RyuKeiko
Member
The Rise of the Halfling
The arena. Normally, it was not too lively, as it was today. The thick stone walls that sat far out from the city weren’t foreign to a tournament amongst the angels, but this was different. Angels packed the seats that towered high above the arena floor, all for the spectacle of watching the halfling hopefully be defeated by the reigning Asral. The angels were free to go out as hardcore as they wanted, the magical barrier set by the Virtues protecting angels that watched and cheered.
The loud cheering crowd yelled and screamed out the name of one of two angels in the centre. “Asral! Asral!” they shouted. Holding his golden daggers in his hands, he smirked at the male angel on the ground, face first. “Come on, Sorastel.” He mocked. “You were trained by Michael’s star pupil, and this is all you got?” He snickered. “You weren’t ready for this tournament, not one bit. Still a fledgling, as always.” He said. The young angel, struggling, slowly began to raise to his feet. His first tournament, and though he had made it to the final match, he was getting his arse handed to him. Get up, you idiot. He thought as he continued to rise. You know damn well she is watching, and she will NOT let you live this down. As he picked himself up to his hands and knees, he looked up at the very top of the arena. Above the crowd, in their own little section, sat Archangel Michael, with Olistiel.
A bit hard for a halfling like me to fit in. He thought angrily. Being an outsider was one thing, but being an outsider who was half angel, half demon, was another issue on its own. Olistiel, a Power, had been sent out by Michael himself to kill the halfling, for he had killed off all the other lesser angels sent to capture him. Sorastel, doing as he always and fought to defend himself, inevitably lost to Olistiel. The Power proved to be too skilled for him, making it seem like child’s play. “I shall give you a choice.” She says, her voice holding an air of authority to it. “I could kill you here and now, and complete my task given. Or, I could take you back, and you serve Heaven, after proper training of course.” Sorastel blinked, confused. Wasn’t she sent to kill me? He thought, as he looked at the angel. There she stood above him, blue-gray wings spread out as though she would take flight at any moment. What made her want to even want to take me back? His mind raced, trying to think or even comprehend what was happening. Death was never an option for me, but I can’t fight this woman. She is just too strong. So, I guess… He sighed, folding in his own black wings. “Take me wherever the hell you are.” He grumbled. Smirking, the Power nodded, and beckoned for him to follow.
And look where I am now. He thought, finally rising to his feet. He glared at Asral, purple eyes glowing with anger, as he gripped his daggers. Bestowed to him by his trainer herself, the lightweight silver blades in his hands were one of a kind. They differed from the typical bronze hued or golden weapons most angels used. Olistiel had forged them herself, with sigils and symbols etched on the hilts. Never telling him if they held any meaning or if they were there strictly for aesthetic purposes, he accepted the blades, and only used them for important events, such as this tournament. “You know, you really start to piss me off.” He growled, shakily assuming position again. “You and all the other angels here, treating me like some forsaken outcast!” He moved forward, charging towards the young angel, who just smirked. “That’s because,” He began, as their blades clashed. “You are, a damned outcast.” He whispered, laughing in Sorastel’s face. Sorastel went to push forward but was overpowered by the slightly bigger angel. Getting pushed away, Sorastel tried to keep his footing, as to not fall, but within that time, Asral charged forward, ready to make the finally slash. Shit, come on, gotta dodge it! He thought, as he shifted his weight to the heels in his feet and leaned to his side. The blades grazed his right arm, blood spilling immensely, but the wound wasn’t enough to stop him. Wings adjusting, he suddenly launched himself into the air, before zipping through the arena. He was quick, but was he running away to avoid another hit? The crowd thought so and began to ‘boo’ him. Asral laughed, looking up from the arena floor, as Sorastel began circling the arena fully.
