He smiles, cutting the wind with the knife, listening to the whistling of the world. Then, his legs part, calculations churning within the mind. One of the advantages of the caster's mentation. He spins, slashing eight times on the wall. Like parchment, the knife goes through stone. Shard. He pants, sweat trickling down from his brow and neck, steaming off the ground.
He drinks the air, chest heaving, throat burning for the wanted oxygen. An orgasmic sensation, and he asks, "What's the point of hiding like an animal?"
Davos spews from the corner, torch in hand, the flame casting red on his features. "You must have seen the light."
"Yes, that must have been it." Merrin spins the knife, tapping it on his shoulders. Time to be an Ashman. "Do you know why I brought you here?"
"I came by my decis—"
"No." Merrin corrects. "I brought you here. That is the truth of it."
He frowns.
"One more time, I will ask." Merrin points the knife at him. "Who are you?" Let him see the threat.
Davos clenches the grasped axe. "I don't know—"
And Merrin is before him, piercing forward with the knife. For a moment, Davos is stunned, and then he is gone. Kneeling, Davos tosses the fire, hacks up with the axe. Predictably, and Merrin jumps, nimble as the Ashmen were known for.
He lands feet-first, still spinning the knife, says, "I will keep coming at you until you proclaim your words."
"Mist you." The fear in his eyes is gone. Davos. Replaced by that of a combatant. Wide. How long before he realizes he fights against a being that commands the wind?
They clash, metal ringing out.
Merrin kicks back, wishing for a chain, but there was none. This was reality. Here, he was no god. Hence, he fought as a man, blade in hand, sweat trickling off his warming flesh. Today, he will teach this man. Break him like an egg. That was the only way.
A moment, and Merrin is beside him, dropping the knife. Davos is stunned, his eyes following the falling blade. A mistake. Before it hits the ground, Merrin grabs it, slashing at the warrior's heel. Davos winces, obviously accustomed to certain pain.
No matter. The Ashman is upon him, landing a punch into his jaw, head snapping to the side. A groan escapes him, a mere genesis of the pain that was to come. Davos roars, swinging the unbalanced axe, obvious in the way it staggered, and crooked him.
He was not used to the weapon. Merrin, however, was. A click sounds as the knife slices through the poll, a kick sending Davos tumbling over the earth. He is quick to stand, breaking off the shoulder of the axe, holding the metal rest as some metal rod.
The air around him suddenly changed. "You."
Merrin manages a breath before Davos is before him, spearing, iron tearing through the air. Fast. Instincts control the defense. He dodges, the ferric nearly blistering his cheeks. Davos is swift. Good to know. But the man doesn't stop. Constant. His strikes breaking into the raised bastion. Merrin loses his feet, rolling over the ground, the booms of metal echoing as Davos strikes the earth.
Davos kicks up, slamming his feet into Merrin. Painful, tossing him into the wall. Ah, this surely means something. Yet, this was not the time for a procession. He jumps to his feet, takes a stance, and falls into the familiar trance—silence screaming, mind narrowing into a singular objective.
The dance has begun.
And now Davos knows fear. Merrin is the wind, the storm churning with precious fury. Infinity folded into moments; that is what the man would think. The strikes come endlessly, pushing the arrogant master. He screams, but he cannot stop it. Nothing can. He spins, cutting the legs of the combatant. He falls, manages to rise. Too late, the knife pierces into his shoulders, blood sluicing. He groans. Merrin takes a fist to the face, forgets the pain, and focuses. No distraction. Only the target.
Ah, only sparks fly in the darkness, stray touches flicking their shadows in short bursts like frozen moments. This was the natural state of the Ashman—the veilCounsel of shadows and night. Today, two learn of that.
Davos tries to counter, Merrin rounds him. He does not see the attack, only screaming at the sure pain. Now he is desperate.
"Confess!"
Merrin grabs his head, pounding his knees into his skull. Blood spurting from his nostrils. Not enough. A slap follows. Now he treats him like a child. That wounds his pride. Good. That is the thing he must shatter.
Davos changes tactic, tries to at least. Merrin counters, tearing through the deprecated clothes, a clap resounding into his chest. Red is imprinted on Davos' front.
