Tale of Four

Both moved at the same time. There was no doubt in Cleeve’s mind: in pure swordsmanship, Anton had him beat; that much was undeniable from the few mock duels they had fought. But there was a reason he never won all of them. Catching the heavy sword strike with his shield, Cleeve stabbed forward. A testing blow that didn’t overcommit. Unlike how Anton would usually move, pivoting to the side, a spider leg pushed him to the side, making him twirl. With the extra speed, another sharp leg aimed for Cleeve’s head, trying to impale him and end it in one blow. Lifitng his shield, the leg bounced off. Before where his arm would have shaken, it didn’t flinch; Leon’s power turning him into the immovable wall he had always trained himself as.

”AHHHHH!” Cleeve roared, his voice a mixture of his and Leon’s, making a deafening cry that blanketed the battle. It stunned Anton for a second, being so close to the noise, and in the opening, Cleeve swung his sword, two legs moving to intercept it. His sword cut through, nearly hacking them off, but was stopped just before it could. Locked in place, he looked behind the legs at the man behind them, as Anton instantly recovered from the roar’s deterioration.

Their gazes met, each equally cold, before suddenly breaking as he was pushed back. Anton was the superior fighter; he had no doubt, but he was aggressive, throwing everything into his swordmanship so he could kill his enemy before they killed him. It worked for most men, but Cleeve was the shield, a defensive wall that most couldn’t break. Many mock duels had proven his choice correct. If he didn’t falter, all he needed was one opening.

Anton moved, letting go of his sword with one hand; he clenched a fist before spreading his fingers, a perfect web of ruby silk in his hand. When it had formed, he moved; his sword swung, as three legs shot out at Cleeve from numerous directions. Cleeve didn’t dare think for himself in the moment and let Leon take control. His body hunched a little and twirled inhumanly fast, dodging the legs and blocking the sword with his shield. Anton’s free hand reached out. It was a graceful movement, not expected on the battlefield, and touched his leg.

Swinging his sword to cut Anton, he pulled his hand back before it could be cut off, leaving a red spiderweb on his leg. Clicking his tongue, Cleeve swung in a massive arc, forcing Anton back and jumped backwards as well. Looking at the web, he knew it would be impossible to pull it off and internally groaned. One wrong movement would be all it would take for a part of his body to get stuck on it.

’A cunning man until the end.’ Cleeve siad in his mind as Leon moved his body once more, blocking a strike. Over and over, Anton threw heavy attacks, trying to wear Cleeve down as he had done many times before, the legs behind his back, jabbing randomly towards him to try and force an opening Anton could capitalise on. Each time, Cleeve’s body moved quickly, avoiding blows he couldn’t block, and stopping those he could.

’It’s different.’ Cleeve said to himself as his body moved again, intercepting a heavy strike aimed for his neck, before ducking and jumping high in the air to avoid the spider legs. ’He never leaves himself this open.’ There was nothing in the way of Anton’s attack that showed an indication of defending himself. Every strike left an opening that could be capitalised on, but even with that, Cleeve couldn’t, the legs blocking all paths before he could strike.

’Leon.’ Cleeve said, knowing he wouldn’t get a reply, the sumon focusing every single bit of its attention on fighting. ’Deepen it.’ Cleeve could tell the current way of fighting would be pointless. Without hesitation, he jumped backwards, putting as much power as he could into his legs to clear a measurable distance. Pulling his helmet off, his face began to change again as he let go of control over his body, allowing Leon to take more room within his soul. His thoughts no longer registered in his mind, and his memories were dwarfed by Leon’s own.

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Anton didn’t hesitate, seeing Cleeve jump backwards. All eight legs dug into the ground, propelling him foward. The helmet hit the ground, and a shield intercepted his strike. There was a strength in it that didn’t previously exist, and every instinct warned him to evade. Before he could react, the legs curled around his body, and a massive wave of pain flooded his body, as if a chunk had been torn out of him. Being pushed back, Anton stared at Cleeve.

The man was gone, and in his place a humanoid lion stood. Its face was regal, full of pride, yet a pure glow flashed in its golden eyes, full of desire to have a good fight. The armour cracked from his growing body. Blood covered its mouth, and spitting out soemthing, Anton looked at the damaged leg, a massive chunk of it torn out.

