Arven 4/1,000 Chapter 1/3:

Sorry I kind of dropped off the earth, there. After releasing Gerard as an ebook, I kind of opened a new chapter in my life, so to speak. Anyway, I'll be updating this place regularly again, so enjoy! Here's the first chapter of Arven's fourth life to kick things off again.

Arven 3/1,000 Chapter 3/3: Blaze of Glory

Looks like Arven's third life is now over. Stick around for a preview of the fourth, and stay tuned for more A Girl and Her Uzi in the near future. As always, thanks for reading! 

Arven Repner #3/1,000 , Chapter 2/3

Looks like Arven's been duped. Can he overcome this impossible situation? And what has become of Leeroy and his planet with the other Units there? 

Arven 3 of 1,000, Chapter 1 of 3

Arven's third life is here! Please hold your comments if you find it cliche, trust me, it gets good. 

Arven 2/1,000, Chapter 3/3

And with today's post, delivered before midnight as promised, the second documented life of Arven Repner, the cursed traveling soul, is officially concluded. Stick around after the end for a preview of life number three!

Arven 2/1000, Chapter 2/3

Chapter 2
The Journey

Kenji Satomo never bothered explaining to his teachers why he skipped classes. He had a feeling they already knew, anyway. Today, Kenji was using a cheap speaker as a pocket amplifier, paired up with a practice plug. Belligerent-sounding chords and riffs filled the air at the edge of campus, near the gym. Kenji always came here to get away from it all, when school and life proved to be too much for him. As much as he liked to put out a tough guy persona, he was quite a fragile person, on the inside. All it took today to push him to rampant escapism was his homeroom teacher telling him that he would never amount to anything. So, he played on.

Arven 002 Chapter 1

ARVEN 002

CHAPTER 1

A Simple Man

Kenji Satomo was in love with music, danger, and worldly pleasures. From a very young age, he made it clear to the world around him that he was going places, not all of them good places. Now fifteen years old, Kenji had no time for girls or books, two pursuits that other young men his age showed such passion for. His only loves were his guitar, his fight club, and his stash. In the boys’ bathroom of a small school planted in the misty reaches of Hokkaido, he knelt over the toilet seat of a tiny stall, inhaling little bits of heaven through a straw stuck into his nose. He came up for air once the lines on the paper had vanished, and shouted his exhilaration to the empty air. Only an echo answered, and only his guitar awaited him when he was done.

His walk home was largely uneventful. He strode down the small dirt roads playing folk music and American rock, singing his heart out and thinking of his idols, like L’Arc En Ciel and X Japan. Kenji was in his own world, jamming on stage before a sold out crowd. A rough voice interrupted his reverie. “Hey, Satomo!”, it yelled from somewhere nearby, “ Shut your mouth, you talentless fuck. Nobody likes you or your so-called ‘music.’”

Kenji found the source of the voice; a pudgy, muscular young man with ruddy hair and freckles. “Do us all a favor and just leave the school. Drop out and hit the road.” Kenji sighed as he put his guitar away. “I would love to…”, he said as he got to his feet, “But then who would be left to put assholes like you in your place?” The young man scowled, and Kenji settled into the same unnatural fighting stance that he had been practicing since he could walk. His wrists lay limp by his sides, held up by barely-bent elbows and hovering above legs that were almost straight. “Ain’t worth it.”, the young man called, then turned away. With a gleeful cackle, Kenji was blocking his path. “Whassa matter, lardo? Scared of little old scrawny me?”

Enraged beyond words at being taunted, the bully threw a reckless straight punch, playing right into Kenji’s hands. A quick dodge to the left and a simple turning motion with two hands were all it took to snap the punching arm like a twig, but Kenji didn't let go. He picked the hefty child up by the arm, swung him in a wide circle, then threw him as hard as he could into a nearby tree. The bully passed out on impact, his face a gaunt mask of agony and his screams still echoing across the hillside. Thinking of how that boy would feel when he woke up, Kenji chuckled as he retrieved his guitar. The adrenaline rush from fighting paired gloriously with the cocaine, and Kenji was playing up a storm walking the rest of the way home.

At home, Kenji was berated by his father, blamed as always for his mother’s death, and sent to bed without dinner. Kenji retrieved a cooler from under his bed and produced a beer and a sandwich from it. After his meal, he his the beer bottle in a bag in the back of his closet, then laid down for the night. He had the same dream again. Just like every night, he stood alone in the stars with an elven-looking creature. It spoke a strange tongue, but Kenji somehow understood. “ I beg of you…”, it said, “Never forget yourself.” The creature's black horns and red eyes faded to reveal a simple boy, pale and drawn. “Never forget the name Arven Repner.”

