Nine Swords

In the line of duty, a Templar does not turn his back on the enemy. He faces him head on, with sword and hammer at the ready. He follows the fire straight into Hell, with no fear of the fight, or returning to the surface.

My father told me that when I was young, soon after the bees came. I was scared at first. I probably wanted to crawl to my mother, crawl back into the womb and pretend life never happened.

The Templar’s line of duty is one that is understood, and, somewhat begrudgingly, followed to the point. I’ve only served on the front lines for about 4 years now, shortly after my 18th birthday.


0 – Ash and Dust

Date: June 19th 2009
Location: North Carolina, USA.

A muffled thump sounded in the void: the distant din of struggle. From whatever state I lay in, I could tell that my senses were dulled, my eyes shut and my ears covered. However, the distinct taste of dirt filled my mouth; dirt and ash. I struggled to spit out whatever muck remained in my mouth, but it remained dry, my teeth covered in the mess. Tentatively, I released a pulse of energy from within. It traveled down the length of my spine, reaching out to the smallest toe: all attached.

Cracking my eyes open, I found whatever caused that ring in my senseless state, a hammer, with a mallet head the size of my own skull. Fiery blood trailed the lines of a cross, etched in hard iron. Gripping the long steel pole attached with a weak hand, I attempted to hoist myself. Even with as much effort as I could muster, no amount would afford me the chance to get off the ground.
“Shit,” I mumbled in the dreck, gritting my dirty teeth.

The sounds of battle slowly refilled the air. Shouts and thumps began to worm their way back into my ears. Had I been deafened? Most likely. The past few minutes were a blur.
Heavy uneven footsteps fell, where it amounted to, in front of me. Snorts and heavy inhalation followed, as the footfall came to a rest. A shadow crossed my vision, and I could feel a pair of sweaty fingers worm their way under my collar.

“That looked nasty…” A wave of relief passed over, with the realization of the voice’s owner.

“I’m *cough* fine.” I lifelessly replied. A heavy hand, grasped the collar of whatever body armor I wore, turning me over on my back. Harsh afternoon sunlight blinded me, as the shadow of my comrade moved over to compensate.

“Aghhh,” I moaned.

“Yeah…you get used to it.” The thick English voice belonged to my trainer, Master Hadrian Fisher, Head of Field Training at the Mannheim Academy. I had studied a few subjects in the classrooms and training rooms alongside him, with this being one of the few ‘applicable’ lessons he offered.

His strong hand gripped mine, hoisting me up off the ground. Gravity pulled back, but no match for the beast of the man. A moment of stumbling later, I managed to regain some semblance of footing.

Next to Master Fisher, I barely reached his neck in height. There was a reason they called him “The Wall.” Other than the obvious historical reference, of course.

“Are ye all there?” He hunched down to my height, grasping both shoulders.

“Yeah, pretty sure.”

“Right, then!” He wrapped his hand around the handle of the iron hammer, wrenching it from the dirt. Holding it up, he wiped off the fiery demon blood off the head, before letting it swing back down to his legs.

“Eh, come to think of it, where’s your sword?”

My face contorted in confusion, before my eyes bulged. My hand shot to my waist. Just as Master Fisher said, I couldn’t find the hilt of my sword.
“ ‘S probably back in fray. You got knocked back quite far.”

“Any…any idea what happened?” I replied panicking.

“Not entirely sure,” He turned towards the sounds of war, lifting the mallet head in the direction, “Whatever it was knocked my hammer out of my hands. Glad it didn’t crush your head.” He grinned.

“As if my looks were working for me…”

He chuckled, deep and heartily. “Let’s just get back into it, shall we?”

I nodded, as he turned and trotted towards the fight. I gave chase.

1 – Mind over Matter.

What had once been a kudzu-covered forest, now roiled with smoke and fire. Glowing cracks split the charred earth. Large monoliths pierced the ground, sparking with tongues of hellfire. What was once clean earth, now burned with the same fires I have come to abhor.

“Hell on Earth”, as they say.

I coughed a few times, almost doubling over in the smoke. Master Fisher placed a hand on my back, giving it a few pats to help.

“Easy there, Alex.”

“I said,” I started as I hacked up another lung, “I’m fine.”
“Not without your sword, you’re not. And come to think of it, what’ve your Focus?” he asked, snorting through the last word.

