The General -CH 1-

Warin shifted his foot to the left and then leaned away as the blade of his opponent flashed out.

The tip whistled past Warin’s breastplate but missed him by a scant inch. Much as Warin predicted it would.

Sliding his right foot forward, but never lifting it from the ground, he executed a thrust aimed toward his opponents midsection.

Moving with the lunge, pushing his heavy blade to it’s full length, Warin caught them dead center. His blade neatly parting aside the heavens-blessed armor as if it were little more than paper.

Reaching the hilt of his blade Warin found himself standing helmet to helmet with his enemy. Their wings were spread out behind them and trembling.

Wishing them not to suffer Waring pulled the dagger at his hip and rammed it home into the armpit of his foe.

Pulling the blade of mercy back out after having plunged it into the heart of his foe, Warin stepped away, drawing his sword out of his dying adversary.

“Warin!” shouted someone from nearby. Looking to the side Warin saw his battle-brother, Baron. His white wings were wide spread behind him, his sword held aloft and pointing with it. His armor, just as heavens-blessed and worthless as Warin’s dead enemy, practically glowed with his fervor and belief.

“The battle is joined!” called Baron.

Looking toward where he was pointing, Warin could distantly see two figures, dressed just as he and Baron was, clashing with one another.

He knew instantly it was his lord and master, the one whom he served and fought for. Somehow, he’d managed to find the enemy commander and now they battled.

Fought in the skies above the field of battle in a strange and beautiful ballet of swords and murderous magic.

Looking back to the fight that concerned him more, since it was the one that would get him killed, Warin saw an enemy approaching him.

Dressed in the exact same armor and wielding a sword very similar to Warin’s was his newest enemy. The only true difference was the blue sash they wore to distinguish their army from his own.

This individual was distinctive from the rest though. The way they carried themselves, the way others deferred to them and moved out of the way, marked them apart.

Beyond that Warin looked to the device that rested at the top of the sash and where it met the armored breastplate. It was an attachment that served two purposes.

One was to hold the sash to the armor. The second was to attest to the rank of the individual. A mark of their status.

Additionally it sometimes was a badge. One that could only be earned by an individual through great trials and tribulations. This was truth for both sides of this war.

And warren knew this image. It was one he had studied personally and immediately recognized.

One he’d been looking forward to meeting with his blade.

“Swordsinger!” Warin shouted. He didn’t for a minute believe his adversary heard him, but he couldn’t help himself.

His excitement to earn such a victory for his lord spurred him on. It filled him with energy and zeal.

Warin prided himself on being one of the best in the army with his sword. There were none who could stand up to him. Supposedly Swordsinger was his equal on the opposing side.

And if Warin took their head, it’d demoralize the enemy army.

Screaming with his wrath, his desire to smite this person into the ground, Warin charged forward. Left the line of his fellows and barreled straight for the Swordsinger. Making toward the right side of the enemy Warin expected them to respond accordingly. Warin had been making sure to attack from this side often. To make it obvious that he liked to use this move to open up a fight.

To bait out this very moment when it would be the most useful to run counter to that opening move.

Reaching his foe Warin stamped his feet to the ground and immediately slid out to his right, instead of his left.

As if on cue, Swordsinger’s blade was right where Warin should have been. It would’ve likely speared him as easily as he’d killed his last foe.

Lashing out with a slashing attack with both-hands Warin could feel the massive grin on his face. It was almost stretched to the point that it hurt the sides of his mouth.

Practically blurring with the amount of strength and power he put into the blade his sword flicked out, leaving behind a golden-trail of magic.

The Swordsinger had somehow managed to dodge away. Truth be told it was more of a stumble than a dodge. It was reactive and almost unplanned.

Taking several steps backward the Swordsinger fell to their ass as their blue sash flapped open.

Tumbling through the air above Warin was the badge of the Swordsinger.

Tracking it with his eye, Warin let his blade move down to his side, holding it with one hand, and took a step to the left.

Catching the badge, Warin held it up and gave it a look.

The Swordsinger’s.

How delightful.

Taking the badge, Warin stuck it to his own red sash and then readied his weapon again.

Getting to their feet the Swordsinger’s wings snapped out and moved around behind them as a way to steady themselves.

Waiting only long enough for the Swordsinger to get their blade up, Warin charged forward again.

A strange lurching threw Warin off-balance, except that it didn’t. Not really at least.

In fact it was almost as if he didn’t have control of his body at all. That it was as light as a feather and beyond his desires.

The world shifted and became a strange kaleidescope of colors. Then it reformed just as quickly as it’d blown apart.

Below him was the Swordsinger. Their visor was dented and partially wedged into the helmet. One of their shoulder guards was sheared away from the leather’s it was attached to and the breastplate itself had a massive crack in it.

Panting, and feeling every bruise and strike the Swordsinger had given him, Warin could only nod his head.

It’d been a truly grand fight. One that would be remembered for all of time he imagined.

“That was-a glorious fight,” Warin said, dropping his weapon to the side. Pulling out his blade of mercy he dropped down atop the Swordsinger. “A glorious fight.”

