[Mission] Bring Me a Worthy Death | Daniel

The Righteous Side of Hell."

Daniel hadn’t been expecting it to be this cold when he’d set out for Forkadiin. True, the hunter had prepared himself for the worst in terms of frigid temperatures—extra layers and thermal boots and anything else he could bring without bogging himself down—but this country’s weather was something else entirely. The winds still cut through his layered clothing like a knife despite his best effort to keep it at bay. It was as though the land itself recognized him for the outsider that he was and was doing its best to either kill him or force him to turn away from his purpose.

He wasn’t very fond of either option so he pressed on regardless, pulling his coat tighter around his shoulders.

It struck the old wolf how eerily quiet it was. Even with the bitter cold, there should’ve been… something around for him to hear. Every so often there would be a bird singing away or some small animal trekking through the underbrush and it would be cause enough for Daniel to stop, sniffing the air for a threat. His searching would usually amount to nothing and he’d continue towards his destination. Even his own footsteps might’ve as well been as loud as gunshots. The quiet was making him as jumpy as a fresh-faced recruit. He didn’t appreciate the feeling; it was almost like he was the very last person in the world and he the distance from the nearest town only served to hammer home that lonely feeling.

Daniel’s hand fell subconsciously to Blackhammer’s handle for comfort. The familiar feeling steadied his hands and slowed his racing heart as it always did as he drew a deep breath through his nose (the locals had given him advice not to breathe though his nose to not bleed as much heat with his breath). He closed his eyes, praying to his patron for a successful hunt. His opponents up to this point had been some of the most dangerous up to this point. Magi, well-trained, well-equipped mercenaries and thugs, spirits; all could’ve been the end of him, yet he’d been triumphant against them all. Yet this may have been his most dangerous yet. Through all his victories, the old wolf had been supported in one way or another, either by his brethren or by others of various natures. Here though? Here he was alone. Worse still, his new foe was one that had slain all that rose to challenge them.

The old wolf reached into his pocket and pulled out an old polaroid (almost unheard of in this modern age). Lexie’s smiling face greeted him when he looked upon the picture. She was much younger in the photo—barely into her teens and held comfortably in his arms. Daniel was smiling here as well. The photo captured the two of them in one of their happiest moments and that gave him strength. Daniel pressed the photo lightly to his lips and kissed it before returning it to his breast pocket and pressing on.

He wouldn’t falter here.

He couldn’t.

Daniel felt the spirit long before he caught sight its steady blue glow. Curved horns like that of a bull adorning a steel helm, ancient armor worn by warriors of the great epics, and a menacingly deadly sword told the old wolf all that he needed to know about the figure. There could be no doubting that this was a warrior and the ethereal smoke rising from his form spoke of his nature.

His heart raced as he approached the figure, stopping only a few feet away. A metallic ting! pervaded the air. He listened quietly while the ghost spoke his peace. Then, he spoke in turn.

“I suppose I am,” Daniel answered. “I’ve come a long way ta see you, so I guess it’s only right that I give you the fight you’ve been looking for.” Curiosity got the best of him. “Why all the trouble though? I’ve only met one other person like you and they weren’t too keen on a fight.”

The Righteous Side of Hell."

Daniel allowed himself a conservative grin at the ghost’s words. It’d been a long time since he’d been called anything but a hunter—worse on more than one occasion; it struck a chord with him. The word spoke to something within his soul that he’d always felt on the battlefield. He continued to listen as the fallen warrior spoke of why he sought a worthy opponent and it continued stirring the feeling. The old wolf could recall feeling something similar as he faced Alaric and the murderous water spirit. A thrill rushed through him as his imagination painted a picture of the things his opponent described to him.

“Sounds like a helluva way ta die,” Daniel said. “Guess I can see why you’re still lookin’ for a fight like that, huh?” He knew that he wouldn’t want to go out with a whimper, but rather a glorious blaze, the kind that legends were made of. When he did finally die, Daniel wanted it to be a meaningful death.

But that was neither here nor now.

It wasn’t his time yet and he had no intention of robbing Alex of her father for a second time. “Alright then, guess that we should get this thing started. Ya’ve probably been waitin’ long enough for someone like me ta come along. Ain’t no sense in makin’ ya wait any longer.” Daniel’s hand fell instinctively to Black Hammer’s handle for the second time that day, but he paused before drawing the weapon. This ghost wanted an honorable death and using the firearm almost seemed… unfair somehow. Daniel took his hand away from the weapon and drew Raze-Lighter and Frost-Carver from their sheathes. Then, he charged, slashing for the ghostly warrior’s throat.

The Righteous Side of Hell."

Daniel hadn’t expected his first attack to be a successful one, but it served the purpose of revealing two things. The first was that this warrior was far faster than the old wolf would’ve given him credit for. He’d whipped his blade around for a quick counter that sent a burst of sparks and ice soaring into the air. The old wolf decided that he’d have to be far more vigilant and thoughtful in how he struck. The second aspect revealed was the simple fact that it was much colder in close vicinity to the phantasmal warrior. It bit into his flesh with gnarled teeth, threatening to slow his movements.

The simplicity of the defense worked against him when the ghost powered a closed fist into his stomach. Daniel would redirect the blow with his off-hand enough that he was still standing, but the breath would still be driven from him as he slid back several steps.

