Prompt Inspired short story about a mythador, fighting fantastical creatures for glory.
|Inspired by this writing prompt:
Mythadore Maximo, that's what they called it. The 21st-century's arcane Blood-sport. I glanced to the adamant bars protecting the conjurers; they were nice and safe as they intoned their ritual. I glanced at the stands, titanium-engraved runes set with Platinum and sapphires created a bubble around the pit; when it glowed, nothing could escape.
I shrugged my shoulders, feeling the weight of my armor; it was dragon scale with mithril plate, looking like a red and silver trench coat. Beneath it I wore an enchanted, elven mithril suit. They were all but extinct after Works War E, but their artifacts were legendary. From my cauldrons and a rolling crimson cloak that seemed eager to get into the fight; the ancient Cloak of Julius. My boots scrapped the sand of the coliseum, supposedly worn by Hermes himself. They sure died me up plenty. I held my spear ready, black smoke and purple sparks sizzling from it's tip. My sword was at my hip, heavy to all but my hands. My shield, round and intricately time engraved, glowed with unbridled protective energies.
Trophies, these and more, adorned my body, amulet and rings, bracers and belt, and a hat said to have belonged to MacArthur himself. I was the best their was, Mythadore Primus, and today I would face an angel.
I knew little of the Jewish people save that they heralded from a large Middle Eastern nation and were monotheists; angels were some kind of servitor of their God. I was not prepared for what appeared in a pillar of light when the conjuring finished and the runes around the arena glowed brilliant azure.
It was twice my height at least, made of living metal rings within rings that were covered, absolutely covered with eyes. A blinding light shone from the center as the rings spun and rotated, like a gyroscope on crystal meth, and strangest still, they overlapped and folded in and bellowed out, as if moving in several more spatial dimensions than the human mind could process, the overlapping rings passing through each other as if they were air.
It rushed me furiously and I braced for the storm. The furnaces of Vulcan exploded against the raw kinetic force wall of my shield, buckling it's protection, the runes glowing a furious white. That's new, I thought, a flash of emotion, eagerness, in the calm of my battle-heartened heart. I smiled for the first time in an age. I took a step forward, and the angel shifted.
I twisted and thrust my spear as I let the pushing creature slide off my shield, and for a split second, the crowd gasping and leaning closer, amidst a rain of electric purple arcs, the riot of spinning rings froze in place. I felt my pulse in my eyeballs.
The moment unfroze as my dear shattered like a dry twig in the spokes of a bicycle wheel, sparks and smoke exploding out, enveloping me and drawing a roaring cheer from the audience. I spun, shield ready, cloak snapping at my back, as I drew my sword. It was a modified Spatha with a wider hilt and carved with golden runes. It was alive, it knew my touch, and it's leaden weight turned feather-light in my hand. I smiled again.
Let's see how well it stands up against enchanted, adamant-dipped depleted uranium.
It was fast, but so was I. It struck, it's entire body slamming at me, burning with golden fire, but my armor ate fire for breakfast and though it was taxed to the limit, my shield could take the force of its mass. Eager to strike, I waited for the right moment. All eyes - literally - it was spending a lot of attention watching my cloak. Finally, a sudden whip at it from around the shield distracted it, and I heaved the shield, thrusting precisely with my blade.
Again a hush fell over the arena as it's spinning chaos of rings froze, but this time with a silent scream I could feel in my soul. My sword held fast while the beast's alien ring buckled, then snapped like a spring. It whirled off into the shielding dome with a flash, and the angel shrieked in agony, a flaming buffet of wind pounding at me as it fled.
I staggered, only for it to lash out in a new way, its eyes blazing, beams of light cracked into existence for split-second attacks that hailed at me like a drum-roll of raw furry. It was hot, pure light and force, and it caught me off guard, blasting into me with the furry of Jupiter's Thunderbolts. I felt myself thrown, smoking, burning, and saw white when I slammed into the arena wall. A wave of shock and excitement rippled around the ring while I struggled to survive.
Somehow, I interposed my shield between myself and the salvo, and leaning back again the stone, pushed myself to my feet. My sword was yards away, and I was a mess, but I felt my shoulder pop back into it's socket and the blood flow cease as my trinkets did their work. To a new, louder cheer from the crowd I whipped off my half-ruined cloak and stalked toward my blade, leaning into the rain of blasts it relentlessly threw at me.
As I reclaimed the sword, the crowd reached a crescendo, but not so loud as to overpower the magic of the arena, not loud enough to drown out my voice.
"I never said you could leave, monster!"
That got it's attention. It charged again, past the blackened, dead-eyed husk if it's broken hoop, this time shipping back and forth like an enraged fly, while I swatted at it with my blade. White sparks flew with each blow, but I couldn't quite server a ring, not while I danced around both it's giant body and gods-damned laser eyes.
Back and forth we fought, and despite my many enchantments, I was beginning to tire. But, I noticed, so was the angel.
Cut off from everything by the arena's shield, it could not draw power from it's patron or native realm. Like all beast's if spirit given form, it needed that energy to live in the mortal world.
Suddenly a renewed scream rose up and a golden wheel rolled away, served, charred, and dead. It's eyes stopped throwing beams of light, it's good began to dim. I could feel it growing sluggish. I smiled again. It retreated; I could see it's heart, a dimly gleaming golden orb. I raised my blade and looked up. The scoreboard was glowing brightly, and the votes were conclusive.
I stepped up to the rapidly weakening beast, and my blade thrust true. It's entirety exploded against my shield and armor, all but throwing me into the air. When I could see again, blackened rings and a heap of ashen slag was all that remained. I smiled a final time raising my chin and my sword, and became drunk on the chorus.
"Myth-a-dor, Myth-a-dor, Myth-a-dor..."