The Legend of Shura (Fantasy)

Remove all ads!

I believe the verdict is in!
Shura, you are to write and publish a book on one condition: You have to allow us SP groupies to test read your manuscript.

Seriously, with some polishing and refinement I think you could have a damn good book here, one that I'm sure many people would enjoy. I know I'm enjoying the developement of Shura and his buddies.

Your writing style is very good and pulls the reader into the story. Keep up the good work.

 

I am, however, surprised at Jo-Annia's lack of reaction to Shura's revelations... interesting.

 

Thanks a lot for the encouragement, people. I truly have not thought of getting my work published and am extremely ignorant of the proper procedures. Anyway, I hardly have time to work on a book properly as I'm going back to regimental army life again very soon.
Shura's story will be suspended indefinitely, I'm afraid. I will however, bring this chapter of Shura's life to a close before I go.


The next two days flew by quickly, too quickly for Shura. Reveling in Jo-Annia’s company on the road, he hardly noticed the passing of the hours. Jo-Annia’s father sat in the back of his wagon, perpetually engrossed in a thick leather-bound volume. Shura doubted if his daughter even bothered to tell him where they were going. The party moved at a slow and leisurely pace, stopping every four hours to rest and admire the countryside’s scenery. The sun shone strongly during the day, but that no longer bothered the swordsman who had lived most of his life in the shadows. The lines of worry on his face faded and did not reappear throughout the trip. Unending chuckles of amusement and smiles etched new lines on his countenance. Jo-Annia too enjoyed the trip immensely. Having been a scholar all her life, the sights and sounds of the outside world proved to be a refreshing experience. Not so the dust and the fatigue though, she thought in irritation. Nevertheless, her laughs intermingled with Shura’s as the two cracked jokes and teased each other endlessly in between their scholarly debates.

The many inns and shops of Caelor came into sight near dusk on the second day. The wagon stopped beside an inn and the party went inside, Jo-Annia grumbling at her father to stop reading in the dark lest he worsen his already poor eyes. Shura stiffened as he walked into the inn’s common room, however. Every table was fully occupied by soldiers dressed in the livery of the church. The innkeeper, a pleasant old woman, approached them.

“ We have only one room left, travelers. As you can see, my inn has the great honor of housing the troops of the holy church as they make their way to the city to topple the heretic Blackmire from his throne.” The innkeeper said, an apologetic smile on her face.

“ That would be His Majesty King Blackmire to you, good innkeeper.” Shura pointed out, his voice almost a growl of irritation. “ Are you unafraid of treason?”

“ Hahaha…” The innkeeper chuckled. “ Have you not heard, sir? The church has ruled that Blackmire is a heretic and hence the High Deacon of the church declares his sovereignty null and void. More than ten thousand soldiers have passed Caelor as they march to the capital.”

Shura’s face paled at the news. Jo-Annia clutched his hand, her brown eyes flashing in worry. He turned to regard his friend.

“ You and your father take the room first. I shall scout around town and find out what I can before coming back here.” Shura said in a low voice. Jo-Annia started to protest but Shura shook his head firmly.

“ We’ll take the room, innkeeper.” Shura said. He removed a heavy gold coin from his pouch and placed it on the table. The innkeeper’s eyes widened at the sight of the coin. Such currency was usually only reserved for nobles or extremely wealthy merchants.

“ If the two of them are disturbed by these soldiers, I shall hold you personally responsible.” Shura pulled his cloak apart slightly, the hilt of one of his swords poking out. The innkeeper was quick to digest this fact with a nervous gulp. “ Am I understood, good innkeeper?” The old woman nodded her head fervently.

Shura turned and walked out of the door, his dark eyes meeting Jo-Annia’s brown ones before he faded into the night. The grim look on his face told Jo-Annia that the killer who had been absent for the last two days was back.


Every inn in the town was fully occupied, Shura discovered. Thousands of church soldiers and many holy knights were billeted in Caelor. Skulking in the shadows, Shura managed to come to a rough estimate on the amount of troops about to march upon the capital. The figure was a staggering five thousand. By the innkeeper’s report, at least another four thousand church soldiers have already passed through. Without the support of his generals, Kalvairn could muster at best three thousand men from the ranks of the Ravagers and Blackguards. The common populace would likely throw the gates wide apart at the first threat from the church. There would be no battle or siege. There would only be a slaughter.

