Gauntlet and the Broken Angel

[Flak]

Oh my, Flak writes more than just the HC?

Believe it or not, it's true. The Hunter Chronicles is set in a world that began to form in my mind when I was nine years old, and while I personally love the new elements of betrayal I added in in my revision, the the new versions of the characters are thrilling to write, I need something else. The Hunter Chronicles is, literally, the dream world of the child- more realistic things trouble me now and I must write them down.

In the Hunter Chronicles, the first time around, I told the story of Gauntlet. This story concerns him to a degree, as well as another new character being introduced. Gem Hunter, main character of the HC, is a part of this tale at the end. The story is actually set in the world of HC... however, I believe it holds more emotion than the chronicles themselves. Who knows? If I ever get the HC back on track, I might add this entire story into the lore section. (My old readers will know what I refer to.)

Well, speach aside, I'd like to bring up one last point. Description. Often, people will criticize, basing their reading experiences on character development and seeing images of the characters. However, if a character is simply described, I believe it's called two dimensional. I'm aiming for three dimensional characters. And in so doing, I've lost the second dimension to some degree. The story lacks descriptions majorly, but let me say they're not always necessary. A character can be itself without there being an image of it. This story concerns the emotions. But enough of that. On to the good stuff.




___
Moron son of boron thinks that fangirls would make yaoi doujin out of this. That's not a good sign.

[Flak]

Ream- slow, dreamy, sea-side, little Ream. Ream, the small coastal village on the westernmost shores of Verga. Ream's population, even at the peak of its growth, never grew beyond a couple hundred, and was a tightly-knit and close community of caring, kind people. In that extreme of the world, the curse of the conflicts of other countries seemed so far away, the frightening prophecies were forgotten, many barriers that are a part of hostility never formed. Ream was a utopia, an independent world in its own, untouched by the Vergan tax-collectors, untouched by the raids of bandits and marauders, untouched by the evil fires of the Inferno.

Everyone there knew everyone, everyone cared for everyone's old relatives, everyone mentored everyone's young ones. The people of Ream were such a wonderful lot, their history lacking crime of any kind. Ream had no hall of lore, and this was all very well- why remind a happy people of how unhappy their world truly is? After generations of isolation, happiness, and ignorance, the people eventually forgot the meaning of shadow, evil, chaos. They didn't know they lacked a hall, they merely didn't know what a hall was. They didn't wonder about the lands past the coastal hills. They supported themselves on the ocean and the land. But, in such a torn world, how could a tiny care-free hamlet stay so happy?

It was not destined to be so. Whether Ream's inhabitants knew of fate or not, its power held their lives on line as well, and though Ream wouldn't be touched by Inferno or Marauder, its own center of happiness could be thrown off balance. Now, fate isn't a malicious thing, but it had chosen Ream's destiny and that destiny had to be followed. And so a young boy was born. His name was Fred Duncan, and he was the first child in Ream to ever have bad dreams. He would wake at night, screaming Maha's Truename, muttering about demons, crying for his mother. Ream's peace was ended...

Or was it? Things went alright, or at least, until Duncan was seventeen...


A/N: I realize the name of the town's a big freudian slip. But ya know what? It's been Ream since I was nine and Ream it will stay.

[Flak]

"Fred," said Matt between gasps for air, "I heard about your...decision." The boy's cheeks were flushed slightly from running in the cold winter air. He had bolted here as fast as he could, not wanting to miss his best friend's departure. His eyes, normally calm and still, now were a blur of different hues of brown, said shades dancing around like little imps in his eye sockets. He was not just excited from his dash- he was an emotional wreck. His brown hair was unkempt, he'd obviously just risen.

Duncan turned from inspecting his old friend's unusual look and gazed composedly at the sun, barely in the sky. The coastal fog was thick this time of year, and the sun was far from blinding behind the shroud of gray that floated like a giant mess of ghostly bedsheets over the town and fields. Indeed, it was early. What was Matt doing up this early? Deciding to avoid the main point of the issue, he raised his small question.

"Why are you up so early?"

"I had a dream, with you in it."

"Another one of your 'prophetic dreams', eh?" Duncan asked, smiling grimly, sitting up from his lazy lying down position. The winter-grass stroked his chilly, bare arms as he rose and the sensation tingled. He repressed an unwanted giggle and returned his focus to his friend.

"I hope not, oh Entities, I hope not," said Matt. His eyes had somewhat calmed down and now pure fright shone through the panic. Oh, if only Fred knew. He felt tears form, and quickly slammed his eyelids down to hide them.

"That bad, huh?" asked Duncan, sadly. "Hey! Why'd you close your eyes?" He pushed himself to his feet, testing his cold, tired legs. He then slowly made his way over to Matt Kinjaku, his best friend since childhood, no, infancy. He rested his hand on Matt's shoulder. Oh boy. On top of leaving and explaining it, Duncan now had to respond to Matt's dream. "Do you need to sit down?"

Matt fell heavily to his knees with Duncan still comforting him. Duncan knelt, maintaining his face at Matt's eye level. Matt slowly opened his eyes and turned to Duncan.

"Remember how the Elders talked of getting rid of us? About how you were the first, and I second, to have bad dreams, to be haunted? And how our presences kept eachother from going insane?"

