DARK REPRISAL

          Silence. Nothing but silence reigned supreme over the land, with not as much as a chirp from a bird or a buzz from an insect able to be heard. A light wind caressed the grassy field below, trees in the distance starting to ebb and flow as well. A single patch of fresh, brown dirt stood out amongst the green of the area, having been dug out the night before and only partially filled back in. In a hurry to conceal evidence in the dark of the previous night, it had been left incomplete.
          Buried only up to his waist, with some of the dirt crossing over his chest lay the form of the man on a mission known as Anton. His red and black tunic was unmistakable, damaged from his last battle with those he sought to rid the world of. Anton's eyes were nearly devoid of any signs of life, his body shutting down and dying a little more as every minute passed out in the fields. His normally colourful face was pale and devoid of any kind of expression whatsoever.
          Having fought a cadre of bandits and other scum that made their living off the backs of innocents, Anton managed to dispatch almost all of them before his ebony sword had been knocked away from him in the fight. He was no stranger to fighting against overwhelming odds, but it was pure negligence that had cost him dearly. A fallen foe that he didn't think to finish off rose from the brush and stabbed him through the back with his own ebony sword before running off and leaving him to die. Only Anton's iron will and relentless drive had kept him alive, but now time was running out. For reasons unbeknownst to him, he was still breathing, and his heart beating.
          'Bas--tards.' he thought to himself, starting to have issues putting more than a couple words together in his mind, fatigue having more than set in amongst the other problems, such as losing so much blood from the wound.
          'Must...live.'
          Anton was able to move his arms and legs minutely, but not nearly enough to be able to get him out of his predicament, nor did he have the energy to stand up on his own two feet even if he was able. Still, he couldn't figure out why he was still alive. He'd seen others die from the same type of wounds that he had inflicted on them rather quickly, and wondered why it was taking so long for the same to happen to him.
          'Great... Great Maker. Why-why is this-- why....'
          Was he meant to suffer? Was the Great Maker punishing him for some reason? Or, did this all have something to do with the Dragons somehow? They were all questions that he could not answer, nor even had enough energy to fully ponder and dissect enough to come with some kind of answer.
          'Damn.'
          The thing that bothered him the most was dying alone, out in this field, and due to his own negligence instead of going down fighting. Anton had always been accountable to himself, especially in how he fought. This situation was completely unacceptable, in his mind, yet he couldn't do anything at all to rectify it.
          That did not sit well with him at all.

          "The toughest, most feared warrior that we've ever seen or heard of, taken down by his own blade! Ah, the poetic irony!" yelled a man in his late twenties, thrusting a refined ebony sword up into the air, it's curved, reinforced blade a thing of beauty amongst weapons and men who appreciated them.
          "Even though most of our brothers have fallen, there are still enough of us left to wreak havoc on others, led by me!" he continued. "I and I alone will wield this sword and lead us to riches!" 
          An evil, twisted grin appeared on his face as looked at the group of other bandits and thieves that stood before him. Scars on his bald head were the result of raids and battles with authority figures that had always tried to stop him, but to no avail. His dark eyes showed the bad intentions and animosity towards the common man quite easily, having spent most of his life thus far taking from others simply because he could.
          Bringing the sword back down to his eye level, the man known as Vros examined it carefully and marvelled at the quality of the blade.
          "A beautiful sight indeed." he muttered.
          The other bandits that had been assembled looked to the sword with awe, before talking amongst themselves for a while. Vros made his way into the crowd a moment later and pointed to the sky.
          "Dusk is not far away." he said. "Might as well camp here, then pack up tomorrow morning at sunrise and continue our pillaging elsewhere."
          Nods and acknowledgements met his statement, as the others started to build fire pits and move fallen logs to sit on from the nearby forest. Others laid out their bedrolls and started to figure out their cooking gear to settle in for the night. As makeshift tents started to pop up, Vros smiled to himself at the sight of all the misfits that he had managed to bring together for a common goal. While the previous nights' battle had claimed the life of many, there were still more than enough men to raise hell, and they wouldn't have to deal with anyone like the warrior he had defeated.
          'Which reminds me....' he thought to himself, wanting to go back to the site where he had dug a shallow grave for the man and laugh at the pathetic fool one last time as a testament to his own leadership for having slain the warrior himself.
          "Warrior indeed!" he sneered, before motioning to another bandit that was passing by his position.
          "Razka, tell the others to break out the food and drink while I go take care of a personal matter in the meantime." he explained to the younger bandit with long, blond hair who had already seen a lot of action.
          "I'll be back in time to enjoy the meal with everyone!"
          Razka only nodded as Vros turned and hurried off into the fields, suddenly having a rather uneasy feeling about everything.