Jo-Annia brushed her damp hair vigorously. The inn’s bathhouse was pleasant after two days on the road. Looking out of the only window in their room, the woman spotted Shura emerging from the shadows and making his way back to the inn. She ran down the stairs and to the common room to meet him. The swordsman caught sight of her as he stood in the inn’s doorway. He gestured for her to follow him.

“ Blackmire is in grave danger.” Shura said when the woman stood by his side, in the street outside the inn. “ His forces are heavily outnumbered and he has lost the support of the common people.”

“ What do you plan to do, Shura?” Jo-Annia asked. She noted the grim set of the swordsman’s face and his worried eyes with despair.

Shura sighed heavily. He knew what he had to do. “ I shall leave for the capital tonight.” He said.

“ But that’s stupid!” Jo-Annia blurted out. “ If Blackmire was your true friend, he would not want you to rush back to die by his side too!” Her hand clutched the front of his cloak. “ Do not attempt such foolishness!”

Shura gently disengaged her fingers, his every instinct screaming at him to sever the limb with a sweep from his swords. “ Good-bye, my friend.” The killer was back, and it wasted no time in reclaiming its’ hold over Shura.

“ Travel with us! There is a whole world out there and we could see it together! Let your friends face the consequences of their actions, Shura!” Jo-Annia moved towards the swordsman again but the flash of steel stopped her in her tracks.

Shura had half-drawn his wakizashi without even realizing it. He looked down at his left hand curled around the hilt of the short sword and sighed. He forced the blade back into its’ scabbard with trembling fingers.

“ I am as bad as any one of them, Jo-Annia. You have seen for yourself.” Shura turned his back on her. “ May you always be so full of life and joy, my friend. Again, I bid you farewell.” Jo-Annia could only look helplessly as her friend disappeared into the shadows again.

“ May you find some light in the darkness that your life is wreathed in, Shura.” She sighed, quoting the third stanza of the fourth poem the great sage Lyandor wrote. The words were carried on the night breeze to Shura’s sharp ears.

“ Oh, but I have. And I have left it behind me on my own free will.” Shura thought bitterly.


On the town’s outskirts, two church soldiers mounted on warhorses cantered slowly towards the warmth that the town’s many inns and taverns had to offer. Shura materialized from the shadows behind them, with his swords drawn.

The cold moonlight bathed the cloaked rider galloping furiously along the dusty roads in a chilling shimmer. Shura ran one hand along the hilt of Zan Ku, feeling the tingle of power that surged through the enchanted sword. He raised his head, the hood of his cloak thrown back by the rushing wind.

Shura was riding to die beside his friends.

The city had already fallen to the church, its’ battlements flying the flag of the Celestial Knight and many buildings aflame. A battalion of soldiers milled around the breached gates, they were to secure the main entrance to the capital. Their morale was high: righteousness had indeed triumphed as they marched into the city with hardly any resistance. The heretic Blackmire would soon be captured and burnt at the stake. Never mind the fact that Blackmire’s reign brought peace and prosperity to the country, never mind that Blackmire had saved the kingdom from utter devastation by crushing the usurping half-brothers of the previous king. The man was not a believer, the High Deacon had declared, and that was the greatest sin of all.

A lone rider galloped into view, his form wreathed in swirling clouds of dust from the road. The captain shouted at the rider to halt and identify himself. A dagger flew through the air to embed itself between the man’s eyes. That was his answer. Howling, church pike-men raised their weapons and charged at the rider. They had the satisfaction of feeling their pikes ram into horseflesh, the mount falling dead with a terrible equine scream. The rider had already leapt off the horse, however. Mouths gaped in disbelief as the cloaked rider landed on a raised pike and ran down its’ length with amazing agility. Those same mouths spurted blood as gleaming arcs of steel slashed at their owners, a shining blade slicing through their chain-mail armor as if it were paper and a plain, razor sharp short sword ramming into their throats, groins and faces.

