PUGILIST

Prologue

The figure stood still, as the strong wind blew, pressing his clothes towards its skin. Its beady eyes were staring far ahead, deep into the shadows, where for a brief moment, something moved.

"You can show yourself."

The creature stepped out into the moonlight, away from the shadows. It was a man, of strong built and reasonable tall height. He shrugged his shoulders.

"What do you want?" He asked.

The figure had not moved a single inch. "I want your sword."

He frowned and dragged his words slowly. "You know the consequences of such words then?"

"Yes." The figure spoke coldly into the air, the voice dry and hard. Yet, its voice sounded fluid, like an organ.

"Then, you must prove yourself worthy of owning the sword." The man growled.

The figure nodded. Already, it knew that it had won. The opponent had revealed his weakness. One must know that to win a battle, one's emotions had to be steady. Such foolishness, letting anger have the better of you.

It stepped forward towards the man, as their eyes locked unto each other. The man grinned. He knew he would win. With such a mighty weapon, one that could yield enormous volumes of magic and power, the opponent will be rendered helpless. However, he must be wary, he warned himself. The opponent was not incapable. Surely, it would not have come unprepared. To have found the wielder of the sword, the figure must have had a hard time searching.

"Adventurer, greet your doom." The man sighed and drew the sword slowly from its sheath. Cold moonlight reflected off the purplish blade of the sword. The sword was his family's heirloom for generations. He would not lose it, for he was experienced, being trained to master the weapon from a very young age.

The tip of the blade was held to the ground, as the man drew the magic forth. He felt a trickle, then a river, followed by a gushing wave of strength. He roared as the magic surged through his fingertips, as he raised the sword above his head. The purplish blade shone and glowed, changing colours randomly, from green to orange, then to yellow and to red. Finally, the magic erupted from the blade in a splendor of colours, sending waves of heat and distortion to the surroundings and later shrunk back into the sword.

This was the time to strike. Seizing the opportunity, while the blade was still charged with the fierce burning magic, encased in a pulsating white aura, the man swung the blade before him as he rushed forward, directing the blow to the figure.

He was quick. It was faster. It lifted its right arm and brought down its wrist, pointing its fingers towards him. Blue streams of energy shot from the fingertips and struck the man. He crumpled to the ground and writhed painfully.

The figure moved forward. "I will not kill you. I have yet to thank you for looking after this for me."

It stood up to leave, picking the sword and its sheath along with it.

"You … you are …"

"Say no more. If you wish to live, and I believe you do. Yes, I have returned."

The figure turned around swiftly, its dark cloak swirling around it. A fluorescent greenish arc of magic shone through the muddy ground, right beneath where the figure stood erected. The arc then glowed brighter and shot through the ground into the air, forming a circular pillar of magic. The magic then retreated back to the ground, leaving no trace of what had happened earlier. It had left.

The man lay on the ground for a moment before attempting to push him off the mud. A little boy tore himself apart from the shadows and ran forward to help him.

"What are you doing here. You … you should be back home."

"Father, you are injured … Don't talk."

The man sighed as he lifted and steadied himself with his son's support. He walked slowly forwards, limping a little.

"You know …" He fingered the blood-red amulet he wore around his neck. "What is this?"

The little boy shook his head hard.

"This is the Dragonnite Talisman, stringed, enchanted and forged into an amulet base." The man whispered breathlessly.

The boy's eyes opened in awe. "Isn't the Dragonnite Talisman only a myth? It doesn't exist."

The man smiled softly. "So is our "mystical" sword … My boy, many things in the world that people think do not exist can be obtained … They are just, rare."

They reached the steps of the house and stopped.

"My boy. Do you know what you will do if I am not here to look after you?"

The boy stared up into his father's eyes. "You will not die from the injuries, will you?"

The man shook his head slowly. "My father did this before." He said, as he pulled out a dagger. "It was to pass on our heirloom, the Dragonnite amulet." The man brought the dagger into his heart as he spoke. He then slumped to the ground noisily.

"Son, I do this for you. Make sure you survive out there. Do not get yourself killed to gain revenge." He took a few deep breaths and continued.

"The Dragonnite amulet can only be removed from its owner when he or she is dead. Remember that. Now, when I die, take it off me and put it around your neck. It will protect you and enhance your abilities."

"Father, please don't die. Don't leave me alone …" The boy cried and wept tears. "Don't be like mother."

"I have to die, my son. I will be seeing your mother soon. Don't take revenge. The figure, he … he is the rightful owner of the Blood sword and armour. He was the one who forged the full set of Blood."

The man grabbed at his heart and winced painfully. Then, he let out a few short breaths and sputtered to his death, choking on his own blood that gurgled in his mouth. The 12 year old boy stared in horror as his father died before him. Like his mother.