by Mark B Frost
Vesovius cut a commanding figure, wrapped in an extravagant white outfit crafted by the finest tailors from the most luxurious silks, with a blue cummerbund about his waist. Vesovius did not prefer the robes fancied by many of the county’s highest nobles, but instead opted for a more formal business suit. His blond hair and green eyes were a perfect match for the identifying traits of the Emle line, though this particular Vesovius was of no actual relation. He gave a short but enthusiastic speech, clearly showing off his sharp political tongue for the gathered crowd. After this speech concluded, Atheme wasted no time in announcing, “Ladies and gentlemen, I introduce The Destroyer, Abaddon Daemon.”
A gate at the far end of the stadium opened and the crowd cheered loudly. Abaddon stepped out cloaked in his usual dark attire and walked across the battlefield. He stopped a dozen feet in front of the automatons and waited for the first move. The arena floor had been rigged with special rune structures that gathered sound and magnified it for the audience to hear, but at the moment there was so much chanting and shouting that nothing could be heard through the amplifiers. Atheme used grey magic to adjust his hearing, screening out the crowd and focusing on the sounds coming from the contestants below. Already, Kinguin was gloating.
“You don’t stand a chance against my creations, knight. To show how little of a chance you stand, I’m going to start off by sending just one of them at you. Even if you defeat it, you’ll see that you can’t possibly contend with them all.”
“Get on with it.” The big man spread his feet apart and crouched, gathering his balance. He drew his Dual Blade and waited.
Kinguin waved a hand forward and one of the suits flared with blue light. It drew a rune-covered sword from its back and advanced quickly on Abaddon, and the battle began.
The machine attacked with blows faster than the awestruck audience could follow. They saw only a blur of metal movement. Watching from above, Atheme had no trouble following the strikes, and Abaddon likewise was not fazed. He kept up with the machine easily, using efficient movements to block the attacks. Atheme quickly realized the man could not tire the automaton out in this manner, and needed to change strategy. Abaddon seemed to realize this simultaneously, as he launched into an offense of his own.
As the machine attacked his right side, Abaddon removed the kama from the Dual Blade and used the broadsword to block the attack. He then hooked the kama into the suit’s side, ripping the armor fiercely. His emotionless opponent did not slow and attempted to use his momentum against him, stepping around to his right and attacking his flank. It was a good move, one that Atheme knew he could have pulled off, but the automaton did not fair so well. Abaddon reversed his grip on his sword and swung it in an awkward sweep behind him. It should have dislocated his arm, but instead it was a metal arm that landed on the ground, severed at the shoulder.
Still the machine did not hesitate. Feeling no pain and realizing no danger, it used its left arm to latch onto Abaddon’s throat. The Daemon used the grip to his advantage. He latched the kama into the suit again and lifted it entirely off of the ground and then, in a few rapid sword strokes, mutilated it.
Pieces of armor clanked to the ground as the blue runes slowly flared out. The arm still clung soullessly to Abaddon’s throat. He planted his sword into the ground beside him, then reached up and crushed the metal wrist, throwing it onto the pile with the rest of the scraps.
The crowd waited for a moment, hoping for something dramatic to happen. Abaddon did not disappoint them, turning to Kinguin and declaring loudly, “Your puppets don’t hurt me, wizard.”
They cheered again with renewed fury, and for a few seconds even Atheme’s magic could not block out the noise. Kinguin said something in response but he missed it, then the remaining eleven automatons flared up and began advancing, though slower than the first.
Atheme began to worry. He had known before the event began that nothing Kinguin might create could best Abaddon in solo combat, but now there were numbers to consider. The first automaton had proven they were fast and strong enough to match The Destroyer, even if not as skilled.
Abaddon, as usual, showed no signs of what he was thinking. He sheathed his Dual Blade and walked forward. Atheme watched with curiosity as the man bent over and detached the sword of the first suit from its severed arm. Then he took the weapon and sent it spinning at the other suits. The suit directly in the sword’s path tried to sidestep, but was too slow. Its severed head fell to the ground as it continued to advance.