Shura hacked his way through the throng of human flesh, a whirlwind of movement accentuated by his swirling black cloak. Church soldiers reared up to oppose him, their faces contorted with religious zeal and he sent them to meet their deity with the twin instruments of death that he held in his hands. Zan Ku cut a man in half from head to toe, its’ sheer power sending the mangled body parts flying into the air and Shura was clear. He had broken through the ranks of the soldiers guarding the gates and he ran into the city before the rest of the battalion could regroup and surround him.

The church soldiers have rounded up the citizens and were putting them to the sword systematically on the grounds that they have been tainted by the rule of Blackmire. Young men, women, children and elderly folk were dispatched quickly with a single blow to the neck. There was no pillaging, nor rape, but the scene was no less the horrifying, a white robed priest preaching the edicts of the Celestial Knight while soldiers ignored the terrified screams and wails of their victims and carried on with their grisly work. A soldier clasped his hands in prayer and smiled sweetly at the infant he held in his hands before sliding a dagger into its’ throat while his companion did likewise and hacked off the mother’s head with his shiny sword. The sight sickened Shura to a degree that Blackmire’s atrocities could not accomplish.

The broken end of a pike suddenly bloomed on the priest’s white robes and the man fell from his pedestal to the muddy ground. The soldiers spotted a black-cloaked figure standing some distance away, his hand out-stretched as if he had thrown something. A collective roar of rage rose from their throats and they charged at Shura who raised Zan Ku and screamed in defiance.

“ Achieve your deaths over here, you sons of diseased whores!” The swordsman threw the taunt into the multitude of fanatical faces before him. He blocked the first sword thrust with his wakizashi and cut the attacker cleanly in half with Zan Ku from shoulder to hip. The enchanted blade severed another two heads in its’ sweeping arc and Shura was forced back by the sheer weight of numbers. Calling upon the Third Sphere of the Shura Sword, Shura focused what little ki he had at his command and leapt high into the air, his feet striking the side of a building which he climbed to its’ rooftop without using his hands. The stunned looks on the faces of his pursuers soon faded however, as cries of ‘witch-craft’ sounded in the air and the chase began anew.

Shura was gasping as he ran, however. The previous feat had nearly drained all his bodily resources. A genius of swordplay he may be, but he was severely lacking in the utilization of ki that eastern swordsmen were so famous for. He had almost ruptured a few internal organs just now and several veins in his arms, legs and mouth have burst. He felt his blood soaking his clothes and the coppery taste of the warm crimson liquid filled his mouth. His amazing agility allowed him to elude the church soldiers easily though, and he raced towards the palace, where the few remaining Ravagers and Blackguards were putting up their final stand.

In the heavens above the palace, Kalvairn soared on magical wings as he did battle with the holy spell-casters of the church. Bolts of divine energy blasted from their battle rods but were deflected by Kalvairn’s magical shield. The sorcerer answered the attacks with spheres of acid that slammed into the white robed forms, sending many of them into smoking spirals towards the ground. He was heavily outnumbered but he fought on anyway. Streams of fire streaked towards him but failed to penetrate his magical shield. The protective spell would not hold for long, Kalvairn knew and he hastily began casting his next spell. The ominous chanting brought forth a slash of darkness in the air above the sorcerer and a swarm of winged, demonic shapes emerged. Their fangs clicked hungrily and Kalvairn wasted no time in directing them to attack his opponents. The holy spell-casters shrieked in terror as their spells struck down many of Kalvairn’s conjured fiends, but not enough of them. Nightmarish claws ripped through white robed forms and fangs fastened on the faces of the followers of the Celestial Knight.

Kalvairn laughed as he saw his opponents decimated. He had won this battle at least. His laughter ceased as he a golden light scythed through his minions, banishing them back to the foul planes that the sorcerer had drawn them from. A being floated in the air before him, borne by a pair of feathery wings that gleamed silver in the sun. Kalvairn’s eyes widened in terror. He recognized the truth about his latest foe.

“ NO!” Kalvairn barely had time to shriek his denial before he was blasted from the skies.