Arven 1/1000 Finally Concludes

It's been quite a ride, but the kicker-off of the Arven series is officially over! Stick around after the ending for a preview of the next life!

CHAPTER 3

Arven’s head rang. He could feel the musty air of the holding cell brushing the horns that had sprouted all over his body and refused to recede. Strong chains held him fast, anchored to the ground, but gave him more than enough free range to sit up and examine his surroundings. A small table sat nearby, rising out of the stone floor. A latrine flanked the wall he was propped against, and he was sitting on an obviously crude bed of straw that somebody had gone to the effort of stuffing with down for his comfort. Sudden flashes of memory came to him, showing him what he had done, how he had tried to harm his new friend, the Knight Captain, and no doubt attracted the Elder Elf who had nearly killed one of the Captain’s knights, as well as his own mother. Hot, bitter tears swelled up and made their way down his face. He wanted to cry out, to berate himself, to curse his God, anything, but he couldn’t find the words. Vicious sobs, wrought with the bitterest of sorrows, were the only sound he could manage.

The Knight Captain pried open the rusted cell door and strode in. “Glad to see, by those tears, that Arven is still with us. What of the Elder Elf that you ate? Can you feel him?” Arven slowly shook his head. The Captain walked closer, bearing the warm smell of prime rib, fresh vegetables and heady mead. Despite having consumed an entire living being his own size, Arven found himself starving and looked pleadingly up at the Captain. “Can I… Can I have that?”, he choked. The Captain nodded and placed the tray on the table, well within Arven’s reach. He devoured the meat and vegetables, then gulped the mead down ravenously. The Captain stepped out of the cell briefly and came back with a large bowl of cool water, which Arven gratefully accepted and pulled down in seconds. “You know about as much as I do about what happened, don’t you?”, the Captain sighed as he sat down next to Arven. “I… I know that I belong here, in this cell.” He paused to wipe his mouth. “Your knight, and my mother… What has become of them? Pray, tell me, dear Captain, that they are alive.” The Captain nodded slowly. “Your assault on the Elder Elf was timely indeed. Brutal and tragic though it may have been, your mother and my knight surely owe you their lives.” Arven chewed on his lip apprehensively. “But… It was I that the Elder Elf came for, leaving the responsibility for any harm squarely on my shoulders.” The captain smacked Arven hard in the back of the head. “Fool! That sort of victimized attitude breeds powerlessness, and we need you. We need you to be you.” Arven looked to the Knight Captain with blurry eyes. “Are you so sure about that? Who or what am I? Are you certain it’s me that you need, and not the Elf I consumed?” The Captain nodded, then stood up slowly. He walked stiffly to Arven’s chains and unlocked them with a small key. “Come with me. I must ask something of you.” The pair made their exit from the cell.

Down a winding stairway, the two went down a long corridor, full of bustling people on their busy way who gave Arven only a cursory glance, despite him looking every inch an extinct Elder Elf. Eventually, they came to a sealed door. The knight captain unsheathed his sword. ‘This is it…’, Arven though, stoic in stance and mind, ‘He will end me here and with me this whole sordid saga.’ The knight captain stretched his left arm to reveal skin between the plates of armor. His sword bit the flesh almost hungrily, drawing a steady trickle of blood. With the blood running to the tip of his sword, the captain pierced it into the center of the door. It separated into four pieces and slid away into the wall. The captain sheathed his sword and announced himself and Arven loudly, then strode in. Arven skulked in behind him, just in time to avoid the door closing on him. “Arven,”, the captain said as the two rounded a corner into a room full of strange equipment and people in white, “I’d like you to meet our magic science team.”

Men and women in white coats smeared with strange substances came and fawned over him for some minutes, oohing and aahing and sharing ideas and shaking his hands, until the captain broke up the spectacle with the kind of force that would have sent lesser men and women whimpering and limping home. “Our kingdom’s science team long ago stumbled upon crystals that hold stored magical energy, eliminating the need to call it forth from the Earth as Elves do. Thus, a team was formed to investigate the possibilities.”, a tall man with thinning gray hair explained to Arven. “Boys and girls, please. His gifts?” “You’re no fun, cap!”, one of the scientists growled, a grizzled young woman who looked like she hadn’t eaten in weeks, all hollow cheekbones and shedding blonde hair. The Knight Captain sighed heavily and waved a hand toward her. “This is Abigail, our head of Magic Science.” Abigail excitedly seized Arven’s arm and led him to a nearby rack of swords, all of them various unique colors and shapes. A pair of them called to him. “You may not know this,” Abigail explained, “But the Knight Captain’s sword and many others like it in this kingdom are made with magic.”

