The Bright Lord was the glue that held the humans of the Forgotten Shore together. He may have prevented them from moving freely, but he prevented them from slaughtering each other, too. Once, a life time ago, he read a book where a group of children crashed during a flight and they found themselves in a island. However, it wasn't civilization that was born of them, but senseless bloodshed. He had created order and he would do anything to keep it. Even if it meant a reign of terror, oppression, executions, letting his guards abuse their power. Even if it meant killing Changing Star and her followers. Couldn't she see that her efforts were meaningless, that the Terror couldn't be defeated even with his armour?
......….
He launched himself at her, but she, as fast as an abomination of the depths, dodged and counterattacked, flowing like water. Wasn't water supposed to be his closest ally?
........
His right hand crumbled, blood sprouting from his headless corpse. His head rolled on the ground, clouded eyes staring at nothing. Clouded eyes, blinded like those he killed at his orders. He stared, his mind refusing to process what it was witnessing, at Sunless, who had just effortlessly slain the most feared man, second only to himself, of the entirety of the Forgotten Shore, the butcher of the Bright City, his assassin.
"Impossible-"
"How-"
"He-"
"Just--"
"Harus-"
"One--"
"What the--"
"-killed-"
The murmurs spread, incontrollable. The inhabitants' terror had just been killed like an ant. Gunlaug steeled himself for another attack, but his mind was still reeling. Harus had served him for years. Even if he had been perverse, he had been loyal, unlike some other at his service. And strong. So strong, even Gunlaug, who knew everything about him, was aware it wouldn't be an easy fight for him. And it had taken a single blow.
Sunless' eyes were piercing him, two abyss that reminded him of the predators of the Dark Sea, of might and horrors. So pale, his face was, so young. Younger even than Gunlaug when he had been thrown in the Shore, 19. So innocent, he had been. 9 years had passed.
Then, the boy turned towards Changing Star, and a million words seemed to pass between them as she nodded.
Sunless threw once last glance at him before he walked away. "Don't waste the chance I'm giving you."
Gunlaug saw a shadow rushing on the floor and reaching the daughter of the Immortal Flame, but a second later, it was gone.
Changing Star looked at him, raising her sword, her head tilting as to ask if he was ready to resume. What fool would give the opponent such fairness in a duel to death? Or maybe she was just that sure she would win. Her arrogance would be her end. Even if the way she had moved… No. Doubt was poison.
Gunlaug sprinted towards her, giving her no warning. His axe aimed at her left shoulder, but at the last second descended towards her side. She read the feint and intercepted his blow, her sword pushing him upwards, using his heigh against him. Her block was so immovable that his arm recoiled and his bones jarred, his golden axe ricocheting. What? Even the Awakened abominations of the depths hadn't been able to stop his strength. And then, so fast his eyes could barely follow, she struck the back of his knee with the flat of her blade. His leg caved in, leaving him half-kneeling, and then pain. A crystalline sound resounded through the hall, proof that the impossible had been accomplished. The golden Echo cracked and shattered in a million pieces, and his leg was hit with such force that it broke. Agony blossomed in his mind, leaving him stunned. It wasn't that he had never felt such pain, but it had been nearly a decade since he'd been injured. Clad in the Transcendent armour, he'd been untouchable. Changing Star exploited his surprise, striking his other knee, the golden fragment shattering upon touching the floor, dissolving in radiance. The Echo rushed to cover the damage, but his battered legs left him completely kneeling.
The Bright Lord howled, rising his axe to stop the coming blow. Too late. The plummet of her sword hit him like a tidal wave, the floor under him splintering. Gunlaug saw black and red, the embrace of the golden creature abandoning his face after nearly a decade, and raised his head, blond hair falling over his face, to meet the eyes of the woman who had beaten him. Meeting his blue eyes, she said:
"I forgive you."
And, kneeling, blood painting his face, Gunlaug found clarity. He saw the truth. Who was he to decide for others, to decide hope was poison, to chain his peers, reign above others? He had been a fool. Shame and bitterness invaded him. Oh, but he had been warned.
Flaw: [Stagnation]
[Be warned, for you are of water, and water can be contaminated.]
He had let the Forgotten Shore inside him, rather than protecting others from it.
Ignoring the crescent agony boiling inside, he placed a hand on his knee, and willed himself to rise. Barely maintaining himself steady, he faced the crowd, those who he had oppressed.
"I…" His voice cracked. "I have oppressed you, abused you, executed you. I thought I was doing it for the greater good, to protect you. I now realise I had no right to, no right to strip you of your choices. To steal your freedom." The Bright Lord kneeled again, uncaring of the pain. "I am sorry. Come, and punish me. Come, and kill me, if you want. I have sinned, and I deserve it."
The crowd watched him with varying degrees of emotion. Hate, stupor, hate, disgust, satisfaction, hate, pity, anger, distrust. The overbearing silence lasted until an unassuming woman emerged. She wore modest clothes, her face tired and her eyes full of resentment as she walked towards him. She stopped in front of him.
"You have crushed us to the ground, bastard." She spat at his knees. "Do you think we will let you walk away so easily? Try, and atone for what you have done, if you even can." Without another word, she walked away and left the hall. One by one, they spat at him. And Gunlaug faced each, etching into his memory the faces of those he had oppressed. And when everyone had left, he stayed kneeling, eyes on the ground, until night came. Stripped of his armour, of his powers, of his dignity, of his purpose, he was born anew.