Jan. 5th, 2009

[identity profile] nadriel.livejournal.com
Punch with a knife hand. Grip. Pull. Climb.

The top of the mountain was closer now. He knew he had a fight ahead of him, and conserved what strength he could. But his anger drove him onwards, and the desire for conquest, control and power he held in common with his enemy? His brother? Himself?

He would climb, he would fight, and he would win. For a time. Deep inside, he knew that, in turn, he would be challenged and fall. But such was what had been forged, by blood, by will, by sorcery. Neither of them were what they had once been. Both of them were more than what they once were.

Punch with a knife hand. Grip. Pull. Climb.

He had a name once. He will have a name again.

And they will learn to fear it.

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