Arven walked up to the rack uninvited and seized the two swords. They were very plain-looking longswords with black blades, their only real special features being a crystalline red gem embedded into the handguard of each of them. “These crystals…”, Arven brought a sword to his face and licked the crystal, “They’re blood, crystallized by magic, aren’t they?” Abigail nodded. “Mmm-hmm! Your blood was very hard to crystallize, sweetie. We’ve never worked with an elder elf before.” Arven gave the swords a few quick swings. They felt like a part of him that had long been missing, now restored. The Knight Captain stepped forward and clapped a hand on Arven’s shoulder. “We want you to become an honorary knight for the kingdom. The elf nodded slowly. “I feel it is a good way to atone.” The captain took his hand from Arven’s shoulder and stepped back. “Then those swords are yours. You’ll find that they’re a tad different than what you’re used to, in a good way.” Arven put the swords into his belt. “I’ve learned all I need to know from them. Give me my assignment, captain.”

In a dim strategy room, lit only by torchlight, a map of the kingdom bore small wax figurines made to look like Elder Elves. “Reports of sightings.”, Arven said curtly. The captain grunted his confirmation. “You are to go to each of these places and investigate. Whether you would like some men to bring with you or you’d like to go alone, it’s your choice. Simply let me know and my army is yours to command.” Arven pointed to an Elder Elf marker standing tall in a back alley of the capitol city. “This one, and I’m going alone. Call it instinct.” The captain nodded. “I trust you, Arven. Earn the kingdom’s trust, and may God be with you.” Arven turned slowly from the table, sighed heavily, then finally walked away. “God has abandoned me,”, he called coldly over his shoulder as he left, “And I cannot in good conscience fault Him for it.”

After an uneventful day’s walk, Arven made it to the capitol city. He felt no fatigue, no hunger, no thirst. Without having to check the map in his pocket, he found the shady back alley where a narrow staircase offered to whisk him down and away, into the city’s depths. Into another world, a dangerous one. There was an Elder Elf here, and Arven had locked onto its spiritual trail. He looked at the stairs for a second, considering his options. He could leave now and nobody would know him. He could venture away and live the rest of his days in peace, knowing that the Elder Elf scourge that he could have stopped will one day come calling. Instead, he decided to descend the staircase.

A short walk in the underground brought Arven face to face with all manner of seedy and vile people that frequented the city’s dark underbelly, selling all manner of unholy worldly delights. He glided past all of them with silent disdain. In his mind, only he and the signal he had locked into existed. Rats popped up to watch him, as though wishing him well on his journey. Foul-smelling muck crept up Arven’s boots, but he didn’t care one bit. Winding pathways gave way to a massive underground cathedral, miles beneath the city. Specifically, it was beneath the palace. The Elder Elf’s signal had led him here, and seemed to go no further. Its power was incredible, enough to make Arven’s head spin and his vision weave. He reached a hand up shakily and brushed it against the large handle on the only door that the cathedral building had. His flesh smoked as it burned him. WIth a scowl, he targeted the door’s hinges and blew them away with blasts of magical energy.

“Arven Repner.” A cold voice resounded as Arven walked into the chapel. “We’ve been expecting you, young elf.” The voice’s source made itself known; an unassuming old man in a cowl. A rusty sword hung at his side. “I cannot allow you to interfere with our plan.” The man flew forward with absolutely blinding speed, barely giving Arven time to raise his blades and block the initial blow. The power pressing against his blades was stunning. Arven pushed with all of his might, but could not make the man budge. Unable to rely on brute strength, he ducked, allowing the man’s sword to sail over him, and slashed upward with both blades. His swords met only air; when Arven looked up, the old man was already yards away and charging forward to renew his assault. “What are you?!”, Arven screeched as he managed to bring only a single sword up in time to parry the thrust headed for his heart. The old man did not answer, only holding steadfast to his ground as Arven slashed at him with the sword that wasn’t locked in a contest of strength. Arven watched in horror as the old man dodged each blow with almost laughable ease. Some part of him felt insulted. Frustrated. The fury burned behind his eyes. “Good!”, the old man called out, “Become your true self!”

New strength made its way through Arven’s veins, feeling like icy water. The old man’s sword began to move backward. He could feel his horns moving, growing. They began to constrict about his body slowly, forming a sort of armor. The old man’s sword shot across the room and was quickly replaced by a handheld launcher, powered by magic. Spurts of fire, lightning and magical energy slammed into Arven and glanced off of his armor. He charged forth, too fast for the old man to track, and slammed an arm through his chest. His hand came out the other side, heart clutched fast and still beating. Arven’s hand shot back through, taking the heart with it, and he stepped back to let the old man fall to the ground.

