Whereas before
there was noise, shouts, chaos, now there came peace, quiet, stillness. Thor
blinked several times as he stood there, breathing hard, covered in blood,
trying to understand what had just happened. He looked around, and he saw all
around him, in circles, heaps of corpses.
All the Empire
divisions that had come for him. All of them, dead.
Thorgrin slowly
came back to himself, in a dim haze. He turned and looked back over the bridge
and saw, on the far side, Gwendolyn’s and the others’ shocked expressions, all
looking to him as if he were a god. He had single-handedly killed an entire
division of Empire troops, ten thousand men, at least. The Empire waves,
finally, had come to a stop. Finally, they were no longer being pursued.
But as soon as
he had the thought, Thor suddenly heard an awful noise in the skies, like a
rumbling of thunder, and as he looked up, his stomach fell. He knew immediately
that he had won the most epic battle of his life—only for it to be replaced by
one even more epic to come.
For as he looked
up, Thor saw an army of creatures from hell—and at their head, the Blood Lord,
face contorted in fury.
Tens of
thousands of his creatures, larger than gargoyles, smaller than dragons, black,
hairy, screeching, were converging behind him, plunging down, right for Thor.
Finally, they had caught up with him. Finally, he would have to pay the price
for stealing back Guwayne.
They came at him
as one army of death, claws extended, and Thor knew that he was in for the
battle of his life.
Thor stood
there, watching them come for him, and felt the Sword of the Dead buzzing in
his hands, willing him to fight.
There is no foe
too great for you, young warrior!
it urged.
And in his hand,
holding the Sword, he felt the Sorcerer’s Ring, throbbing, sending a heat up
his arm that urged him to fight.
The first
gargoyle descended and Thor slashed, again and again. He did not stop slashing
as one wave of gargoyles after the next plummeted, claws out, aiming for his
face, slashing them down as he spun left and right. He chopped off claws,
heads, arms; he stabbed them, swirled, feeling the power of the Sorcerer’s Ring
emboldening him as he felled them by the dozens.
They fell all
around him, piling up in heaps, none able to touch him.
But Thorgrin
suddenly heard awful cries rise up behind him, and he turned and looked out to
see Gwendolyn and all of their people on the far side of the Canyon, bracing
themselves as the gargoyles descended for them, too. Thousands more gargoyles
emerged, encircling them on every side, leaving nowhere to run. Thorgrin did
not fear for himself—but he feared for his people, especially as he watched
them begin to fall.
Thorgrin knew
that, despite everything, despite the powers of the Sword of the Dead, of the
Sorcerer’s Ring, he was losing this battle. He would not be able to save his
people in time.
What he needed,
he knew, was the Shield restored. It was the only way to protect them. But
there was something he was missing, some final riddle, some final piece of the
puzzle.
“ARGON!” Thor
called out, turning to the skies. “Where are you!? I need you now!”
There came no
response, and Thor turned and searched in every direction.
“ARGON!” he
persisted. “What is it I am missing? What is it that I need to be worthy?”
Thorgrin
suddenly sensed a presence behind him, and he turned and saw Argon appearing,
standing alone in the center of the bridge. He stood there, facing him, holding
his staff, staring back at him, eyes so bright they outshone the suns.
As he stood
there, mesmerized, Thor suddenly felt himself get scratched by a gargoyle—and
then felt a tug at his hand. He was horrified to feel another snatch the Sword
of the Dead from his hands, to watch it carry it away, farther and farther from
him, flying up until it disappeared in the skies.
Thor stood
there, now defenseless, knowing he was failing. He would lose this epic battle
for all time.
He ran to Argon,
across the bridge, rushing to meet him, and he watched as Argon slowly closed
his eyes, turned his palms, and raised them to the sky. As he did, a shaft of
sunlight shot down from the heavens, illuminating him.
“Thorgrin,” he
boomed, his voice so powerful it resonated like thunder, echoing throughout the
Canyon, rolling even above the sound of the gargoyles. “The Sorcerer’s Ring can
bring back the Shield—but it cannot do it alone. You are still missing one
piece of the puzzle. One piece of yourself, which you have forgotten.”
