If you so dearly have to understand my actions here, you must understand that I was not a man when I left my cage. I was more and less in many ways, but the a great part of me remained the same. I still loved battle. No man in all of our kingdom or more than likely the next five that would come after ours would bathe in blood as I had done.

We were in the state of change, where kingdoms rose and fell at will. Our kingdom had lasted the longest and was getting over the hump of all the subsiding warmongering that had been rising in the land recently. The king himself had told his loyal dog how the countries around us were on the rise. Their forces were starting again to quell our own and forcing the men here back into their own lands.

A state of war was none of my concern, however. I was a demon now. A berserker; in combat, I could not be slain without taking my opponents down in the throes of death. I hadn’t understood myself as a human, but now I knew better than ever what I was. I was the dealer of death, who made some lives end and others maimed.

As a mortal, I would have wept at the despair I was going to cause, but I knew within that any who stood in my way were going to have to die for me to let Tara go in peace. I was supposed to have protected her, but the people I worked for had killed her anyways to rekindle the war for the people. The king had intended to make his daughter a martyr and stir the people into a fiercer war.

To be honest, I think we needed something a little more sustaining to remain as we were, but I was only a knight and then a royal guard. My word against a legion of the King’s Counsel meant little off the battlefield.

But now I was alive again, at least in semblance. Life for me was something I had to cherish, but not a gift. I knew when Tara came to me and spoke that I was being sent to expend the life I’d been given back. It wasn’t as if I had anything to live for, did I? I had spent my life in servitude to this kingdom and used my bare hands to fight since I was only a child. This kingdom meant as much to me as the king probably felt it meant to him. I was just willing to give up more for justice.

I strode across the dungeon in the red and yellow tunic, my mail clinking quietly as I made my way down a few halls to the guards’ table. These guards were men who didn’t fight in battle anymore; they were closer to servants than actual knights. They had weapons, sure, but aside from tormenting their captors when no one was looking, they had no actual skill. Besides, I still looked likea captain of the knights. As I approached the table, moving across the hard stone floor in dim torchlight, they seemed to recognize me.

One of the two men who’d been chattering moved for his sword, but it was too late for him. I’d removed a torch and doused it when I left my cell I threw it hard into his chest. He fell back and rolled forward I snatched up his short sword, thrusting it upwards, sheathe and all into his neck. Blood sprayed down, but by that time, he was unable to scream and I was already moving again. He was the very first death I had would cause that night.

The next guard had been asleep and was only vaguely aware of the slick warmth that trickled down his arm. He sat up slowly and this time I didn’t use the heavy steel sheathe to silence him, but I took his own knife and plunged it into him. The knife ripped his tunic wide and I turned to go. I was growing in strength. I don’t know if it was from being a dog for so long, or if it was Tara’s doing. I only knew that I was going to succeed. I reached down to his waist and took the keys away from him as he died.

I made my way up the stairs with the keys I’d obtained and opened those doors that stood at the top of the enclosed winding staircase. The staircase, I knew led to the second floor, not the first, to keep enemies from releasing reinforcements from the dungeons into the middle of the castle if should they penetrated the walls.

What a shame I didn’t have to deal with the barracks and gates that were placed on the very first floor. I pushed onward, stepping up to the door; I peered out of the grated window. Outside the door were many tapestries that I remembered and one guard centered on the door. Opening the door would alarm him, so I reached through, between the loose grates, and grabbed the neck of his tunic and pulled him back; I slid the sword I’d stolen through his neck, and pinned the man with it to the door, gasping for air. I pushed the door open violently and glanced down the hall and back. No men were awake and moving. I peered out a window nearby and almost laughed. It was night, very late at night, probably only just midway through.

Unarmed, I traveled quietly down the stairs to the barracks and changed my clothes. I wanted my old tunic to be clean, but I was forced to be content with the new one I took out of the armory. Weapons too. I turned and dashed back up the stairs, unbothered by the guards who only vaguely saw my silhouette as I made my way across the courtyard. I found an open stairwell that went both up and down and hesitated as I passed it. The Jester.

I turned in anger to the stairs and made my way up them quietly. I drew my sword several feet before his door. He’d been the one to turn me into an animal and make me suffer so. He’d been some sort of wizard or warlock to the king. The jester was not very good in jest at all. When I arrived at the door, I saw that it hung open, and was empty. There was no one inside because he’d probably felt his magic being undone. I drew my sword across his bedding angrily and flung the blankets across the room into the smoldering fireplace.

Downstairs again, I found myself mad with fury. The Jester had been gone for quite a bit, judging by how the fire had been dying. Lucky for him I’d already seen to it. That thick blanket would catch and add more to the coals. Soon, probably in only an hour’s time, his tower would be in flames, along with any who went in.

The anger I felt always loosened a bit when I killed, so I waited and destroyed the men who came to check the fires that were blazing in his tower, probably more out of curiosity and need of a good joke than a worry over a jester’s safety. It wasn’t common practice for knights to play hero. But I was still sure to take them down with careful strokes. I didn’t have time to be reckless, not just yet. The Jester might have gone off to warn the King or even raise the alarm at the barracks. This would not do.

