Blaystone Forest - East Woods - Xander:

  The moonless night cloaked Blaystone Forest in soundless darkness. Ancient Soarlid trees towered overhead, their crimson bark threaded with veins of silver. Yellow leaves carpeted the forest floor in thick drifts.

  A golden flash of light erupted between the massive trunks, so intense that the ancient trees couldn’t contain its radiance. The light dimmed as quickly as it came, leaving only shadows and silence.

  As the shadows lengthened and the sun began to rise, guards in black-trimmed red armor searched the forest. Filtered sunlight created patches of light and shadow between the ancient trees.

  One guard stopped abruptly, and his head turned to the left. “Hey!” His voice dropped to an urgent whisper as he moved closer. “I see something over there!”

  The guard’s eyes locked onto the object, never wavering. The platoon rushed toward him, boots crunching through the thick carpet of leaves. The guard approached slowly, glancing back at his comrades before squinting into the shadows. His eyes widened.

  A massive body lay crumpled against a Soarlid trunk, motionless in death’s embrace.

  “Guards, over here, quickly! It’s a man... I think he’s dead.” The guard called out. As the guards gathered around, they stared in disbelief as they began to analyze the man.

  The corpse was a tall, massively built figure with shaggy, sand-blond hair cascading past his knees. A wild, matted beard framed a dirt-caked face streaked with dried blood. His fingernails had grown long and curled like claws. A sharp, straight nose jutted from thick brows that angled sharply downward. A jagged scar carved its way along the right side of his face, narrowly missing his eye.

  The guards began muttering, parting as their platoon

  general pushed through.

  "What is all the fuss?"

  He stopped. His left eye twitched. The body lay face down in the leaves, motionless. But the armor—

  That crest. I know that crest. Balsmith thought as silence passed, his jaw tightening.

  "By the gods... How is this possible?" he whispered.

  His eyes shifted to his men. They were staring at him, waiting.

  "Pick him up," he said, his voice steady. "Get him to the carriage. Now."

  Four guards bent down to lift him, exchanging uneasy glances before attempting to hoist him up. “Bloody hell, he’s heavy!” one guard grunted as he strained under the weight. It took all four of them, their arms and legs trembling with effort.

  The general noticed that there were no leaves or grass where the man had been laying—just bare, undisturbed earth.

  They carried him to the waiting carriage. As they laid him inside, their gaze fell to his armor—noting the deep dents, slash marks, and punctures that decorated the metal like a map of countless battles. Large amounts of dried blood scattered across the man’s chest plate told their own grim story.

  “Sir,” a guard called out as he pointed at the man’s armor, “that man is wearing the Old Guard of The Order of the Seraphs. Tha—”

  “I know,” the general interrupted. His eyes narrowed as he surveyed the forest.

  After a moment of taut silence, the general raised his voice. “Alright, everyone! Keep your eyes out for the bandit group called Red Anchor. They’ve been raiding villages to the south of here, and they could be connected to this... situation.”

  The guards nodded, their hands tightening on the hilts of their blades as they cast wary glances into the deepening shadows of the forest.

  The large, filthy man slowly opened his eyes. Everything was blurred. His body felt heavy. He lifted his left hand, flexing his fingers slowly. Who am I? He scanned left and right. A carriage. Two guards watching him, their hands resting on their weapons. Why are they watching me?

  "What's going on?" he asked, his voice gruff and disoriented.

  The guards jolted toward him. "The man is awake!" one called, both gripping their weapons tightly.

  "Stay still," the other guard warned.

  The man gave a confused nod, his brow furrowed. From behind the guards, Balsmith strode up. "My name is Balsmith. I am the general for this platoon. I'm glad you're awake."

  The man stared at Balsmith blankly, blinking a few times.

  Balsmith continued, his eyes studying the man. "You wear the armor of the Old Guard of The Order of the Seraphs—part of Xander Blight's platoon, judging by that pauldron crest."

  The man tilted his head. "Who is Xander Blight?"

  Balsmith paused. His jaw tightened. "It's your turn to tell me who you are—and why you're wearing armor that's been decommissioned for fifty years. Whoever wears it

  better have a damn good reason, or face fines and imprisonment."

  The man’s eyes darted around as if searching for familiar landmarks. “I don’t—”

  Three guards rushed over to the carriage. “Sir! We’re under attack by the Red Anchor!”