He opened his
eyes and looked right at Thorgrin, now just feet away, his eyes so intense,
they were more fearful than the hordes of the earth. And then he said:
“The Destiny
Sword.”
Thor stared back
at Argon in shock.
“I thought it
was destroyed,” Thor said.
“It was,” Argon
said. “But the Sorcerer’s Ring can bring it back. The weapon of the Chosen One
will always be yours. What protected this Canyon must be returned. Only the
Sorcerer’s Ring can raise it up—and a sacrifice.”
Thor stared
back, puzzled.
“A sacrifice?”
he asked. “I will do anything.”
Argon shook his
head.
“It is not for
you
to do.”
Thor stare back,
baffled.
“It is my
sacrifice, Thorgrin,” Argon said. “I can raise the Sword—if I give up my life.”
Thor began to
realize what he was saying, and he felt overcome with a sense of dread, of
loss. Argon. His mentor. His teacher. The one he respected more than anyone in
the world. He had been with him on his journey since the beginning, before he
had even ventured to King’s Court. The one he had met when just a boy, a boy
who did not know his power. The one who had encouraged him to follow his
destiny, who had told him he could be something, someone, greater. The only one
who had been a real father to him.
“NO!” Thor
yelled, realizing.
Thor ran for
him, the last few feet, trying to grab him to save him in time.
But it was too
late.
Argon walked to
the rail, and slowly, gracefully, dove off of it, arms out wide by his side.
Thor watched in
horror as he plummeted. As he did, the shaft of light followed him, swirling
all different colors.
“ARGON!”
Thorgrin shrieked.
Argon fell
straight down in a swan dive, right into the mists of the Canyon, and
disappeared from Thorgrin’s eyes forever.
Thorgrin felt
his heart torn to pieces as he watched, knowing this time Argon was truly gone
forever.
And Thor was
equally shocked to see there rise out of the mist, right where Argon had fell,
a single weapon, illuminated in the shaft of light.
It rose higher
and higher, then floated right to him, right into his palm. It was a perfect
fit.
The Destiny
Sword.
It was his, once
again.
The Destiny
Sword vibrated and pulsed in Thor’s hand, and as the Sorcerer’s Ring shone,
Thor felt himself having a power unlike any he’d ever known. He felt a driving
vengeance to end this war, for himself, for Gwendolyn, for the Ring, for Argon.
Thor turned and,
facing the gargoyles with a new energy, leapt into action. He leapt up into the
air, slashing wildly, meeting them on their own terms, and cut through them
like butter, their screeches filling the air as he felled them in every
direction. They dropped all around him in heaps, until the surviving gargoyles
finally turned and flew off in fear.
Thorgrin stood
there in the center of the bridge, his people still being attacked in the Ring,
and he sensed that the Shield was almost ready to rise again. But there was
still one last task he had left to perform.
The skies
thundered and all the remaining gargoyles quickly parted, as plunging down
there appeared Thor’s nemesis: The Blood Lord. He landed before Thorgrin in the
center of the bridge, holding a massive halberd, sneering back, twice Thor’s
size, all muscle. Thor stood his ground, facing him, wielding the Destiny
Sword, and he knew that this would the most important battle he’d ever fought.
The one that defined him for all time. The one that decided the fate of his
people.
Thor could see
the armies lined up on both sides, watching this epic fight, knowing the
results would dictate the future for them both.
As the Blood
Lord approached, Thor was on guard, remembering he had been defeated by him
once, and sensing within him an energy more evil than any he had ever known.
As Thor faced
him, examined him, he sensed something—and suddenly had a realization.
“You are my
father, reborn,” Thor said, realizing. “You are Andronicus.”
The Blood Lord
grinned down at him with an evil grin.
“I warned you I
would haunt you,” he replied, “that my spirit would live on. That you would
have to face me one last time. Now I shall kill you for good, and take back
what is mine—my bloodline—Guwayne.”
Thor, filled
with fury at the thought, felt the Destiny Sword itching in his palm. He threw
it back and forth, from palm to palm, ready.
“Let us meet
then, Father,” he said. “Finally, let father and son embrace!”
