Reynold dreamed again. A quiet forest path opened up before him. He could tell that morning was approaching, but the canopy of leaves above him was so thick that the light didn't trouble him. Out of the corner of his eye Reynold thought he saw some movement. But when he looked, nothing could be seen. The path came to a small fork in the road, and for some reason Reynold felt compelled to take the right road. It was more of a game trail than anything else. It lead up a small hill covered in thick trees and brush the entire way.
Reynold emerged from the trees into a clearing. At the top of the hill, all alone, stood a massive old oak tree. It's bark was black, and no leaves clung to its weathered branches. Where the leaves had once been, skulls hung. Dozens of them hung from the branches, suspended on small cords and lines. A breeze blew through the skulls, and Reynold thought that he heard the slightest of moaning sounds. Even from where he was, Reynold swore he heard the skulls speaking.
"Fear....."
The wind picked up behind Reynold, and he felt a great heat upon his back, like the sun had risen and caught him unawares. He heard the wind howl like the cries of banshees calling from the grave, and a stark terror gripped his heart. Reynold turned, and standing before him-- smoke and flames rising from where it stood and skulls hanging from it's black armor-- was Menthu the Slayer.
Reynold reached for his sword, but as his hand gripped the hilt, he felt his body grasped by some unimaginable force as he was lifted off the ground and held there. Menthu came to stand in front of him. The burning eyes within the massive horned skull helmet seemed to bore into him. Reynold could feel the monster invading his mind. It flipped through Reynold's memories like the pages of a worn book.
And at that moment, Reynold's eyes were open and he truly saw.
He saw the armies thunder across the desert lead by the great black Chariot. He felt the terror of countless mortals as they were struck down like so much wheat before a scythe. He beheld the fall of nations, and of empires. And above it all, he felt the never-ending hunger. The eternal hunger for carnage and destruction.
Then, as quickly as it had taken him, the force that held Reynold aloft dropped him to the ground. The thick black armor seemed to melt away, and a striking man, with dark hair and eyes, and a neatly-trimmed dark beard, stood before him. He wore a billowing black cloak that seemed to devour what little light there was around him, and a wide-brimmed hat topped with a huge black feather from some bird that had not walked the earth in millennia.
He bent down over where Reynold had fallen, and spoke.
"Why have you come here."
Reynold scrambled to his feet and pulled the sword. Backing up a few steps he held Madara's sword in front of him, point-first towards Menthu.
He looked Menthu up and down once more, then straightened his shoulders and gathered his courage, and with a look of determination in his eyes, he spoke.
"I've come for the woman you carried off. I've come for her-- where is she? Where is Madara?" He says.
Menthu stood and stared at Reynold for a moment. Then he seemed to vanish, and Reynold felt Madara's sword wrenched from his hand. Menthu appeared again before him, Madara's sword held loosely in one hand.
"What a fool you are, child. Look at yourself. You were born to greatness, embraced into greatness. Once you could have had the world at your feet. It was courage that has driven you on. It was will that made you as you are. Like this blade that I hold in my hand, you were forged for greatness."
As Menthu spoke, the War God took the sword in his hand, and broke it neatly in two.
"But like this sword, you are broken, and worthless." He threw the ruined blade back at Reynold's feet, and as he did, the scene around them changed.
They stood before the great tree of skulls, and there, nailed upon its massive trunk in parody of the fallen Christ, was Madara.
She was surrounded by a horde of animated corpses. They pawed and grabbed at her ruined form, their ruined fingers finding her most intimate parts and violating them with ruthless abandon. Bloody red tears fell from her eyes, and she weakly sobbed, too weak to resist.
"Madara!" Reynold screamed. He tried to run to her, but was again lifted from the ground and brought to face the Slayer of Kings.
"Look at her." The Slayer said. "Look at her broken body. At her broken spirit. She is as nothing. Even when she still drew breath she was nothing. She pawed and scrapped through her miserable life, hoping to please her pathetic mistress in order to gain some semblance of power. Even then, she could not crawl above her station. She begged and groveled at the feet of her Toreador love. Even when she rose up and slew her, she did it not for any power, or to better herself, but out of petty spite-- to soothe her injured feelings. And again, when Amalia offered to be hers, she squandered and wasted her attentions. So foolish was she that traded Amalia, who will truly matter, for you.
She is nothing...less than nothing. And like her, you...are nothing.
All that you had, all that you could have been, you have thrown away for the most useless of creatures. For that, you are worthy of nothing but contempt."
