his favourite Kings.
“Reminiscence is a worthy
exercise only if there are honours to recollect, not defeats. Your defeats,”
Maganus taunted.
The Count retorted. “And
probably your failings too, Maganus.”
“At least our motives were
noble and correct.”
Raum spit in disgust. “Noble
and correct? Who is to judge? Angels have the cursed habit of lecturing us. Why
don’t you pause for a second and reflect on the stupidity of the human race.
Their foibles are embarrassing, and their future is sealed by their self-destruction.”
“Leave them to decide their fate.
They have proven they can chart their own course without undue interference
from you side.”
“Come on, Maganus! They will
never learn. Are you not tired? One defeat after another and the human race
never seem to learn from their mistakes.”
Emotional disequilibrium
affected his usual eloquence. Maganus clenched his fists, but only put up a
grim silence. “I guess defeat will seal your lips, Ivan!”
“When you cannot win employing
logic, using fists will not secure the victory you desired.” Count Raum hissed and
flashed his sharp-pointed teeth. His narrow eyes mutated into balls of fire.
Raising his hands, the Count summoned his ravens. Within seconds, a halo of
darkness circled over the Count’s head.
Maganus grinned, then rubbed
his palms and slowly raised them. In an instant, a pair of battleaxes that
glowed like ancient gold materialized in his palms. The Guardian Angel wielded
the weapons, the trusty golden battleaxes of Heracles, with fluency.
“You could still fight,
Maganus?” the Count asked in a booming voice.
“It has been a while, Count
Raum,” Maganus remarked but he remembered something. He turned to the priest. “Bring
them away. It is going to be a hazard.” Thomas Bellator nodded and harried the
kids to a corner between the trees and a boulder.
After the Demon and Guardian
Angel were alone, Maganus shut his eyes in quiet prayers. Count Raum darted a
taunt. “You are frightened?”
“No chance, Ivan! I will give
you the fun you’ve been asking for.”
Saying that, Maganus charged at
Ivan Raum like a bison but the Count quickly summoned his ravens and formed a
shield.
The doughty Angel raised his
battle axe, gripped it in the middle of the handle, then rotated it in a
clockwise motion. The movement picked up momentum and created a breeze that
grew into a howling wind, rimmed with a golden light.
The bristling wind blunted the surface
of the shield, felling the ravens, and it was soon a test of the powers of the
dark arrow and the force of the bright gale. Maganus continued with unblinking focus,
whilst Count Raum, a top-rate adversary who could raise twenty legions of
Demons at a drop of the hat, held firm.
As the moment dragged on, the
Count blinked first; but not to concede the battle, only to raise the stakes.
He begun to murmur and the drone of his prayers resonated through the air.
Within seconds, the ravens had vaporized and in place of the shrilling menace came
the familiar howl of Trolls. The ground shook and through the forest a pair of
the gigantic creatures stormed their way through the woods, heading for
Maganus.
The Angel crossed his heart.
“The same old pets of yours!” he uttered with contempt.
Calmly, he planted his
battleaxes, the head first, into the ground. Then he dug into his breast pocket
and pulled out his smoking pipe. Without turning his head at the pair of angry
Trolls, Maganus lit a match and placed it gently beneath the pipe. He found
himself a spot on a fallen branch nearby, sat on it, crossed his legs, and
inhaled with Olympian serenity.
He held his breath and rocked
himself gently as he gauged their distance from him. When they were about ten
yards away, Maganus blew hard. The trail of white smoke he exhaled magnified
and transmuted into a series of loops that flew over the Trolls.
The pair stopped as if they had
been paralyzed by the smoke. They shrank and mutated into
“Reminiscence is a worthy
exercise only if there are honours to recollect, not defeats. Your defeats,”
Maganus taunted.
The Count retorted. “And
probably your failings too, Maganus.”
“At least our motives were
noble and correct.”
Raum spit in disgust. “Noble
and correct? Who is to judge? Angels have the cursed habit of lecturing us. Why
don’t you pause for a second and reflect on the stupidity of the human race.
Their foibles are embarrassing, and their future is sealed by their self-destruction.”
“Leave them to decide their fate.
They have proven they can chart their own course without undue interference
from you side.”
“Come on, Maganus! They will
never learn. Are you not tired? One defeat after another and the human race
never seem to learn from their mistakes.”
Emotional disequilibrium
affected his usual eloquence. Maganus clenched his fists, but only put up a
grim silence. “I guess defeat will seal your lips, Ivan!”
“When you cannot win employing
logic, using fists will not secure the victory you desired.” Count Raum hissed and
flashed his sharp-pointed teeth. His narrow eyes mutated into balls of fire.
Raising his hands, the Count summoned his ravens. Within seconds, a halo of
darkness circled over the Count’s head.
Maganus grinned, then rubbed
his palms and slowly raised them. In an instant, a pair of battleaxes that
glowed like ancient gold materialized in his palms. The Guardian Angel wielded
the weapons, the trusty golden battleaxes of Heracles, with fluency.
“You could still fight,
Maganus?” the Count asked in a booming voice.
“It has been a while, Count
Raum,” Maganus remarked but he remembered something. He turned to the priest. “Bring
them away. It is going to be a hazard.” Thomas Bellator nodded and harried the
kids to a corner between the trees and a boulder.
After the Demon and Guardian
Angel were alone, Maganus shut his eyes in quiet prayers. Count Raum darted a
taunt. “You are frightened?”
“No chance, Ivan! I will give
you the fun you’ve been asking for.”
Saying that, Maganus charged at
Ivan Raum like a bison but the Count quickly summoned his ravens and formed a
shield.
The doughty Angel raised his
battle axe, gripped it in the middle of the handle, then rotated it in a
clockwise motion. The movement picked up momentum and created a breeze that
grew into a howling wind, rimmed with a golden light.
The bristling wind blunted the surface
of the shield, felling the ravens, and it was soon a test of the powers of the
dark arrow and the force of the bright gale. Maganus continued with unblinking focus,
whilst Count Raum, a top-rate adversary who could raise twenty legions of
Demons at a drop of the hat, held firm.
As the moment dragged on, the
Count blinked first; but not to concede the battle, only to raise the stakes.
He begun to murmur and the drone of his prayers resonated through the air.
Within seconds, the ravens had vaporized and in place of the shrilling menace came
the familiar howl of Trolls. The ground shook and through the forest a pair of
the gigantic creatures stormed their way through the woods, heading for
Maganus.
The Angel crossed his heart.
“The same old pets of yours!” he uttered with contempt.
Calmly, he planted his
battleaxes, the head first, into the ground. Then he dug into his breast pocket
and pulled out his smoking pipe. Without turning his head at the pair of angry
Trolls, Maganus lit a match and placed it gently beneath the pipe. He found
himself a spot on a fallen branch nearby, sat on it, crossed his legs, and
inhaled with Olympian serenity.
He held his breath and rocked
himself gently as he gauged their distance from him. When they were about ten
yards away, Maganus blew hard. The trail of white smoke he exhaled magnified
and transmuted into a series of loops that flew over the Trolls.
The pair stopped as if they had
been paralyzed by the smoke. They shrank and mutated into
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