Thorgrin raised
his sword and the Blood Lord raised his halberd, and the two of them rushed
each other, meeting in the center of the bridge like rams, in a clash of arms,
a clang of metal, that echoed throughout the Canyon.
Back and forth
they went, Thor slashing and the Blood Lord blocking, each with a weapon powerful
enough to destroy the world, and each well matched against the other. Thor
sensed this was an epic battle between light and darkness, one which held the
very fate of the world in the balance. He was facing off, he knew, with the
most powerful demon in the world, more powerful even than all the Empire. Thor
sensed that the Blood Lord was an amalgamation of dark forces, all released
from the darkest corners of the world and coming together in one being.
As they fought,
slashing and blocking, Thor ducking and whirling, he knew the Shield would
never be restored until the Blood Lord was finished, until he defeated this
final, and worst, enemy. He would also be defeating his father, and a piece of
himself.
“You cannot
defeat me,” the Blood Lord said, as he blocked a blow from the Destiny Sword,
turning his halberd sideways, then shoved Thor, sending him stumbling back.
“Because I am you. Search deep inside, and you can feel it. I am the darkness
within you.”
He rushed
forward, swinging the halberd, and Thor was amazed at how fast it came down,
slicing through the air even though it was so huge, so unwieldy in his hands.
If he had been anyone else, Thor knew, that blow would have sliced him in half.
But some
instinct kicked in Thor, propelled by the Sorcerer’s Ring, that allowed him to
jump out of the way at the last second. The halberd just missed, Thor feeling
the wind of it.
The Blood Lord’s
eyes widened in surprise, as if he had not expected this. He then swung around,
raised the halberd high, and brought it down with both hands, as if to chop
Thor in half.
Thor jumped
back, and the halberd lodged itself into the stone of the bridge, embedding
itself almost a foot deep as it cut through the stone, the sound of it echoing
off the Canyon walls as if thunder had just struck.
The Blood Lord
growled, infuriated; Thor was certain his weapon was stuck, but the Blood Lord
surprised him by yanking it out smoothly, as if it were nothing, and charging
again.
As the halberd
came down again for his head, this time Thor raised the Destiny Sword and
blocked the blow with a clang, sparks flying everywhere, holding it in place
overhead. The clang was so loud it, it echoed throughout the cliffs of the
Canyon.
The Blood Lord
swung the halberd around again and again, from side to side, each time Thor
blocking. Thor was surprised to realize that it was difficult to block each
blow, so powerful, even with the Sorcerer’s Ring, even with the Destiny Sword.
He realized that any of these blows would have cut an army in half. They were two
titanic forces, two titanic weapons smashing into each other.
Thor, after
being backed up by dozens of blows, felt a heat beginning to rise in his palms,
felt the power of the Destiny Sword beginning to well up within him. It forced
him to raise his arms in one quick gesture, swing the Destiny Sword around and
down, both arms above his head, and bring it straight down for the Blood Lord.
It came down with more power and strength than he had ever felt, and with a
greater speed, and he felt certain it would slice the Blood Lord in two.
But he turned
his halberd and blocked, and Thor was amazed to see him able to stop the blow,
albeit with shaking hands. Thor saw the shocked expression on the Blood Lord’s
face, and knew he was surprised, did not expect a blow of such force.
Back and forth
they went, swinging and blocking, parrying and ducking and dodging and slashing
and stabbing. Neither could land a blow. They were perfectly matched, their
great clangs ringing out again and again, like two mountains colliding with
each other, as they pushed each other back and forth the Canyon bridge.
As Thor blocked
a blow overhead, his arms shaking, beginning to tire, the Blood Lord surprised
him by immediately swinging around for a second blow. Thor blocked, but it
threw him off balance, and he found himself stumbling to the side, to the edge
of the stone railing lining the bridge.
Before he could
regroup, Thor suddenly felt rough hands grab him from behind, felt himself
hoisted high in the air, and found himself weightless, up high, and looking
down over the edge of the Canyon.
Thor could hear
his people gasp, thousands of them, as his life hung in the balance.
And a moment
later, Thor felt himself go flying over the edge, hurling into the abyss.