Sword of Destiny
Becoming (12 years ago)

And they did come. Quickly. The mandahoi, famed for their grey shrouding uniforms, were advancing through the fog. Mopping up. They were mere shadows, hazy threats firming up slowly, but they were there. And then they were really there. A large grey-shrouded warrior – a Grey – melted out of the fog. The mandahoi was coming and he gripped his sword tighter. He’d definitely be needing her.

But there was more. The Greys hunted in packs, and two more wraiths melted out of the cannon-wastage. Three of them. You couldn’t beat a mandahoi, but against three it truly was insanity. His anger bubbled in his gut, and he bared his teeth. Little good that would do, but he had to show willing.

The first of the mandahoi was upon him and he widened his stance. This was what he was meant for. Success or failure, this was always where he’d been heading. It was a path that no-one else dared tread, and therefore it was his path. It was his way off the bottom. His moment had arrived.

The mandahoi was quick, he had to give him that. One moment he was a step away, and then they were together, tussling. Dancing like lovers. How perverse. Glorious steel swept gloriously down, and the grey bastard’s eyes narrowed; almost smiling. The mandahoi was smiling. He heaved his own weapon into the way, and the mandahoi weaved elegantly around his defence. His opponent sang with two blades, two routes to death, and the mastery of the two weapons was simply astonishing. Speed was essential.

And he could never compete on speed. Or skill. Not against the Mandahoi. He needed another quality, and that quality was deviousness. Well, that and a steaming pile of luck. He needed the gods on his side, or more specifically, he needed a particular god on his side. The Father of Paths worked in mysterious ways, and he hoped this was one of them.

With an angled rotation of his great-sword, the double pronged assault was stalled. The smile of the mandahoi faded, and he sneered in return. It was already a victory. Few had even managed what had just been done.

The dance continued and the mandahoi drifted in and out of proximity. He was clumsy by comparison – not a sensation he was used to – but he was nothing if not reactive. The Grey was quick and poised on his feet, but that wasn’t enough here. No. He wouldn’t fail that easily. He had lived a life where any shadow offered a threat, and he avoided the mandahoi in the same way. Rapid evacuation was not unfamiliar for him; just ask the baker.

But forward progress was slow, or actually non-existent. The fury that pushed him was there, but it was retrenched, swamped by his conscious faculties. He simply struggled to keep himself free of steel, and he couldn’t think fast enough to attack. Surviving was all there was.

The mandahoi danced past, sliding behind and cutting in. He spun clumsily out of the way, and the other two mandahoi were in his sights for a dizzying moment. His stomach dropped. They were strutting past, not even considering him a threat, just moving straight for his prince. The bastards. He needed to draw them in, wanted them close, but he didn’t have a way. He had his hands full with this single mandahoi. Drawing the attention of two others would be instant suicide. But he had to try. If he failed the prince, then he failed. It was really that simple.

His dance partner came once more, but this was vicious. Other-wordly. This was intended for one thing, and one thing only. Bullying submission. Both immaculate blades streaked towards him, and he recognised the path of attack. The bastard smiled, certain of the outcome, but he was forged of sterner stuff. Or rather, his sword was.

Where a milder blade would have shattered, his great-sword was resolute. His weapon screamed back at the mandahoi, and he screamed with her. He pushed back on the grey with all his strength, and knocked the bastard to the ground, throwing his weapon down hard. His beautiful sword only missed the mandahoi by a hand’s width, and she burrowed into the parched earth, kicking up dust. It was dramatic, and it got the attention of the other two greys. Perfect.

And then there were three. And the nightmare consumed him.

And it was a nightmare – there was no other word for it. It was a whirlwind of grey, a tornado, whistling and shrieking in his ears, and it slowly broke down his resolve. He could not sustain his resistance. How he’d survived this long was a mystery; his every step seemed blessed. But where his conscious faculties failed him, his fury didn’t. If he had command of one thing, it was survival, and survive he did. The paths had always been kind to him.

In the madness he recognised something – a chink, perhaps. There is always a weak spot. Always. All Mandahoi were not equal, and the third Grey, though deadly fast like a snake, was less than the others. He was a youngster, a raw pup, and that presented a gift. The pup was still only halfway between man and weapon, not fully forged, and he would therefore bend. He was soft steel.

The pup stayed at the edge of the dance, dipping in and out while the masters commanded the situation. But every door is open at some time, and so the Father forged his path. The two masters stepped back at the same time, and in that reprise he took his moment. He went for the pup.