"You once had courage, and valor pleases me. So I have graciously allowed you to continue your miserable existence. But what you have become sickens me. And know this...boy...that when next we meet, you will join her on the Tree of Pain until the end of days."
Reynold looks down at Madara's broken sword and picks up the pommel, and once again stands and looks at Menthu. The sword suddenly shines with a white light and reforms whole in his hand. The determination in his eyes still flame, only this time his cheeks are flecked with red tears.
"You will give me the girl, body, mind and soul intact as it was before you stole her from me. You will allow us to leave here and never bother us again...you or your servants...and you will never hear from us. That is the bargain, Menthu. Take it, and I will leave you and your servants be for all eternity. Leave it, and it will be your third mistake."
Menthu's eyes narrow dangerously. "Cowards and fools have no souls. Her mind was nothing before I found her, else she would never have crossed those who could destroy her. And her body will stay where it is, testament to her own shortcomings. And as for you, insolent whelp..."
Reynold saw only a blur of motion. A black shadowy maw lunges towards him. He was able to raise Madara's sword in a feeble attempt to block the lung, but the blade shattered against the diamond-hard scales of the shadow-thing. It's dagger-like teeth closed on him, tearing though his flesh and armor as if it were nothing. The massive head whipped back and forth, tearing deeper into his body. He screamed in pain as the shadowy teeth tore his body apart. He felt as his arms were torn away, and his chest was ripped open.
Vaguely he could feel his body falling away, and with his blood-soaked eyes he saw his own shriveled heart, torn from its place in his chest, and flying up into the air. Like a great black snake striking out, the shadow maw lunged forth and seized the heart.
Reynold screamed again as pain wracked his body. It was like nothing that he had ever felt, before or after his Embrace. It struck to the very core of his spirit. He felt pieces of his very soul being torn away and devoured. Thoughts and memories were ripped away. Feelings and emotions that had carried Reynold for centuries were cleaved from his very being.
With every chewing bite of the maw on his heart, he felt his soul being destroyed piece by piece. The pain was indescribable. He screamed as he felt himself torn apart. And as the great shadowed head swallowed, Reynold was striken by the most dreadful fear. The fear of being lost, destroyed forever. The fear of Never seeing Madara again-- in this life, or any other. He knew then that he would never be again, except as a tiny ripple of memory in the sea of conciousness that was Menthu.
Howling in pain and terror, Reynold sat up in his bed as the Beast took him. He hurled himself to the ground and tried to dig through the wooden flooring of the inn where he was staying with his retainers. Snarling like a beast, he clawed at the planks until his hands were but bloody stumps. He was vaguely aware of Marcel above him, holding him and trying to calm him. He felt warm blood coursing down his throat, and finally, Reynold felt the Beast withdraw.
"What happened my lord," Marcel asked. "Was it another dream?"
Reynold stops his frenzy and sits back, closing his eyes. In between pants he looks up at Marcel and nods.
"Yes, another dream, Marcel..." he says. Reynold quietly looks down at his bloodied hands and curls his lip in an almost snarl.
"I know you can hear me, creature. That was your third and final mistake, demon-spawn. Your first was touching Madara, the second was allowing me to live..."
There was no response to Reynold's curse. Only the normal bustle of the late afternoon in the small town that they stayed in.
The only evidence at all that it had been more than just a dream was Madara's sword, lying on Reynold's bloodied bed, neatly broken in two.
Reynold stands and picks up the pommel from the bed. He sighs and touches the jewel. Marcel looks at Reynold with amazement.
"How did it break? It was just standing there by the bed, and then..."
"He broke it. That THING broke it. The sword I gave to her out of love." He sighs, "I will have it fixed and give it back to her when I find her," he says as he lays it back down on the bed, and takes the hanky Marcel offered and begins to wipe his hands.
Marcel looks at the blade sadly and nods, "Here, my lord," he says taking out a silk cloth and gently wrapping the two sword-pieces within. "We shall save it for her." He packs it in the trunk, and then turns and hands Reynold his old sword. Reynold nods and straps it on.
"It seems that was a good idea of yours to bring my old sword along, after all. Thank you for thinking ahead for me." Reynold's face suddenly takes on a hardened look of determination, and he turns to face Marcel.
"The only thing he has succeeded in breaking, Marcel, is the sword. I will sleep no more this night. We'll wake Veni the moment the sun sets and be off."
"As you wish, my lord," Marcel says with a little smile of pride on his lips.