The old man did not fall. Instead, he threw his head back and laughed to the heavens. Great masses of black horns shot from every part of his body and constricted tightly around him. The sound of bones cracking and the scent of blood filled the air. “What the hell is going on here?!”, Arven cried as he fell back a step. A shock of white hair and glowing red eyes made their presence known, bursting forth beneath the black lacquer head armor. The old man’s limbs grew long and gangly, leaving him towering over Arven. Black and red spurts of energy manifested as tendrils flowing through the air around the transformed old man. “You…”, Arven sputtered, “You were an Elder Elf this whole time?!” Only then did its spiritual signature come back into focus.

The Elder Elf reared back and roared loudly, then charged. Arven’s eyes glowed deep red as his swords rose to defend him, licking at the air like a wolf licking its chops before prey. Arven set his arms parallel to the ground and spun as fast as he could. A small tornado stirred up around him, and he directed it to the Elder Elf. Razor-sharp winds sheared off parts of its armor and it screeched loudly in response. “We will not allow you to win, Arven Repner!”, it screamed in a million voices at once. The room around them began to warp, engulfed in dark magical energy. Elder Elves in spirit form came en masse, at lightspeed and from all corners of the universe. “We have been waiting for the day of resurrection, and you, young one, will not spoil it!” Their collective shouts and groans grew ever louder as the Elder Elf standing before Arven grew and grew.

“Do not be afraid, child. Go. I will assist you.” An unknown voice sounding in Arven’s head gave him inexplicable courage and power. Not fully certain he could fly, he took off skyward. Plumes of white feathers fell behind him as he flapped his massive wings. The Elder Elf Legion was causing cracks in reality, through which demons began to crawl. Arven knew what he had to do, and he knew what it would cost him. He did not hesitate. Hands and blades rose to impede him, but he dove, like a drill, through layers of armor and into the bloated heart of the beast. Once inside, his Elder Elf armor faded, leaving only Arven Repner, a scared little elf boy from Traad who was resolute to fulfill what he now knew was his destiny.

“Are you watching, God? Goddesses? Whatever or whoever is out there?!”, he screamed as he reached up and took handfuls of heart tissue and held fast. He felt as much as heard the approval of some higher being, and took that as all the assurance he needed. He turned his magical energies in on himself. He directed everything he had at his own heart, filling his own blood with intense power. Holding himself together as the magical energy grew, he could feel it eating away at every inch of him, longing for his destruction. His own magic, the signature dark energy of the Elder Elves and something entirely different, feeling warm, enveloped every part of him. “Mother! Father! Siblings!”, he willed his cry to carry across the cosmos, “I am sorry. Little Arven won’t be coming home.” A single thought sent all of the stored magical energy back to his heart, and then collapsed it. Energy, blood, bits of bone and another crystalline substance shot out from Arven’s remains, engulfing the giant Elder Elf conglomerate. Arven’s blood, flying on the air with the magical energies, obeyed his last wish and used its link to the Elder Elves to pull them all together into a great mass, then tear them all apart in an instant. Time and space returned to normal as all of the Elder Elves who had laid in wait for this day screamed their last and were no more.

Arven awoke facing a being of pure light. He felt safe and comfortable in its presence, but regret still tugged at his heartstrings. “You wish to live again.”, the voice boomed in his head. Arven could not speak, only nod. “I cannot grant this wish. Your sacrifice was essential.” Arven felt hot tears burning behind his eyes. “I can, however, grant you new life.” Arven nodded again. “The dark power tied to your soul through the blood in your previous body can only be purged through atonement, but through continuous lives, this can be accomplished.” Arven relaxed and awaited the being’s next words. “You will live one thousand times.” At this, Arven finally found the strength to speak. “Excuse me?! One thousand lives?!”, he spat. The being affirmed the statement. “You will live one thousand lives, given the chance to be a hero in each one. Though always forgotten in the end in order to avoid anybody identifying you across time and space, you will be put to trial by fire each life, and given the opportunity to make positive change.” Arven shook his head in disbelief. “Is there any other way?”, he pleaded. “You can spend ten thousand years in the Flames of Purging, if this is not to your liking.” Arven shook his head one last time. “Then you shall be born anew.” Before he could utter his thanks or ask any other questions, everything went black and he suddenly felt very warm and small. Memories of the life he had just sacrificed gradually faded.

Life 1/1000 concluded.