I traveled side corridors and twisting stairs, anything to keep from being seen out of place, I made my way down into the bowels of the castle to travel up and around, so I would not be at a disadvantage. In this way, No one could come from below me without being confused at where I would be. Hopefully, their anxiety at an ambush would hold them back. I was suddenly wishing I’d made my way straight to the king. He was sleeping, or awake more likely, five floors high, the top of his stronghold.

My careful detours brought me to the garden.

This is where I had taken a life, more out of anger than ever before.

I stopped in shock and surprise, standing just where I’d stood when I had been arrested by my own men, standing over a corpse that looked like to be one of my own men. And the body of Tara was there too, I recalled suddenly. The weight of this, the mission she’d bestowed on me was suddenly too much. I wept aloud and fell to my knees, hands pressed to the ground where I’d driven my own sword long ago and where she’d been standing when she died.

“Tara,” I breathed, my voice haggard and rough. I knew somehow that she’d been listening. Fingers stirred the air around me and I could feel her again. I turned quickly to see her. She stood before me again, smiling softly. Raising my sword, I fell back and turned quickly, and then stopped.

“Dante,” she smiled up at me. Even in death, she was a small girl. A soft blue light shrouded her, I knew she was still dead but… Tara was so close to me.

She was holding in her hand a long stemmed yellow rose, just like the ones she’d given to me when we had spent so many days here in the garden. I reached out and touched it, brushing her hand with the rough-hewn gloves of mail I’d put on only hours ago. Her hands touched mine and warmth and comfort spilled out of her, like warm honey in a pot and poured out over my hands. I rose and held her hand in mine, but she shook her head softly, so I stopped, and stood still.

“I’m with you, even when you can’t see me,” she told me. Her free hand traveled to my face and rested on my cheek. “You’re my friend, aren’t you?”

“I failed,” I told her, my hands falling from hers and touching the ground at the same time as my eyes. Her hand groped down and found my chin, tipping it up to hers again, and she laughed her tiny laugh of tinkling bells and running water. I shivered at the sound I’d come to miss.

“You couldn’t have protected me from my father,” she chided. It was as if I were a child trying to keep her from pain altogether, as if I should feel no shame. I shook my head softly, but her hand restrained me. She’d had tiny hands, but her touch had command to it. I stopped and looked into her eyes. “You’re no more a failure than I am a man,” she said, grinning down at me and I felt her fingers curl around my hair, and tug at it softly to pull me up a bit. I stood and watched her. She took the yellow rose and put it my hand. “Take this; take my love and gratitude to use as your sword.”

My hand tightened around the rose and I held it up before me, I focused on it, and then looking at her, a little skeptical. I’d always been a little less than spiritual, so I was confused. Suddenly, with my eyes on hers, the light that held her flashed, no longer was I holding the thorny stem of a yellow rose. In my hand now, was the largest sword I had ever held. The blade was longer than one of my legs, and just as wide. Its double edges were straight and long, the blade the color of metallic yellow like yellow rose-blood to look like. The blade weighed more, but I felt no grief at this new weight. It was comfortable. Love and gratitude was comfortable to me.

With one swing, I knew that this sword could be wielded by no one else. This was clearly a sword made for the berserker. I removed my other, stolen sword, and dropped it blade-down on the ground, digging it in to stand upright in the earth, as an older sword once had stood in it’s place.

“I am still your knight,” I told her, and she smiled softly. “And your friend.”

“Friends first then you are my knight,” she chided gently, and the blue light faded. Though the image of her eyes burned in the back of my own, I knew I was alone again. And yet, at the same time, testing the weight of the blade, I knew that I was not alone at all.

Chattering laughter broke my train of thought and I turned to see the jester, hands on his hips shaking his head at me. He clucked his tongue before speaking. “Well, it seems the dog-boy was a little too much to be alive, eh?” He asked, as he threw himself into a cartwheel along the brush and flowers in the garden. “Maybe too much as a human, right?”

“You turned me into a beast,” I said softly, turning to him. I held the blade before me and then raised it and charged after him. “Die!” I cried, swinging wide at his chest.

A hand came from his checkered sleeves and he held the blade, but didn’t. There was a soft red glow and his hand held the sword at bay without touching it at all.

“You should know better than to oppose me,” he chuckled and pushed at the blade, but I held my position. “Especially with such a sword, so weakened by my powers!” He laughed and the red grew brighter, and I could feel my arms ache with the pulse of red light.

“I can’t die again,” I told him and brought the blade back a bit. Then I drove it again, into the red light, pushing it against him, and his eyes widened as the blade with it’s marvelous yellow color cut through the red light. His hand fell aside moments later, twitching. The blade had gone through his magic, just as Tara had probably meant for it to and had struck home, deep in his chest. The Jester screamed at me and withered on the end of the sword. I was shocked, but then I knew why. He had never before felt pain that matched what the sword in my hands could do.

