GREY

The Holy Sentry

Adelaire shielded his face with crossed forearms. Unholy power was unpredictable and deadly to the soul. Much to his surprise, all of the writhing dark threads missed him. It was when he heard the clang of armor and clatter of spears that he realized the spell had not been cast against him. He wheeled on his heel, and where his pursuers should have been were empty casings of armor scattered on the floor. Before he recovered from his momentary surprise, he saw small brown rodents crawling out of the armor. They moved confusedly and scared. One ran past Adelaire and scurried towards the witch. She raised a foot and promptly brought it down on the rodent's soft back. A spatter later, a trickle of blood flowed from underneath her sandal.

"Vermin," the witch said, her voice more quiescent than her demeanor. Her hazel eyes darted swiftly into Adelaire's. "You have grown, Delarie."

Adelaire recognized the plain silver tiara. The silver hair. The bright pearly skin, and most of all, the lilt in the witch's voice. She was not just a witch. She was the shepherd of her flock, an empress to her people. She was the strongest of them all, yet beneath those deep layers of power was a woman who had birthed him.

"What do you want?" Adelaire asked, advancing towards the witch.

The witch shrugged, stood aside and made a gesture for Adelaire to pass.

"Preparing my cats a decent feast. They'll enjoy hunting their own food once we ascend to the citadel."

Of course. Witch Empress Feonna was the most selfish creature that existed. She never helped a soul unless it directly benefitted her. Adelaire passed by her, wondering how the witch managed to attach puppeteer strings to every circumstance. He stopped a few yards away, sighing deeply.

"You know, you could have stayed long enough to learn how to pronounce my name correctly," he said.

He turned, summoning a ghostly smile, but Feonna was already gone. Shaking off his irrelevant emotion, he resumed his course towards the doors. More guards were already on their way. It was only a matter of time before more mages and assassins received an imperial summon. Reaching for the doors with both hands, Adelaire gently pushed inward. The doors resisted. He closed his eyes, attuning into nature's aura once more. The magic that held the doors fast molt away like hot wax. The thick wood noiselessly parted, revealing the opulent royal chambers beyond.

Almost everything was pure crystal. What was not was either gold, silk or pure glass. Starfire reflected on tables, chairs, mirrors and every piece of ornament. On the far right end, near a large oval window from which the midday sun bled in, a plush bed was set. On that bed lay a young woman, and with her was a child wrapped in fine silks. Without taking his eyes off the target, Adelaire infused nature's barrier on the doors, sealing them shut permanently against physical access.

Out of the blue, a blade slashed at Adelaire's neck. He leaned away, extending the motion into a smooth cartwheel. The instant he landed on his feet he drew his twin swords, parrying a downstroke that was already on its way to cleave his head. He sidestepped, unleashing everything he held within.

Every sound faded into thin air. Death essence devoured every bit of nature's aura that flowed inside Adelaire's veins. The human guise wilted from his being, exposing the horrifying presence of a Harbinger, an emissary of death. His form became a solid mass of darkness that absorbed all the luminescence from the chamber. Two amber eyes that burnt with infernal rage were the only signs of life that were left on him. His heart imploded, his mind ruptured, and death essence filled the void.

Adelaire's assailant initiated a perfect thrust to the heart. The sharp tip of his longsword scored cleanly, but ricocheted away upon contact. The blade splintered in the middle and the wielder took a step back, aghast.

The Holy Sentry. A seven foot tall being of pure light, or so it was told. His strong stature was clad in celestial steel that was plated in gold, and no earthly sword could make a scratch on it. His broken blade, it was said, was an indestructible weapon that could neither blunt nor rust.

Adelaire was impressed the Holy Sentry could move at all, given a Harbinger's form transcended the course of time. Adelaire attacked. Sparks flew off the Sentry's armor where his blades made contact. The seven footer drew two sabers from his belt when he was forced to roll away from the fierce assault. His armor glowed brighter.

"What are you?" the Sentry asked.

Adelaire responded with another attack. His adversary was skilled, and his swordsmanship was put to a test. But in the end, it was the power that mattered. Adelaire could feel the man's wit crumbling with each blow that sent him backpedaling. As one of the sabers zipped through the air in an effort to disarm one of his swords, Adelaire timed its passage and swung down viciously, shearing off the man's gauntlet, half of his right hand and all of its fingers.