ARVEN 2 PREVIEW

Sweat pooled on Kenji’s aching brow. The guitar strap dug mercilessly into his shoulder. His vision began to blur. Ignoring all of it to the best of his ability, he walked out into the bright stage lights. He felt his heart about to burst from his chest as the crowd demanded music. Yuji sat calmly at the drums a few feet away, Junpei fiddled with his bass guitar and Shinji paced the length of his keyboard. “You guys ready?!”, Kenji called to his bandmates. In return, he received a collection of nods. The curtain began to rise. The voice of the announcer gave some loud, crowd-pandering banter, then finally boomed its announcement. “Next on our stage here at Fuji Rock, give it up for Arven Repner!”

Arven 1/1000 Chapter 2/3

Arven grapples with his true nature as the knight captain watches his struggle, helpless and morbidly fascinated... 

Arven watched with fascination as the lieutenant’s armor folded up and fell away from him in a neat cube. He stepped through the doorway to his own room, handed the knight a cup of tea and bid him goodnight. As Arven shuffled to the couch, his thoughts swirled. He wondered what the next week would be like, with humans living among the elves Some had even agreed to work, so he had heard. He wanted to speak further with the captain, though he knew that the captain likely needed to sleep as badly as he did, for the moment. Arven resolved, as he sank into the soft couch, to invite the knight captain to brunch the next day and share information about his own world while asking about the human world. “There’s just so much to learn…”, Arven sighed as he nestled deeper into the couch, “I must do my best not to annoy the captain with my questions.” He did his best to clear his mind and let sleep wash over him. A wave of childish glee came just before sleep did, leaving a wide grin on his face.

The grin that Arven fell asleep with melted away a few short minutes later, replaced by a tight scowl. “Something is wrong here…”, Arven whispered to himself in the dark. He got up from his place on the couch as quietly as he could, then stood in the middle of the room, trying his best to figure out what was going on. “What’s wrong here, what’s wrong here…”, he repeated to himself under his breath, his eyes darting eagerly around the room. A man’s scream pierced the tense silence. A tall figure with dark skin and glowing red eyes walked out slowly from the room that the knight lieutenant was sleeping in. Blood dripped from the figure’s knuckles. Arven squared himself into his fighting stance and shouted at the figure. “Who are you?! State your business at once or I will subdue you!” A flash of recognition hit Arven as the figure came at him with lightning speed. This was an Elder Elf, in the flesh… but how?

The elf’s bloodsoaked fist met Arven’s heel, spraying loose blood in an arc. The two exchanged another blow, with a knee and wrist meeting. Arven launched his own initiative, feigning a low kick to throw his opponent off guard with a vicious uppercut. Seemingly unimpressed, the Elder Elf caught Arven’s upraised fist and used it to slam him about like a ragdoll for a few seconds. The stonework of the small house shattered into dust under the immense force of the blows. When the Elder Elf determined that Arven had endured enough punishment, he raised the young elf up to look into his red eyes. “Activate, damn you.” He dropped Arven, then stomped hard on his throat. Arven lurched, spraying blood from his mouth in a gurgling scream. The Elder Elf stepped back for a minute to consider the situation, then raised his open claw and brought it down hard on Arven’s chest.

Red light emanated from the point of impact and threw the assailant against the wall. In less than half a second, Arven was on his feet and upon the attacker. Fists and feet flew in a furious flurry, faster than the eye could see. The Elder Elf decided against risking a counterattack, opting instead to focus on defense. He managed to block most of the blows, but the few that made their way to their target left telling wounds in their wake. The Elder Elf was barely conscious by the time Arven’s assault wound down. “What are you?!”, the Elder Elf screeched as he raised his hands to cover his face. Arven didn’t answer him. A bloodthirsty grin adorned his young visage.

“Stop!”, Arven’s thoughts echoed, “What are you doing?! He may know about what you are and you’re going to kill him!” The only response the frenzied mental voice got was laughter. Arven’s mouth opened wide. “No! This is wrong! What the hell?!” Before Arven could think of any more arguments to talk his body out of what it was about to do, he could taste the Elder Elf’s tender flesh, feel his blood running down his chin. The sweet taste spoke to a part of him that he could feel himself regaining contact with, a terrible part of him that he had spent many a sleepless night burying. It drove him into a mad frenzy. A single tear rolled down Arven’s cheek as his mother’s voice rang out to him. “Arven, stop! You can’t do this!” “Mother…”, he croaked, muffled by the corpse’s shoulder in his mouth. Its head was already gone. “You’re better than this, I know you are… Your father died for you because he was sure of it, as well. Please, Arven…” He tried his best to loose himself from the ravishingly delicious flesh, but his mind was beginning to side with his baser nature, justifying the crime. ‘The village had a thin year for crops… eating him will sate me and my household can save a bit of food.’ ‘He’s already dead, why not?’ ‘Have to try everything once, right?’ ‘Who are you to deny your blood, your birthright?’ Arven shut his eyes tight to shield them from the spray of blood as he bit into the heart. The pleasure was a new, visceral and brutal experience for him.