Abaddon smiled. Atheme knew from experience that it was never good when the Daemon smiled. As he drew his Dual Blade and split it into twin broadswords, Atheme tried to figure out what he had missed. For a moment he tried thinking like his friend—cold and calculated, looking only for flaws in the enemy—but he could not find the connection. He knew that certain details of an opponent could only be gleaned from direct combat, and he had not fought one of these machinations himself. “Dammit Daemon,” he muttered, “what do you see that I missed?”
Abaddon sprinted forward and threw himself into the midst of the metal soldiers with a loud crash. He began fighting in a rotating fashion, carefully deflecting their attacks and occasionally making a few of his own. Atheme realized then what the man had seen. These suits were slower than the first, and their attacks were poorly coordinated. It appeared as though they were taking turns, and fighting ineffectively as a unit.
Kinguin must have led with his most advanced suit, Atheme thought to himself. These others are lesser models. As I suspected, he rushed his date when the news of Gaspar surfaced. A wave of irritation washed over him once more, but he tried to maintain focus on the battle below.
Lesser models or no, they were still fighting eleven-to-one and Abaddon was clearly straining to keep up. The soldiers had drawn themselves into a circular formation around their target and they were gradually closing in. Every so often Abaddon would deal a serious injury to a specific suit, but the mindless foe would either ignore the attack or, in the case of a severed limb, simply fix it by reattaching it.
The suits were fighting now at a pace that the audience could observe, but Abaddon was a blur of black and purple. He was making half a dozen moves every second, his twin broadswords everywhere. Atheme used grey magic to focus his eyesight and noticed that despite these efforts, the mystic warrior had taken a good number of wounds, and blood spattered from his mouth and ran down his chin. If he maintained his current ferocity, he was going to tear himself apart.
Suddenly Abaddon roared at the top of his lungs and seemed to attack in every direction at once. For that brief instant, he moved so fast that even Atheme was unable to follow him, his eyes unprepared for the sudden surge of speed. The upper bodies of six of the suits fell to the ground, along with pieces of the other five. Abaddon hopped over one suit and out of the circle. He retreated a safe distance and planted his swords at his side, then collapsed to his knees breathing heavily.
Atheme would have felt a rush of exhilaration at seeing his friend having to push himself so hard, but as this was more than mere practice, he grew concerned. Abaddon coughed for a few seconds and a small pool of blood formed in front of his face. The automatons had already reassembled themselves, but they made no moves toward him yet.
Kinguin called over to his opponent, “You’ve fought well, knight, but you cannot overcome the future of warfare. Give up, and you may live. But I warn you, if you persist in this battle any further you will not leave it alive.” Atheme felt the audience grow silent, and together they waited.
Vesovius laid a hand on his arm. “Lord Tethen,” he said, “that was truly remarkable! That student of yours is an amazing fighter. But you must tell him to stop now. Kinguin will kill him to prove his point, and we don’t want that. You know the value of our Destroyer’s reputation.”
Atheme looked around at the Grand Councilors that sat with him. Cildar stared awestruck while rubbing his forehead, only now aware how little Abaddon had actually tried during their previous exhibit
ion match. Leprue looked over at Atheme and simply nodded, his eyes sad. Finally he turned to Kulara. The General gritted his teeth and shook his head, “Don’t you give up on him. He’s not weak enough for these things to beat him.”
The Lord Councilor stood and stepped to the front of the box. Abaddon’s eyes flickered up to him. Atheme stood silently, waiting for some signal. For a few seconds they simply stared at each other, then finally the Champion hung his head.
Atheme sighed and prepared to announce that the exhibition was over, and declare victory for the automatons. Then Abaddon stood. He breathed in deeply, his chest expanded, his back straightened, and several cracks were heard. He reached up and tore off his cape and shirt, as well as his gloves and a few other tattered pieces of his outfit. He unearthed his swords and crouched into a fighting position, announcing calmly, “One more time, then.” Again the crowd went wild.
