Falcon was a sturdy, flexible blade, having been the grim survivor of many victories and defeats. But the impressive strength packed behind Balor's attack proved too overwhelming for even this mighty piece to handle... After all of its years, Falcon faltered, fracturing before dying in an explosion of its own remains.
Fragments of its history and life scattered through the air, spinning helplessly past Raphael's expanded eyes. He could see each of them swirling past him in slow motion, his face telling a horror story all its own. In his mind, memories of Markus Béla flashed in a dizzying blitz, memories of the man who fostered and loved him like he were flesh and blood. But watching his blade, Markus's blade, shatter...was like watching his life, watching everything that he was, die before his very eyes.
But before Raphael's disbelief and sorrow overcame him, he was forced back into this cruel reality wholly. His nerves were lit ablaze as the king's great ancestral blade exquisitely maimed his body. The tip of the adamas blade entered from his right shoulder and exited at its leisure, tearing a sizable gash from his right shoulder down along his chest.
The recycled bits of breastplates riveted inside of Raphael's black leather brigandine -- bits likely salvaged from the ruins of Lumbridge -- did nothing to protect him. The unbearable pain deprived Raphael of oxygen, beating an earnest, frightening sweat out of him. But this tremendous pain was not the last of his woes, for then he was cast from the ground.
Balor's right leg came furiously surging forward, his adamas sabaton drilling straight into Raphael's torso. The rebel was then violently catapulted off of his feet, his body crash-landing halfway across the room. The force continued to carry him, entangling him in a series of violent tumbles. Eventually, he was released from this malicious fate, his blood sullying the clean, glistening nature of the floor beneath him.
Whence Raphael once stood, the regretful king Balor's glowing sapphire blue eyes cast sternly upon his opponent. The shattered remains of Falcon rained down upon the ground nearby, tapping against the adamas floor. They sparkled brilliantly in the iridescent light like coin, a light which grabbed Balor's attention.
He averted his gaze rightward, finding himself arrested inside the incandescent image of his father, Divus Nomos Barn. It was astonishing, Balor thought, how long it had been since he last looked upon this window. It seemed like forever ago, but he could still vividly recollect the often somber expression upon his father's face. Yes, the very same that this image captured so perfectly.
But the king's heart grew weary as the prismatic light of his father faded, darkening as if it did not welcome his sight, as if Divus himself rejected him...
...It'd be only natural for Divus to shun him, Balor believed, considering all of the cruel, unspeakable acts he had committed. Even now, upon this fateful day, Balor continued to sin before his father's eyes. The king broke his younger brother, bearer of Divus's hopes and dreams. Balor closed his eyes and sighed most regrettably, letting go of his grief.
Yes, he made his choice back then, to sacrifice everything to usher in his and his sister's dream Utopia. He couldn't allow lament and regret to encumber him, having accepted the consequences of his actions. Balor quickly ceased this needless self-reflection, settling his eyes back upon the hollow, seemingly lifeless Raphael.
Raphael laid there without motion, even breath, becoming as still as death. Yet appearances were the greatest deception of all, a truth which Balor learned quite well. The immense force of Balor's kick had deprived Raphael of his side-arm...but not the remains of his father's treasured blade. Falcon's broken, battered hilt lying beneath Raphael's unlocked fingers, its golden gilt damaged in several places.
But then life sparked, gripping firmly this precious treasure, this last remnant of his father Markus left in this world. No, even if it had no more value in battle, this was the piece of himself that he couldn't let go...
"Palaemmir,"
Raphael then heard a gracious label spoken, the motherly voice of the Neheztelian goddess Lamia echoing within his mind.
"The pendulum leans opposite of you. If you are to turn it back, you must remove this blindfold and reach with a steady hand."
"...I know!" Raphael angrily asserted, speaking without despite her voice residing within.
Balor wondered to whom he spoke to, convinced for certain that he wasn't simply talking to himself for comfort. The throne room then began to reverberate with footsteps, the otherworldly, chime-like clamor of Balor's armour in motion. He sought Raphael's life, and he had victory well within grasp. If Raphael wished to defeat Balor, then he needed to let go of this, of everything...