“What are you doing, halfling?” He called out laughing. “You intend to run like the coward you are? Come, accept your defeat.” He laughed even more. Sorastel’s face scrunched with determination, as he kept flying, going faster and faster. He became a blur of black wings, as he did so. The wind began to pick up, circulating in rotation as he moved. Asral looked around, wondering what was happening, before he noticed bits and pieces of earth beginning to rise off the ground. The wind got stronger, before it was evident of what he was doing. “You are making a to-” he said, before he was cut off by debris of stone and dirt flying everywhere. The crowd watched in awestruck silence, as they watch from behind the Virtues’ barrier. Asral tried to fly up, but the wind was much too strong for him. He only got tossed around, unable to truly see much through the debris filled winds of the storm Sorastel created. He yelled out, cursing the young angel, before a grunt was heard through the now silent stands, and the storm began to die out. From the skies, you saw Astral, hurdling down to the ground, before crashing into the arena floor with a dense thud. As things cleared, you could see his body covered in wounds, dagger wounds, to be exact. When did they get there? Where was Sorastel? Whispers and murmurs could be heard, forming throughout the crowds when something landed on the ground, large black wings flapping up a strong gust of wind. Panting, the halfling stood there, wings extended to the fullest as he held his daggers. They dripped with blood as he stood there, and it all became clear. “Did he…” “I don’t know how…” the crowd muttered, before the bell rang aloud through the arena. Michael, rising to his feet, cleared his throat before his voice rang out for everyone to hear. “The winner of this tournament, was the young angel, Sorastel Hikaru!” It took a minute or two, but before long, Sorastel’s name could be heard throughout the arena, as the crowd began to cheer for the one they so hoped to see lose. The halfling had done it! He had beaten Asral! Tired as he may be, Sorastel stood tall in response to the cheering, before looking down at Asral’s seemingly lifeless body. Kneeling, he looked at Asral, nudging him a bit. A small gasp of breath could be heard from him, as he looked at Sorastel from his spot on the ground, his eyes burning with hatred. “I just want you to remember something, Asral.” He said, sheathing his daggers. “Remember, that the halfling just kicked your arse.” He growled, before standing and walking away.
He moved quickly, wanting to avoid the crowds and their sudden excitement and ‘love’ for the victor of this battle. Why should I care about their cheering and such? He thought, wings folding in as he moved about. As he passed through the arena gates, he stopped, and sighed. “You know, you could just say hello normally.” He says, turning around. Before him, stood Olistiel, armor and all. “It’s always a good thing, to keep you on your toes Sorastel.” She says with a smile, before her face went stern. “Remember your rankings trainee and show some respect for your superiors.” She said seriously. Sorastel let out a sigh and straightened his posture. “Yes ma’am.” Was all he mumbled as he looked at her. A small smile formed on her face again as she reached out and laid her hand on his head. “I’m proud of you, Sorastel.” He blinked, and looked at her, before a small blush formed on his face. “I- Yeah…” He stammered, before looking away. Why so soft suddenly? He thought to himself as he turned around to walk away once again. “Why don’t I take you for a treat today?” She said, before he could walk forward. He balled his fist a bit, huffing. “I’m not so pet who needs a treat every time I do good.” He grumbled, as he took his step forward. Olistiel, chuckling and letting out a small sighed, stepped forward after him, and walked up to be by his side. “That’s not what I mean, and you know it, Sorastel.” She said, before adding on. “Here,” she said softly, “follow along, and I’ll show you a spot that I love to go and grab a bite to eat.” Sorastel sighed again, before he finally agreed. “Fine, let’s go.” He said before he smirked. “But this place better be good, or I’ll be pissed.” Olistiel chuckled slightly, as her wings extended out, before she began to life herself off the ground. “Trust me, it’s to die for, Halfling.” She said, almost a bit affectionately before flying off.
He blinked, before he realized he would lose sight of her if he didn’t follow, and lifted himself off the ground, and flew after her. Maybe, he thought, catching up with her and smiling at her slightly from behind, things were looking up for me after all.
