A.N. -I'm really excited about this post. This is a story that I started several years ago on a tattered notepad. Since then it has gone through three intense re-writes and the story has been altered so much it's hardly similar to the original. Since I'm 17, when I first started I have to say my writing Really sucked. alot... Now, in its final re-write, I'm confident enough to post it for all to read, and I really hope to get some good feedback. I have up to chapter 11 writen, so depending on when I get the time to edit, expect a new post about once a week. well, here goes nothing.

I really hope you all enjoy my life's work.

THE RIFT: Balance

BOOK ONE

Chapter 1: Azura Tiestra

The hot, piercing summer sun shimmered over the horizon, dangling dangerously close to the edge. Evening was falling, and in the midst of the purples, oranges, cadmium and crimsons, there was a clatter. And then another and another. Hard, passionate blows echoed into the backdrop of this sleepy setting, as two friends exchanged strikes with furious accuracy.

Sweat beaded at Jon’s brow and trailed down his cheek. In his hand he grasped the branch of a tree, shaved down with a knife. The splinters along the side were slightly ridged but, for the most part, smoothed down. Clumsily wrapped duct-tape shrouded the handle with its silvery sheen.

Jon was sixteen. He was about six-two, and had long, average-toned legs stretching from his torso to the ground. His build was slim, but not starved, and his muscles were toned slightly, as if he tried best he could to stay in shape. His scruffy, short brown hair hung free, loosely draped across his scalp. His bangs extended down to his large, prominent eyebrows. Below them were his eyes. Jon’s eyes were a blazing shade of Azure, with streaks and bolts of white and Aquamarine. He had loosely fitted Jeans, ripped and torn at the edges. His T-shirt was smeared with dirt, as were his long arms and distinctly large palms.

In one, swift blow all was frozen. Jon’s opponent, a boy slightly older than he, was on the ground on his knees. A second after the effect, his weapon clattered to the ground, nearly eight feet behind them. Jon held firm, his “sword” at the boy’s neck.

“Damn Jon,” He said, grinning at the loss, “How on earth did you get to be so good at this?”

“Don’t worry about it Steven.” Jon said. “So who’s next?”

There were about five guys around him, and all of them stepped forward. This was his group; His “sect” of the high school hierarchy. He enjoyed days like this, spending his lazy summer at the park, sparring with his friends. He grasped the wood and twirled it with his thumb and ring finger.

“Hey guys,” said one of them, “summer break’s almost over.” Jon sat down, the cramped position only making him hotter. Sweat dripped from his face and arms.

“Yeah, you’re right,” said another, leaning against a nearby tree. “And so far, Jonny boy here has gone undefeated.”

He was right. Ever since Jon could remember he had had a natural gift for fighting. From the days spent practicing his strike in the backyard, to sparring with his friends, Jon had always been on top.

“Well, I don’t intend to let this summer pass by without pummeling him at least once.”

Jon smiled. It was in no way an angry gesture. He and his friends were very competitive at everything, from sparring and fighting, to video games. It’s just the way they were.

“I say we even the odds,” the fellow glanced around at the others, sending a chain reaction of grins alight on each of their faces. They got up, taking there crude weapons in hand, and started edging towards Jon.

All at once? For the first time, Jon felt unsure of himself. He stuck his blade into the ground and used it to push him to his feet. He gained a stance, panting with exhaustion from the past few matches. He held steady, and braced himself for impact.

Steven was first, followed by the other four. Jon tilted the blade and it struck Steven’s downward thrust. Jon parried and took a shot at another one. He blocked and returned fire. Jon blocked and dropped down; dodging a shot to his head from behind .He spun a low kick, sending the two behind him reeling. Steven struck again and Jon sidestepped, allowing his friend’s balance to falter.

Light was fading, and the more he fought the more he was drained. I won’t be able to hold them all off for long. He hit Steven with the hilt and he fell behind Jon, groping at his head. Between the two that were getting to their feet, and the two to his right, there was an opening.

Blocking and dodging another flurry of shots to his right, Jon sprinted for the hole. He took a hard blow to the back, and the disorientation slowed his run. But his plan was not to outrun them, but to spread them out. Each of his friends clocked out at a different speed, Jon being the fastest. So over a distance his friends spread apart due to there different strengths. Behind him was Billy, a stout older boy with long hair in a ponytail. Jon whipped around and met his blade, the two pieces of wood splintering from the impact. In a few seconds the others would be on him, and he couldn’t sprint for much longer. The blades clattered as lightning fast footwork sent the two around in a circle. Jon found his opening. He uppercut his sword and threw off the boy’s stance. Then he kicked him in the chest, causing him to release his sword and fall.

