Miracle for the Cursed

“As long as I wield the Reaver, I am immortal!” exclaimed the terrible and powerful being that stood tall, who brandished a double edged wavy sword with a skull at its hilt. The sword gave off a blue expulsion of mist like energy that felt far more powerful than it looked. The being in question was clad in slick bronze and grey armor, decorated in a purple cape on his back and a tapestry that unfurled down from his abdomen in front, which displayed the symbol of his army, ‘The Sarafan’. The symbol was a stylized ankh, with a large gap in the top of the loop. The being seemed human, but his face was the very material nightmares were made of. Demonic, yellow, sunken in eyes seemed to pierce the darkness. Sharp teeth lined his dry mouth. His sickly yellow and withering complexion, which made him seem more skeletal than anything else, was made even more haunting by the green flames that enveloped his entire skull, from jaw to top.

His opponent was no less imposing. A white skinned figure donned in red and gold armor. He had dark sunken in yellow eyes, much like the nightmarish being before him, but they were more predator than monstrous. His features were bold and more pronounced, with black lips, and long white hair tucked behind his neck guards. His armor was of a far stranger caliber than the bronze clad being before him. Large spines protruding out to the side and slightly backwards neatly lined the shins. His elbows were guarded each with a single spike, already stained in red from previous uses, while only his left forearm guard had a set of three large dagger-like quills sticking out the side, while the other was relatively smooth. His shoulder blade guards were the most striking. On his left were three large prongs fashioned into the shape of sharpened spider legs. His right, a single large scythe head sat atop an elegantly neo-gothic designed shoulder guard. He had no weapon to use, but was confident in his skills that he obtained and honed on his journey that led him here.

The two titans stood upon a steel grading platform, attached to machinery that contrasts with their high fantasy attire, with no discernible entrance or exit. Their surroundings, covered by an ominous green mist, and crackling with dark energies best not described, were irregularly curved and viciously jagged rocks. The world they seemed to inhabit was terrible and unforgiving, as if true horrors reigned supreme. That fact was made worse as the feeling that the whole platform could collapse at any moment. Neither of them cared for their dire situation, and only wished to rip out each others throats.

“I will rend your soul!” shouted the bronze being known only as ‘Sarafan Lord’, as he raised his unusual sword and brought it down to deliver a killing blow. However, the white skinned being, whom was hailed as Kain, blocked the blade. Shock dawned on the Sarafan Lord, but before he could speak or take action, his opponent threw him off to the side, and concentrated a powerful Immolation spell, engulfing the monster in a painful inferno.

“My insides boil!” he screamed in sheer agony as he dropped to his knees from the magical attack. The white figure stood tall, looming over the now vulnerable foe. When the flames of the spell dissipated, the victim of its effects vomited up a puddle of blood, which leaked through the holes of the platform. In a moment’s haste, when the internally injured lord collected himself, he rose against his alabaster foe once again, hands tight around the handle of his blade. Kain, however, would have none of it, and cast another Immolation spell.

He cried in shock and pain as the spell tortured and weakened him further. As the flames that licked his body began to dissipate once again, before he had a chance to drop to his knees, his opponent rushed him with lightning vigor. He struck him viciously across the face, before he struck the arm that held the unusual sword, sending it sprawling off to the right. With a punishing uppercut, the Sarafan Lord was knocked off his feet and sent flying a fair distance away from his combatant, landing with a metallic clang from the armor contacting the steel of the platform.

The battered and wounded monster in both body and pride rose up as quickly as he could, wiped the blood from his jaw, and staggered towards his dropped blade. His confidence in the battle against his arch foe was dwindling, and the only thing he had on his mind now was to survive. If he could get the sword, he thought, he would at least have a better chance. Fate had other plans, as a blinding flash of light appeared between the two opposing forces, and an angelic being emerged and landed gracefully on the platform. His skin was a pale grey-ish blue, and he wore merely small arm guards and elegant, but badly soiled and torn, black leggings, secured by the remnants of what used to be a silk scarf. His half-dressed appearance directly contrasting the two beings clad in armor he stood between. His silver streaked black hair was slicked back, giving the sense of grace and dignity. His eyes were like Kain’s, but unlike the predator like gaze of that white skinned figure, his eyes carried a deepened sorrow and longing of a connection long since erased, but not forgotten. While he did have a toned frame, it was clear that the being is very weak and vulnerable, due to centuries of torture, even longer starvation, and a recent injury mere moments before this battle. His wings, large framed with black feathers tipped in silver, much like his hair, folded back as he stood. His uninjured claws, each with two fingers and a thumb, balled up in a fist as he gazed at the Sarafan Lord.

“You!” The Sarafan Lord growled in accusation.

“Yes. Your prisoner, from whose blood you built your evil plans,” replied the angelic figure.

The Lord shrugged, “What could be more righteous than to take our revenge and your freedom from the same source?” His voice dropped to a more sinister and much darker tone. “Tortured eons of suffering are too good for you, Vampire.”

“But not for you, Hylden,” he said with a lace of spite, narrowing his eyes at him as he continued, “who has dared to set a corrupting foot upon this world after your banishment! Return to the demon dimension in which you belong!”

