Denouncer of Fantasy

Prologue - Concussion

He didn’t understand...

The air was still; stagnant: a heavy quiet weighing on the world, he heart racing within his chest, straining to push himself forwards to run, heavy breathing and harsh footfalls the only things to break the silence that and the rattle of armour. The caves pressed on, cold stone walls, dark rock, deep runnels bored through the earth by running water, the remnants of a river resting beneath his feet, gravel and slabs of slate, and patches of ice frozen over, by the deep cold; frost touching the walls, and causing his breath to smoke. He took a deep breath and continued to run.

“What the hell is going on?” Ward wheezed his voice crackling out of his chest, stout form quavering as his eyes drifted forwards and upwards towards the figure that bore the lantern ahead, a deep ring of light falling about him, ward tarrying at its edge shattered beams of candle-light flickering off the man’s polished armour, and the heavy axe waiting at his hip.

“Did you forget again?” a gentle voice whispered, carrying up from behind them, silent footsteps slowly closing in on the young man his fists clenching, causing the leather gauntlets to creak about his hands. “You were talking about the Fragments same as normal and then you started scream; did you forget the screaming, you were screaming ward. And shouting it didn’t make much sense, you are where you were, and you’re going where you will be it’s a simple as that. Are you ill; if you’re ill and you die I get to keep your corpse right Ward?” The girl laughed, Ward slowly glancing down in her direction, small and slender and young; and with bright green eyes that seemed to fill her head glowing with an unnatural pallid light. He turned away his gaze fixing on the tunnel ahead, he didn’t want to die; if he strained himself, if he pushed himself here and now he could hear them, closing in – a faint keening echoing through the dark.

“I’m... Not going to die.” He muttered, a wave of sweat cascading down from his forehead, eyes dull, following the flickering of the light above, a second ring of artificial dawn slowly drawing upwards resting above Dala’s head, the young girl continuing to smile up at him, an honest smile, a kind one; a smile that sent a shiver through the very depths of his soul. She was fourteen; he knew that, she was fourteen, she stood barely over five-feet high; one-hundred and fifty-three centimetres, dressed in ragged robes: cut and torn stolen long, long ago. She wore her hair in a silver bob which bounced about her face as she ran, a faint tan touching on her skin, and a wide-brimmed pointed hat, a wizard’s hat, made of plain leather topping her head. And above that hat rested the skull of a dragon floating in the air, as if by magic, not a large dragon but a dragon none the less; a deep green flame mixed with red, and blue and black burning within the skull. Ward swallowed hard forcing his eyes shut, he knew it all; how she had left her home, killed the mentor that had imprisoned her for so many years, had wondered homeless and hopeless; he knew her past; but he didn’t understand a damn thing: she wasn’t real.

He reached up wiping away his sweat the young girl pouting turning away from him continuing her slow sprint through the cave system, not that he could say anything about being slow, he being tired. He felt sick, everything; everything that had just happened it made him feel sick. His head hurt to, and his heart, he didn’t feel well; but he kept running.

Ward glanced down towards the impossible girl jogging besides him arms folded disembodied skull floating above her shoulder like an obedient dog his stomach churning beneath him. He couldn’t do it. And then his world span. Everything shift, his legs pulled out from under him as the tip of his iron-souled boot caught a small outcropping of stone sending him tumbling forwards, his body impacting hard against the stone, the jolt flying through his skeleton jarring each and every joint in his body. A mess of blurred light filling his eyes, the armoured tank grounding to a halt: Aran turning back to face him. “Ward you okay?” The man mumbled tugging off his helmet and kneeling down beside him. Ward gave a brief nod slowly pushing himself upwards off of the floor. He really should have exercised more often; not that it mattered anymore. He fell back down a second jolt shaking his frame. “Sorry ‘bout this sir” Aran sigh hanging his helmet from a sash slung from his belt, before wrapping an iron clad arm about Ward, lifting him with ease from the floor before thrusting a large hand in Dala’s direction, “You too, unless you want Eila to and Dossan to leave us behind.” Dala looked at the soldiers hand for a brief moment before planting a foot on the armoured appendage and leaping atop of the man grabbing hold of his neck and slowly clambering to perch atop his shoulder the freaking flying skull following her all the way.

