MOTF Book I: BOTE Chapter 5

The clang of metal on metal was a sound that swept across the courtyard. The sound was almost like music to the two combatants as four blades rang out a melody of skill, passion, grace, and lethality. This was the song of the Bladewrath, an Innamortan nation whose people focused on melee combat to the point of it almost being a religious practice.

Tormax was these people’s prince, and as such he upheld their traditions and practices very seriously, though it never seemed to be enough for his parents. Despite the fact that he was only twelve, he was already intimately familiar with the blades and blade work of his people.

Tormax and Ralgas, his who also happened to be one of his best friends, each wielded two blades, but very different weapons altogether. Ralgas wielded his two blades separately, with one longsword in each hand. Tormax on the other hand wielded both of his blades as part of the same weapon, a double bladed broadsword.

The weapons they wielded now were mere reflections of the ones they actually carried with them into battle. Watered down versions of the true blades of the lightor. Sharp enough to break skin, but not nearly enough to break bone. Their real weapons were sharper than this by alot, and Tormax could even activate a power generator in his hilt that would superheat his blades. The weakness of these blades was intentional however, as they were meant for training rather than lethal combat.

To the average observer, their contest may have appeared to be an unfocused chaotic frenzy. But a true Bladewrath would be capable of recognizing the amount of focus and calculation that went into each strike. To them, blade work was more than combat, it was art.

As Tormax clashed blades with his friend, he said, “If you tried being a bit more unpredictable and crafty, you might actually break my defense. You should pay more attention to my footing and maybe you can catch me off balance.”

Ralgas’s response to his comment came so swiftly, Tormax didn’t even have a chance to close his mouth before the blade came within a few inches of it. At the last possible second, Tormax twirled his weapon, bringing one end of his sword up to deflect his friend’s blade just in time before pivoting his blade forward to slap away the blade of his Ralgas’s other sword.

Despite his best efforts however, the blade cut a thin gash along Tormax’s cheek, deep enough to draw a minuscule amount of blood. Even so it was enough to snap Tormax back into focus as a gray drop of Bladewrath blood trickled down his cheek.

Tormax saw his opponent enthralled with his glancing blow, meanwhile he was filled with a prideful sense of determination as he strived to protect his ego.

As the two opponents flew at each other with renewed vigor, their movements began to pick up speed and intensity as they danced around the courtyard. It was a whirlwind of blades sliding from one side of the makeshift arena to the other. The duel adopted and altered certain rhythms while the two combatants struggled for an edge over each other.

Tormax suddenly adopted a different tactic. He began to twirl his blades, keeping them in constant motion to build up their momentum. As his weapon began to pick up speed and power, Tormax easily used it to bat away Ralgas’s next series of strikes.

As he sat comfortably behind his defensive wall, he prepared his own offensive. He quickly pivoted his weapon to the side, hoisted it above his head, and brought it down with all of the built up momentum behind it.

His strike was caught in a cross block by his opponent, but that didn’t stop him. As one end of his blade was stopped, he swung his weapon around so the other blade caught Ralgas in the legs. The blade cut through the back of his right calve and swept him off of his feet.

Seizing the opportunity, Tormax quickly brought the opposite end of his blade back around, and struck him across both wrists with a single slash. Tormax planted one foot firmly on Ralgas’s chest as he brought his weapon to a stop, with one edge pointed right at Ralgas’s throat.

“Okay, you win,” Ralgas grunted.

Tormax remained unmoving, grinning and savoring the moment. He had beaten his opponent, and that pleased him beyond all else.

“Could you please let me up now?” Ralgas requested. He had an irritated look on his face, but that only entertained Tormax further.

“Only if you say that I’m better than you,” Tormax responded, now smirking and barely suppressing laughter.

“Ugh! Fine! You are better than me,” Ralgas grunted with annoyance.

“Yeah I am,” Tormax said with pride.

As he Tormax got off of Ralgas, Ralgas flashed him a look of resentment.

“What? Just a little friendly teasing,” Tormax explained as he extended his hand out to his friend.

Ralgas took his hand, and Tormax helped him too his feet.

“That was a better fight than anyone else here could’ve given me,” Tormax admitted, much to the irritation of their other spectators, all their friends, all their age.

“I could’ve easily given you a better fight!” one of their friends cried out in protest.

“You wouldn’t have lasted more than ten seconds against either of us Cedalb,” Ralgas teased.

There was a long silence for a few seconds, and then the whole group broke out into laughter. The mood quickly became a lot more friendly and cheery, which was a welcome change to everyone.

“Come on guys, Let’s get out of here and go get something to eat!” Tormax exclaimed, much to the approval of his friends.

Before they could do anything else, Tormax heard a beeping from his pocket. He quickly took out his comlink and placed it up to his ear.

“Hey Tormax it’s me, Dylan” Tormax heard through the comlink.

“How’s it going Dylan? Wanna hang out or something?” Tormax inquired, eager to spend some time with one of his best friends.

“Actually me and my squad were gonna throw a party at the Shadikill capital. If you and your friends aren’t busy you guys could fly over and we could all get completely smashed,” Dylan responded.

“Sounds good,” Tormax replied, now gleeful with anticipation. “Where is this party gonna be?”

“Some bar I bought out for the night,” Dylan answered. “It’s called the Battle Bar. After I contact Fernin, I’ll transmit both of you the location.”

“We will see you there as soon as possible,” Tormax said with a big grin on his face.

“Oh and since I’m hooking everyone up with the yellow, you gotta hook us up with the red.” Dylan added before breaking off the transmission.