It pained Raphael more so than any wound he suffered, but this truth came to him quick and without reverse. His emotionally coiled up fingers faltered, letting go of his father's treasured blade, of his memories of when he believed himself simply as the motherless child of a soldier. The destruction of Falcon marked the end of that life, and ignited the desire to make it anew.
Raphael's palms dug angrily into the floor, slowly lifting himself up. On hand and knee, blood trickling from his wounds, he breathed harshly, exhaustedly. Having pushed himself beyond his limits, Raphael demanded even more of his over-exerted body. He reached inside of himself, going deeper than he ever thought possible.
With perseverance, Raphael slowly ascended. But he flinched briefly as he rose up, feeling a piercing pain inside the left side of his chest. Perhaps Balor's kick may have injured a few ribs...
But Balor gave Raphael not the opportunity to rise, he himself thirsting for the end of this. With what little time he had, Raphael frantically scoured his surroundings. He shuffled his head in every direction, fortunately finding himself near the lifeless shell of one of the Loyal Knights killed in action.
From the knight's cold, deathly-wreathed fingers, Raphael plucked a longsword. It was longer and heavier than what he was accustomed to, and its grip was shorter and curved towards the back. Nevertheless, Raphael couldn't afford to gripe about the unusualities that strayed from his comforts, for Balor was fast approaching.
Raphael prepared himself for Balor's arrival, making sure that it was he who struck first. Yet the two conceived the same plan, striking at the same time, in the same, but opposite angle. A sequence of blows came from both sides, all of them coming out the same.
The intense battle howled throughout the air, but the exhausted Raphael struggled to bear with it. His drained, faltering stance was a contrast to Balor's robust, steadfast constitution, an affliction brought on by the pain and blood loss he had sustained. The king briskly repelled one of Raphael's strikes, but the rebel stepped forward and quickly brought forth his sword upon his enemy.
Yet the king he so loathed managed to guard against the attack, ceasing its motion with the strong edge of the Arbandor. His left hand then reached up, securing the scavenged blade in his grasp. Balor then thrust his knee into Raphael, his opulent adamas armour's poleyn bashing into the left side of the rebel's abdomen.
The blow rattled through Raphael's body, and his currently hyper-sensitive ribs flared with a sharp pain. He was forced back, losing grip upon that scavenged longsword. As he staggered backwards, his legs wobbled like gelatin, losing just enough of his footing to topple over. Having discarded that sword which he took from Raphael, Balor pursued the fallen heir.
As Balor brought the Arbandor down with his usual precision and expertise, Raphael reacted with great haste. His surroundings a provider, his vulnerable position deliberate, prying the shield of another lifeless Loyal Knight, the one that he himself killed. The silver-haired heir huddled behind that massive black-steel wall like it were a fortress, feeling the shield vigorously kick back as it repelled Balor's attack.
Balor continued to apply pressure upon Raphael as he cowered, trying to force his young brother to make a move. The magnificent blade of the king cut the shield most cleanly, damaging the steel considerably with a wealth of slash wounds.But as Balor continued to utterly assault the shield, his ears caught a startling noise enter the air.
Although faint, it seemed suddenly like Raphael was not cowering behind, but preparing. The king concluded one final attack, and the revelation came. The wounded shield began to pull open, Raphael having waited for the intermission between Balor's attacks.
From the rebel's experience, the sixth sense of a Solasúian was often one they depended upon, sometimes even excessively. To sense impending danger was a powerful tool indeed, but over-reliance can be easily exploited. Raphael proceeded to do so, expecting to catch his hated enemy off-guard.
As soon as Raphael's guard opened up, a spear came thrusting forward. Balor's legs swiftly jetted off to his right, watching the glint of the spear's tip aimed at him. Zooming straight past his ear in a whistle far too close for comfort, the spear actually managed to draw blood, cutting Balor's cheek open.
Balor grinded his fast-moving body to a halt, watching then as Raphael rose to his feet. He kept himself inside that shield at all times, wielding that scavenged spear firmly and outward past the shield. It was actually the first time Raphael had ever handled either of these tools, much less a massive shield such as this one.