The big man bled from a dozen wounds and his plate mail armor was dented and scratched but still he fought on. A group of Ravagers and Blackguards had rallied by his side and together they made a final stand outside the audience hall. The corpses of church soldiers piled high at Ander’s feet and his great axe was covered in blood. His breath came in short, shallow gasps as he chopped down one attacker after another. Beside him, his soldiers were fighting well too. Each cut down more than five opponents before being overwhelmed. It was a hopeless battle and they all knew it. They had all been merciless killers whom have been condemned to die by their respective communities before they enlisted with Blackmire, however. They would die for the sheer sake of killing with glee. Many church soldiers would not go back to their wives and children, they knew, and that fact made them fight with a berserk frenzy, hacking and slashing the lesser fighters that the church soldiers were to bloody chunks.

Ander fought the most ferociously. A man died horribly with each swing of his axe and his booted feet crushed the bodies of the wounded below him. This was his most glorious day, the day where he died a true warrior, he thought, as yet another man went flying, his torso crushed by the great blade. A regal figure entered the corridor leading to the audience hall, then. He removed his helm and Ander looked upon the features of Sir Laron de Culaes, the paladin. His face contorted in hatred and he picked up his tempo. Whirling his axe in one hand, he waded into the church soldiers, bashing skulls in with his gauntleted fist and slashing with his axe. “ Heh, eat your heart out, Shura!” Ander thought wryly as he tried to imitate Shura’s ambidextrous fighting style. Against a skilled opponent, Ander would have met with disaster. The ill-trained peasant warriors that the church soldiers were died under his fist and axe, however, and he made his way closer and closer to Sir Laron, leaving a path of carnage behind him.

A fresh wave of church soldiers streamed from behind the paladin and they fell on the exhausted defenders. Ander could no longer move forward: he could barely keep the thrusting and slashing blades of the church soldiers from finding his flesh. The Ravagers and Blackguards died one by one and soon Ander was left standing on his own, surrounded by the enemy.

“ So, we come to the lieutenants of Blackmire.” Sir Laron said, gesturing to a knight behind him who pushed the bound figure of Katherine forward. The woman’s face was heavily bruised and blood dripped from her many wounds. He pointed a finger at Ander.

“ Repent and I shall let the two of you burn in the holy fires of our church, so that your soul may be consecrated and delivered to the Celestial Knight’s judgment.” The paladin did not even seem to realize how ridiculous his offer sounded. Ander raised his axe and snarled defiantly while Katherine spat in his face.

“ Forgive me, Lord. I have tried to redeem the souls of these sinners.” The paladin raised his eyes towards the heavens and the church soldiers crossed themselves, their hands tracing the symbol of the Celestial Knight in the air before them. Drawing a silver dagger, Sir Laron turned and slid it between Katherine’s breasts. The woman’s mouth widened in shock and blood streamed from it. Her body twitched, then she slumped lifeless in her captor’s arms.

Ander roared and charged but Sir Laron gestured and the knights behind him raised heavy crossbows from beneath their cloaks. Bolt after bolt slammed into the big man’s body, and his axe fell from his suddenly nerveless fingers…



Ander lay on his back, his gaze fixed on the ceiling above him. He could not hear anything except the harsh sound of his breathing. His vision dimmed and he felt himself getting colder. The sound of soft footsteps on the blood-slicked tiles cut through the sound of his dying gasps, however, and he managed to turn his head slightly. The blood-drenched form of his friend Shura stood before him.

A pained look on his face, Shura knelt beside his dying friend. The huge man’s chest was pin-cushioned by crossbow bolts. He would not survive such grievous wounds, despite his prodigious strength.

“ Damn… it, Shura, its’… not my turn to be on watch yet. Let… let me sleep some more…” The words bubbled out from Ander’s bloody mouth. He had cast his mind back to their adventuring days. Shura averted his gaze, ice-cold lances of pain piercing his soul.

“ Sleep, Ander, sleep.” Shura said steadily. A smile formed on the big man’s face and he closed his eyes.

“ I can’t wait for breakfast…” He mumbled, before he became silent forever. Shura gazed at the body of Katherine, lying in a pool of her own blood and he swore bitterly. He gathered up the woman’s body, intending to lay her on the floor in a dignified manner when her eyes opened. Shura jumped back in shock, dropping Katherine to the ground: the hilt of a dagger still jutted from her chest.

“ You never knew how to treat women, Shura.” Katherine said. Her voice still sounded the same, but a new menacing tone now distorted it almost beyond recognition. Her fingers fastened onto the hilt of the dagger and she ripped the weapon from her chest. Blood poured from the gaping wound. Shura could only stare in disbelief.