To some that request may have seemed confusing. To Tormax however it was anything but. He and Dylan had thought of it as a code years ago to avoid getting in trouble with their parents. Yellow meant alcohol, which is what Dylan would obviously be supplying given that he pretty much bought a bar out for the night. Red on the other hand was referring to a blaze blossom.

Blaze blossoms were red flowers native to Innamorta that contained a special compound. This compound served as a psychoactive drug, and could induce a euphoric state when smoked. Tormax knew first hand that the experience was absolutely incredible.

There were of course different strains of blaze blossom, some being better than others of course. Tormax despised the cheaper lower quality stuff however, preferring only the strains that got him a really good high. Cause when he and Dylan blazed up, they did it to trip balls.

Tormax knew that tonight was going to be an amazing party, so he intended to find the best strain of blaze blossom possible.

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A single flicker of movement seen through the scope of a sniper rifle, that was all Fernin needed to confirm that his enemy was here, waiting for him. Fernin was a hunter stalking his prey. A silent killer, waiting to strike. He was getting close. Holstering his sniper rifle on his back, he pulled out two blaster pistols as he rounded the corner.

He was in a large building complex that was seemingly inactive and quiet. Wreckage and rubble was scattered all over the place, the rusted skeletons of speeders lost long ago were scattered all over the place. A thin layer of dust caked the walls and ground like an ethereal veil.

To the naked eye it appeared to be an abandoned fort, a base long bereft of its strategic value. It looked as if nobody had been in here for years, but looks could be deceiving. His prey was indeed here. Fernin had seen him, and he would kill him.

As he approached the next corner, he stopped and slowly peaked his head around the corner. His opponent was armed to, and was ready to kill him as well. He had to be very cautious. As he peaked around the corner, he saw nothing, but his quarry must’ve come this way, he was sure of it.

As he stepped around the corner however, he heard the sound of rapid blasterfire behind him as a dozen blaster bolts whizzed past his head and lit up the air around him. Fernin quickly whirled around and twisted his body to dodge the next dozen blaster bolts. His enemy was right in front of him, standing less than ten feet away with an automatic blaster rifle in his arms.

Twisting and contorting out of the way of the blaster bolts, Fernin pulled up his blaster pistols and fired twice at his enemy’s face. Both shots found their mark, but Fernin did not let up, not when he was so close to victory. Fernin quickly fired two more expertly aimed shots, one straight through the heart, and the other right into the crotch.

As his enemy toppled to the ground before him, Fernin calmly strode over to his side, basking in his victory, but keeping his cool so he would look good. He always looked good. I’m the best, Fernin thought to himself as he stood over his fallen opponent. Then Fernin nonchalantly raised his blaster and fired one final shot between his enemy’s eyes. It was all over now.

“Damn it!” Fernin heard from his left. “You killed me again!”

Fernin quickly took off his virtual reality helmet and turned to his left to see Terro, his half-brother, with a very frustrated look on his face. “It’s not my fault that you suck at this game,” Fernin told his half-brother, his voice lacking any tact whatsoever.

“I don’t suck at this game!” Terro cried out indignantly.

“You failed to hit me at close range with an automatic weapon dude,” Fernin countered. “You have to suck really badly to miss somebody with an automatic blaster rifle at that close range.”

“Well it’s not my fault that I’m not half-Blastidon like you Fernin!” Terro yelled. There was some truth to Terro’s words. Fernin was a Spearton/Blastidon crossbreed. This meant that through his Blastidon half he had a genetic predisposition for ranged combat.

“If that’s the case, then why do I outshine you whenever we practice with our spears, even though you are a full-blooded Spearton?” Fernin asked.

“Because you are older than me!” Terro blubbered.

“I’m older than you by half a year Terro,” Fernin pointed out.

“No, you are a year older than me,” Terro argued. “You are thirteen, and I am only twelve.”

“I turned thirteen a month ago, and you turned twelve over half a year ago. Therefore I am only half a year older than you,” Fernin continued to argue mercilessly and without compromise.

“That still explains it then,” Terro claimed.

“No,” Fernin denied. “All that explains is that you suck and that I am better than you in every way.”

“I don’t suck!” Terro screamed as he ran out of the room crying.

He is such a baby, Fernin thought to himself as the holoprojector on the other side of the room began to beep. He walked towards it, and hit the answer button as the familiar figure of one of his best friends sprung to life before him through the holographic display.

“Hey Dylan. What’s up?” Fernin said with a grin on his face.

“I’m throwing a party tonight at the Shadikill Capital,” Dylan announced. “I have alcohol, and Tormax is bringing some Blaze Blossom. Wanna come?”

“Sure!” Fernin responded as a thought crossed his mind. “What about Terro? Should I invite him.”

For a few seconds, the holoprojection of the young Shadikill prince stood perfectly still as a perplexed look crossed his face. “I’ll let you make the call on that one,” Dylan finally decided. “But remember what happened last time.”

Fernin did remember what happened last time. All too well. The last time they had gotten drunk with Dylan, Terro had wet his pants, thrown up, and then told their mom about what had happened.

“That’s now how a prince is supposed to behave!” she had scolded them. Fernin and Terro were both princes. Fernin was Blastidonez royalty on his dead Father’s side, and Terro was Spearton royalty on his father’s side.

“Where is this party?” Fernin asked.

“We will be raising hell at a place called the Battle Bar, and I am sending you the coordinates now.”

Fernin looked down for a few seconds, until a light on the holotable blinked green as a confirmation that the coordinates had indeed been successfully received.

“Great, I will see you there in a little bit,” Fernin said as he cut off the transmission.

He could barely contain his excitement. They were going to get so messed up tonight. He almost felt a little bad about leaving Terro behind, but after what had happened last time, he was in no hurry to include him in something like this any time soon.