Fire and steel flare and rage, twist and scream. Guttural, inhuman howls rip from the throats of the terrified and the dying. The sickly copper tang of blood fills the air, a perfume of slaughter and a shroud of the damned. Enith’s crimson twin planet, Piros hung low in the sky above, as if the massive red planet was leaning forward at the edge of its front row seat for my performance.

Chaos dances on its stage to the frenzied beat of blade through flesh.

This was a dance of death, and I was leading.

{Master!}

A strong feminine voice sweeps from the base of my skull and thunders through the forefront of my mind. It was a voice usually so refined and sharp with sarcastic wit and distain, now it was dull from panic and an unfamiliar spike of fear, the kind of which I never thought to ever hear from the owner of that voice.

{Erin, What’s wrong?} My inner voice is a serene ripple in the frothy madness that raged through the Soul Link my familiar and I share.

I keep my composure but much like my far more expressive familiar I am anything but calm. Once I heard what Erin had to say even my calculating and controlled mask cracked.

{Regulators! The Kingdom of Avalon called in the Regulators!}

The slow burning rage I had been stroking and meticulously reining in flared up into an uncontrollable inferno.

For the first time since this battle began three days prior I feel my relaxed expression of calm twist into a disgusted sneer.

{Let them come.}

I felt surprise splash like a bucket of cold water into our shared Soul Link.

{W-what?}

{I will deal with the Regulators. I need you to hold your ground until the last of the transports finish the city’s evacuation.}

The cold bucket of water quickly boiled with anger.

{I will NOT leave you to face the Regulators alone! Master, if you die, so do I.}

My sneer softened at my fiery Soul Familiar’s awkward and roundabout display of concern.

{But if you die again my dear, then I will still continue to live on without you. Besides, I can only entrust defending the City of Libertas’s gate to you.}

“Ruuuaaaragh!” A very familiar, far off roar of frustrated rage echoes over the sickening cacophony of frenzied combat.

{Do not try to butter me up with your honeyed little words, you prick! I can not just leave you to fight them alone!}

{You can, and you will.} I reply calmly but firmly.

{But Master-!}

{You will leave me to defend Libertas’s gate.}

{But-!} I cut my Soul Familiar’s insistent begging as gently as I could manage while in the middle of a desperate 3 on 1 sword fight.

Well, desperate for them, not so much for me.

{Erin. Please do not force me to use your True Name in this matter.}

{Seofon!}

the sound of Erin mentally shouting my name was akin to reaching through the deepest and most private recesses of my mind to slap me across the cheek. The surprise of hearing my name from her (mental) lips were enough to send my mind screeching to a halt.

It very nearly gets me killed as a massive great sword the side of a dwarf nearly took my head off at my hesitation.

Nearly. Having thousands of years of combat experience can pay off in the strangest ways. Even as my mind was gridlocked my body jumpstarted itself, moving on little more than instinct and muscle memory.

On reflex I activate my Observation Skill, the staple to my survival throughout my very long life.

[True Sight] [Level: 4,127]

[Urim Klikt] [Plains Orc] [Age: 147] [Level: 78] [Class: Heavy Warrior]

Weak, and such a waste.

As the sharped hunk of steel that could barely be considered a sword hurtles towards my neck my world tilts as my head leans back and away, letting the sword and the gargantuan Orc that wielded it pass me by with a hairsbreadth between us. As I came back into my mental faculties I didn’t bother finessing with the 8 foot tall behemoth of tusk and green. I opt to simply punch my gauntlet clad hand into his chest and twist a fistful of internal organs free. A kick to the confounded orc’s abdomen and a flick of my viscera painted wrist liberate me from the gurgling slab of dead weight.

I have but a second of respite before another squad of hapless Avalonion soldiers line up for the slaughter and the whole process repeats itself.

I fall back into a rhythm and turn my attention inward, back to my rebellious and irate Soul Familiar.