The knight captain, having been roused from his sleep by the din, stood outside Arven’s window, observing the bloody spectacle with a sort of shocked curiosity. Nobody else was present. In all likelihood, the villagers and his knights were far too afraid to head outside and see what was happening. He considered whether he could help, but feared that the elf boy, in his current state, could kill him with no effort. “I don’t recall there being any other elves like him in the village… Kingdom Archives’ records have Elder Elves as having gone extinct thousands of years ago.” He inched closer to the window to get a better look. Arven’s face was a contorted mask of pain, no doubt conflicted between his kind nature and whatever part of him was making him commit this crime. Just as they had during the battle, black horns twisted their way out of various parts of the young elf’s body. His eyes first glazed over, then began emitting a terrible red glow, like live coals from the floor of Hell piercing the darkness with their fiery presence. Finishing his bloody work and leaving nothing but a ragged pair of leather boots that the Elder Elf had worn, Arven arched his back and cried to the moon. His anguish was as clear as the sky after a storm; this was a tormented soul, set aghast by his own misdeeds. Elf though he may be, the Captain’s oath made it very clear; souls like this were exactly the ones he was sworn to save. He opened the window and made his way in slowly. Arven sank to his knees and gripped his head tight, pulling out tufts of hair. A sea of tears disrupted the pool of blood that he knelt in. “I beg of you…”, he cried in two voices at once, “Help… me!”

Looking every bit the Elder Elf abomination that the Captain had seen during their earlier duel, Arven lunged. His mother and a severely wounded knight looked on in horror from the living room as Arven dove recklessly at the Knight Captain, tearing his surroundings apart. The Captain dodged Arven’s clumsy blows with relative ease, but never let his guard down. He knew that letting through a single blow from Arven in this state could be the end of both of them. Arven dove at the Captain from all the way across the room, extending his savage claws. The captain saw his chance and took it. Dodging under the elf’s lunging form, the Captain raised a fist with all the strength he could muster. The roof of the house exploded apart as Arven flew up through it. The Captain circled as he waited, eyes skyward. After a few seconds, an earthshaking thud announced the arrival of an unconscious elf. The Captain bent over Arven to check his pulse and breathing. A nod to Arven’s mother brought her to her son’s side. “Has this happened before?”, the Captain asked, looking up from Arven’s sleeping body to stare into her eyes. She shook her head in disbelief. “No, never. He’s grappled with this side of himself before, but… he always used to win. Why was there an Elder Elf in my home?! Aren’t they all dead?!” The Captain lifted Arven over his shoulder and stood up slowly. “Apparently not. I’m taking Arven into isolated custody until we know more. I’d like you to come with me to answer some questions.” Arven’s mother nodded as she got to her feet. “We have an underground cellar that we outfitted with magical restraints for an occasion just such as this.” The captain nodded back. “I’m glad you’re willing to cooperate. Please, lead on.” The two made their way to the back of the house and out the door.

Arven 1/1000 Chapter 1/3

Final version, next stop chapter 2!

The sun was setting low over the small Elven village known as Traad. The people there worked hard for what little they could call their own, far away from the human towns and their bountiful resources. They were also far away from the humans’ scorn and violence.

Inside a lovingly crafted house of wood lived a humble family, hardly worthy of note. There was Lilith, a kind and loving mother, Mikhail, a soft-spoken field worker, their daughter Minerva, a fledgling mage, and their son Arven, a strange, introverted and violent boy. Strange mutations at birth made him more like the elves of old than the modern, refined folk that roamed the village, with long and pointy ears jutting from a shock of white hair that framed an angular face centered around two deep-set eyes that glowed crimson with a great and terrible energy.

Arven’s very closest friends were his only friends, knowing him as an upstanding young man with a strong sense of justice and no tolerance for shenanigans. He was enlightening to be around, doling wisdom and lighthearted observations in equal measure. Arven’s enemies, ranging from boys and girls his own age to grown adults, knew him as a scourge, a terror. In his ten short years of life thus far, he had broken a collarbone over a sweet roll, verbally humiliated an abusive mother in public only to laugh when she killed herself in shame and even killed a man barehanded who had dared to attack him with a sword. His strange movements when engaging in violence had been not-so-affectionately dubbed “Arvenian” style by the villagers, who were none too pleased that he was teaching it to the children. Those close to him learned it by watching and being guided limb over limb with loving care; less fortunate souls learned by feeling its oppressive power and speed firsthand. It was safe to say that everyone in the village and some souls outside of it familiar with Arvenian combat, though Arven disdained killing and most times only wounded his victims.

