As I watched humankind die, I didn’t know what to do. Save them? After what they’d done, they should be tortured with every method known. Kill them? I was one of them. I couldn’t do that. Watch it? It was disgusting. Impossible. Leave? The only thing to do. But as I walked away from the end of humankind, I knew I had to help. Did I hate them? Yes. Did I care for them? No. But I had to help.
The sound of metal on metal echoed throughout the alleyway. Two men, one teenage boy with spiky black hair, lightning blue eyes, and a muscular chin, and a man, his long greasy hair plastered to his scalp, his dark green eyes focused on the sword in his hand, and his ugly snarl showing his yellowed teeth were moving incredulously fast, swiping and poking swords at each other. It was obvious from the looks on their faces that it was a life or death battle.
The teenager dodged a fist from the man and ran to the wall behind him. He kicked his foot off the dirty wall, and jumped, flipping himself in the air, landing behind the man. He swiped his clean metal sword and it ripped through the man’s jacket, slicing his back. The man screamed and spun around, his own sword flashing at the teenager with such speed it was near impossible to see. It stroked the wrist of the teenager. He dropped his sword.
The teenager grabbed his wrist and closed his eyes in pain. But he couldn’t give up. He went to pick up his sword but the man kicked him away with his torn boot.
“Gepard Valk, on his knees,” the man chuckled,” I never thought I’d see the day. And me, of all men. You are such a strong Elemental, yet my binder seems to have taken all your power from you. A mere bat skin, some trankins, and a ring from Acridon.”
The man went down to his knees and dipped his head an inch from Gepard Valk’s.
“Such a pity that your life has been so short. Seventeen. I’m actually kind of sorry to do this, but you did kill my sister.”
“She killed thirty innocent humans. She needed to die, Sarthacus,” Gepard Valk said, his voice soft, yet deep.
“Don’t call me that!” Sarthacus spat.
Sarthacus got up and turned away, his head rising as he looked into the night sky.
“I know she needed to die.. That doesn’t mean I approve of it. I hate you for what you did. I’m not going to kill you anymore. You can stop running, because I won’t be chasing you,” the man said, a tear rolling down his face onto his lip.
“Thank you. And I know you hate me, you have a right to.”
Gepard silently stretched out his hand and grabbed his sword. He stood up and poked it into the back of the man’s neck.
“I didn’t say that I wouldn’t kill you,” Gepard said through clenched teeth.
“Like your sister, you’ve taken innocent lives. Too many of them.”
“Well yes, but the thing is…”
Then Sarthacus jumped, and kept going up, until he reached the top of the building above.
“The thing is, I’m more powerful than you!” He called down.
As Gepard left the alley, he bent down to pick up Sarthacus’s sword. A word was etched onto the side of the blade: Savion. Gepard had heard that name somewhere before, but from where, he couldn’t remember.
He tucked the sword into the inside of his trench coat, along with his own, Gadior. The word was something that had always stuck in his head. Gadion. It meant something, but he couldn’t remember what. It seemed he couldn’t remember a lot since the accident in Kartan.
He had been battling in The War Of Mages. Alongside his friend Otar, he thought he was indestructible. He had been wrong. A troop of enemy sorcerers attacked them, two against fifty. Obviously, they were taken down. Luckily, Gepard was saved by one of the most powerful mages in the world. Gongtik Jaccore. He killed the fifty sorcerers with ease. His powers aren’t well known, and Gepard wasn’t awake to see what had happened. Gongtik himself had told Gepard what had happened. He also told him that Otar had died after the sorcerers had attacked him even after putting both him and Gepard unconscious.
After that, Gepard had to retire from The War. Luckily, a little while after he had retired, The War ended. At the time he had been disappointed in himself, retiring at the age of sixteen for a War that could have led the world into it’s darkest days ever.
He walked the streets of Kerry to his car. On his license it said he was nearly nineteen. It was true that it was nearly his birthday, but he was going to be eighteen, not nineteen. He opened the door to his lightning blue Aston Martin DBS and took the keys from his pocket. He barely ever locked the car. He sat into the right side, driver’s side. The leather seats rested his back ever so nicely. He turned the key and accelerated away to his house.
The night was cold, and the moon shone full overhead. As Gepard drove, he could feel the power and speed of the car as if they were one. He moved the gear stick with no effort.
He lived in the country, away from city nonsense.