  “What? Defensive formation! Ten guards on this carriage—protect it with your lives!” Balsmith barked.

  “No...” The man rolled to his side, pushing himself upright despite his dazed state. “I can fight.” He hunched over as he exited the carriage, then stood straight, towering over the guards and general.

  Balsmith’s eyes widened as he studied the stranger. “Guards, give him a dagger.”

  One soldier complied, handing over a standard dagger. The man turned it in his hand, then snapped the blade in two with casual ease.

  “No, this won’t do. Give me a sword.”

  The guard paled, craning his neck back to meet the towering figure’s gaze. “Who... who the hell are you?”

  The man did not answer. Instead, he reached down and wrenched a longsword free from a guard’s sheath.

  Balsmith’s eyes narrowed. “Very well. Stay close, but you’ll answer for all this later.”

  A crossbow bolt came screaming through the trees, aimed at Balsmith's throat. The man's hand shot out, snatching it from the air inches before impact.

  “That would have ended your life.” The man said.

  Balsmith eyed the man with renewed interest. How did he catch that bolt? Most soldiers can’t react that fast. He’s not normal. “It would take more than that to kill one bearing an Arc Sigil.”

  In the distance, shadowy figures darted between trees, and weapons glinted faintly in the dim light.

  The man gripped the bolt, then hurled it back toward its origin with devastating force.

  A thud echoed from the treeline. Moments later, bandits flooded the area. “Uooo uooo!” The bandits called as they charged the platoon.

  A clash of steel rang out as Balsmith’s guards met them head-on. The air was soon filled with the metallic scent of blood and the guttural cries of the wounded. The ground quickly turned slick with gore.

  “Ten of us left, sir!” a guard shouted over the din of battle.

  Balsmith risked a glance over to the man who had suddenly dropped to a knee, hands clutching his head as a scream of agony tore from his throat. The world around him began to spin before plunging into darkness.

  The man suddenly stood in an open field, already harvested, the ground settled for winter. The sun blazed overhead, and the air hung heavy with moisture.

  A man with long silver hair approached. His unique eyes brightened in the sunlight—one a serene blue, the other a vibrant shade of pink. A scar traced across his left brow, complementing a perfect jawline that was clean-shaven. His tall, lean frame carried a sword at his right side.

  “Xander Blight. It’s been a long time,” the silver-haired man said as he continued walking toward him.

  “Tito, it has been a long time, hasn’t it?” Xander extended his hand.

  Tito reciprocated the handshake with a firm grip.

  The vision suddenly zoomed out as the ringing slowly faded. The world gradually came back into focus.

  Xander looked up to find Balsmith and several guards around him. Fuck, I need to catch my breath. What the hell was that?

  Balsmith turned his head slightly. “Hey, what in the gods’ names are you doing?”

  Xander slowly got up, his vision still shaking. His eyes flickered to the left. “Duck!” he yelled.

  In one fluid motion, he snatched a fallen guard’s shield and hurled it toward Balsmith, who instinctively dropped to the ground. The shield whistled over his head, cleaving a charging bandit in half.

  Xander rushed to Balsmith as they stood back to back.

  “Alright, who are you?” Balsmith turned his head slightly.

  Xander locked eyes with him. “My name is Xander Blight.”

  Balsmith’s eyes widened, as his mouth stuttered in disbelief. No, it can’t be... His armor, his size... this can’t be. He forced himself to turn his attention forward.

  Xander scanned the area as more bandits closed in. “You need to leave,” he urged. “I’ll hold them off.”

  “No, I can’t leave you in the heat of battle!” Balsmith yelled back. “If you truly are Xander Blight, the Champion of Dela Mar, we need you alive. There are questions that need answering.”

  “Balsmith, if you want to live, you need to leave now!” Xander shouted.

  “Didn’t you hear—?!” But Balsmith’s response was cut short by a guard’s approach.

  “Sir, hel—” A dagger pierced the guard’s throat. He dropped to his knees, eyes turning gray as he gasped desperately for air. The guard collapsed with a heavy thud.

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  Balsmith coughed, wiping ash from his face. “Damn it, they’re torching everything.” He locked eyes with Xander. “But they can’t kill me—no matter how hard they try. I bear an Arc Sigil.”

  Xander glanced at Balsmith with concern and nodded.

  The bandits cackle as they approach Xander and Balsmith.

  “The Master approaches,” a bandit crowed, lowering himself in deference.