High above, Atheme returned to his seat. He tried to repress himself for several seconds, then finally burst with laughter.
Leprue looked over and asked, “What are you laughing about? What’s he doing?”
He looked over, still laughing. “I’m a fool. Abaddon hasn’t been using his full strength. I forgot, several months ago he developed a technique he calls a ‘limiter’. He disables it when he’s fighting me, but under normal circumstances it represses his mysticism and slows him down, allowing him to fight at a manageable level. See, when he really cuts loose, he has a tendency to slip into blind rages. To allow himself to function as a commander in the Military he sacrificed some of his physical ability. With the exception of that last second where he broke out of the circle, he’s only been using maybe half of his speed and strength.” He looked around and saw terrified looks on Leprue and Cildar’s faces, and even Kulara seemed taken aback. Again Atheme laughed loudly, then focused his attention back into the arena.
He heard Kinguin say, “Give it up, knight! You won’t win.”
While the Archmagus was still in the middle of this sentence, Abaddon dashed forward and shredded one of the suits. Dozens of pieces of ruined metal fell to the ground in front of him, then he dashed back across the battlefield, taking his original position. The other ten automatons had not even budged in response.
Most of the audience had not seen Abaddon’s move, as their attention was focused on Kinguin. The next thing they knew one of the suits exploded into pieces as their opponent stood immobile. A collective gasp filled the air, and rumors quickly began to fly that this power was the true reason the man was called “Destroyer”.
The automatons, seeming to collectively realize what had happened, charged at their foe to cut him down. Watching Abaddon’s eyes flicker as they registered what was happening, Atheme could not repress his smile. He knew that it was over now. Any advantage these machines had possessed before was gone. The Daemon would be taken lightly no longer.
Right before the group reached him Abaddon did a large sidestep to his right, picking a specific suit as his target. He stepped in close and cut it in two across the waist, then began running backwards at the same speed as the armored soldiers. He took his two swords and pinned each into one of the halves of the broken suit, then flung the halves into the other automatons hard, crushing the suits in front and breaking their charge abruptly.
He continued to run backwards for a second, then reversed direction and ran straight at them. They tried in vain to prepare for his next move. He jumped and did an aerial somersault over the entire group, transforming his Dual Blade while in midair from two swords to sword and kama. He hooked the kama into the last suit as a brake, landing poised on his feet and carving the suit up in the same move. He turned and flung his broadsword in a sweeping arc at the rest of the soldiers, cleaving some and driving the rest back.
Watching from on high, Atheme realized with concern that this was no way to end the battle. The automatons could repair themselves, and Abaddon was now weaponless. The man himself did not seem bothered by this, as he turned away from the suits and began running across the battlefield straight for Kinguin Peet.
The Lord Councilor’s eyes widened in realization. “Brilliant,” he whispered as the battle finally became clear to him. His previous assumptions had been wrong. Kinguin had not forced the date of the exhibition on Gaspar’s account; he had not made a single perfected suit alongside a lesser set; he had not risked his victory over politics. The suits were flawed. They held a critical flaw, and only now did Atheme recognize what Abaddon had seen from the beginning.
He had taken Kinguin at his word and assumed these devices were powered by a complex “fighting spirit”, as the Archmagus had worded it. The truth was, they were not autonomous at all. They were responding to a series of command signals being subtly sent by Kinguin himself. When there was only a single suit to control, command had been simple and the machine had functioned at a high level. When divided among several units, however, the commanding wizard became the limiting factor. While the eleven automatons might have been enough to match Abaddon, maybe even to challenge him, Kinguin himself stood no chance at keeping pace with The Destroyer in combat. His Heraldric Automatons could not win. In spite of their apparent invincibility, they held a single, highly exploitable weakness: Kinguin Peet himself.
Atheme waited eagerly to see the Archmagus’ reaction. Kinguin, for his part, was scared out of his mind. He responded in the only way that a mage can in the face of death—he cast a spell.
“Balifornus ose-fericaze!”
