War of the Roses

Gather 'round, for a tale as old as time. Times when the roses just gained their luster and a green-horned Overworld.

*Myth of the War of the Roses*

Cheers could be heard from the city streets. Scintillating throughout the crowd, sparks of sunlight winked back to welcome the Horizon Party upon their return. Hope filled the air. Fairs and festivals abound. Towns in triumph and bells of victory sound.

All these thoughts were quietly hoarded by the First Hero. All clutched near to his heart. Clench. His fingers curled and locked themselves around the shaft like welded steel. Steeling his resolve, the First Hero of Javenia charged. Spring in his step, wind beneath his feet, the First Hero ran with the Winds. The Lance of Light had touched the Fiend. It felt a pain she had not yet been familiar with. Sinking his spear into her, she recoiled in agony. He persisted. Momentum and thrust pursued, tearing away at her flesh. Muscle-by-muscle. Fibre-by-fibre. Cast like ashes into the Winds.

From the ashes, she rose. A furry-eared girl. One that the world despised, bearing the mark of the Beast. Cryptic sigils orbit what was once her flesh cocoon in rings of dense arcane enigma. Ciphers lunged at the First Hero. In an instant, he was blown into the Wind. Determined and steadfast, the Roseblade Hero awaited the return of her trusted duo. In the meantime, she kept vigil.

Before she drew her blade against the Beast, she asked “Can you speak?”

“Yes. But it is painful.” The little girl replied, her fingers quaking with agony.

A snarky “tch,” and a retort followed from the Roseblade Hero, “Yet you reply.”

“Everything is painful.” The Beast replied in seven synchronized voices.

The Roseblade Hero then asked, “I’m sorry for keeping us talking for so long, but would you answer one more question?” The Hero paused, waiting for a responsive nod. “If you are this ‘wisdom of the ages,’ surely you would know why everything is painful?”

“It is intrinsic.” The Beast responded unfazed.

A warm smile washed over the Roseblade Hero’s ever-blushed countenance, “If the ‘wisdom of the ages’ gets a question wrong, I’m not sure how this Overworld will survive. I should definitely tell the Paladin God to fix this.” She says, almost grabbing her cut-and-slashed journal. The glint in her eyes resisted her urge to jot this as another task on her bucket list. She gently stowed the journal away; scoffs in laughter, replying to herself, “I am how the Paladin God will fix this.”

“You’re wrong little girl. Pain isn’t intrinsic. Everything is painful because everything is beautiful.” The Beast remain stern, while the Roseblade Hero continues, “Life is like a rose. Thorns are painful to touch, but the flowers are beautiful.”

The Beast stood in a sphere of silence. The little girl looked in bewilderment.

“It’s easier if I show you.” the Roseblade Hero replied. “I’ll bring you to a field of flowers and into a bed of roses.”

The Roseblade Hero caresses her fingertips along her now unsheathed blade. Drawing blood from her index finger, the blade is dyed with flowing vermillion.

A Field of Red. A Ring of Roses. Two beings, among petals and thorns. A loud shatter. A sound of thudding on the Deepwood soil of the field. Words of wisdom circling the girl dissipated into the Winds. the Roseblade Hero struck the Beast in the chest. Prostrating itself, the Beast showers the flowers with dark crimson. The Beast howls in agony.

Rings of violent litanies ferociously revolve around the Beast. It could not be described by the phrase dictionaries, grimoires, and libraries were condensed into discs. It was the coming of a Paper God and its revelations of wisdom.

The trinity of death is exclaimed.

“Die.” Claws and horns manifest from the Deepwood soil beneath.

“Die.” The Ring of Roses is withered into a cold and dark Hell.

“Die.” Here, one can only hear the grinding and gnashing of teeth.

The Beast envelops and overlays its own Field to negate the Roseblade Hero.

The Roseblade Hero is in Hell.

Circles of Nine Hells broke the silence with spells from a time yet to occur. Her rose runes cut through the fire. Dashing to safety, she recovered into overgrown platforms of rosewood that remained steadfast in spite of the dark. Resounding clanging, as if from the clashing of two chunks of metal. the Roseblade Hero parried the dark scythe of a despair from the shadows deeply rooted in the heart of this little girl. Swathes and scores of yellow-eyed, red-skinned, fiends charged and surrounded the Roseblade Hero. In a bout of godspeed, she skilfully dispatched of the army and left a trail of rose-red blood. With every incoming slash, the Roseblade Hero deflected, recovered, then pierced. With every despair, fresh blood dyed her blade a rose-colour matching the fervour of her blushed countenance. The little girl and her Thorns of pain. the Roseblade Hero and her Beautiful Roses.

She will do it. She won’t give up. Relentless fervor and sweat dropping from her visor. the Roseblade Hero was going to bring this little girl the joy she herself had once felt lying on a bed of roses for the first time. Even if it meant breaking the wisdom of the world.

Midway through the endeavor, the First Hero descended like a light breaching the vaults of the heavens among the savage darkness. The duo is reunited at last. Together, they brave the dark storm awaiting them and attempt to rescue the little girl from the Beast.

Thrust and slash. Spin and strike. Defensive swings to cover for recoveries. The Heroes dispelled the darkness of the fiends one-by-one, supporting each other along the way.

Sinkes into ripostes. Flanks and cuts without openings. An exhibit of the perfect techniques of the Triune that was once honed by man. The Heroes braved onwards, taking the offensive.

A small pocket of time was freed from the endless onslaught. In this time, the Roseblade Hero asked the First Hero “How long would you stay, buddy?” She asked, then clarified, “For her.”

He replied, “As long as it takes.”

The devil’s advocate that she is, the Roseblade Hero retorted, “Just how long?” She continued, “An hour? A day? A month?”

the First Hero simply replied, “A Millenia.”

The Roseblade Hero burst into laughter, as the next wave of the Beast’s wisdom approach.

For the first time, the First Hero grins in front of the Roseblade Hero. Grin turns to a cheek-to-cheek smile. Smiles turn into a bout of laughter. For the first time, the duo laughs at the absurdity of suffering. Scoffing at and into the darkness, together.

The little girl bursts into tears, her faint cries echoing in the dark space.

She calls, “I’ll wait for you. In the depths of this place. A place that is not hell.” She continued in her soft voice, “I’ll plant and grow a bed of roses and we’ll have a picnic under a blue sky.”

Excitement, fervor, and green-horned will filled the duo with a renewed courage to brave into the darkness.

They were never to be seen again for the next centuries.