Ward groaned as Aran rose to his feet the movement jostling him from his precarious seat slung beneath the soldiers arms, Aran quickly pushing into a swift jog moving forwards through the cave, carrying the lantern in his left hand and Ward within his right, his weapons and armour letting loose a jangling chorus to bounce about the stone passage.

“I feel sick.” Ward muttered surrendering himself to the motion of his courier as the tunnel’s floor slowly began to rise turning into an upwards slope carrying them out towards the world above the dark and the damp and the cold. Dala smiled leaning over Aran’s chest to lock her eyes on his own, a question slowly passing her lips.

“Then if you die, can I-”

“I’m not going to die!” Ward cut her off before he could finish, a harsh baying cackle rising from deeper within the earth as if to mock his words, drowning their little party in silence. They were gaining on them, if he listened he could hear them approaching, the clatter of feet and weapons and armour along with the cutting yelps and shrieks that followed them announcing their advance. Ward swallowed hard, if he survived this he was going to start exercising, he’d start running, he’d run until he lost his gut and finally burnt out his baby fat, if he survived that was; if he survived.

He shook his head, casting aside the thought, he wasn’t sure what was going on but he didn’t want to die; he wasn’t going to die.

They continued their ascent climbing up the tunnel, the stone corridor steepening and flattening out once more, several smaller corridors breaking off on occasion, not natural, carved out of the earth at random intervals, rough work simple; crude. Ward took a deep breath, glancing up at Aran the large man starting to slow, his eyes fixed ahead on a figure resolving from the shadows caught in the light of the lantern. A young woman, brown hair tied behind her head in a plat, sharp hazel eyes cutting through the gloom, dressed in a mix of leathers and tight pants, a bow strapped to her back along with a quiver of arrows at her hip beside an array of knives, daggers and dirks, a crooked grin spitting her face. “Seems someone’s still allergic to exercise” Eila laughed sauntering forwards hands planted on her hip Ward shooting a heated glare upwards in the woman’s direction, Aran letting out a heavy sigh.

“How’s it look ahead, any more of them?” The soldier questioned leaning in Eila giving the man a shrug before leaning over and grabbing the lantern from his grip.

“I don’t know; it’s not exactly my job. Maybe if you wipe our illustrious leader’s nose he can tell you.” Ward snorted at the girl’s derision as she turned slowly pushing into a run.

“Eila, curb your tongue!” A fifth voice broke out carving through the rock and causing the still air to quake, two pairs of lights appearing in the dark just beyond the lanterns reach, the heavy sound of footsteps suddenly assailing the group. “You forget your’ place, respect our master otherwise you challenge me and both my class and my level outstrip yours by a wide degree.” Dossan yelled the old man marching forwards, strong and firm, standing straight his face weathered, covered in valleys and ridges and cracks coursing along his skin carved by ages, a thin vapour of silvered hair hanging about his head, dropping down along his jaw and slipping into a pointed goatee. And despite his age, appearance be damned, despite it all his eyes shone bright, proud and youthful filled with light burning a vibrant red. Ward took a deep breath, reaching up to grasp at his temples; his head felt like it was about to explode.

“Yeah, yeah” Eila muttered folding her arms and marching ahead; “how’d the tunnel look anyway?” she questioned moving the subject on with a deft hand, Aran shaking his head and using his now free hand to pull his axe from the loop on his belt. Ward glanced briefly at the massive hunk of solid steel, quickly diverting his gaze as Dala let out an eerie laugh silencing their party. Dossan cleared his throat before making his report.

“The tunnel was clear; I didn’t notice any signs of monsters or movement. The tunnel leads on for roughly a kilometre, after which it opens into a small woodland glade and as near as I can tell, it lies beyond the mountains.” Dossan replied a weary smile splitting his face, Aran letting out a brief laugh, Eila snorting in derision her arms remained folded tight atop her chest.