Daniel would gather his wits and meet the ghost’s charge with one of his own. He would cross his blades to attempt to catch that of his foe. Then, he would try to redirect the blade’s momentum to throw the ghost of balance and press his attack with a sequence of quick strikes aimed at the warrior’s legs and arms. Regardless of how the assault was met, Daniel would spin away to gain distance and fall into an easy stance placing most his weight on the balls of his feet.

A smile would creep across his features. “Looks like my work’s cut out for me this time,” He would mutter.

The Righteous Side of Hell."

Again, Daniel would rely on his training to help deflect the blow as best as he could to avoid taking the full force of the kick. He was starting to get a good grasp of his opponent’s strength, and it wasn’t anything to be trifled with. A test of pure strength would likely be the death of him, so he settled into a defensive posture to better dodge and roll around the icy weapon, blocking and deflecting only when absolutely necessary; more often than he would’ve liked.

It was baffling how quickly that ghostly blade could lash and strike with enough power to rattle his bones. The wild grin on his face would continue to grow while he fought. These were the types of battles that he lived for! One mistake, one misplaced foot or oversight, could mean the end for him and the rush that it gave him wasn’t something he’d trade for the world. The old wolf lost himself completely to the deadly dance and the world contracted until it was as though only himself, the ghost and their immediate surroundings existed. He could almost see the individual dents and scars on his opponent’s armor, feel the cold thrum of energy emanating from his foe, hear the pounding of his blood as his heart hammered away against his chest.

And then, he saw it. There was a pattern to his enemy’s attacks. Each stroke of the blade was powerful and came in sweeping arcs, but they left him open for a just a moment. That was the key!

Daniel would continue to bide his time until the right moment when an opening made itself apparent. When the warrior’s weapon rose over his head, the old wolf would waste no time exploiting it. He would dive in, sliding his feet and kicking as much snow as he could into the specter’s face. Then, he would aim the points of his blades towards the warrior’s open chest alongside a vicious snap kick aimed for his knee.

The Righteous Side of Hell."

Something akin to wolfish grin touched Daniel’s lips when his blades pierce the spectral flesh of his foe, eliciting a pained grunt. His shin might’ve number from the impact against the ghost’s armor, but complication couldn’t rob him of the sense of satisfaction. Instincts honed over a lifetime of conflict and hunting screamed at him that the duel was near its end and he relished the victory he could all but taste. It was then that pain bloomed in his shoulder and his vision swam dangerously as he yelled in anguish. His grasp on Frost-Carver weakened and fell away as his arm went limp.

The wave of cold that spread from the impact point went a long way towards combatting the searing agony washing over him. However, his relief would be short-lived when the ghost drew him into a crushing embrace. Daniel grit his teeth against another scream to focus on fighting the constricting grip even as his vision continued to swim. Adrenalin and a tenaciously stubborn will to live would be the only things keeping him conscious, but even those wouldn’t be sufficient for him to last for very long.

The old wolf would fight like the desperate cornered animal that he was, thrashing and striking with everything he had to little avail. He thought of his daughter waiting patiently for his return and drove himself to ever rising heights of ferocity in his attacks, yet to little effect. His opponent’s raw physical strength was simply too much. This was a battle he couldn’t win through attrition. He would have to gamble everything on his final gambit.

Daniel would drive the last of the breath from his lungs to form a single word. “Raze-Lighter!” he would shout. The runic weapon still embedded in the wraith’s chest would respond to its name and a torrent of intense heat and flame would pour from its edge. One way or another, this would be the last move.

The Righteous Side of Hell."

Daniel turned his face from the immense heat ravaging the ghost’s frame and pouring from his mouth. He could almost feel his spine about to crack when the pressure finally alleviated and his opponent thudded heavily to the ground. The old wolf was forced to follow, but he almost immediately rolled away while doing the best to ignore the anguish of grinding bones. He laid still for a several pregnant seconds as he hauled breath after breath into his lungs. After he’d recovered to some extent, Daniel covered his face with his functioning arm and began to laugh. He’d somehow survived! The sheer exhilaration of it was better than anything he’d felt in recent months.

He finally ceased a few moments later and rose gingerly to his knees, wincing at his shoulder’s protest at the motion. Glimmering eyes fixed upon his fallen foe whom seemed to have life in him just yet. It amazed him that the specter still had the strength to remain crouched on all fours despite the heavy damage dealt to him. For one reason or another, Daniel felt a swell of pride. Not that he’d beaten the ghost (though that certainly played a significant part) but for the fact that his opponent tenaciously clung to life.

The ghost spoke then, wheezing between his words. He wanted to die a warrior’s death beneath the edge of his own blade; Daniel could respect that.

Daniel nodded and rose slowly as to not disturb his broken shoulder as much as possible. He stumbled over to the gleaming length of metal and took it in hand, resting the blade on his shoulder. Then, he moved over to the kneeling ghost with an expression of utmost respect and admiration etched across his features.

“Before I do this, I wanna know one thing,” Daniel said. “What’s your name? I wanna remember it so you aren’t forgotten.” Daniel waited just long enough to hear the ghost’s response if any was forthcoming. Nodding, he would add, “Then, go in peace, blóð bróðir.” Then, he hefted the sword as high as one arm would allow and brought the edge down upon his worthy foe’s neck.