and made of bright steel. The cross-guard was made of gold and the handle was made of ivory. Reginald ran his fingers up and down to blade, feeling the cold metal with his fingertips. He gripped the handle and lifted it easily from the wall. Holding it up, he saw the candlelight glimmering on its blade. He struggled to keep from shedding a tear as a distant memory flooded his mind.
Reginald felt a powerful force collide with his blade, sending him backwards into the hard ground behind him. His entire body was filled with pain, while blood dripped from scratches all over. His breathing came out ragged as he tried to keep conscious. He felt like he close to death.
"Get up," he heard his father say. After he didn't move, the words were repeated. "Get up."
Reginald tried to push himself up, but fell facedown into the dirt. He groaned as the dirt rubbed into his wounds. He tried again, but had no luck.
"You are one of the vampire, Reginald," his father said. "You were not made to lie in the mud like the filth you came from. Get up."
Reginald just lay there, struggling to breath. After a moment he heard footsteps approaching. He managed to turn his head enough to see the feet of his father standing directly in front of him.
"You have three seconds to move," his father said. "After that, you are no true son of mine, nor will you ever be. You will be a mistake I shall ignore forever."
Reginald felt tears begin to stream down his cheeks as he pushed with all of his might to stand. After what felt like an eternity of struggle, he felt his arms go limp and he crashed once more. Before he could move again, he felt a powerful pain explode in his guts. He began to convulse as the pain grew worse.
"Anthony!" he heard his mother scream.
"If you wish to keep your son, then see to his wounds quickly. I will return in several weeks," his father said.
"Mother," Reginald gasped, his vision beginning to blur.
"Hold on, Reginald," his mother said, rushing to his side. Reginald screamed as she pulled the sword from his back and flung it to the ground beside him. His screams echoed through the forest as he slowly lost consciousness.
"Why?" Reginald asked, laying his hand on his stomach. There was no scar showing the severe trauma, except for the memory. "You truly did hate me, but why?" He stared at the glimmering sword. He slashed and stabbed with it several times, feeling the wind and hearing sound as the sword cut the air. He smiled sadly. "You gave up teaching, but I watched from the shadows. I learned more than you think. I just have to hope I can put the knowledge to practice."
He looked over and saw the red and blue flannel jacket from before lying on a chair. He looked at his watch and took in a deep breath. "Just past midnight. This night is far from over."
He reached behind a nearby dresser and pulled out a leather-bound sheath that was attached to a strap. He smiled as he heard the scraping of metal against metal as he put the sword in the sheath it was made for. He slung it over his shoulder, feeling the weight of the sword on his back. He grabbed the coat and put it on over the sheath, covering everything but the grip that stuck out from the collar. He took out a battered gray cap from a drawer and placed it on his head.
"I need something to help cover my face," he said, looking all around the room. He saw a dark blue handkerchief on a table. "I could, but that would make me look like quite the bandit." He continued to look. His eyes stopped on a helmet on a shelf toward the back of the room. "Overkill and horrible visibility." He sighed and grabbed the handkerchief after another minute of looking. "This will do for now. I'll try to find something better later." He wrapped the handkerchief over his face and securely tied it in the back. He glanced in a mirror and saw that it covered the lower half of his face while the cap shadowed his eyes. "That will do," he said, smiling.
Reginald stepped to the door and sighed.
Reginald felt a powerful force collide with his blade, sending him backwards into the hard ground behind him. His entire body was filled with pain, while blood dripped from scratches all over. His breathing came out ragged as he tried to keep conscious. He felt like he close to death.
"Get up," he heard his father say. After he didn't move, the words were repeated. "Get up."
Reginald tried to push himself up, but fell facedown into the dirt. He groaned as the dirt rubbed into his wounds. He tried again, but had no luck.
"You are one of the vampire, Reginald," his father said. "You were not made to lie in the mud like the filth you came from. Get up."
Reginald just lay there, struggling to breath. After a moment he heard footsteps approaching. He managed to turn his head enough to see the feet of his father standing directly in front of him.
"You have three seconds to move," his father said. "After that, you are no true son of mine, nor will you ever be. You will be a mistake I shall ignore forever."
Reginald felt tears begin to stream down his cheeks as he pushed with all of his might to stand. After what felt like an eternity of struggle, he felt his arms go limp and he crashed once more. Before he could move again, he felt a powerful pain explode in his guts. He began to convulse as the pain grew worse.
"Anthony!" he heard his mother scream.
"If you wish to keep your son, then see to his wounds quickly. I will return in several weeks," his father said.
"Mother," Reginald gasped, his vision beginning to blur.
"Hold on, Reginald," his mother said, rushing to his side. Reginald screamed as she pulled the sword from his back and flung it to the ground beside him. His screams echoed through the forest as he slowly lost consciousness.
"Why?" Reginald asked, laying his hand on his stomach. There was no scar showing the severe trauma, except for the memory. "You truly did hate me, but why?" He stared at the glimmering sword. He slashed and stabbed with it several times, feeling the wind and hearing sound as the sword cut the air. He smiled sadly. "You gave up teaching, but I watched from the shadows. I learned more than you think. I just have to hope I can put the knowledge to practice."
He looked over and saw the red and blue flannel jacket from before lying on a chair. He looked at his watch and took in a deep breath. "Just past midnight. This night is far from over."
He reached behind a nearby dresser and pulled out a leather-bound sheath that was attached to a strap. He smiled as he heard the scraping of metal against metal as he put the sword in the sheath it was made for. He slung it over his shoulder, feeling the weight of the sword on his back. He grabbed the coat and put it on over the sheath, covering everything but the grip that stuck out from the collar. He took out a battered gray cap from a drawer and placed it on his head.
"I need something to help cover my face," he said, looking all around the room. He saw a dark blue handkerchief on a table. "I could, but that would make me look like quite the bandit." He continued to look. His eyes stopped on a helmet on a shelf toward the back of the room. "Overkill and horrible visibility." He sighed and grabbed the handkerchief after another minute of looking. "This will do for now. I'll try to find something better later." He wrapped the handkerchief over his face and securely tied it in the back. He glanced in a mirror and saw that it covered the lower half of his face while the cap shadowed his eyes. "That will do," he said, smiling.
Reginald stepped to the door and sighed.
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