“Well let’s get going before that pack of mongrels catch up with us.” She muttered beginning a light jog Dossan nodding in her direction before swiftly overtaking the young woman.

Ward let out a groan as their lurching journey began once more, Dala grinning from her perch atop Aran’s shoulder, their only source of light the burning skull of the dragon currently floating about her head. He really had no idea what was going on the young man resigning himself to his position as luggage, Aran ferrying him forwards through the darkness and the tunnels all uniform in appearance.

“Hey; Aran?” Eila called from up ahead, her lantern wavering as the young woman began to fall back settling back into a run just a few footsteps in front of the soldier easily outpacing him. “You think the captain’s finally snapped out of his confusion?” Eila glanced back in wards direction, soft brown eyes striking him hard.

“I don’t know; Ward is the one who’s in charge of that.” He muttered in response, hand clenching tighter about his axe, “he still looks kind of sick though; so I’d guess not: besides you know how he’d react to this situation.” Eila shrugged a faint smile slowly pulling at the corners of her lips.

“I don’t know; our dear captain never was very fond of running, or jumping, or fighting; of anything except eating really. It kind of explains why he’s carrying so much weight around the middle don’t you think?” Ward looked up shooting Eila a glare, as she glanced back down at him, her eyes glinting with a sharp light.

“Eila what are you-” Aran interjected before Eila cut him off continuing her tirade.

“What, we all know he’s been putting on the pounds lately, even after we left the village his weight only seemed to go up despite all the walking. Maybe it’s his metabolism; although really, what was it his sister always used to say? Fat is fat...”

And that was it, the confusion the stress, wave after wave of fear broiling up within his stomach; he felt sick, and angry and scared, he wanted to run and to shout and to scream. Ward swallowed hard, a gritting his teeth and slowly pushing himself forwards struggling his way out of Aran’s grip, tumbling down onto the icy floor, to his knees, fists clenched tight, taking in a deep breath and rising slowly, three words shaking out, booming from his chest; “I’m not fat!”

Eila grinned, stepping away from him and sauntering forwards, quickly breaking into a jog, lantern raised above her head Ward following in quick pursuit. Anger and adrenaline pushed him forwards, the baying of whatever it was that was following him, ringing in his ears, alongside the jangle of metal and claws and the gnashing of teeth, while that lantern bobbed ahead of him, always in sight, Eila laughing as she ran, skirting corners, leaping and dashing occasionally vanishing disappearing behind a bend in the rock, Ward quickly coming up again upon the sight of the lantern Aran remaining jogging behind him at a leisurely pace, Dala laughing as she watched him run.

The chase continued, up winding passageways, tripping and stumbling, slipping on patches of ice, his boots catching outcroppings of rock. He followed the lamp as it dipped and it died, and its fire quavered low, and then at last it vanished. The lantern’s light disappeared, as the dark walls of stone slowly grew brighter, the faintest touch of fresh air reaching down into the earth, carrying with it, the sound of trees, and flowing water, and the scent of sweet grass, of something other than dust and decay, barely noticeable over the sound of oncoming footsteps, but there all the same. And there she was standing at the entrance to the tunnel, her silhouette cast against the noon-light, a smile slowly breaking out across ward’s face as he changed his course veering in the young woman’s direction, Eila standing stock still as he approached prepared to blindside her. And then as if it were only natural, she moved, stepping aside avoiding the human cannonball streaking towards her sending Ward tumbling forwards into the glade, and into the light.

He tumbled forwards, the world passing by him in a flash of colour, the grass and the trees, the wind and sky, the world about him shining brightly; as he fell down onto his face. Ward let out a soft groan slowly pulling himself upwards from his prone position, lifting his head; towards the wood that marked the boundary of the glade, and the row of monstrosities waiting there, claws and fur, and burning eyes, spears and swords, and hatred, allayed before him; and deep down he knew, Ward knew that this; all of it;

All of it was Eila’s fault...