As A Spark Soars

I was There. How I had arrived, I did not know. My memory was a blank slate.

But There I was, standing with sword, shield, and armor. I was standing…standing alone on a broad expanse.

The plane stretched into the horizon. The land was charred and pitted, scarred and broken. An orange haze blanketed the reddish-brown earth, giving it the menacing appearance of dried blood. In the distance a flame burst up. Smoke engulfed the land. The rancid stench of ash and rot permeated the air.

Presently a figure strode from my left, limping slightly. The man was middle-aged and had a grizzled, experienced look to his weathered face.

As if realizing me for the first time, the man halted his plodding and gazed at me with a penetrating eye. A weary grin arose among his seasoned wrinkles. "So…yer a newcomer, ain't yu, hu?" The man's raspy voice grated on my ears.

"Where am I?"

"Ahh…so yu don't know… I might as well tell yu: Yer in the Plain of 'ternal Enmity, lad—the Ageless Battle, the Timeless Struggle. We don't r'member how we's got here. All we knows is that if yu wunt tu live…yu fight."

"Is there any way out—any escape?"

"Ha! I wish…but no, son, there ain't. You's come in and you's stay in…stay in, that is, till yu die…" At these chilling words, an unnamed dread slithered down my spine. Something dark and cold coiled in my gut.

In the distance a horn sounded, followed by a muted roar. "That'll be 'nother uttack," the man murmured.

"What would you have me to do?" I asked with a shiver.

The man gave a short bark of mirth before answering. "Ha! There's nuting tu do but tu stand an' fight." Then his gruff voice dropped to an unusually solemn tone: "Yu jus' haf tu fight—always fight…fight till the death…"

At this somber note, figures appeared in the distance—an unruly band of unkempt men, half-wild. Too soon did the disheveled, half-mad men reach our unmoved position. The men came like a wave, crashing against the sand.

In a moment I was lost, swept along with the blood-crazed mob. An interstice opened before me. Eagerly I entered it.

Inside was an enormous brute, so strong that a lee formed in his wake. But the barbarian was facing me. And before I could flee, the bear-like man attacked. 

With wild, desperate swings, I attempted to deflect the man's crushing blows. But the brute pressed his advantage ruthlessly.

Terrified of the prospect of death, I took a hasty step backwards…only to feel nothing but air under my feet. Unwittingly I had backed into a small gully. My balance disappeared. In slow-motion, I crumpled into the streambed's mud, dropping my sword in the process.

With a jubilant cry the barbarian lept from the ridge, swinging his colossal blade as he did. Instinctively I threw my shield up in front of me to absorb the mighty blow. 

I did not have to wait long before his great-sword pounded into my shield. It shattered, splintering into a thousand fragments. Now I was defenseless. 

Again, the man raised his blade and whipped it down. But as the fateful blow fell, a blur of motion erupted from the corner of my eye. In an instant the wiry man whom I had first met, spun forwards and plunged his bloodied sword into the monstrous man's knotted chest. Astounded, the man's mighty bulk collapsed to the ground.

I lay in the mud, speechless, unable to comprehend what had just occurred. "Well, lad," the man grinned, "looks like yer wit me now." I didn't move. 

"Com'n foller me," my savior called back as he tramped away. Eagerly I followed, gratitude filling my breast.

In the man's wake I followed with ease. He dispatched most of our adversaries speedily and I followed with joy, willing to learn.

The man's strikes were swift yet precise. In the midst of the mindless frenzy, my mentor kept his head. And foe after foe fell before his fateful blade.

Calmly he dispatched enemy after enemy. As I watched, I learned his form—my master's style. The style of success.

It seemed as if we fought together for hours. Pauses in the frantic fight were few and far between, yet somehow, I lost nothing of my vigor. But as I waxed mighty, my master's vigor waned.