Regardless, the silver-haired rebel did not let his inexperience sway him, pressing ahead. He exploited the range of the spear compared to Balor's sword, unleashing a volley of thrusts whilst remaining perfectly safe. Each lunge was angled up and high, and they each actively sought the death of Raphael's most hated enemy.
Despite Raphael's practical tactics, Balor was well trained for any sort of situation, and was more than capable of overcoming this disadvantage. He knew what was required of him, especially considering Raphael ceaselessly poured out these high-lunges. As Raphael continued to relentlessly fire off these fearsome thrusts, Balor analyzed his opponent's form.
He noted that Raphael exposed himself just enough out from behind his shield in order to help him see and judge, and that his main-arm often overextended. Observing these small, but critical errors, Balor braced himself. Raphael pumped out another fierce lunge, but Balor unexpectedly stepped low, barely avoiding it.
The king then took his sword to the spear, its adamas blade easily gliding through its wooden shaft. The Arbandor an executioner, the severed head of the spear sent flying, reducing Raphael's weapon to a pitiful wooden stick. Yet Balor's offense was not done quite yet. In one graceful, fluid motion, Balor firmly took hold of the Arbandor, just as he did when he shattered Falcon. And with great strength, utilizing the power endowed in his Solasúian blood, he plunged his blade forward.
Raphael, realizing the danger, brought that massive, rectangular hunk of black steel up, putting confidence in it despite its many injuries. But this confidence was folly, for the tip of the Arbandor met with one of the most damaged points of the shield. Profoundly, astonishingly, the ancestral blade punched straight through the steel, a shock to Raphael. He then felt it pass through him yet again, the adamas sword slicing beautifully across the outer-right of his abdomen.
The energy and force produced by Balor's lunge sent the shield slamming straight into Raphael's body, taking him down. The rebel's harshly met the floor once more, grimacing and angered at his futility. Balor fell with him, but quickly managed to his feet, ripping his blade out from Raphael's body. But he couldn't quite remove it as easily from the shield, a happening which even Balor himself couldn't help but to find humor in.
Lying there in his weakened state, Raphael's right hand quickly reached for the newest addition to his myriad of wounds, feeling it bleed quite terribly. His teeth clamped down, bare to the gums, scoured and grim-faced in the aftermath of the injury. But he couldn't stay there with his incinerating pain, listening as Balor's brief struggle to retrieve his sword came to an end.
Raphael had to get himself up, no matter how desperately his body pleaded for him to stop. His eyes sought his enemy yet again, glaring at the king with a rage greater than even his pain. Raphael, even in the pain that gorged him like a wildfire, somehow managed to find the strength to stand yet again. It laid buried within all of the hatred and anger, a ruin of himself which had been burned down to nothing, just as Lumbridge.
But he who burned down that symbol of equality, he who destroyed the Resistance, was already there. Raphael quickly found himself scurrying around Balor's attacks, utilizing his agility and swift feet. Balor came horizontally, causing Raphael to toss himself over, just barely avoiding the attack in a forwards roll.
He managed to get behind his enemy, luckily finding himself beside the tower shield of the Loyal Knight he previously looted. Yes, the one his mother had slain... Having near-instantly digested and processed the movement and current position of his opponent, Balor quickly turned himself around. He cast his blade southernly upon the downed Raphael, an attack which Raphael responded with this newly-salvaged shield.
Realizing Raphael's tactic and how to defeat it, Balor took firm grasp upon his sword and stoutly drove it downwards. Yet the glowing-eyed rebel Raphael anticipated Balor's continued assault, and his stagnant body took to motion. With a reversed grip on his shield, and with all of his newfound Solasúian might, Raphael sprung open his shield like a trapdoor.
The shield smashed into Balor's incoming blade, a powerful, unforeseen force which vigorously shifted the Arbandor on a different direction than Balor's arms. These adamas binds of authority around the Arbandor were broken, and the blade was cast free from its master. It soared away from Balor as though it had wings to fly, a rapid change which he watched with eyes enlarged.
