Blades and Beasts Excerpt

  When Matthias's power erupted from him, the energy was sent flying to every corner of Durlade. All who shared similar gifts knew that another had joined their ranks, yet they knew not what he was to be. Warrior? Nobility? Foe? Ally? None knew.

  Except for one. Deep within the Jagged Peaks, where the once mighty Phoenix race ruled justly, there stood an old tower from which they ruled. Which had been taken and used against them by a usurper to the throne. He had taken control of the Phoenix nation and had waged war against all others, ridding the world of the lesser races, which were born only to die.

  But he was not a normal Phoenix. His power was unmatched, he had slayed hundreds upon hundreds to achieve his power.  The rulers of the other nations, realizing that they could not defeat such a monstrosity, imprisoned him in his own throne room.  And, as a safety measure, they hunted down every last Phoenix, so that this bloody part of history might not be repeated. 

  It was he, bound and chained in an upright position, who felt the radiant energy quickly pass him by.  His head shot up, his gray ponytail flying back, and his yellow hawk-like eyes gazed out of the window directly in front of him, from which the power had come.

  He took a deep breath, inhaling the energy, letting it flow through him.  Suddenly, his blood boiled.  He knew that energy.  It was once lost, long ago, and he alone was left to carry the flame.  But now, it appeared as though there, in fact, was another who survived. 

  He breathed deeply, letting the energy flow through him.  His muscles flexed.  He began to think; of battle, of destiny, of conquest, of glory.

  "I know that scent," he muttered to himself.  "It appears as though I am no longer alone.  And this other one..." he sniffed the air again, "yes, this one radiates with power!  If I could find him..."

  He felt his old energy run its course through his veins again.  There it was; the feeling of absolute power, flight, flame, everything.  This was all he needed.  This one spark.

  He grinned a devilish grin.  "If I could find him, I'd make them pay... I'D MAKE THEM ALL PAY!"

  Jets of flame erupted from his hands and feet, burning everything around him.  Slowly, the flames reached higher and higher, until they eventually reached the place where he lay chained in the air.  The old man screamed as the flames seared his flesh, devouring every last bit of his being.  He screamed, but did not stop creating the fire.  He wanted it to be perfect.

  Finally, his corpse hung from the chains that held him in place.  The flames, now untamed and wild, tore at everything in the room, and continued to devour the corpse's flesh. 

  Then something happened.  Ancient markings on the corpse began to form, to emerge from the burned mass held in suspension.  A dull hud resounded in the air, and, thousands of miles away, King Colin, the only person old enough to remember the Wars of Flames, stopped what he was doing and looked to the source of the noise, knowing full well what it meant.

  The throne room had exploded, the chains melted, and the corpse ashes.  The fire raged now more furiously than before, rapidly reaching new heights. 

  Then, something in the flames stirred.  The pile of ashes slowly began to rise and rotate in a tiny whirlwind.  The flames directly surrounding them joined them in the unnatural dance, and, slowly, began to form the shape of a man.

  With a loud yell, Vand came back to life amidst the raging flames.  Red wings of fire unfurled themselves from his back and held him for a moment in midair.  Slowly, he descended, his wings beating softly, and landed among the raging flames.  The engravings on his body took new shape, shone bright red for a moment, then disappeared.

  He raised his hands, and the surrounding flamesflew into them.  Feeling his glory return, he shot the flames upward in a huge blast, blowing off the cieling and shooting in a firey vortex up to the heavens.  The Ashen Days, the peacetime after the Wars of Flames, had come to an end.  The Ressurection Wars were about to begin.