          As the sun began to fade from view and the darkness started to once again blanket the land below, a familiar sight took shape in the fields next to the only patch of dirt and debris amongst the grasses.
          What looked to be a cloud of shadows with a mind of it's own started to swirl and coalesce next to the partially buried form of Anton, crackling with energy as it morphed into the form of the Shadow Dragon, his bright red eyes surveying the scene before him, trying to make sense of what had happened to his protege. The situation looked grave, but he knew otherwise and decided to make sure his presence was known.
          "You are in quite a predicament, it seems." he said aloud, his voice booming but calm as he spoke to Anton. The man's eyes partially blinked, and he suddenly knew that his friend and ally was here with him.
          "I--I made....an error." he stammered, barely able to talk.
          Shadow Dragon nodded as his eyes glowed brighter. "Yes, yes you did, and yet you are still alive." he replied. "It's time you got up off the ground and continued your crusade, your 'holy cause' if you will."
          Anton was confused, as he could barely stay concious, but had just been asked to get up as normal and continue on. He tried to move, but not much happened just as before.
          "You still do not understand, do you?" asked the Shadow Dragon. "You already have the ability to rise out of this calamity. Use it, and use it now!" 
          Sensing a presence nearby, the Shadow Dragon began to disappear from view, leaving Anton all alone again.
          "Use it..." he said once more, before he vanished into the darkness. Anton thought as hard as he could, then suddenly had an inspiration. The one thing he might be able to do was something he never thought to do the whole time he had been laying here. Just as he was about to do something, the form of a man walked up to his shallow grave and looked down. In his right hand was Anton's ebony blade. Anton continued to play dead and bided his time carefully.
          "Poor, dead warrior. Killed with his own blade." said Vros, snickering at the sight of his fallen foe.
          Just as he was about to turn and walk away, something strange happened. Anton's eyes suddenly changed from their normal grey to pure white, glowing brightly as his body began to quickly vanish into thin air, leaving nothing behind but the dirt in the shallow grave that now lie empty.
          "What is this?!" asked Vros aloud, stepping back in fear.
          Without warning, the ebony sword was ripped from his hand, leaving him with only a dagger that rested in a small sheath on his tunic. He turned around to face whoever was there and struggled to reveal his dagger, but it was too late. The form of Anton came back into view just as the ebony blade was thrust into Vros' chest, slicing his heart in half and coming out his back soaked in blood. Nothing happened for a few moments, before the blade was withdrawn, with Vros flopping to the ground with a thud, dead. and landing inside the shallow grave.
          "Perfect fit."

                                                   *          *          *          *

          As the steam from the cooking pots rose above the spit over the fire, the smell of soup and boiled cow meat wafted throughout the camp, while others prepared bread and some of the wild vegetables native to the region. Many of the bandits and thieves assembled here had finished setting up camp and had settled in for the night, happy to relax and eat before they slept.
          Razka looked about, wondering if Vros had already slipped back into camp without being seen, but couldn't find him at all. Starting to feel uneasy, he was about to sit down on his own bedroll and enjoy some supper himself, when he could hear the cracking of twigs from somewhere behind his position. Believing it to be Vros, Razka walked up the slight incline and was about to greet the man, when the unthinkable happened.
          The sharp blade of a sword suddenly tore into him, slicing open his lower torso and spilling his blood all over. Razka slumped to the ground without a word, his last breath one of despair and suffering.
          Thinking that their comrade was drunk on mead or something else, they ignored the sight of him falling to the ground, which also sealed their own fates. Before anyone could defend themselves or have a chance to do anything at all, they were cut down one by one, and had no time to react whatsoever. The lone attacker struck quickly, and with deadly results, with some bandits getting a blade through their chest, some being disemboweled with dispatch, while one thief who managed to jump up from his bedroll immediately lost his head, which landed in a soup pot blood and all.
          Within ten short minutes, everyone save the attacker was dead. The group of bandits and thieves had watched their luck run out, in epic fashion. Anton breathed a little heavy, but smiled as he looked around at the death he had brought with him. His crusade resumed, he knew that this particular group could no longer hurt anyone or take anything that didn't belong to them. Campfires continued to burn as a breeze started to whip up, and a patch of darkness swirled into a familiar form once again.
          The Shadow Dragon came into existence once more, his red eyes glowing as he looked around at the carnage before settling on Anton, who had flicked his hood back behind his head.
          "Didn't miss a beat, from what I see. Good." he said, content.
          Anton looked to the Dragon after sheathing his sword. "Am I immortal, is that it?" he asked of the creature.
          Shadow Dragon shook his head and then raised a clawed digit. "No, you are not immortal. You can die, but you can also help yourself to live." he explained. "Your stealth powers and ability to shroud also can heal you. When you disappear, your human body is in a state of flux, and regenerates. Use this power wisely, as I know you will."
          Before Anton could respond, the Shadow Dragon disappeared back into a swirling cloud of darkness and became one with the night the way he always did, leaving Anton alone with his thoughts yet again. 
          "I am whole again." he remarked. "The crusade... can continue."

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