  A mammoth, dark figure emerged from the fiery shadows. As he slowly drew near, grotesque features sharpened into focus: a long, severe nose, cracked yellow teeth framed by parted black lips, and a mane of unkempt red hair. His battered leather attire and knee-length trench coat seemed to swallow the shadows around him. A short sword hung from his belt, its gold handle adorned with a purple gem. The steel blade glinted with malevolent promise.

  “Well, well... A Seraph and—” The bandit master looked over to Xander and grinned. “Who are you supposed to be?”

  Xander stared at the bandit master.

  “Oh, a quiet one... I can smell the shit running down your leg. I’ll introduce myself then. I am Hawk Blade, leader of the Red Anchor Bandits.”

  Xander looked over to Balsmith. “Balsmith, you should—” He halted as Balsmith raised a calloused hand.

  “Silence,” Balsmith turned his head toward Xander. “You don’t give orders here. I am a general of the tenth platoon in the honored Order of the Seraphs.”

  Xander nodded, then looked back toward Hawk. “Balsmith, what do you need me to do?”

  “Nothing. Stay back and don’t interfere.” Balsmith’s jaw clenched as he tightened his grip on his sword’s hilt. “This bastard has been a thorn in my side for months.”

  Hawk chuckled. “Are you two finished? I’d like to kill you both now. You can’t even agree on who dies first.” His lips curled into a sneer. “I’ll slit your throats myself and present your heads to your queen.”

  “You son of a bitch!” Balsmith roared, his eyes widening with fury. “How dare you speak of my queen!”

  Xander surveyed the area. “Balsmith, the fire’s spreading rapidly! You need to end this quickly.”

  “I know!” Balsmith gripped his sword handle tighter.

  He lunged at Balsmith with startling swiftness.

  Balsmith quickly dropped into a fighting crouch, sword raised.

  ‘‘HAHA!” Hawk laughed as he approached them.

  Balsmith swung his broadsword vertically. Hawk dipped and moved left, gripping his short sword with both hands and driving it into Balsmith’s shoulder. He twisted the blade and ripped it out.

  Balsmith’s shoulder pauldron was pierced, crimson streaming down his chest plate. Blood ran beneath his armor.

  “Shit!” Balsmith took another glance at that strange blade, it dawned on him. “Xander, that’s an Arc Weapon.”

  Xander’s eyes went wide, flicking between his wounded ally and the grinning Hawk .

  Hawk licked Balsmith’s blood from his blade. “Your blood holds special... properties.” He grinned. “I knew you bore an Arc Sigil. This blade is called Salvie, it disables your accelerated healing—you’ll mend at a mortal’s pace now. You fight recklessly, Seraph.”

  Hawk launched himself at Balsmith. Balsmith met the attack head-on as spiritual energy crackled around him like lightning. The shockwave of Balsmith’s blue zeal erupted outward, stopping Hawk as he stumbled backward.

  “This is my Arc Sigil Zelle!” Balsmith’s fists clenched as the ground began to shake.

  “Yes, yes! Show me your true power,” Hawk sneered, fighting to maintain his footing.

  His bandit minions shielded their faces from the whipping ash and debris.

  Xander stood firm, unflinching, as the power surged around them.

  “I hope you’re ready to die tonight, Hawk . I’m going to rip your head from your shoulders.” The zeal faded as Balsmith began to buckle at the knees.

  Hawk laughed harshly. “You think I’m scared of your light show? I don’t see any real change in you. It’s all a bluff!”

  Hawk rushed at Balsmith, sword flashing through the air. Balsmith raised his arm, now glowing with ethereal blue light.

  Hawk’s blade clashed against Balsmith’s limb... and held fast, unable to pierce the energy barrier.

  “What the hell? Why didn’t it cut?” Hawk snarled, straining to force his blade forward.

  Balsmith laughed. “You’re even dumber than you look. My Arc Sigil strengthens my body with zeal.”

  “No! This is bullshit!” Hawk leaped back, raked his dirty fingers through his hair. “This can’t be real.” His eyes narrowed and he spat at Balsmith’s feet. “You’re a fucking rat. Taff! Get your ass over here with my Big Blade. Now!”

  Taff rushed forward with a massive, wickedly serrated sword. The air around the blade shimmered with a sickly blue hue, dark energy bound within its steel. Taff struggled to lift it as he held it out for Hawk.