Stormbreak was one of the most powerful black magic spells, and Kinguin’s personal variant was the most powerful Stormbreak that had ever been cast. As a wall of forty lightning bolts hammered into Abaddon, an explosion of rock and dust flew outward and a crater was carved into the ground. Everyone in the audience felt the shockwave of heat and sound slam into them, but Abaddon alone was hit by a direct blast of raw destruction.
Atheme stared anxiously into the carnage below. Only Kinguin could still be seen, as a blanket of smoke and ash covered everything else, including the automatons. The apparent victor stood shaking, and the audience gasped as they realized their Champion had been incinerated.
Then Atheme saw movement at the edge of the smoke in front of the mage. Abaddon limped out slowly, dragging one leg behind him. Kinguin looked up at the soldier and his eyes went wide, just before he received a powerful left hook to the jaw. His body flew back several yards and did not rise, and Abaddon spat in his direction.
Now the audience saw him as well, but there were no cheers, only a sigh of horror and sadness. Abaddon was a wreck, to say the least. His right arm and leg had no healthy flesh left on them, and a few of his ribs were actually cutting out of his chest. He looked as though he had been pounded into the ground by a massive hammer. Atheme hung his head and sighed, remembering the man’s ordeal in Vantrisk. This was twice now that he had pushed himself well beyond the brink of death.
Abaddon turned and waved over to the automatons. The smoke had sufficiently cleared, and they could be seen lying on the ground in a broken manner similar to Kinguin. He announced with a strong voice, “If you remove the puppeteer, the puppets have no life. These are toys, nothing more. They are not soldiers. And as always, I am victorious.” He held his head high and looked around, and the audience finally flared with enthusiasm, cheering wildly.
Atheme signaled for the medics to get the two injured Grand Councilors and take them to the Church. For once Abaddon did not fight them, but laid himself gently on a stretcher. The Lord Councilor stood to announce the outcome of the battle and a few other formalities. He dismissed the crowd, then turned to shake hands with the other leaders of his country.
As most of the politicians cleared out, Leprue congratulated Atheme on the success of the event. “We should consider holding these displays more regularly!” he exclaimed enthusiastically. “Perhaps a yearly tournament could be started. And yet, Kinguin has nevertheless put us in a difficult position. Our Destroyer is gravely injured with an upcoming as
sault on Revian.”
“Perhaps,” Atheme offered skeptically, “but were I you, I wouldn’t wager much on Abaddon missing the assault. Between his own healing abilities, the Lord Cardinal, and more than a month remaining, I have little doubt that he will be ready to strike fear into the Revians when the time comes.”
He lowered his gaze to the side and took a moment in thought. He had been pleased to discover that Kinguin had not deceived him about the Automatons, but something was not sitting well with him. Since the fight had ended a queasy feeling was settling in the pit of his stomach. He had thought it was concern over Abaddon’s safety, but as he assured Leprue he realized this was not the case.
No, it was not concern for his friend’s safety, but a concern over Abaddon himself that was beginning to rise. Kinguin had warned him that the mystic represented a significant threat, that his ability to command the currents made him unlike any creature they had ever beheld, far more than the human soldier he appeared to be. Atheme had always waved these warnings aside, confident that he could keep up, fearlessly proclaiming that he would match Abaddon’s growth. He had put in the hours, he had done the training, he had made himself the mightiest warrior in Felthespar to make certain he could match step with the dreaded Daemon. Though he had never said it aloud to anyone else, Atheme was confident that he already surpassed Calvin at the man’s fighting peak.
He had told Leprue that he and Abaddon were evenly matched, and would be equally suited to facing Kinguin’s creations. He had smiled softly when Leprue had reminded him that he still held many advantages over Abaddon, and in truth was the better warrior. He had believed that. He had wanted to believe it, perhaps needed to. Now he felt a grim certainty beginning to manifest. Abaddon, even fighting at limited capacity, had analyzed the Heraldric Automatons within mere seconds of his first exchange with one. At that point the battle had already been determined—the Daemon was simply toying with the toys, testing himself to see what he could manage in his repressed state.