One down, four to go. He wanted a chance to rest for a few seconds, but couldn’t. The next two challengers were on him, and both of their blades pushed against his. His feet slid back several inches, leaving shallow trails of dirt in his wake, as the stalemate continued. A third entered, and Jon pulled back, dodging and blocking a storm of strikes. In one burst of adrenaline, he powered through all their attacks, and over threw their weapons.

One of them lost balance, sword falling to his feet. Jon ducked down, dodging two furious side-slashes, and lateral kicked at his heels.

Two down, three to go.

The fourth reached them and added his set of blows. They surrounded him and the striking force was overwhelming. He took a hard strike to the back, and the pain of the assault shot through him as he crouched on all fours. He winced in preparation for the final blow.

It never came. He glanced up, shocked at what he saw. He digested it; a new fighter had entered the arena. Instead of one branch, this person used two smooth wooden swords that were half the size. Jon knew them only as Twin Blades.

She was beautiful. About five-six, she was slim and fast. Her slender torso seemed to flow, as if there were not a single sharp angle or eyesore on her body. She had long, mirror-like soft brown hair. It was glazed, and colors seemed to reflect off of it as she dashed and dived. Her build was slim and curved, as she seemed to be quite in-shape and strong. She wore faded blue jeans and a soft blue tight fitting T-Shirt, only accenting her waist and breasts.

Jon snapped out of fantasy land with a stark realization. He dove into battle along her side and blocked a strike that would have landed her in the face.

“No fair!” Steven shouted, “You can’t just jump in!”

Her voice was musical and radiant. “Three against two seems fair to me!” She struck out and in one swift movement; Steven’s sword lay at his feet.

Three down, two to go.

With an extra person, dispatching of the last two was almost effortless. They were on the ground within seconds, Panting and swearing.

Jon and the girl stood and looked at each-other. She smiled teasingly and Jon blushed. “Good job,” he managed. Then he looked up, smiling as well. “Thanks for the help.”

She didn’t respond. Instead, she walked right up to him, placed her hands on his shoulders, and touched her forehead to his.

Baffled, his heart thumped audibly in his chest. Their foreheads connected and he was immediately surrounded by warmth. A strange feeling overcame him; it was a feeling of helplessness. He felt strangely connected to her, their minds in alignment. Drowsiness overcame him, and within seconds, the rapid motion of his stale, suburbia induced life was plunged through his vision. He let it swallow him, as his thoughts raced to ambition, excitement, and adrenaline. He felt a surprising sense of contempt, and the feelings dulled, leaving his heart still beating rapidly. All at once it stopped, and his eyes flashed open.

She slowly lifted her head and stared into his eyes, her gaze purging into his soul. “It’s you,” she said softly, beginning to back away.

“What?” he asked, snaking towards her. He was distraught with confusion and questions. One minute, he was at the park with his friends, and the next, he was thrust into the macrocosm of his true purpose, feeling as if today was the first day of his life. “Who are you?” he asked, his voice faltering with the question.”

She smiled that playful smile and said, “I’m the one you’ve been waiting for.” She turned to leave and added, “You just didn’t know it yet.”

As she walked away, Jon felt detached and dazzled. He didn’t even acknowledge his friends reaching him. There comments about her perfect rear-end seemed distant and far away from where he was. He tried best he could to shrug it off, and resume, ending the abrupt pause in his life.

---

“See you Jon!” Steven said as he left him to go home. It was dark, and in the looming veil of night was an eerie still over the streets. The streetlights beamed artificial light onto the seen, giving the feigned illusion of day. “If that babe hadn’t of shown up, we would have taken you down.”

“Sure, whatever,” he teased sarcastically. “Bye!” He made his way down the rode to his home. Glancing at both sides, the familiar sights of convenience stores, shops and boutiques meandered through his vision.

During this walk home, he recounted the last hour of his day, and the last hour of his life. Though it didn’t feel at all supernatural, he couldn’t help but feel like something happened between them. The weight that had held him down his whole life had been lifted. He knew not what the weight was, but his mind was now set upon the endless potential of the future. It was a mind boggling experience, but he couldn’t help but like it. He sighed and embraced the feeling. He couldn’t explain it, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy it.

Jon walked past the various buildings, and stopped abruptly. He felt a prickly sensation in the back of his neck every hair stood at attention, each with its own sense of paranoia.