Katherine walked over to a corpse on the floor and picked it up with one hand. She opened her mouth and Shura saw a pair of canine fangs. The undead creature clamped down on the corpse’s ruined neck and began to feed as the swordsman watched in horror. The bruises on her face faded and the bleeding from her chest stopped. Finally, Katherine flung the corpse aside, the body cracking against a wall, and regarded her companion.

“ We Blackmires do not die easily.” She said. The swordsman composed himself.

“ Your brother is in great danger, Katherine.”

The vampire turned and walked down the palace corridors, gesturing for Shura to follow. They passed Ander’s body and the vampire shook her head in regret.

“ A pity the great dolt ended up like this. He was most useful.” Katherine said. Shura bit down on his lip and swallowed an angry retort. “ We shall use the secret passages of the palace and arrive at my brother’s side before the paladin and his troupe does.” Shura’s nodded in agreement. Never had he been so eager to kill.


Sir Laron de Culaes arrived at the ornate doors that lead to the royal chambers. He gestured for his men to fall back, leaving him standing alone before the room where Blackmire lay in his comatose state.

“ I shall see righteousness done this day!” The paladin declared, and drew the great glowing sword that burned with the power bestowed upon it by the Celestial Knight. The doors opened, however, and the black-cloaked swordsman that had thwarted him before and the woman that he had just killed confronted the paladin. The negative energy emanating from the woman told the paladin what she was and his lip curled in disgust.

“ Vampire and assassin! I shall destroy you both!” He advanced upon the pair, great sword held high. Katherine backed away from the glow but Shura stared at the paladin calmly.

“ This one’s mine.” He told the vampire. Zan Ku came out of its’ sheath with a clear, ringing song and his wakizashi appeared in his other hand. The paladin roared and charged, his sword slashing down powerfully. The weapon moved faster than the flickering of a serpent’s tongue but Shura’s blades intercepted the big sword easily. The swordsman had learnt his lesson from their previous battle and the two slim and curved blades spiraled and danced along the length of the great sword, each movement a subtle attempt to neutralize the sword’s strength. He succeeded and the paladin’s eyes widened in shock as Shura blocked his initial blow with apparent ease. The paladin pulled back his sword and launched another attack, a sidelong sweeping slash. Shura again intercepted the blow and his spinning swords did their work again, deflecting the awesome momentum of the blade and sending the huge sword hurtling past him. His own momentum jerked the paladin off balance and he stumbled past Shura, who wasted no time in a counter-attack, his wakizashi disengaging from the parry and streaking towards the paladin. Sir Laron managed to block the short sword with his heavy steel wrist bracer and the two combatants jumped back.

The paladin advanced cautiously this time, using measured thrusts that Shura picked off easily with perfect parries. The swordsman ducked forward abruptly and rammed his heel against the paladin’s armored knee. The paladin fell forward and Shura swept his swords in a crossing motion. His wakizashi glanced harmlessly off the shining armor but Zan Ku tore through the mail and gashed the paladin’s ribs. Before he could bring his weapons to bear for a second attack, however, Sir Laron’s armored elbow smashed into Shura’s face, the blow knocking the slight easterner a full five feet back.

The great glowing sword crashed down again and again Shura executed the strange and drawn out parry that neutralized its’ force. The paladin launched attack after attack that Shura dodged, parried or neutralized. Before long, the outcome of the battle became obvious: the paladin was no match for Shura.

As Sir Laron drew his sword back for another side-long slash, Shura stepped forward and kicked out at the man’s elbow, stopping the blow before the paladin could even start it. The hilt of both his swords rammed into the paladin’s face and Sir Laron stumbled backwards, bleeding from his nose and a cut above his eye. A crouching sweep of Shura’s legs tripped his armored opponent onto his back. Sir Laron tried to raise his weapon but found his sword arm pinned to the floor by Zan Ku. Shura loomed over his opponent ominously.

Sir Laron had time for one curse before Shura rammed his wakizashi into the paladin’s throat. He twisted the blade and wrenched it sideways, half-severing Sir Laron’s head. The great warrior of light and justice perished under the fell blades of Shura in a shower of blood. The swordsman was bathed in the paladin’s blood and the warm fluid ran down his face, stinging his eyes.

