. Armstrong came down from the air with a Karate chop that split through the entire tree and slammed down on the warpainter. When the dust cleared, sparks flew as Armstrong’s blow was blocked by his black blade.

“Wow… Your hands really are like swords.” The Warpainter spoke.

He pushed Armstrong back with a kick and caught up to him before he could react, cutting into his side. The blade wouldn’t move as he tried to remove it, trapped by his muscle. Armstrong threw both his arms at him like a whip to his neck.

“Your strength truly is no joke.” He states.

He releases the blade and ducks under the twin strikes, leaving his hands to collide with each other. Armstrong turned his hands at the last second, causing a roaring clap to erupt from his palms. The sound made the Warpainter’s ears bleed.

“I see there’s a lot more to consider in real combat than I thought.” He said as he flicked his earring, which was a tiny bell. His sword dispersed and reformed in his hand. In the seconds it took to reform, Armstrong grabbed him by the chestplate, imprinting his fingers into it, and slammed him into the ground. The Warpainter lay in a crater, smiling.

“This world is still the same one I love…” He sighed. “It’s a bit different when it comes to fighting mechanics… But more or less it’s the same.”

“Quit your chattering and fight,” Armstrong said as he raised his fist toward him.

“I’m in quite a good mood right now. I was actually quite fond of you in the game, Armstrong. Your hand-sword style is very impressive. Or rather, they’re more like hand-axes… Which is why I’d be sad if I had to kill you.” He says.

“Don’t talk about me like you know me. You’re just a creepy kid throwing a tantrum…” Armstrong spoke.

“Shut up. Out of forty-five thousand, six-hundred thirty-three words of dialogue in the entire game. The word creepy, wasn’t used a single time. The word I’ve heard so much that it made my ears bleed…” The joyous air surrounding him fades. His smile contorts into a frown. “I see. So you are just a pale imitation. I only came here to take care of the two intruders that were ruining my world. But now, I see my world’s been tainted beyond a shadow of a doubt, by their presence.”

The Warpainter slams his fist into the ground and raises his sword. Armstrong throws a punch at him, slamming his head into the dirt, but he rises anyway. Feeling his ominous aura growing stronger, Armstrong leaps back, with sweat dripping down his face. The Warpainter rises from the soil under the light of the purple moon. He rushes forward in a flash and stabs Armstrong in the leg. Armstrong’s reaction was late; he tried to catch the blade, but his hands sat in the air the blade.

Instead, he grabbed the Warpainter’s wrist and chopped his shoulder with a hand-axe. The blow dented the armor, but made the Warpainter sigh. He moves his hand even as Armstrong holds his wrist firmly. He pulled the blade out of his leg and broke Armstrong’s grip. With a turn of his body, he slashed straight across Armstrong’s chest. Causing blood to spill out of the deep wound. Armstrong held his chest with his arm and flexed his chest muscles to stop the bleeding. The Warpainter raised his blade and chased after him, closing the distance in a matter of seconds, cutting his arm clean off.

Armstrong groaned, but kept his focus on the Warpainter. They began trading blows. Armstrong, using his remaining arm to parry the Warpainter’s blows, but his speed kept increasing. Thrusts and slashes slipped through, cutting deeply into his torso and outer thighs. The Warpainter aimed more of his blows toward his legs, stabbing straight through several times, and causing his leg to give out. He dropped to one knee, but kept up his defense. Unable to back away while deflecting, he fell over onto his back while holding back his downward slash.

“I guess this is what they mean when they say don’t meet your heroes…” The Warpainter sighed.

Energy flowed into his blade, and his blade began cutting into the flesh of Armstrong’s hand.

“Don’t worry, I’ll need you alive.” The Warpainter states. “As long as you can—”

A foot struck the Warpainter in the mouth, sending him flying across the meadow. Dust clouds erupted from where it collided. Valeria and the dean stood side by side in front of Armstrong.
“Armstrong, get out of here and take all the other instructors out of here,” Valeria states.

“I’m sorry. The bastard was too much.” He spoke.
“You did well to hold back such a monster for as long as you did.” The dean says. “Leave the rest to us.”

“Understood. He seems to be very unstable.” Armstrong says.

Armstrong leaves and orders the other instructors to leave as well. By that time, they’d taken out many of the monsters that appeared, suffering casualties in the process as they left the bodies of their comrades behind. Arte and Leo watched Armstrong flee, missing an arm, with numerous wounds. Leo grit his teeth, clenching both fists.

“Arte.” He said.

“Yeah?” She replied.

“I want to kick his ass,” Leo says.

“Me too,” Arte spoke with a quiet rage on her face and blood pooling under her fingernails.

The instructors in the field watched as the Warpainter stepped out from the cloud of dirt.

“All you did was make my armor dirty.” He pointed his finger at Valeria. “You’re the one. You’re the one who’s been helping one of the intruders the most.” He says.

“Intruders…? I don’t know who you’re talking about.” She charges at him with both her swords. “I do have a lot of students after all!”

The dean slipped in behind him, cutting into his back with his cane. The Warpainter grimaced but released his sword, leaving it to hold her blades back.

“What?!” Valeria questioned.

She relieves the tension on her blades, slipping underneath his as he turns to face the dean. The blade turned downward and dropped onto her like a falling star, forcing her to block at an awkward angle. The dean spun and hopped around, swinging his blade with downward momentum, forcing the Warpainter to block with his armguards. The old man was fast, and strikes came from all directions. Front, back, sides, attacks were coming from every angle, and with his sword currently stopping Valeria from moving, he was out of options—Or so they thought.

By shaking his head, the bell rang, and another sword formed as he blocked the dean’s onslaught. Valeria angled her blades to the side, allowing the Warpainter’s sword to collide with the dirt, and leapt toward him. Weaving herself between the dean’s falling blows, the Warpainter blocked one, but the force was like getting beaten on by a waterfall. It wasn’t just a singular blow, but multiple blows concealed by his tremendous speed. The force made even the Warpainter sweat. Valeria’s swords were coated with ice and fire as she stabbed through his back, and her swords pierced through the front of his body.

“Aaaargh!~” He shouted.

“Die,” Valeria whispered as she turned her back while raising both the blades, turning it into an arching slash that tore straight through his body and came up from both shoulders before exiting his body, leaving a near V-shaped cut in his body. With no strength left, the waterfall slashes descended upon him in its entirety. Cutting through his body multiple times and slicing him vertically in multiple cuts. The Warpainter’s body resembled sliced vegetables as his corpse hit the ground. The ominous energy he presented faded entirely, and Valeria sighed.

“Could it have been that his bark was bigger than his bite?!” She questions.

“Wait. Something isn’t right.” The dean says.

The Warpainter’s body rises from the ground while cut. They look into the cross sections of his body and see no organs there. Completely from within, his body was filled with ichor.