And following on from the panic and the ugliness of the street his mind filled with a whiteness and pure clarity. The world before him reared up like a huge impassable wall – cracked, filthy, crumbling; despotic in its extravagant towering up, reaching for a grey sky only to collapse into this brutish mindless mess. He took a gulping breath, disconnecting from the horror and returning to the source of his despair.
From somewhere within a memory bubbled up, another living self embracing world like amniotic fluid, nourishing and protecting him. It was as if he could smell the brackish slime, as if it invaded his nostrils again; he could feel it once more sticking to his armour, drawing on his vitality, beckoning him to death. He knew there wasn’t much time. He had to find Avitus before the swamp claimed him for its own. The decision had been his, the Clan had supported him. Living by the Code meant also sacrifice, however great. The Code demanded revenge. And he was its instrument. It was Avitus The Visigoth who had to die and die he must.
He pushed on. The faster he went the less the mud pulled him down. In the dim, sickly light he could make out the still, lifeless trees and the wet ivy hanging down. Often he came across corpses of warriors face down, remnants of the Unseen One’s expedition force who had scattered and fled into this region to die alone and unmourned. There was no middle ground in this world. Kill or be killed. The Clan had repulsed this expedition force but soon word would get back to the Unseen One and efforts to locate them in their mountain hideout would be doubled. And it was all because of Avitus. One of their own. A warrior who had committed the ultimate sin. Betrayal.
The mud under his feet began to firm up. He was coming onto an island. He felt the release in his movements. A lightness, a joy, his strength returning. Around him the trees were alive, larger, the grass vital and bushes with berries skirting the clearing ahead. A perfect place for a warrior to rest. Only he wasn’t the first one there.
The warrior swung around. The black cauldron on his chest immediately identified him as a Visigoth. Avitus. Ganesh didn’t hold anything back and threw his lance immediately. Avitus stepped back but the force of it hit him on the shoulder. He fell back. Ganesh The Kabalist followed up with a spell which found its mark. He had five seconds to exploit his opponent who had frozen like an ice statue. Running forward he took out his sword and held it high above to bring it down. But not soon enough. Avitus spun a dagger at him and tumbled back out of reach. He was hit. He was raging. He lunged forward and swung again. Avitus couldn’t get away this time and the blow took out his leg. His power dropped. Ganesh went for the shoulder. Another dagger. He was dwindling, his power dropping as Avitus cast a sickness spell. He couldn’t last much more. He had to go for the kill.
His lion heart swelled. He stepped back out of the epicentre of the spell, feigned sickness. Avitus was up and coming at him. He buckled down. Avitus raised his sword as he approached. Then just as the sword started to descend he stepped under its arc and flicked his blade forward, driving body and sword with all his might into Avitus and taking him down. He rolled on over the fallen Avitus and away. Avitus was up after him but too late as Ganesh cat like found his feet and in the same moment swung round and started mercilessly hacking the surprised and off balance Avitus. Blood began to leak out of the Visigoth’s armour. His arms, legs, chest spilling. He was doomed. Ganesh kept on, all of Garth’s might going into the red button to punish the betrayer, breaker of the Seal. The Visigoth was stunned. Garth pressed the communal vision button and stepped back for the final blow. The scene was going out to both sides of the conflict, all live players in Asphodel Fields could watch this ultimate meting out of Justice. He waited a moment. He knew everyone would have hit freeze mode to watch the final wretched chapter of this family saga close.
