Blood

The desert wind howled as the army emerged over the burning horizon, a tide of bodies clad in obsidian steel. The banner of the Kingdom of Stone flew high, carried by thousands of warriors like a black wave. Above them soared a silver-winged god, streaking like judgment incarnate. Dean Clayton.

His once-boyish face was now carved from pain. Scars streaked his jaw. His expression was cold, grim. The weight of a thousand kills pressed into his bones. Dean had become war.

A mile ahead, standing alone at the edge of the Shield Nation's outermost village, was Marsden Clayton. He wasn’t a boy anymore. Lightning sparked at his feet, encased in gauntlets and boots of glowing thunder. His eyes glowed with a light that refused to dim, even in the face of an approaching army.

As the army came to halt in front of Marsden. He raised his voice just loud enough for Dean to hear.

"Get the fuck off this land."

Dean slowly descended, wings folding as he landed in front of his youngest brother. His voice was ragged, tired, "I can't, Mars. I need the totem your nation found. Give it to me... and I’ll leave."

Marsden didn’t move. His voice was steel. "How about you give me back the one you stole from us in the first place."

Dean’s jaw tightened. His voice cracked. "Mars, please. Don’t do this. Don’t stand in my way. I’ve killed too many people. I can’t go back."

"Too many innocent people," Marsden growled.

Dean’s breath hitched. “Don’t.”

The words didn’t reach him. 
Lightning slammed into the sand as Marsden exploded forward, a blur of electricity. His fist—coated in white-hot thunder—collided squarely with Dean’s jaw. Dean was launched through the air like a comet, crashing into the dunes.

He staggered to his feet, stunned. "What the hell...?" he muttered. Dean darted skyward trying to find safety in the wind.

Marsden didn’t wait. Lightning pulsed from his feet as he launched again, dragging a trench through the sand as he leapt and caught Dean midair, slamming him into the earth. Dean vanished into the ground with a gust of air.

Dean launched a barrage of wind blades as he shot skyward. Marsden leapt back, dodging narrowly—but not all. One caught his shoulder, opening a gash of red.

Dean soared. Twin swords made of cutting gales formed in his hands.

Marsden roared as he slammed his fists together, summoning thunderclouds to crack open the sky. The battlefield began to darken. Slowly, creeping as an uninvited stranger, storm clouds collected in the sky. Rain began to tease the sandy dessert.

"I didn't want this!" Dean shouted, wind twisting around his body. As he rolled through the sky shooting arrows of wind towards the living thunderbolt darting around the ground below. Like a human looking down at an ant.

"Then why did you betray us?!" Marsden screamed. "Why did you betray me?!"

Dean crashed downward, slicing with both blades. Marsden dodged left, then right—his feet leaving lightning-shaped burns into the sand. He launched a fist at Dean’s side, but Dean deflected it midair, spinning behind Marsden and slamming a gust into his back, sending him tumbling across the battlefield.

Villagers screamed as the army behind Dean surged forward.

Marsden stood up, bloodied. Standing in the village, a child froze with a scream. A little girl, no older than he was when his parents died.

A burst of fire hurling towards the girl. Blister heat steamed through the air.

Without hesitation, Marsden leapt between her and the incoming hellfire, pushing her back with his hand as the fireball seared against his chest. The girl fell 5 feet back onto her back. She sat up and couldn't look away from her thundering protector. She only felt safety, even with an army of the wicked screaming towards her. She felt like she would never know pain again as she stared at the back of a new beacon.

Marsden spat blood onto the ground, then raised his fists again. His chest scorched, just the smell of burnt flesh and ash falling off of him. A gust sent him flying—but he landed, legs shaking. Marsden gritted through broken and bleeding teeth. Staring at the red coated sand.

“Why are you doing this?!” Dean shouted midair. “You’re going to die for these people!?”

Marsden cracked his neck as he rose, blood dripping from his lips. “Someone fucking has to.”

Marsden spat blood, slammed his gauntlets together, and vanished in a flash of light. Then he was among them, the army of men and stone.

A one-man apocalypse.

Thunder cracked with every punch. Soldiers were sent flying. Some vaporized on contact. He twisted through spears, shattered axes with his bare hands, turned entire squads into smoking ruin. Marsden was getting nicked and cut with every weapon clawing at his skin. His body was a pin cushion of weapons. A slight laughter broke out. Marsden couldn't contain himself as he plunged deeper into the army.

Above, Dean flung wind spears in desperation. Several impaled his own men.

Marsden kept laughing, even as wounds tore open across his body. He laughed with blood in his teeth and lightning in his soul.

Dean landed hard, dual blades forming in each hand from wind itself. Dean was determined to stop this laughing maniac of a brother.

"They talk about you like a god," Marsden rasped. "But I’m gonna kill you like a man." Blood spilling from his mouth.
Their clash split the heavens.

Stormclouds spiraled, thunderbolts raining down. Marsden met Dean in the air. A bolt of lightning met a wind vortex. Explosions tore the skies apart. The earth below melted from their fury.

A blast flung Marsden back toward the village. He landed in front of the girl again, bleeding from a dozen wounds. Marsden's body, a tangled mess of broken bones. His body so mangled it was a miracle he was standing.