As the Sentry pulled back, Adelaire thrust at the man's chest. The remaining saber deflected his blade away, giving him a perfect chance to arc the other towards his throat. The blade left a wicked trench in the metal, parting both mail and flesh, and from the gap a jet of blood spurted. The holy light dimmed from the Sentry. He dropped his saber to clutch at his neck in a vain effort to keep the blood from escaping its vessel. He staggered backward until a crystal statue of a cherub halted his progress. He slumped until he sat against it.

Adelaire sheathed one sword and walked towards the Sentry. He caught the man's helm by the plume and lifted it off. A middle-aged, handsome face framed by flowing blonde hair was revealed underneath. The man's mouth dribbled with blood. His turquoise eyes were wide, battling for the life that was slowly but inevitably retracting from them.

"I was a young, scared boy once," Adelaire spoke, looking away distantly as he recalled. "The only crime I ever committed was being born an infernal. I marched ten years ago against your forces. You fought our champion and killed him. Our hope was lost, and when everyone else fled, your army chased us down and killed what was left. As if that was not enough, you led a crusade against the existence of infernals, burning countless homes. Most died. You could not offer mercy to children, not even to women who carried unborn babies in their wombs.

"Despite all that, I survived. I knew you were not holy. I know what hides beneath that form of light. I vowed to end the Leistar lineage and everyone it had corrupted. I knew where to start. And to answer your question, I am living death."

Adelaire placed his hand upon the sentry's head, reaping off his soul from the living world. He walked away, heading towards his true prey. Years of practice made it relatively easier to suppress death essence, though with each time he reaped, it became harder. Feeling somewhat lighter, his form returned to the course of time.

The woman on the bed eyed Adelaire impassively. She did not attempt to rise. Instead, she held her baby firmly to her bosom. She could have defended the child at any cost if she could, but alas, she was in no condition to do so. Her forehead was beaded with sweat, her skin pale and her eyes bloodshot. Adelaire could sense she was already dying before he reached the bed.

"I named her Lyana, after my grandmother. She never cried when she was born," queen Lyora said. She removed some strands of her long black hair from the child's face and smiled warmly. She looked genuinely happy.

"Neither did she move," the queen went on. "In fact, she did nothing to show us she's alive. But she is."

Adelaire looked closely. There was no soul within the child. She was like an infernal, yet that was impossible since both her parents were not. Something felt wrong about the child, but he could not place his finger on it. He stared at the woman questioningly.

"You just killed her father," she said. "And I am no infernal either. But she can live. Through me. I've heard a sacrifice is made when an infernal is born. Sacrifice me, for her. Please. Let her live."

Adelaire reached for the child, and the queen freely gave her away. The baby was immobile, her body so cold even with all the silk wrappings that cocooned her. Her face was pink with blood, yet her heart did not beat. She could have died, having stayed this long without a soul. Yet she wasn't. Neither was she alive.

Lyora slid out of bed, standing on wobbly legs.

"What do I need to do?" she asked eagerly.

"Nothing," Adelaire answered, mildly fascinated by the woman's valiant attempt to save her child. A loud bang sounded at the doors.

"Your Majesty?" a man's voice inquired. Lyora did not answer. She looked at Adelaire instead. Just then, she noticed the intent in his eyes.

"Please," she begged. "Let her live. Whatever wrongs we did to you, do not take it upon her."

Tears spilled out of her eyes. Adelaire sheathed his sword.

"I promise you, if there is anything that'll get to live in this abode, it is Lyana."

Lyora forced a smile at the reassurance. Adelaire raised his hand, closed his eyes and summoned the only harmful nature spell he knew, extinction. The queen's body fell back on the bed, lifeless. She did not deserve the pain of a blade in addition to what she had already suffered. That was the least he could do for her.

The doors banged as more guards attempted to gain access. Some even tried to use axes but the wood was too thick.

"Stand aside," a man ordered.

A moment later, the doors swung open as the spell was disarmed. A group of staff-wielding mages walked in.

"There!" one of them yelled, pointing at Adelaire.

A binding spell was initiated instantly. Adelaire held Lyana firmly and used the last of his strength to attune to nature's aura: dispersion. His body and Lyana's vapored into nothing, leaving behind an empty leather garb and a sheet of silk.

Adelaire's strength failed as he materialized on a riverbank. His heart felt at peace when Lyana took form beside him. With a sigh of contentment, he slowly drifted off into unconsciousness, pondering the question the Sentry had asked him.

Who am I?

I am not death, for I have let live.

I am not life, for I have killed.

I became vile to do something right,

Stained myself with blood so there could be light.

My heart is not black; neither is it white.

I am a mixture of both. I am Grey.