“And by what right, cursed one, did you send my kind to that place of evil?”

“By what right did you lay on us the curse that drove us from the light, and made us predators of human kind?”

“It was justice,” he exclaimed with exasperated irritancy, “for our banishment from the world! You see what it has made of our fair race.”

“I see you have taken your true form at last!”

The two beings approached each other, with spite and loathing for the other in their eyes. With a sudden lunge from both sides, the two traded strikes until they grappled. While they were both injured, the armor clad Hylden took full advantage of the vampire that had such a pathetic amount of stamina from the eons of suffering that still affected him physically.

“Then go –“ he said darkly, “and see what it makes of you!”

The winged entity yelled back to the white figure, “Kain! The sword!“

As the Sarafan Lord pushed the blue clad being, before he swiftly kicked him in the stomach, Kain drew the handle of the blade to his right hand with his natural telekinesis, and readied himself for round two. The Hylden picked up the blue angelic figure, and held him high and deliberately between himself and Kain, which kept the white figure from attacking recklessly.

“I sentence you to the hell of your own making. A prisoner – for all time!” He casts the weak and badly injured vampire into the green mist that swirled menacingly and crackled with dark energies.

Too weak to fly, and still concerned for the safety of the white clad figure who now faced the monster alone, the only thing he could do was shout, “Nooooo! Kain….!” as he descended deeper into the swirling green oblivion.

His senses began to blur, and the very last sound the blue skinned being heard was the Hylden’s voice, saying, “And now, it is your turn...” mere moments before he saw pieces of the platform follow him down into the abyss.

-v-v-v-v-v-

Blueblood was not a very happy prince. Sure he was rich, had more connections to important ponies than one would ever need, and he was a very dashing stallion, with brilliant arctic blue eyes, a light amber mane, light grey coat, and a fabulous Compass Rose as his “emblem” (at least in his own mind). But, it made him no less frustrated to be forced to attend weekly classes of chivalry and etiquette, as per Princess Celestia’s orders. A class he just finished for the week a few moments ago. As he walked home back to the castle with two white pegasi, clad in golden “roman-esque” armor, he continued to grumble to himself.

“I still can NOT believe Auntie Celestia is still doing this to me!” he huffed, “This is all because of that crazy mare at the Gala last year. She should have treated ME with chivalry, not the other way around. I’M the PRINCE!”

The two pegasi, his guards, though were usually stoic in their expression, couldn’t help but roll their eyes to the pretentious melodrama the prince displayed.

He continued to rant as they walked through the tea and high-end restaurant district of Canterlot, which was, oddly, the closest block to the castle’s front gates. The district itself was designed with elegant, “victorian era” design patterns that are only seen in the oldest of pony settlements and cities, and painted with various darker, cool colors such as purples, deep blues, and greens, with the occasional splash of gold for contrast. It was a relaxing, if a bit pricy (to be frank), looking place to be in.

It wasn’t until the sound of heavy metal crashing through wooden roofs caused Blueblood to snap out of his rant, and put him into a fright which caused his guards to jump up to the Prince in defense positions, ready for an attack. No attack came though, as the three stallions looked around, and saw what made the racket. Pieces of metal platforms were scattered about all over the block, some have destroyed a few buildings, and a few of the larger ones damaged the streets. Fortune was generous though, as it seemed not a single citizen was injured, as far as they could see at that moment.

“Dear Auntie, that was close,” the prince sighed, shaking away the shock he experienced. The guards relaxed and backed off from their cargo, ready to continue with their walk back to the castle with Blueblood.

Until, at least, they heard the sound of weak and pained moaning in the alleyway right beside them. The Prince was ready to ignore it, but sparked a better idea in the instant. If there is some injured commoner in there, the Prince thought, I can bring them to the castle and give them the treatment they need! Then, I’m SURE Auntie will lessen her sentence on me... maybe even let me go free!

“Stay here, men. I will go and check out,” said the Prince, with a tone of authority. He took one step in, and stopped. Filthy. The alley was absolutely filthy. He would HAVE to remind the town custodians to try and tend to the alleys in the future.

“On second thought,” he squeaked, shrinking back from the alley a bit, “One of you should go in there. You never know if the individual is hostile...”

The guards were experienced ponies and could identify any real threat, even from a distance, or in the darkness. The prince was making up excuses through his teeth, just so he didn’t have to step on a little filth and dirt. But they were guards, not critics, and couldn’t really object to the cop-out the Prince displayed. With caution, the guard to Bluebloods right stepped into the alley, willing himself to the shadows of the space between buildings.

In no time at all, the guard found the source of the wordless pleas for help. “There is definitely someone here, your Highness," he called back to the prince. Before he could get close, the noises stopped. The guard placed his hoof gently on the chest of the pony, then the neck. The stoic guard scrutinized the unknown pony a little more, before coming to a final thought. “He seems unconscious. What shall we do?”

Blueblood smiled in relief, and a hopeful joy that his plan might actually work. “Pick him up, and bring him to the castle. I’ll explain everything to Auntie.”

The two guards saluted, as the other guard, the one to Blueblood’s left, ran into the alley and helped pick up the strange blue pony wearing halfway ruined black pants...