The Eternal Grief

Another short one, or rather, a longer one compared to the previous one...


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“What skilful display that was, indeed.” came a voice from beyond the trees, as the three-eyed demon walked up the hill. Knowing that the voice came from the south, the demon stopped in his ascent and waited. As it had expected, the voice continued. “While I had spent years training them to fight, you had spent only moments to cut them down.”

Speaking in demon tongue, the demon replied,
“You have wasted their time; teaching them pointless moves and techniques that have long been out of fashion.”

“You seem to hold your skills in high regard, desolatr.” The voice had recognized the three-eyed swordsman to be belonging to sub-species of demons, known as desolatrs. “Perhaps, it is time to judge if my moves and techniques are indeed out of date…” The voice continued, trailing off slowly.

Moments later, a shadowy form charged out from the north of the desolatr, the leaves rustling in its wake. As the moonlight revealed the features of the new attacker, the desolatr saw that it was an old man. The old man charged towards the desolatr with a speed that questioned his age, and the desolatr only smiled.

Revealing two long daggers, the old man came up short right in front of the desolatr in only a few moments, and thrust his daggers at the face and chest. As if foreseeing the attack, the demon leaped backwards, drawing his broadsword, which was belted on the left of his belt. The drawing action blocked off the two thrusts perfectly, and the both of them staggered from the sudden impact.

It was the demon’s turn to attack.

Drawing his other, narrower blade from the left of his belt, the demon leapt towards the old man, both his blades high above his head. The old man saw the vulnerable opening that the demon had foolishly created, and thrust his right dagger towards the demon’s abdomen, intending to leave the left as a defensive measure.

The demon smiled at the old man’s wit, but had long expected that move. Instantly, the demon jerked its right knee towards its chest, using its knee to deflect the dagger thrust. In the same moment, it brought down both his swords simultaneously, leaving the old man in a critical situation.

The old man saw his own folly the moment the demon had used its knee to block the thrust, and by purposely swinging its blades simultaneously, it had forced the old man to only be able to defend against one of the blades, while the other would be left open to do its wicked job. For that instant, the old man was thoroughly impressed at the demon’s skill and experience, as to deploy such a move. Demons were thought to be intellectually weaker and simple-minded by the other races, particularly the elves and humans, but this one was different. Desolatrs were the most superior fighters amongst all the demons, perhaps, even the other races. However, they were applauded for their fortitude in battle, and cursed for their lack of compassion and mercy. Despite that, they were not known for their intelligence, even in battle. However, this demon was different. He had seen it cut down his four paladins as easy as if they were paper dolls, and now it had outsmarted the old man in a single move.

The old man’s thoughts were halted suddenly by the sound of the approaching blades. Bringing up his left dagger to parry the blow of the broadsword, the narrower blade screamed right down the side of his face, bring an ear along with it. The old man stumbled backwards as the second blade finished its work, the pain from the side of his face and a loss ear a sore price to pay for belittling his opponent. Looking up at the demon, the old man looked as the demon dropped his hands to his sides, smiling. Thinking that the fight had ended, the old man picked himself up slowly.

Then, the demon charged.

The old man had barely enough time to bring his daggers before him to block the series of blurred attacks. The demon guided his blades in a wild flurry, slashing and stabbing furiously, forcing the old man to retreat, but not without suffering from a dozen small cuts first. The demon’s attacks continued mercilessly, each swing meant to carve a critical wound in the old man’s frail body. Knowing that he did not have much space to fall back into, the old man threw his dagger, its deadly tip aimed straight at the demon’s lung. It sidestepped almost instantly, the dagger missing its target totally, hitting a cinder tree behind. The throw had failed to make the demon bleed, but managed to steal a few moments of time, enough for the old man to leap away from the dead end, giving himself more room.

“Smart,” the demon remarked, as it turned to face the old man, “to create a diversion to save your life. However, is it worth it, now that you are handicapped more than before?”

The truth of the words struck hard at the old man. Right from the beginning, he did not have the advantage of speed, agility and strength over his adversary. And now, with only a dagger left, his chances of victory, or rather, survival had almost all but evaporated.

Seeing the sudden realization in the old man, the demon straightened and sheathed its blades.
“You intrigued me, for a man of your age to be able to move as fast as a ranger. Although, your lack of skill proved to be your downfall.” The demon surveyed the old man as it mouthed those words, curious in finding out the source of his vitality.

“I’d never thought a demon to be so skilful and intelligent in battle.” The old man changed the topic quickly, not wanting to reveal anything else. The demon saw the old man’s intent, and let his curiosity go at that, probing no further. “You have come for the pole-arm, nonetheless.” The old man remarked with confidence, as if he had read the demon’s thoughts.

“You have spent your entire life safeguarding it. Perhaps you should have taken better measures of protection.” The three-eyed demon said coldly. It had been disappointed when he saw that five rogue paladins and an old man stood between him and the legendary pole-arm, the Eternal Grief.

The Eternal Grief belongs to a set of magical weapons, all having the word ‘eternal’ in them. Crafted by the legendary blacksmith, Zeck, all eight of them are enchanted with powerful abilities, and crafted out of emerald steel, a rare composite of glass that shines like an emerald and strikes like steel.

“I have lived a full life, and I am tired of protecting it. Fate has dealt me a good hand, by allowing me to hand it over to an individual as skilled as you. At least the pole-arm’s existence would be justified in your hands.” The old man reached into his pouch and retrieved a handful of green dust. Releasing his grip, the magical dust hung in the air, swirling like a miniature cyclone. Moments later, the dust had formed and materialized into the Eternal Grief, with its handle as black as night, and the blade as green and enchanting as emerald.

It took several moments for the three-eyed demon’s eyes to leave its mesmerizing green glow, and he reach forth to take it from the old man. The pole-arm was magically light, even lighter then his narrow blade, and definitely much sharper.

A sense of relief tingled in the old man as he saw the demon’s fingers prancing across the blade of the pole-arm. Alas, he had found a fighter worthy enough to wield this magical weapon, and perhaps, he had done Zeck justice too.

As the demon prepared to depart, the old man asked a question that he had meant to ask the moment he had seen the demon,

“Who, are you?”

“Do you believe in gods?” Was all the demon said, as he disappeared into the shadowy cloak of the night.

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