The old man's bloom of vitality wilted. His swings slowed; they grew sloppy. A sort of desperation developed in the air around him. He began to strike rashly, hastily. And then his eyes changed—at first they were cool, calm, and calculating, but now they grew wild and blood-shot. Wounds began to accumulate on the old man's once mighty form.

I saw his fall an hour before it came: After haphazardly decapitating an opponent, the aged man, half-mad with exhaustion, spun around only to face his former self—that is to say, a man in his prime: intelligent, controlled. Forced to engage, my master charged. 

The encounter was quickly over. The challenger almost nonchalantly parried the wild man's swing and instantly responded with one of his own. Barely bringing his battered sword up in time, the old man deflected the vigorous strike. But the strain was too great, and his weary limbs gave way.

Exhausted, he stumbled to his blood-spattered knees, resigned to death. He didn't even have enough energy to lift his head and beg for mercy. The fatal blow fell a moment later.

As I watched my aged master fail, I felt a twinge of grief, a fleeting pang of sorrow. Then suddenly a wave of feral fury overcame my senses. With a roar I lept forward and savagely attacked.

I unleashed my mournful pain upon the hoards. I blinded myself with the sanguine cloth of hate and exacted justice upon the murderers of my mentor. My vitality reached its zenith—I had entered my prime.

Filled with boundless rage, I swept through the masses as a scythe through dead grass. No one, not even the mightiest could stand against my madness—they all withered before my face and fell beneath my blade. 

I myself held the power of death in my palm—I was the lord of doom. The knowledge thrilled me—it empowered me. A fresh, raw energy pulsed through my veins. This new vitality urged me forwards, onwards—it pushed me to slay.

I was unstoppable, uncontainable. I was master over all and all bowed down to me in my wrath.

I was Immortal. I was Lord. I was God. War was my domain—it was mine and mine alone. No mere man dared defy my reign. No! they all cowered before my fiery glare.

My will was law. My whims Truth. I was divine, and all knelt before me. All worshiped me in my glory.

But then, at the height of my prowess, at the epitome of my splendor, an unforeseen thought suddenly sprang into my mind. My very heart betrayed me. There it was—an itch, an inkling of…of…of what? Was it doubt? fear? insecurity? eld? As quickly as it had appeared, I suppressed the unnerving tingle.

On I continued my rampage. Yet I could not forget that fleeting moment of weakness. The event jarred me. It had shaken my faith in myself. On I continued to rage. But I could not entirely forget that single moment of compromise.

And so, my bloodbath lengthened. I cared not whom I slew. I was just. I was fair. All stood the same in my almighty sight: They all were pitifully weak and insignificant creatures whose sole purpose in life lay in their aptitude for death. In my wake flowed a river of blood, a sanguine stream—a host of corpses trailed me.

I had soared to the heights of exaltation. I had plumbed the profound depths of jubilance…and of bloodlust.

Then, suddenly, there was an eye amid my omnipotent storm. A strange calm appeared directly in front of me. But standing at its center was not the sight I had envisioned.

Kneeling atop a mound of corpses was a girl. She appeared young and fair, but her delicate features were soiled with grime and blood. Yet that was not what shocked me the most: Although she knelt, she did not submit to my supreme dominance, to my awesome power and divine might.

I could have squashed her in an instant if I had so willed. I could have extinguished her life's feeble spark with a careless snort…but I didn't.

Her complexion exuded calmness. Her being placidity. Even in the face of certain death, she remained confident.

"In what?" I scoffed to myself. "In who?" But then I paused: "How?" The question unwittingly escaped from my lips. Yet somehow…she understood it.

"Because I have hope." She paused.

"As du I." Even to my own ears, the response sounded weak. 

"Ah, but my hope is not in strength of arms, nor in sharp swords and strong shields. Nay, I trust in Him Who is above all others, for He alone can give hope after the grave. To whom do you entrust your soul for the afterlife?" The sober inquiry swelled in the silence. 