“ Die, you bastard.” Shura spat on the corpse with much vehemence. He looked back into the room and his gaze fell on Blackmire. The king’s body was encased in a demonic cocoon of fiendish design. The cocoon hummed and throbbed with power: Blackmire would awaken soon with the power of an archfiend unleashed on a mortal plane of existence. Katherine hissed in delight at the paladin’s death.

“ When my brother awakens, he shall decimate these self-righteous fools and drive them from here! We have but to wait. The time of his rebirth is at hand!” Katherine announced. Shura remained expressionless, his countenance unchanged by the revelation.

“ More forces of the church will arrive here. Are you so confident of guarding him?” Shura asked. “ The next group of crossbow-men will be our doom.”

“ Your doom, maybe, dark swordsman. Not mine. Mortal weapons can no longer hurt me.” Katherine leered back at him, her canine fangs bared horribly. The swordsman had to call upon all his discipline to prevent himself from drawing Zan Ku and attacking the unholy creature. The two of them tensed suddenly, the warrior instincts of Shura tingling and the presence of positive energy alerting Katherine. A golden shining figure stood over Sir Laron’s corpse. Curves gave it a female shape but the most prominent feature of all that made both Katherine and Shura step back in horror, was the pair of silvered wings that were folded at its’ back.

“ Celestial!” Shura muttered under his breath. Katherine’s horrified expression told him that he had just made an understatement.

“ War Angel!” Katherine screamed in uncontrolled fear.


The War Angel cradled the mangled corpse of Sir Laron in it’s shining arms, a mournful expression on it’s beautiful face. Shura and Katherine could only stare dumbly, a dreadful sense of foreboding welling up in their hearts. It started sobbing bitterly, crystal like tears fell from its’ luminous eyes onto the bloody corpse. For some reason, the sight drove Shura into a rage he had never experienced before.

“ I killed the bastard, celestial scum! I think it’s your turn to taste the bite of my swords too!” Shura screamed at the War Angel. Zan Ku hummed in his hand as he took a step towards the celestial, intent on plunging his blade into the glowing form. The War Angel raised it’s head and screamed, a concussive sound of great power that blasted Shura and Katherine off their feet, sending them flying into the palace walls.

“ SINNERS AND MURDERERS! I SHALL WIPE YOUR VILE EXISTENCE FROM THE FACE OF THE WORLD THIS DAY!” The War Angel set the mangled corpse down gently and faced the duo. Katherine cringed in terror but Shura screamed his own defiance and surged to his feet, lunging at the shining figure with his sword. A bolt of fire streamed from each of the War Angel’s fingers and they slammed into the swordsman’s form, burning right through his body and setting his cloak aflame. The swordsman’s eyes narrowed at the pain but he remained upright despite his terrible wounds. Zan Ku made a sweeping arc towards the War Angel’s face, the enchanted blade catching the surprised celestial in the face and cutting out one luminous eye. White blood flowed from the socket and the Angel clutched it’s face in agony. The silvery wings swept out and they formed a swirling barrier of razor sharp feathers around the angel.

The barrier sliced Shura across the chest, creating a deep wound. The swordsman staggered but did not fall. He dropped his wakizashi and held Zan Ku in a two handed grip. Bringing the sword above his head, Shura leapt right into the swirling barrier of blade-like feathers and slashed at the angel with all his strength. The enchanted sword shrieked in protest as the silver feathers scored and clashed along its’ length. The damage done to Shura’s unarmored body was even worse however. Whole chunks of flesh flew free as the feathers gouged at him again and again. Finally, the sword could take no more and Zan Ku shattered, it’s gleaming shards lingered in midair for a moment before being swept away by the maelstrom of bladed feathers. Shura screamed in impotent denial and felt an explosion along his ribs as the Angel hammered a bolt of divine lighting into his stomach. The swordsman flew out through the barrier and crashed into wall, leaving a smear of blood as he slid down it’s surface, his limbs twitching from the electrical attack.