Trying to pull the visor up Warin realized it wasn’t just dented, it was stuck. There was no way it was coming off.

He could see one light blue eye staring up at him through the side of the visor. It was so bright in color he could only call it sky blue. 

It’d be a shame to ruin the Swordsinger’s face in death, but he had no choice. He hoped the man would forgive him even as he sent him to hell.

Fitting his blade to the visor Warin got it to the point that he could thrust down and into the man’s brain. Ending him quickly out of respect for the fight.

He’d even leave the head there for them to be able to bury him. Unlike several other’s Warin had killed and collected the head of.

There was a rapid bugle call that made Warin’s blood run cold.

Lifting his head up he listened carefully. He knew the call would come again. Calls were never made only once else they’d be missed.

He heard it again, this time much more clearly.

It was the call for retreat and it was coming from his own battle line.

Warin was expected to retreat and quit the field now.’

“No,” Warin whispered. “No. No, no.”

Looking back toward his own people he could see the line of his battle-brothers and fellow warriors starting to disengage from the enemy. All around him was a shield of force. A dome.

One the Swordsinger himself had cast to keep them both here.

Again, Warin heard the bugle call to disengage and retreat.

Finally, he looked out to where his Lord had been battling his opponent.

There in the sky he could see both of them, staring at one another. Except there was a third person up there now.

At this distance Warin couldn’t really identify them, but he had an idea of what’d happened. Of what was going on and why they were being told to retreat.

The third individual was wearing a rad sash, but stood with their enemy.

We’ve been betrayed!

No! We… we can’t… we… we… but… we were winning.

Shaking his head, Warin felt lost. His thoughts were swimming and he was going in circles.

“We must go brother!” shouted Baron at him from beyond the dome. “Now! We must regroup and plan the next attack! Finish him and let’s go!”

Looking down to the beaten Swordsinger below him Warin felt like he’d been cheated.

He’d beaten his foe in honorable combat, he’d had the right to end them.

And now he’d been told to retreat.

Killing the Swordsinger now would be… unworthy.

Pulling the dagger out of the visor Warin leaned down, pressing his visor slit to the Swordsinger’s.

“I’m sparing your life this moment, but know it was mine to do with as I pleased,” Warin growled. “I’ll look for you on the next field of battle, Swordsinger. I am Warin.”

Getting up off the Swordsinger, Warin grabbed his sword, shattered the dome, and fled with Baron. Back to the waiting portal.

Then the phone rang.

Shattering the entirety of the world into nothing but a strange dim fog.

And then Warner woke up.

Sitting straight up in his bed he gasped for breath. It felt like his mind was trying to fight the dream off at the same time he tried to remember it.

“Holy fuck what a dream,” he said wiping a hand across his sweaty face. “Holy shit.”

Ringing loudly next to him was his cell phone. Incessantly, unending, it roared on with its merry little song. Chirping away as if it were the best song in the world.

Picking up the evil thing he tapped the green accept button and pressed it to his ear.

“Hello?” Warner asked.

“Yes, is this Mr. James? Warner James?” asked a woman.

“Uh, yeah, can I ask who’s calling?” Warner asked.

“This is officer Frias. I’m reaching out to you because there’s been an accident,” said the woman on the other end of the line.

“What?” Warner asked, feeling his stomach twist up into a knot immediately.

“I have your daughter here down at the Larimer general hospital,” said the officer.

“I… I’m sorry, what?” Warner asked. “What happened? Is she alright?”

“No,” said the officer, their voice sounding rather empty. “No, she’s not alright. She was hit by a car. They’ve got her in surgery right now. I tried calling your wife but there was no answer.”

“Yeah, that’s… she’s not my wife,” Warner said. “She was hit by a car?”

He wasn’t able to quite get his brain on the right track. It felt like he was still dreaming.

“Yes, sir,” the officer said. “We’re investigating the matter and believe we’re close to being able to bring someone in. I can’t comment further though at this time on the criminal side of the situation and-”

“Please, what’s wrong with my daughter?” Warner asked. Right now he didn’t care about the driver. “You said Maya’s in surgery?”

“Yes, she’s in surgery right now. They’re working on her legs and back,” the officer said. “I’d suggest you come down as soon as you can though I’m pretty sure she’ll be in surgery for quite a while.”

Warner could only nod his head. Running a hand down over his face he didn’t know what to think or do right now.

Other than be there for his daughter.

***

Sitting there in Maya’s hopsital room for the third day straight Warner stared at the window.

He could see the street down below as cars sped by in both directions. Driving along in their lanes, completely unaware that what remained of Warner’s hopes lay comatose in a bed.

Broken and bruised from being hit by a car and sent tumbling across the road, Maya hadn’t come out on the other side with much going for her, other than her life.

Looking back to his daughter, Warner winced and shook his head. Unable to look at her for more than a moment he turned his head back to the window.

She was battered.

That was the only word that fit.

Her skull had a fracture, her jaw had broken, she’d lost two teeth, and her cheek had needed a hundred stitches to close up a rather large cut. Her left arm, both legs, and her hip had also been broken.