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This was a piece I submitted in my creative writing course last semester~
The arena. Normally, it was not too lively, as it was today. The thick stone walls that sat far out from the city weren’t foreign to a tournament amongst the angels, but this was different. Angels packed the seats that towered high above the arena floor, all for the spectacle of watching the halfling hopefully be defeated by the reigning Asral. The angels were free to go out as hardcore as they wanted, the magical barrier set by the Virtues protecting angels that watched and cheered.
The loud cheering crowd yelled and screamed out the name of one of two angels in the centre. “Asral! Asral!” they shouted. Holding his golden daggers in his hands, he smirked at the male angel on the ground, face first. “Come on, Sorastel.” He mocked. “You were trained by Michael’s star pupil, and this is all you got?” He snickered. “You weren’t ready for this tournament, not one bit. Still a fledgling, as always.” He said. The young angel, struggling, slowly began to raise to his feet. His first tournament, and though he had made it to the final match, he was getting his arse handed to him. Get up, you idiot. He thought as he continued to rise. You know damn well she is watching, and she will NOT let you live this down. As he picked himself up to his hands and knees, he looked up at the very top of the arena. Above the crowd, in their own little section, sat Archangel Michael, with Olistiel.
A bit hard for a halfling like me to fit in. He thought angrily. Being an outsider was one thing, but being an outsider who was half angel, half demon, was another issue on its own. Olistiel, a Power, had been sent out by Michael himself to kill the halfling, for he had killed off all the other lesser angels sent to capture him. Sorastel, doing as he always and fought to defend himself, inevitably lost to Olistiel. The Power proved to be too skilled for him, making it seem like child’s play. “I shall give you a choice.” She says, her voice holding an air of authority to it. “I could kill you here and now, and complete my task given. Or, I could take you back, and you serve Heaven, after proper training of course.” Sorastel blinked, confused. Wasn’t she sent to kill me? He thought, as he looked at the angel. There she stood above him, blue-gray wings spread out as though she would take flight at any moment. What made her want to even want to take me back? His mind raced, trying to think or even comprehend what was happening. Death was never an option for me, but I can’t fight this woman. She is just too strong. So, I guess… He sighed, folding in his own black wings. “Take me wherever the hell you are.” He grumbled. Smirking, the Power nodded, and beckoned for him to follow.
And look where I am now. He thought, finally rising to his feet. He glared at Asral, purple eyes glowing with anger, as he gripped his daggers. Bestowed to him by his trainer herself, the lightweight silver blades in his hands were one of a kind. They differed from the typical bronze hued or golden weapons most angels used. Olistiel had forged them herself, with sigils and symbols etched on the hilts. Never telling him if they held any meaning or if they were there strictly for aesthetic purposes, he accepted the blades, and only used them for important events, such as this tournament. “You know, you really start to piss me off.” He growled, shakily assuming position again. “You and all the other angels here, treating me like some forsaken outcast!” He moved forward, charging towards the young angel, who just smirked. “That’s because,” He began, as their blades clashed. “You are, a damned outcast.” He whispered, laughing in Sorastel’s face. Sorastel went to push forward but was overpowered by the slightly bigger angel. Getting pushed away, Sorastel tried to keep his footing, as to not fall, but within that time, Asral charged forward, ready to make the finally slash. Shit, come on, gotta dodge it! He thought, as he shifted his weight to the heels in his feet and leaned to his side. The blades grazed his right arm, blood spilling immensely, but the wound wasn’t enough to stop him. Wings adjusting, he suddenly launched himself into the air, before zipping through the arena. He was quick, but was he running away to avoid another hit? The crowd thought so and began to ‘boo’ him. Asral laughed, looking up from the arena floor, as Sorastel began circling the arena fully.