’He let himself be assimilated?’ Questioning in his mind, he watched as Leon played with the sword before dropping it, the armoured hand popping to reveal a lion’s paw, with five sharp claws. His other hand remained the same, holding the shield. With a deep breath, the white of Anton’s eyes and his pupils slipped apart even more, filling the small gaps where his eyes were. Giving up more of himself, he could see more of the battle raging. Men desperately fought, inches being won and lost on both sides. But beyond that, he saw a few men just watching him and burning the battle into their minds.

’Kibla.’ His cold voice echoed in his mind. There were no words said in reply, rather a shrill clicking sound. ’Deepen. Do not overstep.’ A schreech of joy bounced in his mind, and Anton could feel the changes in his body. He knew it had to be quick; Cleeve was still getting accustomed to the body he was in, but it would still take a few more seconds.

His body changed. Unlike Cleeve, his body shrunk as if being sucked of his muscle and fat. The armour started to loosen, and lifting a hand, he touched his breastplate; numerous red pieces of silk wormed their way around, before tightening, forcing his armour to cling to his body. Opening his mouth, the clicking of Kibla’s voice came out, black liquid falling from his lips. Even with his shrinking body, he could tell he hadn’t gotten weaker; rather, whatever the merge did compressed his muscles and body. Closing his eyes for a second, he sensed it. Inside his body, throughout the entire thing, red silk wrapped around, wrapping and tightening his muscles. It made no sense, but Anton paid no mind, simply accepting it.

The moment it happened, Cleeve moved; the massive lion’s paw swung down, and the eight legs moved to intercept. Unlike before, where the sword couldn’t break them, it directly tore one leg in half, ripping it apart. Pain, a pain so horrid that Anton couldn’t scream but shake, engulfed him, and with it, the desire to hunt the creature before him grew.

’Too many are useless.’ With a thought, six legs retracted, leaving only the two with the least amount of damage. They rose high, connecting just above his head, and between them, large amounts of red silk were woven. Taking the sword with both hands, he moved foward with a plan in mind. Breaking through with strength was impossible. He was never stronger than Cleeve, and his defence had only gotten more stable now that he had given up more of himself.

’Patient Kibla. You shall feast, but be patient.’ The cry of the spider echoed in his mind, but Anton forcefully suppressed it and took direct control of the two legs behind him, leaving Kibla to focus entirely on the web being woven between them. Swinging, Cleeve deflected the attack with his shield, his paw quickly following behind, swinging down, cutting a long gash along Anton’s chest piece.

Anton continued to press the attack, the leg above, continuing to weave their web, his strikes growing faster as he got accustomed to the changes in his body. All who watched couldn’t understand what they were seeing. Each movement was so fast, they only registered after the next started. Anton’s sword was a blur, cutting through the air like a paintbrush, yet every time, Cleeve’s shield intercepted, pushing him, forcing him to open himself up more, soemthing Anton didn’t allow, bar the first time.

’Deflection, slash. Deflection, slash. It is always the same thing, but each strike could kill if landed.’ Anton analysed everything. The fighting style wasn’t Cleeves’. It lacked the tactical brilliance he had honed in his style of fighting and made up for it with overwhelming strength.

Yet it was because of that that Anton knew he could win. Against Cleeve he may have struggled, but Leon was different. He fought like a beast, on instinct. If it was Cleeve in control, Anton knew it would be far harder, and could only lament that his uncle had given up control to another in their duel. All he could do was buy time until the web was perfect, capable of containing the beasts before him.

Strike after strike pushed him back. Although he was confident, Anton used everything to keep up. Dodging another slash, Anton swung his sword, expecting the deflection. Unlike before, Cleeve made no attempt to block it; rather, he rolled his shoulder, the sword digging into it. A roar, one that blanketed the entire fortress, echoed from his mouth, one of pure pain, but he didn’t stop. The entire fortress came to a halt from the cry, every man stunned by it, only Anton able to keep his senses due to Kibla’s cry of rage in his mind. The next second, the shield swung deep for Anton’s gut. With no chance to block or avoid it, it hit squarely, throwing Anton backwards. Two legs sprouted from his back the instant it did, digging into the ground to make sure he didn’t fall.

Anton heard it before he saw. The sound of Cleeve’s ganulet snapping once again as his other hand changed. The straps of the iron shield broke. With his other good arm, he caught it and threw it towards Anton, with immeasurable speed, a feat impossible for a human. It was certain death if hit, and the two new legs pushed him to the side.