Katherine had fled in the battle between mortal and celestial, leaving both her brother and the swordsman to their fates. Nothing stood between the furious War Angel and the helpless Blackmire except for the broken and bloodied form of Shura. The War Angel strode towards the evil cocoon but stopped abruptly as again the swordsman rose to his feet. Blood pooled on the floor below him and his cloak trailed in the warm liquid but still he stood. His old katana was in his hands and a semi-crazed gleam shone in Shura’s eyes.

“ Won’t let…you…pass…” Shura growled, choking on the blood that welled up from a ruptured lung. The War Angel extended the swirling barrier, intent on slicing the troublesome swordsman into bloody chunks. The blade of Shura’s old katana shimmered with an oppressive force as he directed his will onto the blade. No incarnation of Shura had ever mastered anything but the theoretical aspects of the Second Sphere of the Shura Sword except him. Even so, Shura had never managed to achieve any noticeable proficiency in it. On the brink of death, however, he finally succeeded as mental energy flowed strongly from his soul and materialized as flickering red-blue flames along the length of his old katana.

“PSIONIC ENERGY!” The War Angel said in consternation. Shura stepped forward and swept his sword towards the bladed barrier, shattering it. Another step brought him closer and he hacked off the Angel’s wings with lighting-fast strokes. White blood spurted from the stumps and the celestial screamed in agony. Shura raised his sword for a final decapitating stroke but his strength finally left him. He swooned and fell to his knees before the mighty celestial.

Half-crazed with agony, the War Angel raised its’ seemingly slender fist that could punch through iron in readiness to finish off the mortal that had brought it such pain. It stopped suddenly however. It’s remaining eye focused on the cocoon, which was now splitting apart, negative energy streaming from the cracks. Blackmire emerged with an explosion of energy that blasted the War Angel back and sent Shura flying limply into the air. The War Angel looked into Blackmire’s sneering blue eyes and knew that it was doomed. The archfiend obliterated the celestial with a single thought, wrapping it in hellfire and tearing it’s divine essence apart, scattering it to the four winds.

Blackmire laughed and tore through his palace, soaring high into the sky above. Bat wings stretched from his shoulders as he perched comfortably among the clouds. Dark syllables of arcane power flowed from his lips and he threw his horrible will over the capital city. Everywhere church soldiers burst into flames and holy spell-casters disintegrated in a shower of pus. Lighting crackled from his fingertips to blast the hapless followers of the Celestial Knight. Single-handedly, Blackmire routed the invaders. Less than a tenth of the church soldiers that attacked managed to escape with their lives. Fewer still escaped with their sanity.

In an open courtyard where Shura managed to hobble to, the swordsman looked upon the destruction his friend was wreaking with awe. Blackmire still looked the same except for the wings. He was still dressed in his black plate-mail armor and his eyes still shone a cruel blue. Shura knew that Blackmire was truly an archfiend now, however, body and soul.

“ Shura…” the melodious whisper caught his attention. Whipping his head around, Shura witnessed a terrible sight. The frail body of his friend Kalvairn was impaled upon an iron spike of a collapsed gate. The sorcerer’s fall from the sky resulted in the grisly landing. The swordsman hobbled over and looked at his friend in terror. His body was almost ripped into half by the massive iron spike. Kalvairn’s mask had come off again and lay on the ground below his impaled body.

“ My…mask…” Kalvairn gasped through a torrent of blood that flowed from his mouth. Shura helped the sorcerer put it on, a bitter taste in his mouth and tears burning in the corners of his eyes. “ We have come a long way, haven’t we?”

Kalvairn’s hoarse wheeze was strangely lucid in the noise of battle. Shura could not answer, so great was his grief.

“ We have finally succeeded, my friend. We put Blackmire up into the skies by lending him our bodies as steps. We did it.” Triumph was evident in the sorcerer’s voice. The painted eye sockets turned to regard Shura. “ You should have stayed with her, however.”

“ What?” Shura asked, but Kalvairn was beyond replying. Thoughts of his ancient and wondrous homeland and the enchanting Ellysiara filled his consciousness as the Lord of Chaos claimed his soul and whisked it off to the fiery hell that awaited it…



Shura’s wounds ached terribly. They had taken many months to heal but he could finally get on his feet. Blackmire had re-established an iron grip over his kingdom and was now waging a highly successful war against the church. His generals have been terrorized into lending him their support and the followers of the Celestial Knight fell before the military might of the kingdom of Gryloas.

