Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-29461586-20160708163345/@comment-29458028-20160713144108

Hayden was pinned against the wall before Kitiara, not moving. His whole body was covered with a multitude of slashes, and his flesh was ripped apart. Hayden was bleeding dry, and it was obvious the attack was fatal, even if Hayden's skeletal structure survived all the damage.

No human would be able to whistand such a large barrage of attacks. Hayden lifted his bloody head once last time, and stared at at Kitiara with what appeared to be an unlimited amount of hate. Then he collapsed, and seemed to expire.

-

''I am walking in a field of blackness. The ground around me, is all a dark grey color, monochrome, broken, destroyed. Around me are the scattered remains of a million different swords. Shattered weapons. Many are Shehais, the weapons of Sword Singers, forged from the power of the soul. What could have destroyed all these weapons. Was I dead? I didn't think so.''

''Before me, I see a single image. A black shadow of a person, wreathed in white fire, so much so his features I cannot see. Yet I know he is me. We are the same being, even as I walk through the field of broken blades, and he stands upon the hill, victorious, without a single blade.''

''It both enthralls and terrifies me. Again, I walk an infinite void, filled with swords, lonely. The lone wandering bladesman. I approach the figure, but he fades, leaving a glowing blue sword stuck within a stone. A Shehai, I can recognize it. Yet, nothing like the blades my father wields. It feels different. Somehow, more primaeval, pure, powerful. This isn't a nightmare, but a normal dream''

''Hayden Fontaine. My name. A failed sword singer who studied for ten years how to use the power of the Shehai to cut, yet cannot even make a Shehai. I only know cutting, slicing, slashing. What a normal sword can do. All the techniques my father imparted, I cannot even use. Because I am a fake. A weakling in the realm of swordsinging with no talent.''

''As I approach the sword, it beckons to me. I grab its hilt, and pull it aloft into the air, feeling my neural circuity buzz with familarity and power. I know the feel of this blade. It is a Shehai, yes, with no technique, except the most basic one. How to cut. The craft I honed for ten years to no avail.''

''It feels, though, this is the one sword that broke everything else. I can recognize my father's unique Shehai, lying broken. A light swallows me.''

-

Hayden's eyes opened, as white fire began to consume his body, burning him up. Aetherfire, consuming its user, morphing and changing shape as it rebuilt him a distance in front of the wall, facing Kitiara. Destroying impurities, before there seemed to be an explosion of power around Hayden, as the white flames shot skywards. Hayden was nothing more than an ethereal shadow within a column of white flame.