  Hawk grabbed the hilt of Big Blade. Without warning, he charged at Balsmith, the massive sword dragging on the ground, leaving gashes in the earth. Hawk lifted Big Blade as it whistled through the air.

  Balsmith dodged the first wild swing, then the second, his movements fluid and precise. But as Hawk brought the blade down in a powerful overhead strike, Balsmith found himself backed against a tree.

  I have to block this with my sword. Balsmith raised his weapon, bracing for impact. Their blades clashed, the echo of steel ringing throughout the forest. Hawk's sword sliced cleanly through Balsmith’s sword. Balsmith crashed to one knee, agony searing through his body. Blood gushed from the gaping wound on his shoulder.

  What? How... My sword didn’t shatter—it was cut in half? Ugh, this hurts. It’s been a long time since I felt pain like this. Balsmith spat up blood.

  “You’re such an idiot, for a Seraph general,” Hawk crowed, licking the blood from his blade. “This sword can cut through anything. Paired with Salvie? Perfect for killing sigil users like you. Think you can do whatever you want?” He snickered. “Time for a change in the pecking order.”

  “Shut up! SHUT UP!” Balsmith yelled, staggering to his feet. Got to stay conscious.

  Balsmith’s arm hung mangled and limp at his side. “You know nothing about the Seraphs. You think you’re the only one who’s had it rough?”

  Hawk’s eyes widened. “How the hell are you still standing?”

  Balsmith stood tall, teeth gritted. “It doesn’t matter what hardships we’ve faced. You think you can just kill Seraphs and take what you want? That’s not how the world works. I know my purpose. It’s time to end this.”

  Hawk charged, yelling “UUOOO!” He thrust Big Blade toward Balsmith’s neck. Balsmith twisted away at the last second.

  That was too close. I underestimated him. Balsmith grabbed his bloody shoulder.

  Hawk pressed his advantage, swinging Big Blade from all angles. Balsmith rolled and dodged desperately.

  The fire raged closer, ash raining down.

  I can’t keep this up forever. My injuries will slow me down, and he’ll have my head.

  No. I’m a Seraph. I’ve faced worse. Balsmith scanned for any opening, any weakness. For the Seraphs. For the Queen. For my fallen comrades.

  Balsmith snatched a sword from the ground and charged at Hawk. His blade swung up in a vicious uppercut, but Hawk ducked beneath the attack and thrust his sword deep into Balsmith’s abdomen.

  Balsmith coughed blood. His hands desperately gripped Hawk’s sword hilt to stop its progress.

  “What was that about not being able to die?” Hawk twisted the blade, a grotesque smile spreading across his face. “I think you’re going to die after all. Should I keep twisting? Nah, I’ll just take your head clean off.”

  As Hawk yanked his sword free, Xander rushed between them. His right hand shot out, catching Hawk descending blade with an iron grip.

  “That’s enough,” Xander said coldly.

  Why the fuck are his hands not missing? “What the fuck!” Hawk tried to wrench his sword free. “Let go of the damn blade!”

  Hawk released the hilt and staggered back, fear flickering across his face. “What the hell are you? That sword can cut through anything!”

  Xander seized the blade’s hilt, wielding the massive sword with one hand. “This is a fine blade,” Xander said. Xander examined the blue metal woven through the steel.

  Balsmith stared at Xander in shock. There’s no way... You can’t be him...

  Hawk snapped, eyes darting between them. “Hey baldy, who the fuck is this guy?”

  “This man...” Balsmith’s voice cracked. “He claims to be Xander Blight, the Champion of Dela Mar.”

  Hawk’s face lost its tan, beginning to look white. “No fucking way! This massive bastard can’t be Xander Blight!”

  No, no, no, this isn’t right. Why would he be here? He looks like... that armor is shredded to hell. Hawk stepped back.

  Xander continued to stare at Hawk with a piercing gaze.

  An oppressive silence fell over the battlefield.

  “No, no, no!” Hawk screamed. “Everyone, fire everything you have. Kill him!”

  The bandits fired arrows. Xander dropped Big Blade and ran over to Balsmith. Arrows thudded into Xander’s flesh one after another, droplets of blood seeping as they pierced his skin. He simply shifted to cover Balsmith’s injured side.

  “How are you—” Balsmith gasped for air.

  “Save your breath,” Xander grunted. “I’ll shield you as best I can.”

  Balsmith looked behind Xander. “Xander, there’s fire, water, and earth attacks coming right for us!” Balsmith coughed up more blood.