I knew my answer. And I knew it was empty, devoid of all true substance. So like a mute man, I stood there. Then the silence was shattered by a strangled cry. In an instant, I returned to my senses.

"Ha!" I vehemently spat. "Ther's no af'rlife, on'y this—" I motioned at the roaring hordes. "This is wut matters an' nuting else. Ha!" And with a guttural growl, I swung my blade towards her fragile figure—fragile, yet somehow even stronger than I myself. 

She crumpled to the ground—dead.

As her body thudded against the crimson dirt, another irrepressible thought sprang into my consciousness—she had planted a seed of uncertainty within my very mind: What if she was right? What if there was a life after death? What would happen to me?

I staggered sideways and stumbled over her prostrate corpse. My balance lost, I slipped into the sanguine grime. It splattered over my hands and arms. The seed which she had planted sprouted within my soul; it blossomed in my mind. "What've I done?" I moaned in desperation. But I had no time for contemplation. For at that very moment, a raving man lunged from the mob and attacked me.

Unwillingly I was swept back into the throng, engulfed in the avalanche of war. Gone was my former zeal. My lust for blood had been quenched. All that remained was emptiness. My soul felt hollow.

Slaying became harder and harder. Soon I detested it. Every swing I loathed. Every corpse I abhorred. Yet I was compelled to kill—or else I would die. 

Soon my heart grew heavy. Soon my soul grew weary. The exhaustion enervated my mind. Then it seeped into my limbs.

My arms became leaden. My legs ossified. Each step was a battle. Each swing a struggle. Each parry a war. Before long, only momentum pressed me forwards. My body moved as my mind languished.

Gone was the joy of battle. Gone was its glory. Gone the elation. They had burnt through me…and all that was left were coals and ashes. The last feeble embers of pride gave a final flicker, then died within my heart.

The mass's fear of me had vanished. Their reverence had disappeared. I was ignored by the hordes. And the masses disregarded me.

What was life now? Emptiness.

Then why live? To kill.

What now was the slaughtering? Bittersweet? Nay, now it was sour. The world in its strife was devoid of meaning, sapped of purpose. 

A mindless man, I continued my butchery, endlessly murdering. Men came…corpses went. My blade was bloodstained. Bones and sinew had notched it.

Finally, an equal emerged from the blind storm to challenge me. But the duel was decided before it had even begun: I had given up the hope of life long before I faced the challenger.

The man was at the height of youth's vitality—strong and sane. Now I myself was old and decrepit compared to this blossoming warrior. Yet I stood my ground. What else could I do? But I did not press the confrontation as I once would have. Nay, instead I awaited my doom, resigned to death. 

Then the man rushed forwards. I could see the blinding bloodlust in the brute's blazing eyes. In one smooth motion he lifted his massive sword above his head and swiftly whipped it down.

The feeble blade which I grasped shattered with the force of the crushing blow. I stumbled backwards and slowly sank to my knees. 

I did not care if I was slain. It did not matter. For life was devoid of meaning. It had been sucked dry of purpose, and all that was left was naught but a gnawing abyss.

I was empty. I was hollow—a husk of my former self. All was vain. All fleeting. All temporal. There was no hope in the future. All was futile. All was pointless.

I had nothing for which to live. And now I had nothing for which to die. If life was vain, then so was death. And the afterlife—that too would be empty.

Not a word I spoke as the brute bore down upon me. Not a sound I uttered as the fatal blow descended. In his blazing, red eyes, I saw the reflection of my own empty sockets.

Maybe, in another world I could have found truth in life. In another world, perhaps, I could have uncovered hope in death. Perchance, in another world, I could have discovered meaning in the afterlife. In another world perhaps…but not There—not There.

Resigned, I accepted my fate, eager to die. At long last I would be freed from the sorrows of the world. I would be released from its pains and griefs.

The blow fell.

It struck me.

A flash of pain…

I entered the otherworld.