That didn’t even sum up the internal injuries and the fact that her liver had been lacerated and her heart had a small rupture in it. She’d been in surgery with an entire team of people working on saving her, and putting her back together.

“Mr. James?” asked a voice from the doorway.

Looking toward the speaker, Warner found officer Frias standing there.

She was a young woman in her twenties with dark black hair pulled up behind her head in a bun, a lightly browned complexion, and dark eyes. He’d put her in the “islander” category for her background but he had no idea which, or where.

“Officer Frias,” Warner mumbled. He’d seen her on and off since coming to the hospital. Apparently she was the officer who’d been assigned to handling him in this case.

“How is she?” asked the officer, walking into the room. She was in full uniform and looked rather uncomfortable right now.

“Well… pretty much the same, really,” Warner said and shrugged his shoulders. “There hasn’t really been a change. She’s in there, she’s just not waking up.”

Thankfully, there was a good amount of brain activity and her ekgs were strong. For all intents and purposes, Maya would survive.

The question was how long would it take for her to recover, and how long would it take for her to learn to walk again.

If she ever did.

Nodding her head, officer Frias frowned.

“We… found the driver. The license plate matched up,” Frias murmured.

“Good,” Warner hissed, his brows coming down. “Tell me he resisted and you had to beat them senseless.”

“Ah… no. Truthfully it isn’t going down the way anyone wants it,” continued the officer. “By the time we caught up to them there wasn’t really a point in doing a breathalyser. No way to prove they were drunk at the time of the incident.”

Growling, Warner couldn’t really argue that point.

It was a realistic problem. Unless someone could prove they were drunk at that time, it was just speculation.

“Okay. And they’re in jail right now?” Warner asked.

“No,” admitted the officer. “No. They’re not. They’re… a police officer. With the Fletcher city department.”

“A… a police officer… hit Maya,” Warner said, staring hard at officer Frias.

“Yes,” confirmed the officer, nodding her head.

“And he’s not in jail right now.”

“No.”

“Is… he going to jail?”

“The DA is considering the case and how to proceed,” said Frias. “Once they’ve made their decision they’ll go from there.”

“What…? Why? I want to press charges. Immediately,” Warner said.

“That’s up to the DA,” Frias said with a bitter and clearly annoyed look on her face. “I’m afraid we’ve pushed this one all the way up to the point that we can. There really isn’t anything more we can do at this time.

“We have to wait for the DA to move forward.”

“But what if they don’t?” Warner asked, feeling like he wanted to scream. “What if they… they decide that because he’s a cop they don’t want to press charges?”

“Then… no criminal charges would be put forward,” said Frias, finally meeting his eyes. She’d been looking everywhere but him so far. “But that doesn’t preclude civil charges.”

Warner shook his head and looked toward the ground.

“They’re not going to do anything,” Warner muttered. “They’re just… going to brush it under the rug because he’s a cop.”

The room was silent except for the whir and click of machines. Monitors that were affixed to and keeping a round the clock watch on Maya.

Machines that gave her all the nutrients she needed through an IV. At some point they’d have to put in a feeding tube if she didn’t wake up though.

That and there’d already been several doctors who stopped by. They’d wanted to talk to him about the various possibilities.

Up to and including if he wanted to have a do not resuscitate order put on her.

Now, hearing that the person who’d caused all this wasn’t even behind bars, he was losing what little patience he had. His temper was more than just flaring.

It was boiling, straight up to the very top of his thoughts.

Officer Frias turned and moved to the door to Maya’s room and then shut it.

Reaching up she and turned some type of knob on the radio at her shoulder and then reached into her shirt and fiddled with something around her chest area.

Warner’s brain hit the brakes and careened wildly out of control.

Officer Frias wasn’t unattractive, but Warner had been “off the market” since he’d walked in on his wife having sex with another man.

“There,” said the police officer, pulling her hand back out. “Turned off my mic and camera.”

Oh. Oh, that makes a lot more sense. But why would-

“No. They’re not going to do anything,” officer Frias said, shaking her head. She looked quite angry. “In fact I was told to try and dissuade you from pushing on this.”

“You’re kidding me,” Warner whispered. He simply couldn’t believe this.

“No, I’m not. And I’ll be honest with you, after this there’s not going to be much I can do. This is way beyond me,” Frias continued. “I’d say go after them in civil and make the city and the officer, pay. Beyond that… you won’t see justice.”

“I… I can’t… I don’t-”

Warner shook his head, looking back to his daughter.

Her dark black hair had been shaved quite close to the skin so they could get at her skull to save her life.

She looked a lot like her mother did, though paler. Asian descent, black hair, dark eyes, petite.

In fact he knew his daughter was going to be as pretty as her mother had been.

She would have been as pretty… now… now I don’t even know if she’ll make it through the month.

“Can you at least tell me the name of the officer who hit her? So I can press charges?” Warner asked, a very different idea coming to light in his mind.

“Travis Pattin,” officer Frias said, shaking her head. “Officer Travis Pattin of the Fletcher city police department.”

Travis Pattin.

Alright.

Now… how do I kill him?