A Dance of Two Souls

When did it all begin? There was no beginning, any good historian will tell you, for none of them know of it. Not even the prophets of Ner Hnaus, known to talk with the gods, will tell you of a start for there is none to be found. So when then do we begin to tell our children the history of our world? The when is arbitrary, but the what is not.

It begins, pardon the word, with the Hero of the Ages, for it's the passing of his soul which marks the cycle's turn anew. The rise and fall of the forgotten kingdoms of men is painted by his dance with Fershtola, a primordial evil whose iron-fire blazes worlds asunder.

Of all the legends to tell regarding the Hero and Fershtola, perhaps most curious of all is that of our own age, for it takes place not in our world but in another. The kingdom of Japan, yet to be forgotten. Land of steel and concrete which wonders deserve full tomes on themselves.

It's hard to overstate the difference between our worlds, and I'll soon give up any attempt to do so, but if you'd allow me to illustrate the point. The story I want to speak of begins on a busy road. Now, when I say road your mind conjures dirt on your feet surrounded by greenery, perhaps a horse or two pulling a cart, or maybe the majestuous stone roads of Nidrok, if you have the luck of living within the comfort of the city's great walls. 

You would not, however, imagine hundreds upon hundreds of men all packed in a way too tiny for them, yet wide as a river, with lights of every color sparkling up above them. It is a land as alien that I'll leave the work of describing it to a chronicler far more skilled than I. This humble chronicler will limit himself to telling the tale itself as accurately as possible, gathered from all accounts of the events that I’ve read and seen.

Glowing lights aside, what would be easier for you to imagine is the sky bleeding crimson red, a sight that'd fill the heart of any child of Aevung with dread. It didn't do so for the people of Shibuya, who were unfamiliar with the telltale signs of the Dark Lord's rise. The taste of iron in their tongues was to them a passing curiosity. It wasn't till the ground cracked and shattered under Fershtola's feet that panic took hold of the crowd, and by the time the Dark Lord threw the first carriage against the tallest building screams and cries were filling the streets.

Black deep scales reflected a red sun's light on a figure of sleek metal. The body of a woman and a head of horns. Far smaller than what you'll read of Fershtola as described by old chroniclers, but the small size did not reduce its ferocity.

It shot up, firing itself with the strength of its metallic tendrils up against the side of a large building. The man that it had captured on its limb trailing behind it, screaming and crying in fear.

"You're dead! You're dead meat! I'm gonna eat you! I'm gonna suckle the marrow out your bones and spit it down a stinked up toilet!" it yelled. Its gaze was fixed not on the shaking man in her grasp but down at the road, down at the man standing in the middle of it as all others fled for their lives.

The Hero of the Ages looked up toward his enemy. His eyes were shining, unyielding. A less educated scholar would describe him as hope, but I've read enough to know hope is defined as him. Mighty sword in his right hand and shield by his side. And on his left, a small box that would decide the future of mankind.

"I am not dead meat. I am a hero!" he said.
"Run away, idiot! she's gonna get you too!" the man desperate in the tendril's grasp screamed.

Then, like a lightning bolt, the Hero jumped toward the beast, cutting through a wall of metallic tendrils that sprung to cover his target. But even the dark lord's body was no match for the holy sword of legend. One after the other its vicious limbs were cut down and fell to the ground below. He clashed against the beast, the sword grasped between its claws, burning its cursed flesh.

It was a dance of might and fury that hadn't been seen since the last age. Both equally matched, both unrelenting, yet not as equally focused. His eyes turned for a moment to confirm the trapped man's safety, to seek an opening to save him, and there is where it finds its opening. The beast slapped the hero with its tail, sending him flying down to the ground below. But the hero was swift. Holding his shield, it crashed against concrete, fracturing the ground, sliding and sending carriages flying, breaking through a wall and into a building.

"Bro!" the captured man yelled.
"Shut your mouth, you dumb bait." the beast said, wrapping its tendril around the man's mouth. It descended slowly upon the newly made hole on the wall, red sun shining behind it. It stepped into the building accompanied only by the sounds of its own steps and the muffled noises of the desperate hostage. The creature looked around, toward its left and then its right, and it saw nothing. Then, the creature smirked.

"Haha! I got you! That's what you get, idiot! Now where's them bones at?" The beast bared teeth with a grin until it felt the sharp cut on its tendril which fell to the ground with a thud along with the hostage it was holding. It turned around quickly to see the hero with sword in hand. It looked up now where the Hero must have been hiding mere moments ago before he cleaved the beast limb.

The hero looked at the freed hostage now free and moved his head toward the exit. The shaking man knew just what to do, and he ran for the exit.

“Just so you know, I wasn’t scared at all!” the man taunted as he ran. It only angered the beast further.

The creature tried to grasp its hostage again, but the hero stood up with his shield, blocking its path, its every tendril. It saw the innocent man leave, and with that its rage grew beyond all reason. It screamed a powerful shriek, grasping the hero with its claws and propelling them both upward, through the building until they were high up in the red sky.

"I am burning you! Forget the marrow, forget the toilet! You're gonna be burned, fried! COOKED! I'M GONNA BURN YOUR SOUL UNTIL THERE'S NOTHING LEFT TO RETURN YOU REBIRTHING BASTARD!" its claws held on its prey tightly as it opened its maw. The stench of iron filled the air and its throat glowed a fiercesome crimson as it gathered power. And in front of it, the hero stared, determined.

It was the tragedy of the ageless beast who lived through cycles upon cycles, yet it could not learn what all mortal men knew to be true: The hero of the ages was unbreakable.

The hero pulled up the small box he had been holding on to. "Let's get married." he said, holding up the box, and the one ring it held within. Shining brightly under the crimson skies with hope and passion yet to be fulfilled.

The beginning is arbitrary, pushed upon the immortal by feeble men. So it is that we see upon this day the beginning of our Era of the Ring.