Clash of Destiny

DISCLAIMER

I am, by no means, a good writer. I wanted to make a my dear sweetheart challenged me to write instead. So now my entry is this piece of writing that I hope you all will enjoy. Of course, any sort of criticism will be appreciated, but please don't tear me a new one if you thought it was horrible.

Edit: Wait what I got featured?! Okay maybe I'm not AS bad as I thought I was. Thanks, guys! I also changed the fonts a bit here and there, hopefully it is easier to read and follow this way! Also, I took the picture from here!

Without further ado...

Clash of Destiny

Some legends tell the tale of a man who rose from a village in the middle of nowhere to become a Hero, slayer of Gods and the first King to rule the continent of Valentia, no longer tormented by the seemingly endless fight of its two creators - Mila and Duma.

But some legends... tell a different tale.

The cold air of the war-torn's capital of Zofia fills the men and women of the Deliverance with a chilling dread. Dark, gloomy clouds fill the night sky so that not even the moon casts its faint light upon the ruins that once made a great city. The soldiers look frozen in fear into the distance at Duma's army marching to bring their inevitable demise. Their only hope, the fabled Hero who wields the legendary blade, Falchion... long gone. He is now but a vessel, belonging to the God of Strength.

The man who brought hope within the ranks of the Deliverance, who led it fearlessly, who has shown that it doesn't take to be thought of as a noble to lead an army, is now marching for his sworn enemy.

With each step, the final hour of the Zofians draws nearer... At this rate, they won't even survive to see the rising sun once more.

With no hesitation, Alm raises his blade, then points it at his enemy. In an instant, Duma's army charges towards the Deliverance. The drums and horns of war echo through the barren ruins as the Zofians, led by a priestess left with no Goddess to worship, take up their arms and charge foolishly towards their demise.

Soon, Alm locks eyes with his target. The leader of the Deliverance herself, Celica. She feels powerless, already defeated at the mere sight of what her dear Alm has turned into. As he charges at her, the voice of a man makes Celica take a step back:

"Stand aside!"

he shouts as he jumps between her and Alm, clashing weapons, sparks flying everywhere, thunder sounding as if to proclaim the beginning of a duel of fate. His horse neighs softly, finally catching a breath. Atop his trusty steed, he stands tall as a mountain and proud as a king. It's none other than Berkut, Prince of the Rigelian Empire.

"You fool..." Alm mutters. "This is why Lord Duma has no place for astray sheep!".

"Your "Lord" has no place in this world! He might have been my God, but now... He took things too far, Alm. This is the land of men, and we shall claim it as such!" Berkut replies, forcing Alm to back off with a push of his lance.

"You could've ed him, served him... Lord Duma put his trust in you... but you have failed him for the last time!"

Berkut dismounts his horse, holding his Kriemhild tighter: "He is no deity... he hides behind the faces of other men and women because he is too scared to fight an army of "mere" mortals himself. A pathetic display of your lord, the "God of Strength"..."

"Silence! Lord Duma's power is what will bring your demise, you treacherous fool!"

The two raise their weapons at each other, the fire in Alm's eyes burning stronger than the pain in Berkut's heart. His only choice is to kill his only family, the cousin he never got to meet. A great man who fell prey to his own deity's tricks... But is it really Alm, or simply what's left of his body, under Duma's control? Perhaps the only way to free Alm... is to defeat him in battle.

The two charge at once, the storm becoming increasingly stronger, as if to mirror the might of their heavy blows. Even the clouds themselves clash between each other, mighty bolts of lighting emerging as a result.

They're locked in battle for what seems like hours, but mere minutes before Berkut finds an opening and plugs his Kriemhild through his very own cousin's armor and flesh. The haunting sounds of his lance piercing through Alm's armor and that of the Falchion hitting the ground give him shivers, leaving him slightly dizzy.

In his last moments, Alm smiles softly as Berkut drops his lance and hugs him for the first time, his voice sounding softer and softer with each word: "Th...ank you... Ber...kut. But you mu...st... finish what I... fa...iled to. with...out me...". Alm's last words echo in Berkut's mind as his now lifeless corpse drops to the ground. Berkut feels too powerless now that his only family is gone. How can he raise up to be a Hero and take Alm's place?

Despite Berkut's grief and sorrow, he won this battle. Duma's forces fade into the warm light of the sun which drives away the clouds and their terrifying storm. The soldiers breathe a sigh of relief as their demise has yet to come.

"Lord Berkut!"

A soft, warm tone calls from atop his trustworthy knight's horse. He might've lost his only family, but he still has his loving Rinea, the girl who never left his side, even in such troubling times. She gets off Fernand's horse and hugs Berkut tightly, warming him up and filling him with hope, hope that there's still good in this world that's worth fighting and even dying for.

The Zofians look at the two of them, few in disgust and hatred for the Rigelian prince, but most look at him with iration and new-found hope. Berkut looks at them, then down, at the legendary blade, the only weapon that can bring that monster down.

But does he have it in him...? To put aside his pride as a prince of the Rigelian Empire and fight not only alongside nobles, but "peasants" alike?

He finds his reflection in the sword's sharp blade. Seeing his teary, bloodshot eyes reminds him of Alm's words. He must finish what Alm couldn't... He must take Alm's spot as a Hero, as the slayer of Gods and as the first King of the Rigelian-no-of the continent of Valentia, no longer divided by borders, alongside his Queen, Rinea.

As Berkut picks up and raises the legendary Falchion, its blade shining yet again from the sun's warm and welcoming rays, the soldiers cheer him on as the new leader of the Deliverance. Even Fernand, who couldn't stand fighting alongside those lower than him, smiled and decided he'd give the common folk another chance.

As such, in the fall of a Hero rose another, ready to bring the fight at Duma's doors. Accompanied by the Deliverance, his lover and the powerful Falchion, he marches on in Alm's stead - ready to give the God of Strength a taste of his own medicine after all he has done to mankind... and to the Goddess.