The King and The Shade

These halls psyched Innis out. He couldn't explain the sense of foreboding, he simply felt one. The temples scope was such that it seemed that the whole world lay carved into the structure above him. Even with his enhanced sight, the Shade could not see the top of the vast corridor. Carved all into the walls were platforms, platforms that served as the housing for a slue of gargoyles and other such carvings, all dwarfed by the overall size of the place.
Innis was starting to get somewhat nauseous when he finally spied the end of the corridor. His elation at finding the end of this intimidating place surprised him greatly, he had thought himself above such petty things.
Why did he choose such an odd place? He wondered to himself, recalling the odd and brief series of events that had brought him here.
He had been living a life of vengeance, having lost everything to the Thousand Year Emperor, who's armies slew his family, his friends, his woman. This man had taken everything from him and Innis had vowed revenge for it all, and just like that the opportunity presented itself. He had been told by a masked man in an inn to come to this place. The temple of Ith. One of the most holy sites in the land. For some reason the emperor agreed to do battle with him here, though the feeble militia that Innis had managed to raise in the month between the destruction of his life and now hardly presented a threat to the well defended monarch.
Guess I'll have my answer soon. He thought as he approached the door leading to the Basilica. It was flanked on either side by statues of a a winged warrior, a thin rapier in hand, with a shrewd look on his face and a stance to match. Even with his poor knowledge of religion Innis could recognize the God Ith when he saw him. He almost dropped to a knee in reverence, but stopped just before with a sneer.
“What have you ever done for me?” He snarled at the the stone visage. If the god was going to ever explain himself, he didn't do it then, as the statue continued to stare ahead blankly.
Innis stared at it a full moment, then turned back toward the door, suddenly angry at himself. The door was built on the same scale as the rest of the temple, large and impressive, while be completely tasteless at the same time. Innis pushed on the smoothly varnished wood and to it's credit it slid back on well oiled hinges. Innis spared a thought for the oddness that this temple seemed so well kept, yet he had seen not a soul since his entering. The thought was banished immediately as the door finished sliding open.
The basilica was small, at least comparatively. It was still vast by normal standards, but it was also well lit and surrounded by some of the most perfectly sculptured representations of men Innis had ever seen. The fact that they were all of Ith only slightly detracted from their beauty. Besides the statues, the room was bereft of all accouterments save one. In the middle of the room sat a plain alter, with only a candle burning on it. But it was not so much the alter that caught Innis' attention as much as the man kneeling before it.
The door shut behind Innis. The man made no movement, even though he must of heard the resounding echo of the door closing. For a moment, nothing moved. It seemed that Innis did not so much as even breathe. Finally with infinite slowness the man rose, ruffling his black cloak as he did so. His hair fell to the middle of his back, the same brown color that Innis himself had, as well as kept in much the same fashion.
“I did not expect you to come.” He said, a whisper with power, the voice of a king.
“Did you think me a coward? Afraid to meet a mere king like you in battle?” Innis retorted, spitting on the ground in disgust as he finished.
“No...I had thought you smarter than that.”
As the words left the man's mouth, he turned to face Innis, gazing through him with eyes hidden behind a mask, eyes alien yet familiar at once to Innis. The mask unsettled Innis, he had not expected such a garment from a king. It was plain, white with only a swirl of a light green marring it's perfect color. The rest of the man's robes were rather typical. Loose fitting blue robes, with a sash running between the legs, emblazoned with the Thousand Year Emperor's emblem, the Ouroboros. Around his waist was a well-tooled belt, engraved with images of leaves and branches, so convincingly crafted that it could almost be mistaken for a misplaced bough of some small tree. On the belt hung a thin sword, the rapier so favored by the men of the North, beside which was a parrying dagger, both elegantly crafted.
“So, I'm certain you did not come here to merely cross swords with me Innis of the Eldari. Come, I am prepared to bear arms against you.”
The king took up the Rapier easily in his left hand, his right holding the dagger calmly. He took up a easy stance on the balls of his feet. For all his failings the king knew how to fight, and Innis was slightly impressed. Innis relaxed himself, then unsheathed both his long knives, and assumed his own stance.
The king was quick, quicker than Innis had expected from a royal. The rapier whistled toward him, and Innis barely managed to turn the thrust wide with one dagger, trying as he did so to slip the other under the king's guard. The Parrying dagger came down and left them both off-balance face-to-face. For a moment they stared into each others eyes, then Innis brought his Knee into the king's chest and pushed off. The king staggered for only a moment before recovering, bringing the Rapier around to Innis' exposed back, scoring a minor cut.
They both stood back a moment more, composing themselves, then this time Innis took the initiative. He thrust in a parry at the king's torso. The rapier came around to defend, but the knife wasn't there to be knocked aside, as Innis had shifted his momentum, spinning around with the knife in hand. The King's dagger tore into his side, but with the strength borne of hatred he plunged his knife into the King's exposed back. The Knife missed any vitals, but was still quite a wound. The King thrashed, knocking Innis down and giving him an ugly red stripe on his face as the Rapier slashed across. Innis' second knife clattered to the floor behind him and he lay, drained from the deep wound in his side.
Neither of them moved for some time. The only sound was the dripping of blood from beneath the King's mask, slowly forming drops and falling to the stone floor beneath. The King gave a soft gasp, then rose, showing only the slightest unsteadiness. Innis was not so fortunate, he could barely move for the pain, as the King had buried his dagger deep into the right kidney. He had only just managed to get to a sitting position when he felt the light touch of a rapier on his neck. HE sighed, looking up at the unyielding mask of the King, now marred by blood on the lower portion.
“You did not think that I would be so easy to kill? Surely you expected I reigned in more than name.”
The King scoffed a bit, then raised up his rapier, prepared to strike the final blow, when Innis spoke:
“Who are you?”
The sword froze, halted by Innis' words as though having hit a shield.
“You mean you do not know? You can not of figured it out yourself? But it's so simple. I had expected more from you. Fine, I'll indulge you.”
The king dropped his parrying dagger to the floor, it's collision echoed throughout the still halls, amplified and reflected a thousandfold. Ever so deliberately the King raised his hand to the mask, then flung it off. It's clatter was unheard by Innis over the beating of his heart.
“I am you.” His lips said, his lips, his mouth, his voice. Now that he knew he recognized the eyes, his eyes, and the voice and hair, all his. “I am what you could have been, should have been. I am you, you are me, we're one and the same.” He said, yet didn't.
Innis simply stared, drained suddenly. The blade raised up, shining in the torchlight. Only then did Innis spring to action. He gripped his fallen knife and sprung to the side, dodging the rapiers deadly thrust. He sprang to his feet, bull rushing the king and flinging him backwards. The rapier clattered to the floor and the king fell back, lying prone on the floor. Innis leapt onto him like a lion pouncing on it's pray. He pressed the dagger to the exposed flesh of the kings neck, and made ready to cut out the throat most vital, and then there was pain, burning pain springing from Innis' back. He felt himself falling back into death, blood gushing from a wound that sprang from no where. He turned, and there was the most beautiful sight. A face of beauty so surreal he almost wept to see it. He recognized the figure as the God emblazoned over the temple. His last sight was that of the vicious deity, grinning over the fallen man, struck down by a power greater than he could comprehend.