I drove him back and drew my blade back. I readied to strike, he raised his other hand. “Sit!” he cried, still chuckling with a madness now shading his eyes. I held fast, curious.

“What do you have to say that will keep your life from my blade?” I said, cocking my head to the side slightly. “I’ve killed greater men than you, and I’d gladly be rid of the wizard in jesters’ garb.”

“He he he he,” His laughter, even so close to death was maddening. What could he be thinking? “I suppose nothing, really. I just wanted to see if you’d still react to commands from your masters!” he chucked once and then I ended him. The mad jester’s head hung limp as I drove the sword into him again, for good measure. As far as I knew, wizards could rise from death many times, so maybe killing him twice would end him.

I left the body as it was. Few men could pass such a sight and not be revolted by the glint of madness that some held in death, and it would slow my enemies, the ones I had held as friends once, at bay. I made my way up another flight of stairs and stood at a door that would lead through the court and then through another hall to the king’s chamber. If I had any luck, I would find him there and be able to destroy him. If not, I’d hunt him like the dog he’d once had me as, and then kill him with his daughter’s own love and gratitude.

That was the plan anyhow. I moved through the door, pushing it violently with my shoulder to find it unprotected or anything else. No other defense here against attack. Walking through, I made my way to the very front of the area to the head of the court, where I’d knelt and pleaded not to be made general and to be given a different assignment. Where I’d accepted Tara as my charge, and took for me ‘The Royal Guard’ as my title.

This was where I’d been deceived.

“Come seeking redemption for your failure?” the voice I remembered well as one I held almost to the height of god-ship called, a soft chuckle fresh on his voice. The king slid out from behind his throne, a grin on his face. Other figures rose from the benches and tables on the far sides of the court, and began moving forwards. The barracks I’d raided an hour ago were probably empty now, the contents spread through the court. Soldiers advanced.

“Revenge,” I corrected. “I pledged to do a job that no one else could do. I failed that, but I will make it right.”

“And what revenge have you to take upon me? A spy killed my daughter and you think to destroy me? Just whose soldier are you?” he cried, his eyes careful, while his mouth chattered on. Already I was growing weary of his lies. How had this man been my leader?

“You- !” I had intended to say much more, but all that came out was a sort of battle cry, that scraped my throat as any bark might a young dog’s. It was clear to me very suddenly, that I was still bound to the animal I’d become, and I was unable to speak of how the king had martyred his own daughter. No choice now, but to fight through and kill them all. The Jester, though dead still held sway. A battle cry indeed. I charged into the shifting knights and swung heavily on them, taking two down by surprise, but the king’s force at the moment was still far from fleeting.

I faltered only once in the battle, when the gold was covered by red and I could feel less in me then than I had coming into the court. I stopped and held myself steady, swinging my sword in anger at the arrows that flew from a few remaining archers. I focused on hitting them. I focused on surviving to carry out the promise I’d made to my friend. A red glow lit the sword underneath my fingertips and I could see that somehow, Tara’s sword had devoured something of what the jester had used. I was growing stronger, even as the battle continued. I charged forth again into the battle, sword high and sword low, striking down the ones who crossed me and bringing them down.

Bloody and tired, I took the life of the last soldier merely carrying out his duty. The floor was slicked with the blood that covered it, and I struggled to hold my footing. There were wounds up and down my body as I stood before the king, who was watching in horror as I dragged with me the sword that held more blood on it than I felt I had left in my body.

“D…Dante!” he cried out, backing into his throne and jumping when he backed into it. “Please, Dante!” he moaned, and I could smell it. He’d relieved himself some time ago, during the fight. He had a sword, but it was clear to me that he had little power in it. Not nearly enough to take me down. Not a stray dog like me.

“Don’t you mean ‘stay’ or ‘sit’?” I growled, the sword grinding a smooth line along the marble beneath it.

He moaned and moved back. “What about just putting me down? What can a dog do to a king?” I growled, fury rising in me.

“Dante! You know that the kingdom would fall apart without a reason to fight…” he was breathing heavily and I shook my head softly, clucking my tongue.

“You were a fool to do such,” I informed him, shaking my head. “Now the kingdom has to fight for a new king.” With the last energy left in me, I drove the blade of Tara’s love and my grief into the King and twisted the blade into his gut. He fell and screamed once before he died.

I fell, there at the foot of the stairs, my hand finding on my person a few arrows I hadn’t had time to stop in the melee only a few moments ago. I’d just finished it. Tara’s killers were taken down, and gone.

Leaning against the smooth marble, I felt a chill shudder through my body and I laughed softly. No wonder the king had wet himself. I must look like a monster, I thought, shaking my hairout of my eyes.

Blue curtains of light blocked the sun from my eyes as I drew my last breath and slid my eyes shut, my fingers reaching quietly for the yellow rose that jutted out of my King’s stomach.