“What are you doing, halfling?” He called out laughing. “You intend to run like the coward you are? Come, accept your defeat.” He laughed even more. Sorastel’s face scrunched with determination, as he kept flying, going faster and faster. He became a blur of black wings, as he did so. The wind began to pick up, circulating in rotation as he moved. Asral looked around, wondering what was happening, before he noticed bits and pieces of earth beginning to rise off the ground. The wind got stronger, before it was evident of what he was doing. “You are making a to-” he said, before he was cut off by debris of stone and dirt flying everywhere. The crowd watched in awestruck silence, as they watch from behind the Virtues’ barrier. Asral tried to fly up, but the wind was much too strong for him. He only got tossed around, unable to truly see much through the debris filled winds of the storm Sorastel created. He yelled out, cursing the young angel, before a grunt was heard through the now silent stands, and the storm began to die out. From the skies, you saw Astral, hurdling down to the ground, before crashing into the arena floor with a dense thud. As things cleared, you could see his body covered in wounds, dagger wounds, to be exact. When did they get there? Where was Sorastel? Whispers and murmurs could be heard, forming throughout the crowds when something landed on the ground, large black wings flapping up a strong gust of wind. Panting, the halfling stood there, wings extended to the fullest as he held his daggers. They dripped with blood as he stood there, and it all became clear. “Did he…” “I don’t know how…” the crowd muttered, before the bell rang aloud through the arena. Michael, rising to his feet, cleared his throat before his voice rang out for everyone to hear. “The winner of this tournament, was the young angel, Sorastel Hikaru!” It took a minute or two, but before long, Sorastel’s name could be heard throughout the arena, as the crowd began to cheer for the one they so hoped to see lose. The halfling had done it! He had beaten Asral! Tired as he may be, Sorastel stood tall in response to the cheering, before looking down at Asral’s seemingly lifeless body. Kneeling, he looked at Asral, nudging him a bit. A small gasp of breath could be heard from him, as he looked at Sorastel from his spot on the ground, his eyes burning with hatred. “I just want you to remember something, Asral.” He said, sheathing his daggers. “Remember, that the halfling just kicked your arse.” He growled, before standing and walking away.
He moved quickly, wanting to avoid the crowds and their sudden excitement and ‘love’ for the victor of this battle. Why should I care about their cheering and such? He thought, wings folding in as he moved about. As he passed through the arena gates, he stopped, and sighed. “You know, you could just say hello normally.” He says, turning around. Before him, stood Olistiel, armor and all. “It’s always a good thing, to keep you on your toes Sorastel.” She says with a smile, before her face went stern. “Remember your rankings trainee and show some respect for your superiors.” She said seriously. Sorastel let out a sigh and straightened his posture. “Yes ma’am.” Was all he mumbled as he looked at her. A small smile formed on her face again as she reached out and laid her hand on his head. “I’m proud of you, Sorastel.” He blinked, and looked at her, before a small blush formed on his face. “I- Yeah…” He stammered, before looking away. Why so soft suddenly? He thought to himself as he turned around to walk away once again. “Why don’t I take you for a treat today?” She said, before he could walk forward. He balled his fist a bit, huffing. “I’m not so pet who needs a treat every time I do good.” He grumbled, as he took his step forward. Olistiel, chuckling and letting out a small sighed, stepped forward after him, and walked up to be by his side. “That’s not what I mean, and you know it, Sorastel.” She said, before adding on. “Here,” she said softly, “follow along, and I’ll show you a spot that I love to go and grab a bite to eat.” Sorastel sighed again, before he finally agreed. “Fine, let’s go.” He said before he smirked. “But this place better be good, or I’ll be pissed.” Olistiel chuckled slightly, as her wings extended out, before she began to life herself off the ground. “Trust me, it’s to die for, Halfling.” She said, almost a bit affectionately before flying off.
He blinked, before he realized he would lose sight of her if he didn’t follow, and lifted himself off the ground, and flew after her. Maybe, he thought, catching up with her and smiling at her slightly from behind, things were looking up for me after all.
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This was a piece I submitted in my creative writing course last semester~