{Seofon… Master, please-} My Soul Familiar’s sputtering pleas coughed through our Soul Link. {Please, don’t leave me.}

For a moment, just a split second, I considered it. Just turning back and taking off, burying the past behind me… again. Turn away from the Regulators, their Council and the avaricious bitch they worship like a god. I just want to seclude myself from the world and try to cut out a piece of the Castaway Isle for myself and those very few I care about and get away from it all.

No. Solas will never let me go. Not when you are her “favorite toy”.

A chest shuddering shockwave ripples through me, shaking my guts against my spine. I spin around and snatch off the head a soldier she so graciously offered and glance back to assess the damage.

Libertas’s fifty foot battlements shake from the impact of an enchanted ballista arrow, however the stone stands firm, denying the human sized projectile so much as a divet. I had warded the walls myself and they draw their mana from the lay line underneath the city. My walls will continue to stand proud and untouched through anything short of an Apocalypse-level destruction spell.

Another giant glowing arrow streaks across the sky bearing towards my city. Their efforts may be futile but the possibility of one of those arcane charged projectiles striking something on the other side of that wall was a risk I am not willing to take. The sky above the city is swarming with dozens of transport ships of all shapes and sizes. I had used most of my amassed fortune from centuries of saving to pay off anyone I could get my hands on to evacuate the city. Where the pilots were to go was of no matter to me as long as my people got away.

The ballista arrow peaks in its upward flight and hurtles on a collision course with a bulky transport shuttle rising from the central plaza, the unwieldly space craft was filled with helpless citizens.

My people.

A sharp snap kick folds a spearman over himself and frees me for the critical second I need to draw my weapon to my shoulder and take aim.

The weapon I’m holding is one of my own design, a Mage Rifle. Mage Rifles and similar weaponry are not that uncommon in the Castaway Isle; however, none were like mine, a labor of love and the result of thousands of years of accumulated knowledge, research, trial, error, and inevitable boredom.

My Mage Rifle is a fusion of Technology and Arcane, a weapon that resembles the railguns of old from my long forgotten home world. A bizarre firearm with two distinct rails, one longer rail, three feet in length along the bottom with its twin six inches shorter that sat above it. A circular construct sits above the trigger at the base of these rails known as a “resonance chamber”, the part of the weapon that had pre-inscribed runes that weave the user’s mana into a spell that can be fired instantaneously, much like a normal ballistic or energy firearm.

At the speed of thought the resonance chamber whirs to life. A grand orrery of rune inscribed arches spin and dance, lining up the spell I desire. The arches click in place and a high pitched whine fills the air as I feel mana, the intrinsic force that all life possess, trail from my core, down my arm and into my weapon. The condensed mana compresses and molds to the complex runic symbols and matrices as raw power spins and sings a song without words that emits a ghostly ambient glow to swirl from the sides of my Mage Rifle.

[Mana Bolt] [Level: 2,014]

then I pull the trigger.

A clap of thunder shakes the ground and beats a shockwave through the air that vibrate deep in my chest as the hyper condensed bolt of pure Arcane energy streaks into the sky, the normally inaccurate, close range spell is guided by the Mage rifle’s rails. The spell makes contact with the enchanted arrow and shatters the archaic projectile’s magically charged runes, resulting in a fantastic blue fire vortex of directionless power and another shockwave washing more the battlefield.

A tiny smirk tilts the edge of my lips, but alas my small victory is short-lived.

{Master! Behind you!}

Trusting my instincts, I duck and slid back as a massive ironblood katana as long as I am tall whistles through the space I had just vacated. I sense my new attacker advance and I spin and dance to the side as the dark metal blade slides past my shoulder. The next few seconds become a blur of madness as I spin, slide and shuffle away from the whistling blade. During the bloodlust fueled flurry I catch a glimpse of my assailant, a familiar face from the Regulator Council.

I stomp and swivel sharply, catching the flat of the katana against my mithril gauntlet, the impact sends tingling shivers down my arm, but my coiled muscles succeed in rebounding the huge sword’s trajectory askew enough to stumble the swordsman.