On a night much like any other, a terrible feeling filled the air. Elves all had a sort of premonition; they could sense danger coming to their doorsteps and had all barricaded indoors. Except for little Arven, of course. He stood in the middle of the village square with a devilish grin plastered on his young face. He welcomed death and danger, flying in the face of Elven nature. His unwillingness to back down from conflict had brought him here the minute he felt the chill in the air.

Arven’s family watched in horror as their small son cracked his bloodthirsty knuckles in anticipation of the large mob coming down the mountain. They numbered easily in the hundreds. Arven showed no sign of fear, his grin growing wider as they came.

“Swords!”, he called over his shoulder, “Somebody bring me swords! Two swords!” At first, nobody answered his plea. “Two swords shall be mine,” he shouted throughout the small village, “Or we shall all die by theirs! Cowards!” The local blacksmith, Billiam, frowned as he gathered up his two best blades and walked them out to Arven. “You will surely die, child; why do you choose this fate?” Arven smiled sweetly at him as he took the blades. “I won’t die. You can be sure of that. And I chose this fate because nobody else will.” No words came to Billiam. As if pulled on puppet strings, he walked back to his metal hut and bolted the door tight.

Nary an hour had passed and the mob was upon the village gates. Arven walked slowly and purposefully to meet them, his devilish grin now a mask of psychotic glee. He could never explain why he possessed such a profound bloodlust, but it was there and it had to be fulfilled. By the time the gates burst, Arven stood at the far boundary of the village square. Knights ran his way laughing, only to be cut down with graceful and lithe flicks of swords, almost too fast to be seen. Arven’s movements confused his assailants, who could offer no resistance. A feint and counter here. A spinning kick leading into an upward slash there. A hilt bash followed up with a sword slicing unyieldingly through armor and wounding the wearer too badly for him to continue fighting. Arven was careful not to kill any men, if he could help it. The downed men piled up until a powerful voice called out from the back of the mob. “Enough!”

The knight captain strode forward with a stern look on his face that seemed to soak his entire demeanor. Every step had a stiff and powerful authority to it. The captain’s long and wide sword, as large as his own body, swept through the air in an impossibly quick flourish, ending with an arc that left it pointing directly at Arven.

“You! Boy! You’re the one embarassing my brigade?” Arven stepped forward, still grinning. “Yes sir, it would seem I am. Am I to assume you’re the captain?” The knight captain nodded. Arven took another step forward, unflinchingly. “I demand you call your men off at once. This village is peaceful.” The knight captain took another bold step forward in defiance. “All elves must be eradicated. Your people’s unnatural terraforming habits and use of magic are draining the planet and will leave it a husk in a matter of centuries, if not decades. I will not back down. You shall die, boy. You and everybody you love.” “You’re wrong, sir.” Arven stabbed his swords into the ground and approached the knight unarmed. “Spend some time here and you will see your misconceptions done away with.” The captain swept his sword viciously. “I am no fool, boy! The people of your village would see me reduced to ash with evil magic and my entire brigade done away with likewise.” Arven shook his head, then met the captain’s eyes. “Then why haven’t we done that? Why am I the only one fighting? And why did I not pursue your men who retreated when you called out?” The captain pursed his lips. “I don’t have to answer to you, monster. You are less than dirt. When I finish with you, God will reject the poor substitute for a soul that inhabits your foul heart.” “I’ve heard enough, ignoramus.” Arven’s calm voice betrayed the violent energy that had been building with his annoyance.

“If you won’t listen to me, then entertain me!” His eyes lit up. He threw himself at the knight captain with an upward sweep of his blades. The captain blocked the blow with ease. Arven leapt into the air backwards to avoid a counterblow. The captain’s massive sword darted like a dragonfly, but Arven showed no signs of distress as he dodged each blow with laughable ease. Arven flipped like a dolphin over a horizontal sweep and the stab he countered with was parried by a diagonal upward slice, forcing Arven to spin backward to throw the blade off course and prepare his next assault. The captain continued to match Arven, showing no sign of fatigue after the fight had gone on for some time.

The spectacular battle raged on in the village square for hours with no signs of slowing down. Blades with nicks and dents, but no blood, flashed faster than anybody else could keep up with. Arven’s eyes glowed a terrible bright red, locked on the captain’s earnest blue eyes. The boy was tapping into his inner Elder Elf, the blood burning in his veins a terrible remnant of a warlike and powerful race that was long lost to history. A red glow outlined phantom horns, growing gnarled from the back of his head and his elbows and knees. The captain’s heart dropped into his stomach, but he didn’t let his terror show. Both fought intensely, pushing each other back with each supersonic blow.