"Mist you!" Davos wails, a slap sealing his lips.
A memory of a woman crushed by stone returns.
"Confess!" Merrin grabs him by the ear, driving his head into the wall. A bang, a gasp. Davos is turned, meeting eye to eye. Merrin leaves him. Davos smiles, thinks it's over.
Not.
Merrin pounds his feet into the man. A bang. A ring. A scream. Over and over. He repeats, "Confess!"
"Noooo," Davos whispers. "Please no."
"Confess." Merrin slashes his thigh. "Confess! Confess the mistakes of your past. Confess your sins. Give it to me. Let me bear it for you. Be free of it. Confess!"
Davos is a thing of bloodied carving, his face hidden in coats of blood, sweat, and saliva. "I… I."
"Confess!" Merrin presses the knife over his throat. "Confess or meet damnation with your sins!"
"YOU CANNOT ABSOLVE IT FROM ME!!!"
Merrin slaps him. "Let me be your pit. Dump it."
"I… I… I," Davos stutters.
"Speak!"
"I killed my SISTERS!" He screams, shoulders trembling like a child caught in trap. The world chills now, rage fading, tension pressed into a nulling singularity.
Merrin is silenced. He did what? There is rage in the thought.
But… now was not the time for his stillness. "Speak."
Tears stream down the warrior, now broken to half a shell of a man. "I didn't mean to. I never wanted to do it. But they died. My actions. I'm a Blademaster; I should have protected them. But I couldn't. They were bombed by the WhiteTrumpet. I could have gone with them."
"But you couldn't. You were a coward." Merrin sighs. "And they died because of it."
"Don't you think I know that?" Davos whimpers. "I watched them. I was made to pay for my crimes against a lord. I couldn't. I feared death, so I arranged for us to escape. But they didn't make it. They were gunned down like animals, not even by a brightCrown, but some criminal lord. Not that it makes it any better… I just. I'm sorry."
Now he is a man, pained… a human. These were his faults, despite the needed details; the fact remained. However… what difference was it to him? Leim had died to his pride, arrogance, and cowardice.
I don't deserve the pity… but he…
"Listen to me, Davos." He says, "I forgive you. I accept your sin. They are not yours. Now they are mine. Do not blame yourself for the things you have done; blame me. Blame God."
Davos is stunned, but quiet.
"But you still keep your secrets. You kept your truths. I know you wish to keep your silence. To hide it from me. To keep it true to yourself… However." Merrin leaned closer. "Learn this now. Learn this quick… You cannot, Davos. Farewell to that belief, farewell to that desire. Farewell to the fear, hate, and remorse."
And Davos stares wide-eyed…
I own him now.
Merrin stands, overlooking the startled man—his eyes two orbs of blazing radiance. "They must never learn of this." He says, and Davos nods. He thinks of death as the consequence of disobedience. "You are mine now. I accept your sins. I accept your entirety. Now face your tribulations. Those ones." He points to the wall corner. "Those lives. You are their warden. None shall die before you do. Hear my words. Their life sustains yours. Else… You shall learn God does not forgive twice."
And he turns, leaving the wounded man to drown in the fear and words left for him. He would contemplate, wonder…and eventually, like they all did, bury himself in delusion and myths. God has taken my sins, what mistsense.
Cannot turn back now, can I? Merrin wipes the blood over his stained clothes, tears dripping down.
For them. All of this is for them! I should never forget that.
Keep your secrets, Davos. I will learn them later. I will learn everything later. Knowledge begets power. Power begets freedom. Freedom begets bliss.
Merrin feels the coming triumph; is assured of it. They gather. Like bugs to flame, addicts of a certain sensational desire. Dressed for what is to come, cheering themselves as though they await some prize. Maybe they did. Swarming, slinked in newly fashioned clothes. A patchwork of fragments. In the shifting darkness, temporarily banished by the curling lights, they share words.
He hears most of them, the praises of it all. They call him things—savior. The belief lords over them.
Today we return home.
Sadly, the mines are what home has become to these people, such is the effect of the undermines. The horrors seen here must be escaped, destroyed by any means. If he could, he would, but the power yet eludes him. So Merrin strolls towards the ovate gate; a dark barrier between now and the future.