Dreams of the Fallen (Page 3)Mature

Bain slowly opened his eyes. Why was he not dead?

If front of him, just a few inches away, was the golden blade of Lord Gerome's ax. Bain had to blink a few times before he could grasp what really had saved him and stopped the blade. It was bone. Bone! How could that be? Nothing held up the bone to stop the blow and he had not called upon any assistance. No, maybe it was the creature?

"Nay," the voice from the sunken-faced creature said inside Bain's own head, "Twas thou who called thy bones. Thou art Chosen."

Bain pushed himself away from his father's soulless gaze and towering figure and stood. "What do you mean, creature!?" He shouted to the sky. Where had the creature gone? He had seen it just outside of view throughout the fight, but now it was nowhere to be seen. Was it afraid of Bain, perchance?

"I never fear."

Bain whipped around and came face-to-face with the creature. Dark sockets for eyes met Bain's own brown eyes. Any normal man would have been fearful for his life. Bain, however, just felt odd. He somehow knew this creature. Was it from a dream? 

The sound of bones breaking brought Bain's attention back to the dark figure of Lord Gerome. For some reason, Bain was no longer afraid of the man. No, it was more like he was just aware of him. Like he recognized his existence but nothing more. Bain knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that this man could not harm him. He never could.

Gerome, no longer a Lord with his untimely death, swung his massive ax at Bain. Futile effort. Bain raised his hands and bones from the ground - skulls, arm bones, ribs, and some others he couldn't identify - and placed them in front of him. Ax met bone and stopped, leaving the soulless face of Gerome with an angry expression.

"The bone's do hold power," Bain said. But he still wondered. Why did they hold power. Why was he using them? HOW was he using them!? It was odd, but even though he did wonder about these things, they seemed like afterthoughts instead of his main focus. 

Gerome struck again, but once again Bain blocked with a few of the bones that littered the arena. It kept on for a while, each time his father's strikes becoming more and more sloppy and weak. He was getting tired. How funny.

Then Bain had an idea. If he could use the bones as a shield, then how many other ways could he use them?

'Better try it out,' he thought, smiling wryly. 

The End

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