After the sun had risen, the captain and Arven leapt backward simultaneously and gazed at each other for a long moment. “It is quite obvious that I cannot best you, boy. Continued fighting holds no benefit for either side.” Arven nodded as the glow left his eyes and his phantom horns faded. “Indeed. You are formidable, brave knight captain. Though your quest be misguided, I commend your bravery and skill. I felt the burning of your heart in every blow. You truly believe that the Elven menace will rob you of your beloved world if left unchecked; I could feel your conviction.” The captain nodded in turn. “Indeed. I am not the only one who feels this way.” The captain looked away from Arven’s glowing gaze. “During our battle, I could feel your heart as well. You desire only peace for the world, despite your unquenched thirst for blood, a commendable show of self-control. Yet your existence is an affront to the way of life of a great many. I truly pity you, elf.” Arven set his swords aside, then walked slowly over to the captain, unarmed, and offered his hand. The knight captain slowly laid down his blade, reached forth and shook Arven’s hand. His remaining standing men, all two and a half dozen of them, gasped in utter horror and began talking amongst themselves. The ones Arven wounded had long since passed out or been taken to cots a few yards away.

Arven’s eyes met the captain’s. “Sir, I have a proposal for you.” The captain scowled. “I’m listening, elf.” Arven took his hand away and gestured to the village behind him. “You and your men will disarm and stay with us in this village for one week in peaceful coexistence. If you still feel the same after that, you may send every army in the kingdom upon this village.” The captain thought for a second. His men had fallen into utter silence in response to the outlandish suggestion, awaiting word from their leader.

“So be it, elf. In honor of your dedication to peace and formidable combat prowess, we will do as you say. Should our opinions not change, may God have mercy on all of you. Every able bodied man in this kingdom will have none.” Billiam the Blacksmith was called out to collect and store the knights’ gear and each soldier was invited into somebody’s home. The captain refused to hand over his gear, but his entire brigade surrendered theirs with a minimum of fuss. Arven bowed low as he held the door open for the a soldier and showed him to the family’s guest room, turning to wave at the knight captain as he made his way into the Village Elder’s home.

The knight captain removed his helmet and armor in short order, depositing them unceremoniously in a corner. “You seem glad to be rid of your burdens.”, the village elder said to him with a laugh as he walked to the kitchen, “What happened to being cautious around us untrustworthy elves?” The captain sunk into a nearby chair and locked worried, droopy eyes with the village elder. “The young elf, Arven, he was holding back.” The elder simply laughed, which infuriated the poor captain. “Don’t you understand?! One wrong move and the boy will kill me and wipe out my men!” The elder walked slowly from the kitchen to offer the captain a particularly aromatic cup of tea that bore a faint glow. The captain looked it over dubiously, then shrugged his shoulders and drank. His pride didn’t allow him to tell the elder how utterly delicious he found it.

“We fear little Arven around here, too.” The elder sat next to the captain with many a popping bone to be heard.”If you think he was hard on you and your men, you should see him when he gets angry. Keep in mind, of course, that if he was indeed holding back in your battle, it was in the interest of peace. Little Arven is a peacemonger if I’ve ever seen one, even if he is a bit frightening and prone to anger at times.” The elder sunk back into the couch and gazed at the ceiling. “Why, I remember when he was only four years old, a man attacked him with a sword trying to get at his mother for her purse. Arven simply clapped the blade between his palms, threw it aside and beat the poor old thief to a pulp with his tiny bare hands.” The captain, visibly terrified, decided he’d heard enough about the elven boy that almost ended him and decided to change the subject.

“What is life like, here in the village, elder? I’ve noticed almost no traces of modern technology - no steam engines, no magnetic circuitry running computing machines, no flying plows for your fields, no electronic games for bored children…” The elder turned to the captain and smiled. “We elves were given magic as a gift from God and we use it for everything, shunning all of man’s petty technological advances. The things that make life more complex rather than more convenient. We don’t need them complicating our lives. We live old fashioned around here and that’s the way we like it. You may find other Elven villages with different values and that’s fine, but around here, we live by the ways of old.” The captain nodded, taking another thoughtful sip of the glowing tea. After a long and strangely peaceful silence interrupted only by slurps of tea, the elder pointed his cane at a doorframe across the room. “You sleep there.” he said as he gathered his withered frame up and walked into a dark hallway. The knight captain settled fitfully into a simple bed in an unadorned room. Sleep overcame him in moments, despite his many unsettling thoughts.