Dean floated down, his face soaked in rain and regret. "I need the totems before I go home. I'm not proud of what I've done. But I can't turn back now. Join me Mars. It’s not too late. We can rule this world like gods. Don’t you see that? Why go back?"

Marsden screamed, thunder erupting from his voice. "Fuck you, Dean! The Kingdom isn’t home! Stop calling it that!"

Dean dashed for the sky seeking shelter with the clouds, as he felt rage stirring within him.

Marsden bolted forward raising both arms and punched the ground beneath Dean’s feet, as he soared 15 feet above. A shockwave rippled. A bolt of lightning, summoned from the skies, struck Dean directly, sending him crashing into the sand. Dean looked as though a fallen angel getting cast out of heaven.

The sky wept with thunder.

Dean staggered up, coughing. “Mars… just give me the totem. I don’t want to kill anymore people than I have to. I don’t want to kill you.”

“Too late.” Marsden said as he took a boxer's stance.

Dean raised his hand. A typhoon of wind erupted. Marsden launched forward, through it, his skin tearing, lightning coiling around him like a serpent. He smashed into Dean’s ribs. Bones crunched. Dean screamed as he was flung backward again. Marsden's arm completely shattering upon the impact.

A wall of wind caught Dean.

“You talk like you’re the only one who’s broken!” Marsden cried. “You think you're the only one who had to carry pain?! You abandoned me! What about Trey?! You ever think about Ray!?”

They collided midair again, punching, kicking, slicing. Blood sprayed. Screams echoed. Each strike they landed brought thunder. The weather raged with passion. The brothers poured their hearts into Elysium. Elysium cried for them both.

The soldiers were stunned. They couldn’t step in. This was no longer a war—it was divine intervention.

Dean threw his spear. Marsden barely dodged, the tip cutting across his cheek. Marsden retaliated by dashing upward and slamming his knee into Dean’s chest. Dean coughed blood.

Marsden hissed, pinning Dean in the air. “I’m gonna fucking kill you for what you’ve done.”

Marsden slammed his fists into Dean’s back. A thousand volts surged through his brother’s spine.

Dean fell to the ground like a meteor, dragging a crater through the dirt.

Far away, Ray paused, packing a new bag for his journey. He turned toward the sky. His eyes narrowed.

Boom. 
A thundercrack unlike any other split the clouds.

Ray's breath caught. “Mars…”

Across the continent, Trey stood mid-duel in a jungle coliseum. The thunder echoed. He flinched, just for a second. His opponent’s fist caught him clean across the jaw.

He staggered, eyes wide, looking towards the direction the thunder came from.

Back on the battlefield,

Marsden was barely standing, ribs shattered, arms dangling.

Dean rose again, limping forward, spear in one hand, shield in the other. “I can’t stop. If I stop, people will die.”

Marsden shook, blood running down his chest. “You already killed them.”

Dean lunged.

Marsden screamed and dashed forward with his last ounce of strength.

Dean’s shield raised. Marsden’s left fist collided—shattering the shield and breaking Dean’s arm with a scream of agony. Marsden's last good arm now a mangled mess of what was once his fist.

But the spear in Dean’s other hand drove through Marsden’s gut.

A second passed.

Then another.

The world stilled.

Marsden coughed, blood spilling from his lips. His body trembled.

Dean flew backward, crashing into his own men.

Marsden dropped to his knees, a pool of blood forming beneath him. Both arms were beyond recognition, his body barely held together.

Marsden let out a chuckle as he stood with his mangled arms hanging limp at his sides.

He stood. Defiant. Baring his teeth.

A flock of ravens soared overhead.

Three Sentinels cut through the storm that had formed in a blur of motion.

The first—a woman, long wavy brown hair and bright blue eyes—landed beside Marsden, twenty glowing swords orbiting her body.

The second—a black man of gas and poison, he had short curly black hair and wore a silver dress shirt with a maroon vest and black slacks—unleashed a rolling fog of poison, from both his arms, creeping forward like death.

The third—a priest-like figure, robes stitched into his heavy set armour. He was bald with a great bushy beard and his brown eyes looked at Marsden as if someone had just hurt his family—appeared behind Marsden, light flowing from his palms. A ray of light cutting through the clouds landing directly on the priest as he caught Marsden.

“Hold on,” he whispered.

Marsden collapsed.

Dean stood, his own men catching him. His face was unreadable.
He looked at Marsden.

Dean gripped his broken ribs with his one good arm. He screamed, “I could fucking kill you all right here!” Tears began flowing down his face. “Why did you make me do this? Why didn’t you just follow me?”

Dean raised his hand and blew all the poisonous gas away with a flick of his wrist. The poison sentinel shook his head with disbelief.

Then without another word, Dean turned his army, slowly retreating.

Rain poured.

And in the chaos of it all, Marsden had done what no one else could.

He stopped a god.

Marsden collapsed into the arms of the healer behind him, unconscious.

And in the middle of that broken battlefield, the boy, once told that he was too young to matter......

.....Had made the world stop and listen.