But his surprised shock would turn into a different version of it, suddenly, promptly impacted by another strong force. Having left his enemy wide open, Raphael grabbed the inside of Balor's intricately decorated gorget. He then pulled Balor towards him and propelled his head upwards like a battering ram, the crown of his head violently clobbering against the center of Balor's face. A most ferocious headbutt, bending Balor's nose in a most unorthodox angle.
Balor's expression grew sore, grabbing his face as he was sent staggering backwards. His vision became like a night sky full of stars, so dazed and rattled was he that he barely clung to his consciousness. Grateful for the teachings of his master, Raphael saw an opening and perhaps an ending.
He opted then to transform that scavenged shield in his hand into a weapon, grabbing it by its bottom end. Intent on capitalizing on his enemy's vulnerable state, the silver-haired heir's legs then jolted forward, the hasteful march of his leather boots echoing throughout the throne room. The end was near in his eyes, a steadfast belief which drove his makeshift weapon forward.
He took a shot, forcing the black-steel down upon his enemy. Balor, despite the throbbing pain radiating from his bleeding, broken nose, reacted most effectively. The downward strike of Raphael's attack sped right by Balor as he stepped off to his left, coming into the right of his opponent.
The rebel, noting this happening, quickly whipped his arms around, his swing covering a wide breadth. But Balor stepped beneath it, ramming his extravagant pauldron squarely into Raphael's torso. Balor then wrapped his arms around Raphael's body, proceeding to push him forward with all of his might. The surprising, powerful impact of Balor's tackle stripped Raphael of his grip upon that scavenged shield, forced to move backwards under Balor's influence.
Raphael then felt the shock ripple through his spine as his back was slammed into the adamas pillar, one of the many which aligned the room. The familiarity of their situation then overcame the two brothers, recollecting this exact moment during their previous encounter. Amidst flames of blood and death which seized Lumbridge and the Resistance, the place where the two brothers last did battle.
"You really want to know why Lord Divus chose me!?"
Balor, in particular, reminisced that day, those words.
"It's because I'm an heir to the throne, the only heir that Lord Divus—no, my father could trust! And I promise you, I will kill you for what you've done to him, to
EVERYONE!
"
Balor then unloaded a series of strikes, a furious campaign of punches, elbows, even knees. Raphael quickly coiled his arms around his head, protecting his most important asset from whatever Balor hurled his way. He braced himself for Balor's onslaught, trying his best to absorb each of his attacks. One fist flew and smashed truly into Raphael's torso, hitting the left side of his chest. His face winced in agony in his arms, feeling as though Balor targeted this spot deliberately, knowing its weakness.
Another fist came crashing down, then another, then another... Balor had Raphael in a pinch, in a bind, and the rebel knew he had to pry himself out of it if he wished to succeed. Balor's right arm bolted forward, its adamas-clad fist aimed directly for the rebel. But Raphael uncovered himself out from under his arms, reaching his left hand up towards the incoming punch. He ceased his attack, securely tightening his fingers around Balor's clenched fist.
Having firm control over his enemy's hand, Raphael then launched his own punch, darting for Balor's head. But the king immediately denied his efforts, mimicking the same exact defensive act that Raphael committed, but more briskly, more masterfully. The two stood there, arms trembling, vying to become the dominator in this power struggle.
Balor, in all of his swiftness, then vigorously whipped his arms to his left. The motion cast Raphael away from him, forcing his sweat-drenched palm to slip off of Balor's fist. Raphael fell down and tumbled, but he managed to regain himself, taking the reins over his out-of-control body. His tumble became an elegant, agile roll, the first sign of his old self in this fight.
He found himself upon his knees, only a few mere feet from his hated enemy. Raphael, in all of his spite, witnessed Balor as he calmly put his hand to his face. His adamas-clad fingers reached his nose, sagging down its oddly misshapen structure. A most unusual position, his naturally inward nose practically bending off in the opposite direction. Blood filled his nostrils and rolled down his lips, becoming the sole essence to smell. Balor peered upon his fingers, stained with his blood, the royal blood of the king.
The silent air then ruptured with the sound of laughter, for the lungs of the king chuckled lightly. Despite the deep, pulsating pain emitting from his nose, the king Balor was actually laughing. Indeed, he grew to realize that this fight they had truly was the repeating of events.
