Blade of Champions

Chapter Twenty: Lion's Den

                CHAPTER TWENTY

               LION'S DEN

  Hughell crouched beneath the blanket of smoke, trying to know for certain if the Shadow Warrior had spotted him. If it had... he felt raw terror seize his joints.

The sillhouette stood in the grey soup with its fists clenched, bits of blackened debris swirling about it. It was impossible to tell if it was facing towards him, or away.

Suddenly a voice cut through the smoke to Hughell; deep and soft, like a beast’s purr. 

'I know who you are,' the shadow said.

It chuckled softly. The sound reverberated back across the smokey cavern and sent dread oozing down Hughell's spine.

'Ah yes,' the rumble continued, low but somehow almost sing-song - mocking him. 'The kitchen hand. The hopeful little guttersnipe. Trading in his dull past for something new. Exciting. But I don't need to hear your story. How many times have I heard it before?'

The sound of steel sliding between leather brought Hughell to his feet. As he rose, the heat engulfed him, crushing the air from his lungs. He bent double, gasping.

The Shadow Warrior loomed suddenly close, cutting through the smoke, larger and more terrifying than Hughell could have beleived possible, even in his nightmares. His neck and shoulders were like a bull’s, his massive forearms were ridged with tendons. Scars criss-crossed the blackened skin: trophies of a lifetime over the forge.

His head was bald. Black cloth hid the lower half of the face. From above the bandanna stared hideous eyes, black as empty graves.

'So tell me, Hughell of the Kitchen,' the warrior purred, cradling his blade with a savage sort of affection, like it were an infant. 'Where now are your friends? Where is your Prince? He was quick to promise you his protection, now see how quickly he forgets you, now that he’s used you to get what he wants. A worthwhile trade, don't you think? One man for a multitude, eh?'

Hughell found his voice, choking back a layer of dust and grit. 'More worthwhile than you'd think,' he rasped. 'If I recall last time such a trade was made, your master lost himself a kingdom.'

Rage flashed across the warrior's eyes. 

'Fool!' he snarled. 'You think your death will achieve something? I am a Darksmith! This forge might burn, but I have only to build another, raised by the sweat of you puny knights, and the weapons I craft will draw blood from Cytra to The Wasteland!'

'No!' Hughell whipped out his blade and lunged through the smoke, hacking at the warrior's head and shoulders with a fury that poured through his muscles. Something gave. He drove in harder, only to be blasted back by a thunderous counterblow that sent him reeling.

He stumbled back against the workbench, the sound of his nightmares ringing in his ears. He looked down at his blade in horror. It seemed whole, but there was no mistaking what he had heard. The crack of breaking metal.

The Shadow Warrior advanced, his eyes glittering above the filthy rag.

Hughell spun around and vaulted over the bench in a single move. Anything to put a barrier between him and that deadly sword.

As he turned, a nearby beam broke loose from the ceiling and crashed down, exploding into a bloom of flame and burning fragments.

The burst rattled the racks of weapons behind Hughell’s back - and lit up the Shadow Warrior in a burst of blood-red light.