A Curse and the Man of Silver Armor.

A Curse and the Man of Silver Armor

A few hundred-thousand feet stampede toward the castle. The rumbling of the army can be felt at the foot of the gate. Each warrior screams with mighty rage, their flags held high, which bears a red crown laced in gold, sheltering two golden lions with fiery tongues.

The flag waves against the wind. This is no mere flag, it is the mortal enemy of these lands, this castle. The soldiers standing at the castle are gripped by a chill that rushes down their spine in the sight of the flag. But they show no signs of fear. Its a cold winters morning and nature is fierce today. Winds howl as snow is pelted through the air.

But the thousands of warriors ignore such elements as their rage blinds them of any bitterness of nature. While others among them are of death, so they carry no nerves to be taken by the frost of winter. As they rush up the small cascade of hills that surround the castle, their stands a man in shimmering armor of silver.

He stands at the top of the wall of the castle. His armor built for no mortal, it weighs of ten men and is built to withstand the strike of any blade of man. His helmet is grated in the front like that of a spiked gate. Horns curl from both sides, made from the horns of a Ram. Each knuckle of armor forms a sharp edge. His posture is of king, confident, powerful, yet humble in his words, or so his people say. His height reflects his bold confidence.

As he stands in silence looking down at the mass army that howls with war, behind him stands a woman embracing him gently. Her head rests on his back as silent tears fall. Her hair, as silver as the armor. Her eyes of hollow green and her lips of a midnight kiss.

Though the world feels to be taking to the frozen breath of nature, she shows no signs of shivering. Neither the man that stands in the armor, and neither show signs of  breath. Their chests neither rise nor sink.

But immense presence surges from them. Their family has lived in this castle for many generations. They are known throughout these bitter and dreary lands but for many years have been seen as enemies. They bear a curse these lands have wished to rid of for years.

For much death follows the curse this family was dealt. A curse brought on by the greed of their third generation grandfather. Death, is the only way to suffice the curse, but with death, comes the end of  their bloodline.

So today, on this unforgiving and frigid December morning. The man of  silver armor must face the rage of his enemies, though he wishes not. Though he is cursed of wicked offerings and unholy cravings. He holds pride and love to the surviving of his family.

It has been many years since their family has fought. For every army they face has been killed at his hands. For he shows no mercy and gives no chance of escape. For though his curse be dreadful, it brings much power. Power that can drive a man mad if not cared for properly.

So this man of sliver armor, vowed to do such a thing; to be balanced. But on the eve of his daughters birthday, she was killed while playing among her friends in the village near by. She was killed by the only thing that can kill any member of this family. The Witches Blade, a blade lost to the world long ago. It was cast out by the one who brought their family this curse.

Giving them the choice to seek it out and end it all. Or let it be hidden till one day those they brought anguish upon, decide enough is enough; and true these words be. For today is that day and today they fight no ordinary army. But the army of the Witch Blade, for what ever mortal man holds the Witch Blade, commands the warriors of the dead, and those who seek vengeance upon this family.

As the roars of vengeance thicken the cold air. The Man of Silver Armor raises his onyx sword from its sheathe and commands his army to advance. They see the order and advance to the gate. The gate is lifted by the guards. The army screams with desire to conquer.

They rush out shoulder to shoulder, Their eyes as black as the night and they too show no signs of breath. Twenty meters of rushing and the armies clash. Instantly blood is split, blood of man, and blood of the undead.

The armies collide and as they do, one man makes way through the collision of armies. A path is made with each step he takes. The man in the Silver Armor looks down from his castle and sees the man approaching. He sheathes his blade and drops down from the castle wall. He lands, crushing one of his enemies.

The woman of midnight steps forward and peers with a gaping mouth of grief and fear. She watches as her love is now at the foot of war. The man making way through the army arrives at the man in armor. The man in armor stands and draws his blade. The other, long dark unkempt hair, a beard of scattered gray and he his built like that of a boulder.

He looks to the man in silver armor with raging eyes. A ripple of gold shimmers through them. He then raises his right hand, and in it, is The Witch Blade. He holds it to the sky and yells. The man in   the in silver armor rushes. His steps press against the earth shattering the ground beneath him. He can be heard as one would hear the steps of an elephant.

He then leaps into the air and swings down his blade toward his enemy. As he falls from the sky the Witch Blade suddenly extends, forming a full sized golden sword. The grip become tangled in woven roots, wrapping themselves around the mans hand as he holds it. His eyes turn to the pure color of gold.

Both their swords collide as the man in armor strikes down from the air. They exchange blows as their armies fight among them. The air becomes colder, the winds rush with violence, the snow thickens.

 Soon their armies become silent, as they have murdered each other off. Only these two remain in conflict among thousands dead. The earth shows no sign of letting up on its savage elements. They continue to fight. Both surge with mighty power.

The man in silver armor forces sharp stone to breach the earth, the man with the Witch Blades forces large roots from the earth in attempt to capture the man in silver armor. Neither shows signs of exhaustion. The sun is now settled high, but the lands are still dreary in howls of nature.

Suddenly, as the battle grows further into intensity, the man in silver Armor leaps back, he stands at the entrance of his castle. He screams out a name and his love leaps from the castle walls. She stands beside him with eyes peering at the man of the Witch Blade.

The bearer of the Witch Blades charges at them. The man in silver armor sheathes his blade and places his hands out toward his sides, palms facing his enemy. He starts to concentrate with his eyes glazed upon the Witch Blade. Suddenly his castle starts to shake, a few stones fall loose.

Then, as the man with the Witch Blade nears the man in silver armor, the castle falls apart and is flung toward him in one fowl swoop. His eyes grow wide with fearful surprise, he is instantly buried in the rubble of the castle.

Once crushed by the once towering castle. The man in silver armor commands the stones to rise as he approaches the rubble. He wishes to see the death of his enemy. As the stones rise he waves them to be flung into the open lands. Uncovering his enemy, he see's him laying his back, crushed by stones the size of bulls and men.

He then pulls out his onyx sword. Drags it across the debris that is scattered beneath his feat. He reaches his bloodied enemy, jabs his sword into the earth and kneels to his enemy on one knee. He takes his hand and lifts the head of his enemy.

He then smashes his hand through the stone that crushes the Witches Blade. He then rips the blade from his enemies hands, lifts his the face mask from his armor, and with his eyes of hollow green he looks into his enemy, places the Witch Blade to his enemies neck and slowly drags it across.

He watches and listens as blood chocks his enemy to death. He watches with no emotion till his enemy dies. He then licks the blood from the Witch Blade, he delights in the flavor. He then stands and turns toward his love. As he does, his enemy suddenly lifts from the stones and screams with the voice of Witch.

The man in the silver armor turns around, as he does he is forced to the ground. The witch screaming man grabs the onyx sword and stabs it through the gut of the man in silver armor. The man in silver armor drops the Witch blade as he tries to pull his own weapon from his gut.

In the fear of it all, the Woman of Midnight screams out in agony and rushes to her love. Running out the Witch Blade is grabbed by the screaming enemy and vanishes into the sky.
Would you like more stories like this, is there anything in perticuilar you wish me to write more of? Please let me know.

Check out my first book, typos and all, A Man's Traveled Heart
Coming soon, The Bleeding of Words

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