Anton knew instantly it was a trap as Cleeve lunged for where he landed, arriving before him in a moment. His claws swung down, cutting through the chest plate that was already damaged, ripping the golden and ruby star off his body, revealing his chest. His other claw rose, shaking as it did, the wound profusely bleeding. Cutting down into his chest free of its armour, Anton’s body screamed, as black blood poured from him; inside it were clumps of white eggs and numerous tiny red spiders dying on contact with the open air.

The wound was massive, nearly reaching the bone, but Anton didn’t scream nor flinch; rather, his mind was consumed with the overwhelming desire to kill Cleeve, bred from Kibla’s rage. It was Cleeve’s final move; that much was clear, and Anton expected the final attack. It was a lion fighting him, and it had yet to use its strongest attack. Lifitng his blade, pushing through the pain and anger that flooded his mind, he caught the bite aimed for his throat, as Cleeve’s jaws wrapped around the blade.

From behind him, the web finally finished. There was no smile, no change of emotion as Anton grabbed the massive fang in Cleeve’s jaw, the closest thing he could hold, and forced him to be still, even when he desperately tried to pull back. The webs fell around him, and Anton let go the moment it touched. Controlling the legs, he moved quickly, wrapping him in a cocoon of silk, only leaving his head free.

Cleeve desperately fought against it, nearly tearing the web apart, but stopped, realising it was impossible.

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Unable to move, Cleeve stared ahead as Anton fell to a knee. All eight legs returned and moved towards his chest, spinning webs across his wound, repairing it. Passing a glance at him, Cleeve looked ahead, past the battle, past the open gate and saw a tree, a vibrant green tree that wasn’t too tall or short.

’Release me. He’s injured.’ Leon screamed as the merging was slowly undone. For a moment, Cleeve thought to do so, and sparing a glance at Anton, he shook his head and turned back to the tree.

’No. He won Leon. He trapped me. It was a good fight.’ Cleeve could feel Leon desperately trying to force himself to be summoned, but he stopped it and sighed, unsure why he was staring at the tree.

From the side, he heard weak footsteps as Anton came to his side. Looking up at him, his breath shook with pain and exhaustion, yet Cleeve didn’t look. Rather, something clicked in his mind, and when it did, he couldn’t help but let out a deep chuckle, as blood fell from his lips, the wound worsening as the summon was undone.

”Last....word...” Anton said with a shaking voice, his chest slowly repairing itself, turning the fatal wound into something manageable, his voice getting stronger with every second.

”I figured it out.” His voice was tired, but happy. ”She could always climb the tree.” Anton stared at him before following Cleeve’s gaze. Around him, the fighting continued, Cleeve’s loss yet to register, but it was peaceful around the two.

”Es..ter?” Anton forced the words out, making Cleeve nod before coughing a mouthful of blood.

”When you and Brandon climbed up the tree to cheat in your games, she could always climb the tree.” His laugh was full of pain, yet the smile was clear. ”She lied so she could sit on my shoulders.” With the thought, Cleeve sighed and looked at Anton’s sword before meeting his gaze. ”You can have another do it,” Cleeve said and saw Anton’s eyes shake behind the helmet.

”It is my duty to carry this out.” Cleeve nodded, needing nothing more.

”In that case.” Sighing, he looked back at the tree. ”I won’t be seeing you where I go next. You know that.” Anton nodded. Closing his eyes, the image of the apple tree in the Palace garden came to mind. ”I did my duty. I think I did it honourably. I rest now.” Picturing the scene of Brandon and Anton up the tree, laughing at Ester as she cried came to mind. Next to her, Mary was scolding the two boys, getting greater laughs in reply, whilst Elias III stood to the side talking to his father and mother as they held baby Walter, watching his siblings with a thin smile.

Through his collar, the blade pierced through, directly towards his heart, and he smiled, knowing his nephew gave him the quick exit.

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From Anton’s body, red smoke formed, and Kibla took form. Doing away with the performance, he looked around. ”Go.” Kibla screeched into the air, followed by clicking sounds before rushing off, throwing itself into the slaughter. Collapsing to a knee, he placed a hand on Cleeve’s body to support himself and followed his uncle’s closed gaze outside the walls, watching the tree.