A simple cloth haversack was slung across his shoulders and his tattered black cloak was draped about his form. His two swords hung at his waist and he wore high leather boots instead of the soft shoes that he favored. The white of snow was visible through the window from the warm room that he was now in. He looked at the ornate stands in the chamber. Ander’s great axe rested on one and Kalvairn’s cracked skull mask rested on the other.

“ Goodbye, my friends.” Shura said softly. Blackmire would no longer require him and the swordsman could not bring himself to serve under a true fiend. Leaving the palace, he stepped into the swirling snow. Glittering diamonds of starlight winked down at him from the black velvet that was the night sky.

Shura walked off into a future of his own device…




[This message has been edited by Shura (edited October 07, 2001).]

 

Fantastic Writing! I would agree with evening drive about most of the stats, but reckon that a score of 17 or 18 for intelligence is not out of the question. The guy strikes me as a Leonardo type character, being swordsman, scientist, mathematician, engineer, linguist and probably a bit of tactitian as well. His learning and intelligence do set him apart from everyone else. If high intelligence = mage, then would that mean that real historical figures eg Einstein, or Leonardo as I mentioned earlier, would have INT 16 at most if transposed into D&D rules?

 

Fantastic Shura!

You truly have a talent for storytelling! I see you've slowly integrated the Three Spheres of the Shura Sword into the story, without making it too technical or cheesy. Well done!

Regarding our blademaster:

Okay, I can see why a number of you say he can have an INT as high as 17 or maybe 18. Ironbeard, your argument is pretty good, I have to admit. On my part though, I just can't picture Shura to have the same stat in INT as Elminster, Khelben Arunsun, Raistlin, Mordenkainen and so on. Then again, gnomish inventors can get an INT of 19... hmm... Then again, he isn't a gnome.

About his Dexterity...

Oh geez! Amakakeru Ryo No Hirameki! It seems the DEX of 19 which I gave earlier might be insufficient to pull off a move like that! Aaaah... but wait...

So maybe a DEX of 19 isn't too low after all. Those moves are likely the result of Shura's use of the Third Sphere. I know, I know, a number of you disagree, and actually, I do see your point. I'm just reluctant to give him a stat that really isn't "human" anymore if his special abilities provide adequate explanations anyway. Its just the ex-DM in me I guess.
(Unless of course, our beloved writer says otherwise)

I think recent events prove our hero's lawful neutral nature.

and...

Somewhere in the story I THINK I read that Shura isn't truly evil or malicious, just amoral. He did what he did because he just had to. Someone good might find a way to protect the lives of his victims, especially the children. Someone evil would probably actively seek to harm others and abuse his skills. Shura didn't do both, so I believe he is neutral.

All this rich and wonderful storytelling now leads me to speculate on how our ronin-of-sorts will find the life of a wanderer. Will he explore it some more or will he gravitate towards another leader figure? Will he try to find Jo-Annia, especially after the enigmatic dying statement of Kelvairn or will it actually make him avoid her? Will he face up to his own beliefs (or lack of them) regaring his path in life now that the wishes and principles of others are not present and he is left to deal with what is inside him? Shall he be able to explore the techniques of the Second Sphere of Shura, the psionic powers of the blade? A lawful character in a wanderer's role, will his beliefs, values and truths (alignment)change?

I CAN'T WAIT!!!

PS: He reminds me of a cooler and deadlier Battousai the Slasher. Wild guess: Did you draw on Kenshin Himura as part of your inspiration by any chance?


[This message has been edited by eveningdrive (edited October 08, 2001).]

 

Criticism ?

too loooooong ... i never finished reading coz i prefer reading on paper, the traditional way

So shura print a copy on paper and mail it to me someday

 

Shura;

Good luck with your new real-life exploits! Thanks for the story, I have genuinely enjoyed it!

If/when you return to SP, favor us with another legend . . .

 

Althura,

You ever heard of a printer? (copy-paste-print) I'm thinking of printing these out myself so that I can enjoy them on hardcopy.

 

I'm posting so this gets back to the top. i see a number of new members and it would be a shame if they miss this.