The swordsman recovers and wildly swipes his katana in one hand to clear some distance between us. He keeps the reddish black katana trained on me as he draws himself to his full height. I have to crane my neck skyward to keep eye contact, even from several yards away. The swordsman was twelve feet tall, more than double my height, with shoulders as broad as I am tall. This surprises me little, after all this man towering over me was not the first Half-Giant I have meet in my long life.

“MAGEBREAKER!” The Half-Giant snarls, his bald head scrunches up like a wrinkled donut soaking in the rain. “YOU FUCKING TRAITOR!”

I don’t have to use my Observation Skill to know who it was, but I do it anyway.

[True Sight] [Level: 4,127]

[Knivblad Lundberg] [Half Giant/Human] [Age: 618 (Ageless)] [Level: 237] [Class: Magnetic Spellsword] [Title: Swordmonger, Regulator, High Enforcer]

“Knivblad the Swordmonger.” My voice is barely above an exasperated sigh.

The massive Half-Giant is clad in a blood-spattered toga with bracers on his limbs and blades of every shape and size strapped to his body and his katana clutched in his shovel sized hands.

“So, the Regulator Council has sent its faithful attack dog to maul me and claim my lands?”

A row of bloody shark teeth twisted about Knivblad’s head, the jagged canines glisten a sicky crimson in between the Half-Giant’s ferial grin.

“WHO SAYS I CAME ALONE?”

Even as he spoke I feel the push of mana disruption in the blood choked air.

Several someones were attempting to construct and cast a spell on the far end of the battlefield about a quarter mile away or so. The fools.

I am called Magebreaker for a reason.

Before the Swordmonger could draw another breath, I raise my hand towards the disturbance and grasp at the threads of mana spooling away into the unseen mage’s spell. I don’t have to see the caster to pull on the magic, but I often bear witness to the results of my tampering.

[Mana Unravel] [Level: 1,123]

With a thought and a deft tug of my finger I pull the thread of mana tangled around my hand and the mage’s spell unravels and implodes. The following arcane fallout from my tampering with such a powerful spell sucks the sound from the air before a blast of blue arcane hellfire just short of an atomic blast rips through the valley and bleeds the red sky above into a wash of blues and purples.

Knivblad stares slack jawed at the mountainous plume of ash and smoke that rolls up from the enemy’s rear line behind me. I sweep my hand towards it.

“Friends of yours?” The rage that flares behind the Half-Giant’s beady eyes is all the answer I need.

“I’m sure I have a broom and a matchbox somewhere in my workshop, or perhaps a feather duster work better?”

“RRUUUUAAAARR!”

The mountain of angry muscle and sharp blades screams and barrels towards me with his katana high and shoulders square, poised to strike. An overhead strike whips past my back, I continue my spin and duck underneath the elbow and the cross chop that follow.

“STAND STILL YOU ABOMINATION!”

“You will not touch him!”

A shock of short vibrant red hair streaks across my vision with a blue crystal sword as wide and as tall as I am. The Half-giant regulator’s katana impacts the massive crystal blade with a sharp crack.

The tall, sharp, and hardened back of my Soul Familiar stands before me, her massive weapon held abreast effortlessly as only she could. The sword weighs some 120 pounds. Erin’s slim figure is wrapped in a lighter Mithril and Kevlar armor similar to my own, only she flat out refuses to wear the helmet I had crafted along with it.

She’s as stubborn as I am, though I would expect no less than the one that completes the missing parts of my soul. Though I would never have the chance to tell her, dare I say she is the better half.

“Master, what in the hells are you thinking?!”

“I’m thinking I told you to guard the gate.”

Erin looks over her shoulder and glares at me through her short chopped crimson hair. Her eyes are the color of burning coals, a deeper red than even the cherry colored locks that bounce playfully around her charming face. Her spear-like ears sweep proudly to the back her skull, the famous peculiarity of her kind.

My Soul Familiar is an Elf. More specifically a Low Elf.

Low Elves are an extinct race lost to ravages of a war long forgotten. No Low Elves survived their purge. Erin is no exception, she died with her family thousands of years ago, murdered in her own home. She would have stayed dead if not for me accidentally summoning her dead soul from the afterlife several short years prior.