Standing up, I slumped forward, reaching behind my back, only to find the absence of my Chaos Focus. I bit my lip, silently cursing my luck. I had been out of commission for, what I had been told on the job over, only a few minutes. I missed a relatively small amount of the skirmish.

The conflict started the previous night, when we touched down in Raleigh. From there, it was about a three hour convoy ride west, for all ten students, and Master Fisher. We arrived at what was to be our basecamp, setting up a decent living quarter for the next few days. Under the impression that we wouldn’t be facing anything threatening for at least a few days, other than your garden variety Tailypo, we settled in for a night under the stars. Only, we were woken up at 3 in the morning, and briefed with our actual mission.

A week prior, a direct order went out to all available units. Some sort of hell vortex had been opened, out in the vine-cloaked woods, near the foothills of the Appalachians. Of course, the Academy, therefore, the Templars, sanctioned the mission, citing it as reliable way to open up the students to open warfare with the netherrealms.

Easy for them to say.

After picking up a trail of smoke, the mission soon went pear-shaped. One of the larger breed, a Fleshtank, I think, caught us off guard, sicking a pack of Rakshasa on us. A river of hellspawn soon separated the group, forcing us to lead them off in opposite directions. I, along with Master Fisher and a few other students, headed deeper into the woods. Using the trees for cover, we picked off the smaller ones as we retreated.

As the sun reached noon-height, we found ourselves in an old tobacco field. In the latter half of June, tobacco plants are usually up past your waist, at least. Of the five or six of us there, we were able to use that to our advantage. That is, until the enemy started torching the area. Only a few of us knew any protective elemental spells.
I knew none.

Something else happened. Those large spikes; those were only a recent development. The earth shook with such a roar, it deafened all of our ears. Large pillars split the sky One or two more shot up out of the ground, and I blacked out right after that. Master Fisher found me in a nearby stretch of charred dirt. And now I’m standing weapon-less in an ashen hellscape.

Just wonderful.

“Oi, over ‘ere!” Master Fisher called.

Jogging over, I found him hunched over a small burning outcropping of overlapping stones. From within, I could see the glint of hard steel; my sword. Whatever caused the landscape shift encased my sword within.

“Gimme a hand ‘ere,” he ordered.

The radiant heat singed my hands as I inched towards it. I retracted my singed glove covered hand, pulling the glove off and tossing it to the ground.

“It’s not that hot, ya baby!” Master’s Fishers hand held the point of a particularly large spike.

“Are you kidding me? It burns without touching it! How the hell are you doing it?”

“Ol’ trick from Temple Hall. They never taught it to ya?” He smirked at me. I peered down at my bare hand, watching the smoke from the stone weave around it.

“I’m not an elementalist. I’m, you know…”

“Chaos. Right,” he snorted again.

I knew how much he loathed chaos magi. The Templars hardwired him into a beast of war; master of the hammer and blade. I understood how much it pained him to see someone younger than him whip around, focus for two seconds, then rip the earth in two, only pointing at it. He never received the same ‘gift’ the Bees gave me. As Master and Student, I think that always annoyed him.

“Well, it’s stuck in there,” he grunted, pushing away from the rock. ‘nless you have a plan.”

“I might.” I stepped behind the rocks, surveying the structure. One elliptical stone appeared looser, yet heavier than the others. Two other flaming boulders supported it from beneath, entombing my sword in what probably amounted to lava at this point.

Regardless of how much he hated chaos magi or anything related, I always carry one trick up my sleeve. Focusing on the rock, I released a pulse of energy from my body. Not Anima, not chaos; Psychic energy. Within the realm of psychic fields and energy, I can pass over the surface of any material, peer into the atomic structure of the universe, and seek answers within the darkest crevices of the mind.

Not that I enjoy it or anything.

The heat from the stone only appeared as a red aura in my vision. Focusing energy into the stone’s head, I began to perceive motion away backwards. Force without effort. Mind over matter.
Psychic energy first begins with a pulse. That slowly grows into a stream, and from there mental rivers of ultraviolet light push and pull on the foundations of the universe.

The energy of a single thought may determine the motion of a universe.

I can still feel Tesla laughing in his coffin.