In an instant, he switched his trajectory, reversing his momentum against the rules. The pup was bested by the move, and stepped wildly away, poise utterly broken. Therein lay the gift. He came at the pup like a hungry demon, grinning manically. Victory was close, and with each wild growl, the mandahoi retreated further towards his human weakness. The great-sword sang happily, scraping the length of the pup’s blade, and then the sword snarled, raking the flesh of the youngster’s knuckle, drawing first blood. The youngster dropped his weapon and recoiled, yelping like a puppy. Poor sap. The two senior mandahoi were recovering fast, coming at him, but he quickly slashed at the pup’s calf. The pup fell, screaming. Defeated.

And then there were two. A path less-trodden and never successfully. He truly was an anomaly. And yet the proposition was not lessened. His lungs were on fire, such was their draining quest for air. He would need this done soon.

The whirlwind continued, and the pup’s place on the ground barely altered the dynamic. He could swing his weapon with just enough zip and purpose, but he was back-footed, always searching for a route of attack. But the Mandahoi were growing erratic with the length of the fight. A small victory. Each time steel struck steel, the Greys betrayed hopes of weakness in his weapon. But his great-sword would not give. She would never succumb, and certainly not to them. She was a mandahoi cannibal.

Indeed, even against the second mandahoi’s almighty brute of a weapon – a paw; half sledge hammer and half sword – she stood and fought back. The paw pummelled at his great-sword with a juddering quality, but he would not be beaten by vibration. He was more than that, and so was his sword.

“What’s the matter? Don’t like it when the odds are balanced!” His taunts of the Mandahoi were rather childish, but in truth, he was still a child. This was the reason he had never had, and when the nearest mandahoi betrayed a subtle grimace, he almost shouted out. Almost.

And then he did shout out, but this was a cry of pain.

The blade struck with such awful pace that it seemed it had swept right past him. But his body cramped, and only then did molten pain strike.

He wore armour, of course he did, but in most places he only had leather strapped to him. All the better for moving with. He took a moment and looked down. There was a deep gash in the leather plate of his torso and red fluid was leaking out. No time for that; the whirlwind still roared. He threw himself back into the maelstrom.

With pain scorching his body, and sense leaking out of his mind, the streets took charge. The anger welled up, searing his throat, and a red haze fell. It was time. The Mandahoi swept forward, into his grasp; willingly. The fools. The reign of the bullies must end. Sᴇaʀ*ᴄh the FindNøvᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

With each beat of his heart, death drew closer. Steel whipped mercilessly around, biting at him, but he resisted as he’d always done. There was still a path; there always was. Behind him, he could sense the first mandahoi pushing his victory, blades quivering at the prospect of blood. And they would taste blood soon, such was his weakness. If he was going to take the path, it needed to be now.

But the bastard ahead of him would not relent. Two was too much. One was too many; they were Mandahoi after all. Tiredness dragged at him and blood saturated his torso. But anger was a powerful ally. From the edge of his vision, the Father lit his path and he pushed his luck. There was precious little left to do.

The sprawled pup, clutching his calf, looked in his direction. But the young mandahoi had already done his job. Poor sap.

He half rammed and half flopped toward the attacking mandahoi, but the move was intentional. The master mandahoi stepped back and fell over his own student, and with the mandahoi dropping to the ground, he angled his great-sword just so. She eased through the flesh of his neck as if it were silk. Human after all.

He crashed to the ground face first, the taste of copper filling his mouth. Without pause, he rolled away, consciousness getting away from him. He ignored the wail of the pup now trapped under the dying body, and swept to his feet, wobbling with dizziness. But Father Fortune stayed with him. Just. But for how long? He had bested two of the Grey, and yet he still faced another, and that was too many.

The third came down upon him, and he fell to his knees, great-sword raised defence. The mandahoi smashed another blade down, and his defences crumpled, arm dropping. His left hand gripped his leaking belly, and he looked into the eyes of his would-be killer. The mandahoi smiled with his eyes once more. It was a path less trodden, but it was never open. Not even for him.

The mandahoi leaned in. “That is a fine sword, fool. I look forward to prising it out of your dead grip.”

The man’s voice was higher than he expected, but the words cut nonetheless. He was falling into a screaming oblivion, but the red was also closing in. He growled.

“She is mine!” He stepped up, but almost keeled over. It was too much to do alone. Too much. His moment passed into obscurity and the screaming darkness took him. Only the Father could save him now.

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