I am still not entirely sure she has forgiven me for that, I would not.

Knivblad strikes Erin’s weapon again and again in a raging flurry and with each strike the massive blue crystal hums and pulses a soft blue as it stores the Kinect energy from each wild strike.

Funny thing Fae crystal, it’s glutton for punishment and more than happy to dish it back out.

A miniscule pause between wild strikes and Erin presses her advantage, pushing back the swordsman with a war cry, despite him being nearly twice her height.

“Come on! Is this all a high and might Regulator can do against little ol’ me?” Erin laughs harshly and slaps her pommel across her opponent’s wrist. Knivblad’s roar of pain sends a ringing in my ears.

“YOU LITTLE BITCH!” Knivblad screams and casts a hand skyward.

My Soul Familiar grins fearlessly as the countless fallen weapons strewn across the blood soaked battlefield rise from the mud and the filth and the gore. the blades wabble and jerk erratically, like zombies in their own right before descending upon the Swordmonger like a swarm being called home to its king.

I can do little to interfere with his magic, the magnetism spell he had wrought had already been cast and set, now all unenchanted metal within his influence is his to command.

It was like fighting an army all over again, though the only soldier stood at its center, swinging his sword unhindered and seeming to take the immense mana drain from his spell in stride and without breaking a sweat.

Shit.

Instantly Erin’s advantage is lost as the airborne weapons whip through the air like a cloud of bloodthirsty wasps. A badly timed dodge allows a broken claymore to broadside my Soul Familiar, she stumbles opening herself up for Knivblad’s vicious thrust.

My Mage Rifle takes the blow instead, my meticulously crafted lovechild of blood, sweat, and tears crumples into a twisted hunk of useless scrap.

Erin stares dumbly at the sword point hovering just above her throat before a guttural yell rips from my throat and I twist my destroyed creation away with Knivblad’s katana tangled inside.

Without missing a beat, the Regulator releases his weapon and draws another katana of similar make from his waist and spins the horde of airborne weapons into a frenzy before descending upon Erin and I like a vengeful war god.

{P-perhaps I should go guard the gate.} Erin’s voice shudders uncertainly through the Soul Link.

I bark in sharp laughter.

{Told you so.}

{…Shut up.}

The dance of death that ensued is a mad waltz of hissing metal and sweaty limbs pounding the bloody mud. I fail to recall ever in my long life to have ever been in sync with someone as deeply as I was with Erin that day. I still can recall every detail from that fight. Her rippling muscles and wild, fearless, breathtaking grin, and the way her beautiful crimson eyes shone with a reckless bliss I have only experienced a handful of times-

-When I danced upon the razor’s edge with death.

Her skin was hot, and her breaths were deep and rapid as we slid and spun around each other, for the first and last time we truly were of one soul, two sides of the same coin.

It was a day I will never forget. After all, that was the day I lost everything.

All it took was a well timed arrow out of nowhere that slammed into her chest and it was finished.

The dance was over, the spell was broken, the music came to a crashing halt.

Time slowed to a crawl as Erin crumpled to her knees, mud splattering everywhere, staining her armor. Her Beautiful crimson eyes wide and staring in confusion at the huge arrow in her chest, just above the mithril plate and below her collarbone. She was frozen in shock as Knivblad’s massive katana hissed in glee, the blade hungry to feast upon her blood as its laughing swordsman was eager to watch the light fade from her gorgeous eyes.

I scream, barely noticing when another huge arrow smashes into my head, shattering my Mithril helm and knocking the now useless head ornament free from my shoulders. My boots dug deep into the mud in my desperate scramble to save my better half, my arm out, heedless of the huge blade wielded by the monstrous Half-Giant Regulator.

This was the moment when I had a decision to make, sacrifice part of me, or let Erin die.

I remember the feeling of assurance, determination, and irony that flooded my cold, dead heart as I slid across the mud and in front of those beautiful Crimson eyes gaping at me in disbelief and incomprehension.

As the blade rends flesh from bone I laugh in hysterical realization that this was the easiest decision I had ever made.