Howling Thunder Ch 40: Heavy Metal

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As if the heavens themselves applaud his entrance, thunder roars and lightning flashes across the sky outside of the canyon.

Like a star from sky a white blur drops from above, the Fenrir lands in the center of the pit.

The crowd erupts with cheers, the show off must have jumped from the throne room.

His chest is bare, a large belt white a stone buckle holds up a pair of black grieves. His short but scruffy white hair wet with rain, his one good, green eye scanning the crowd. He grins and shakes the massive axe in his hand. It’s black, crescent moon heads glistening in the fire light of the arena.

The hulk of a ruler accepts a bow from Aurelia who seemingly melts then and there, not into a puddle but into the air, taking new form as an eagle of solid gold. She soars gracefully in a spiral up the canyon in front of the audience. Her wings flutter and she lands back in her normal form on the same level as us.

“Sister sure likes to make a show of things,” The Fenrir calls attention back to himself, his grin fades to a more stern expression, “Let the challenger come forward!”

Likewise from above, a man descends, Miklos hovers down slowly stopping in the air in front of us.

No weapons in hand, instead a brilliant set of golden light armor adorns his already somewhat golden feathers. It consists of a breastplate and sharp, clawlike gauntlets from which gold feathers hang like daggers. He also seems to have large golden talons affixed to his own bird like feet.

Ulfa whispers behind me, “I saw Aurelia and Klea present him that armor last night along with instructions from the Fenrir to not make a sham of their fight.”

I nod towards the pit, “Is that why father is bare chested?”

The geist of a worgess merely giggles, “Enjoy the show Fuzzy.”

Father calls up, “Not coming down Milo?”

Miklos remains expressionless, but his eyes betray his focus.

“Good, thats smart, I won’t have the history books say I crushed some feather headed fool.”

The Fenrir swings his Nemesis Axe into a spin in one hand then strikes the pommel against the stone floor, “Let judgment of the gods through combat commence, by the Axe of the goddess of justice and the armor of the one who weighs souls!”

A loud creaking echoes out from near by, glancing over I see the black metal wolf throne disassembling into metal shards and shooting through the air, they fly towards Father and piece together on his figure.

As the last part swirls around him and fits into place, now stands a man entirely covered in black plate armor, his face masked by a sharp jackal head.

Another strike of the axe pommel against the stone floor, “Release the floodgates!”

His armor begins to shift once more as off to the east side of the arena a massive gate opens releasing a torrent of rain water into the pit. Before the water even reaches his knees, his armor now consists of just the jackal helmet and a truly massive set of black iron wings.

They flap once and he yells out, “We begin!”

Miraculously his large frame begins to lift off from the flooding pit basin.

Miklos chooses not to wait, he dives headlong in a dead drop. Father raises his axe to swat him away only to swing wide as Miklos rolls into a flip over the blade. The flurry of golden feathers passes just over the Fenrir’s shoulder sending out a spray of sparks against the Jackal helm.

The bird kicks back with his talons to be met with a blocking black wing. Both separate once more and begin to circle through the air, gaining altitude. The first clash was a draw yet favored the mobility of the Turul.

I ask Ulfa, “The reason Miklos doesn’t have a real weapon because of our power over metal?”

“Yes and no, any regular metal weapon or armor could be ripped from his flesh, gold not so much excepting Miss Aurelia of course. The alpha line favors cold iron and silver, just watch boy.”

The two winged forms once more dive towards each other. Miklos swings his feet forward at the last moment to strike with his talons, instead catching the handle of the axe.

Father holds the haft refusing to let go as the two begin to spiral down in a death drop, each one refusing to let go.

A moment before striking the water surface, Miklos kicks off and begins to furiously flap away to gain altitude again. The Fenrir however just grins as he plummets into the water with a great splash.

Before the waters even begin to drop, a wave of ice surges up. The magic follows the splash and the keeps going. Great spires of ice rapidly spiral upwards and twist together forming a single monstrous spike that quickly chases Miklos.

Tens of levels of spectators cheer as the birdman and the ice pass them upwards. Father’s figure emerges from the top like riding an ever extending spear.

He jumps forward with a mighty flap of his iron wings, Axe raised to strike down on the back of Miklos. The golden bird spins to the side to avoid.

A crack of thunder heralds the next show of might as the great twisting spire suddenly shatters into thousands upon thousands of icicles that begin to rapidly spiral about the canyon.

Each time a vicious shard breaks formation and fires towards Miklos he deftly dodges away with an almost graceful movement. The ice seems to join with the Fenrir's black wings allowing him to eventually gain enough power to keep up with Miklos’ agility.

Once more the axe makes a heavy swing, once more the golden feathers blur in avoidance. In a dance like movement, Miklos spins to the side and then into a backflip to a dive. As father turns to pursue, Miklos spins back once more below him and grabs his legs in the golden talons.

Again the drop from up high, this time end over end. The fall is abruptly ended as the shards of ice reform into several large spikes that slam into the falling combatants. The grip broken, they fly apart and restart their ascent for a third time.

Lighting flashes in the sky, the crowd is going mad with cheering at each clash as the two speed past each other in attempt to make a quick jousting strike. The entire battle so far has been a testament towards their bravery and determination.

I glance over at my siblings, both have a look of awe and jealousy. Eyes keenly focus on each movement in the air, their hands tightly gripping their seats. Looking down, I laugh, at some point I left claw marks in my own chair arms.

The sound of deep laughter echoes in the arena, Father has stopped in place, his wings holding his position just in front of the waterfall.

“It’s been years since I’ve had such a fun spar! Come Milo, I know you didn’t become a general for fancy flying!”

Miklos actually smirks, “Sure Skoll, as a thank you for today I’ll do my part to add to your legend, the legend of the Fenrir, the Alpha of all beasts!”

The wind suddenly begins to pick up, even in the skies above the clouds begin to swirl.

“Let the Wind Gods test the might of the wolves who shall be charged with protecting the legacy of the Avians!”

After shouting to the heavens, Miklos falls back into a spinning dive, gold feathers blur together and then burst apart leaving a few to float slowly in place, the man disappeared.

Everyone in the crowd quiets down and glances about, hoping to be the first to spot his reappearance.

Wind begins to howl in utter fury.

Suddenly a blast of water erupts from the waterfall as a tornado of black clouds strikes at the Ferir. Lightning flashes within the clouds, striking against Father.

I can’t help but stand, while I had long lost control of the storm, a part of me still felt connected to it. But now, like a creeping feeling in my gut, I can tell that the faintest shadow of magic I had within these clouds has been torn away from me.

Golden feathers appear within the twister, each one acting like a sword in duel against the spikes of ice still drifting in the air.

“Good HaHa, Very Good!” Father’s voice echoes out over the howling gale.

The water down below completely freezes over, a loud cracking noise shakes the canyon.

From the ice below a forest of frozen spikes erupts into being. Flashes of silver flicker amongst them, a loud banging of metal, two forms fly out from the tornado.

Miklos slams against a column, cracks visible behind him. Just in front of him, perched on the branch of an ice spire, an unnaturally large wolf of seemingly real, darkened silver and wings is poised to lunge.

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