Dream Escape

    Word count: 651
Status: Completed

    “Again,” the Obsidian Elf barked at his son after demonstrating the swift cuts with the polished sword yet again.  The young elf could only waggle his wooden one.  Sweat drenched the blue hair loosely tied midway down his black back.
    “Father, must I train still?  I did this with the novices all day too.  Can I have dinner now?”  The young elf pleaded as he pointed to the Ebbonton mega-barracks that housed mercenaries-in-training.  
    His father, his drill instructor, glared at him.  “You will eat when I am satisfied, Ell.  Again,” the older elf growled.
    “Again” continued to echo in Ell’s head as he woke in some city woman’s bed.  He still dreamed of it.  He was twenty four now and a man grown, and yet his father’s callousness still plagued him.  Ell took his father’s job after he was gutted in battle nine years ago.  He now trained Sidhe and Obsidian Elf youth in the art of battle.  
    Ell hurriedly pulled on the clothes he had worn yesterday as the sky blushed.  When he arrived at the barracks, he learned that the mercenaries were being hired to deal with a small demon army harrowing villages in Twilight Crick about a month’s travel away.  Two thousand mercenaries made the journey easily enough and reached the scene of battle in the dense forest of Twilight Crick.
     The demon legion waited in the semidarkness the canopy cast.  Ell sank his chainsaw, his weapon of choice, into demon flesh.  Blood of all colors spewed from impaled bodies and flying limbs.  Steel screamed against steel.  The Obsidian Elf’s chainsaw shredded worm-like flesh and undergrowth alike.  He was turning to find another unlucky demon when a whirl of blue-black silk caught his eye.  
    The pale man, or maybe a woman, slew demon after demon with ease as his long hair swirled with his fast movements.  Ell watched him fight with a broadsword as tall as he was, so struck by the flowing dance that he forgot he was in the middle of a battlefield.  He was almost decapitated by a bulbous-headed giant swinging an axe.  
    The elf recoiled as sparks flew from the collision of blades.  Ell could see them through his closed eyelids.  He heard a meaty thud and the crunch of leaves.  He opened his eyes and found himself face to face with a sinfully beautiful man.
    “Pay attention to your own battles,” the man said and ran into the fray.  
    The Obsidian Elf nodded and followed his advice.
    The battle went on for some time.  Soon the mercenaries found themselves the victors.  Ell, blood spattered and weary, looked for the beautiful man in the dim light.  He found him propped against a dead tree, resting.  Before the elf sat, light grey eyes met his cerulean ones.  The pale man did not say anything as he scratched dried blood from his cheek.  
    Ell said, “Your name?”
    “Zorander Sulthlare.  You would make a great chainsaw-man, if you could stay focused.  And yours?”
    “Ell Kobaden.  Never mind me.  How can a man swing a broadsword so fast?” Ell’s eyes widened in shock.  “You must teach me!”  The Obsidian Elf, trained for war from birth, realized that he must become a better fighter.  To outshine his father, he must go beyond his teachings.
Zorander fiddled with a lock of hair, determining how sincere the elf was.  “Run with me, then, Kobaden.  But there’s a catch:  I fight for two reasons, and you will too.  One, I fight to better my skills.  And two, I aim to humble the highborn of the world called “Twisted Planes” that abuse us.  When we’re done, it will be twisted indeed,” he chuckled.