Something doesn’t feel right. An eerie fog had fallen over one section of alleyway. In the bacterial remains of the alley were puddles of moisture, as well as various assortments of trash. The dark seemed more prominent, devoid of light, or anything except deep, pitch black. And yet, he saw through it. An array of sickening and dreary colors flickered through various parts of the darkness. Light subsided, and the endless trap seemed to absorb it, as more of a shape than a space. The ground and brick walls around it seemed to blend and melt. The darkness shrunk back and thickened, as geometric sparks of light sprung forth, as if desperately pleading escape.

Then he saw it. He saw the eyes first, and only its eyes. Deep yellow irises shone and glared, digging into him. They were filled with nothing, completely devoid of soul or emotion. Dark particles and droplets seemed to drip from the walls and bend their trajectory, losing themselves in the dark blob. Part of the orb concaved inward, and then what thrust out of it, Jon could only describe as a hand; a creature’s hand, with long, sharp claws. The hand had three fingers, one bent back and was obviously the thumb. Its claws seemed to jut out, and were a decaying purple-brown color. Its bony skin was black, speckled with reflective scales. The arm was jagged and stretched, and had two or three spikes thrust from the elbow. The darkness seemed to purge inward as its body lurched forward.

Jon felt sick, nauseous, and uneasy. Just by looking at it, it seemed to drain his energy. He fell to his knees, his legs turning limp, as his heartbeat increased. Every nerve ending in his body was screaming at him to move. He felt numb and absent, his mind eager to distance itself from this creature.

Its arm connected at a low shoulder. The torso was thin and long, curving at strange angles at an exaggerated bend. The legs, nearly twice as long and three times as thick, were by far its most dangerous feature. They resembled those of a frog, long, bulky thigh-muscles bent back to skinnier lower legs. Its feet were long, its haunches at least six inches off the ground. The only things touching the ground were its clawed tows, digging into the ground, Cracks sprouting around its feet. It rose up to its normal hunched position, and let out a horrible shriek. Jon heard it not in his ears, but in his mind. His forehead exploded into a terrible headache. He clutched his head and curled into a fetal position. The pain was unbearable. He squinted, staring up into the creature’s face. The dead, yellow eyes were devoid of pupils and illuminated its snout and fangs. The creature slowly crept forward, a laborious effort, seeing as it seemed to be created for speed. What the hell is that thing?

Jon was terrified to the point of delusion. Driven to the brink of insanity, he attempted to hold on, scraping through his mind for answers. I have to do something, but what? I can’t even move! I’m going to die! Oh god...

His struggle was interrupted as a cast shadow blotted out the street light. Standing before him was a human figure. “Azvanthos! Blades of the immortal, awaken!”

Light illuminated her palms as two foot-and-a-half long blades materialized in front of them. Her fingers laced around them and she held out her arms. The creature reared back, surprised by her entrance. She kicked Jon in the gut. “Get up you imbecile!” She cried, charging forward. He felt her emotion through her words and through his mind. He recognized her immediately as the girl from the park.

He rolled over and attempted to stand, but couldn’t get his feet up. He was shaking vigorously and couldn’t keep his balance. Light and warmth were quickly being drained from him. There was a hard grip on his shoulder, and in a flash he was on his feet. His vision blurred and he slumped against a wall. The girl struck the creature, the blade grinding against its claws. Darkness shrouded its forearms as two twisted and crooked blades materialized on the wrists.

Now it had a weapon.

She spun around and assaulted it again. It blocked with a wrist-blade, and she parried and struck. She tore a deep cut into the flesh of its underarm, and it lurched, sending out a sickening moan. It crouched into a striking position, and released the pressure on its powerful legs. The creature shot effortlessly three stories skyward, and landed on a rooftop. Loud padding sounds dulled as it made its escape.

The girl screamed and threw her blades at the brick wall, imbedding them up to the hilt within its surface. She stood, panting, as she slowly regained control of her breathing.

“W-w-w-what w-was that th-thing?” Jon stuttered, laboring through the effort of talking. His heart felt as though it would burst from his chest.

The girl next to him sighed, lifting her head off the wall. “Get used to it.” She began, turning to make eye contact. “Because if you’re who I think you are, you’ll be seeing a lot more than that.”

Jon stared at her in disbelief. They just sat for a long time, the stillness of the night thick with tension, neither one saying a word. As the heart-gripping fear began to subside, Jon became puzzled at her response. He spoke first, breaking the chilled silence. “Who are you?” he asked slowly.

She raised her head, as if expectant of the question. “My name is Azura Tiestra, and I believe I have some explaining to do.”