  Xander turned his head. The fireball is getting close. I can feel the heat. I could try to absorb the magic attacks, but the risk to Balsmith is too great. We have to move! Xander scanned for options. Three broken shields lay nearby, scorched and pitted. They won’t withstand this onslaught.

  Xander raised his arm as the fireballs slammed into him. The impact sent him tumbling, his armor white-hot against his skin. Jagged rocks propelled by earth magic smashed around them like meteors, each impact shaking the ground.

  “Xand—” Balsmith’s cry was cut off as the barrage engulfed him. Blood bubbled from his lips.

  I won’t make it in time! Xander leaped forward, but it was too late. A cascade of rocks borne by water and fire crashed down, burying them both beneath smoking rubble.

  “We did it! We killed the great Xander Blight!” Hawk staggered forward, jumping and grinning. “He was never that tough! What a fucking joke!”

  Hawk and his bandits approached the smoking rubble that buried Xander and Balsmith.

  Surely, the legendary Champion of Dela Mar couldn’t have fallen so easily... could he? Hawk looked over at his bandits as they climbed the rock pile, flames crackling around them.

  “Hey, I have to piss.” One of the bandits pulled down his trousers. “Ahh, this feels good. All that ale I drank. Hey guys, these little Seraphs on the bottom are getting the Red Anchor special.”

  The other bandits joined in as their cruel laughter echoed through the ravaged forest, past splintered trees and battle-scarred earth.

  “Alright, put your pricks away,” Hawk laughed. “Everyone, look for Big Blade.”

  The rocks shifted beneath their feet. Their laughter died, replaced by nervous murmurs. Hawk’s laugh wavered.

  “Everyone, calm down. Probably just settling with everyone on the rocks.”

  A bandit on the ground pointed at the rubble. “Master...”

  “What do you want?” Hawk snapped.

  “It’s just... the only thing that’s shaking is the pile of rocks,” the bandit’s voice cracked as he continued to point at the rubble.

  Hawk stared at the shifting rubble beneath his feet. Shit, something is wrong. “Everyone, off the pile of rocks! Let’s go!”

  The bandits looked at Hawk.

  “I said, let’s go! Get the fuck off, now!” Hawk yelled.

  The bandits started climbing down the piles of rocks.

  Why is there sweat running down my back? Why do my feet want to run? “Spread out and keep your eyes peeled. If anything comes out of that rubble, you know what to do.” Hawk put his hand on the sword hilt. “Everyone circle the rocks!”

  The bandits circled the shifting rocks, weapons ready. Whatever you are, you picked the wrong bandit crew to mess with. Hawk spat on the pile of rocks.

  A small rock tumbled down the pile. “It’s just the rocks settling,” Hawk raised his hand, gesturing to hold position.

  A couple more rocks, much bigger than the first, fell off the pile. Hawk spat on the pile again.

  “Master, I think Big Blade is under the rubble, near Xander and Balsmith,” Taff said, his voice barely above a whisper.

  “What? No, damn it!” Hawk’s eyes fixed on the still-shaking pile of rocks.

  More large rocks tumbled down the mound.

  “Master, come here!” Taff called out. “I found Big Blade, but only the handle is visible. The rest of the blade is buried.”

  “Fuck! My blade is buried,” Hawk snarled. “Let’s go, you idiots! Start recovering it!”

  The bandits started approaching the handle of Big Blade. Suddenly, the pile of rocks began to collapse.

  “Master, look out!” Taff shouted, pushing Hawk out of the way just as a massive boulder crashed down where they had been standing moments before.

  As the dust settled, a bandit’s legs started shaking. “B-b-b-boss, umm, look!” He pointed at the pile of rocks, his hand trembling.

  Hawk's eyes widened in disbelief. “How... how are you alive?” Hawk said softly.

  The bandits stood frozen, their eyes locked on the figure emerging from the ruins of rock.

  As the dust and ash settled, Xander stood. Debris cascaded off his shoulders as the warrior removed the pile of rocks that had buried him. Melted armor and arrow shafts pierced his chest plate, but the massive figure was free from the rubble. Approaching the bandits, Xander carefully navigated the unstable pile. The Champion’s gaze locked onto Hawk before flickering down to Balsmith’s foot, then snapping back to the bandit leader.

  “Are you ready to die, you scum?” Xander’s voice echoed through the forest.