"Yeah."

"You left in my dream, and I instantly knew it was true. And in the dream, I saw you in the future, and you...you..." Matt broke off in tears, unable to go further right away.

"I what?" asked Duncan, not comforting Matt anymore, eager to know.

"You killed everyone in your new town."

"I WHAT?" asked Duncan, surprised and horrified.

"I saw it happen, almost as if it were taking place and I was watching it, in real life! First, your sister, then your parents, then-" Duncan stopped Matt with a slap.

"That's a lie! A LIE!" he screamed in Matt's ear.

"I hope so," was all the injured Matt could say.

"Damn straight," said Duncan, seething.

"But why? Why must you leave? The demons will come back."

"You said decision, earlier. I had none. My parents are going. By law I have to go."

"Oh, that's how it is?" asked Matt. He'd thought his friend was just abandoning him to the demons in his head. No, he remembered, wouldn't Duncan be afflicted as well?

"Yeah, that's how it is. But I'm glad you came before I leave."

"Why? Won't this just make it harder on you? Isn't that why you hid it from me?"

"I don't care, I wanted to spend more time with you here. In this cornfield, this field, where we grew up together." Duncan smiled bitterly at the memories. The two had hidden out here in summer time when the plants were high off the ground, they'd slept there in the late spring, shared their first talk about girls there. That field was their field, and most of Ream knew it. That cornfield was a hallowed place to the two, the secrets they'd share there deemed sacred. And this was their last hour in it.

"I know! Let's make a promise."

"What kind of promise?" asked Duncan, somewhat irritated at having his thoughts interrupted.

"Let's meet here again in the future! You don't need to stay with your parents forever! You might be moving to the Ebony Fields, but I'm staying here. Ream will always be your home, Fred. I'll always be your friend. Come back when you can. I'll meet you in this spot." Matt spit on the ground in front of him. Duncan smiled at him and spat in turn, their mixing saliva dripping into the earth to mark the place of the intersection of their paths in the idealistic future.

[Flak]

A/N: Rated R for graphic violence and gore and stuff...

One time, a long, long time ago, in the Dead City, one boy alone had nightmares. In his dreams, he saw pictures, pictures of great beasts, of warriors, of a blazing set of eyes. He always cried at night, and the city’s elders decided he was mad. The young man’s name was Fred Duncan, and his family pleaded for days with the elders, begging for their son back. And so his place in the city was given a second chance, and life went on as normal...

For years, the nightmares stayed at bay, some miracle of desperation. The boy grew to be a normal adolescent, he had friends, did well in his school. He at times disobeyed his parents, but in general got along with them fine. And it was the most painful thing for them: he didn’t know. He had no recollection of the dreams, he had no clue that his parents had saved his life. He wasn’t grateful.

So, as he grew, he became, like a good half of the kids in that haunted place, troubled with new things- girls. He fell head on into a trap set by one particular little rat, but all the while didn’t realize what exactly she was. He followed her around, he gave her gifts, he obeyed her and her alone. His grades dropped, his friends one by one gave up on ever hanging with him.

And then he got dumped. Depression came in like a pack of wolves and tore his heart and mind to pieces, his emotion eventually dulled in drink. He wandered the streets at night, wondering quietly to himself if all that he had experienced with her had been a joke. Everything...every kiss, every hug. And his mental health only grew worse. The dreams, so long kept at bay by focus on study and life, returned.

One evening, he entered the tavern, looking for surcease of sorrow. He took his regular place and ordered his regular drink, and glowered at the counter for being too dirty in his regular fashion.

“Hello, young sir,” came a voice. Duncan raised his head swiftly, narrow eyes looking for a face to connect with the sound. His vision was bleary, and he marked the man slowly, the dreams rolling through his head once more. Ever since he had taken to insomnia, ever since he had lost his mind, every wink he got, every nod of slumber, every waking moment- they were all haunted by his childhood dreams. It all came back to him- the dragons, the heroes of old, the eyes of an evil being.

“Eh?” he murmured groggily.

“I, uh, was wondering,” said the man, “would you like a pair of good luck bracelets?” Duncan still couldn’t put a face on the man, he couldn’t focus well enough. Ever since his depression, he had felt removed from the world, bitter and careless of his surroundings. He eyed the pair of slim silver bracelets on the counter. For an instant, his mind worked.

“Good luck? That’s sh*t. Good luck...these are merely placebo make-you-feel-better pieces of garbage.” Then he felt the money in his pocket, the money he had stolen for the sake of doing something illegal, not knowing anything better to do. “Why the hell not?”

Whether he noticed or not, the man smiled a rather sickening smile. Duncan most likely never knew what lay in the bracelets...he handed over the huge amount of coins, and slipped the bracelets on his wrists, finished his drink, and went home. For the first night in weeks, he slept. But Fred Duncan never woke up.

The body of the late Fred Duncan rose from bed mechanically, grabbed the project scissors from his desk, went downstairs, and stabbed his parents repeatedly until they died. He broke his sister’s room’s door in with one foot, entered, and bashed her head into the wall, before casually picking up her corpse and tossing her out the window, where she lay impaled on the spiked fence surrounding the apartment complex. He then swung his backpack onto his shoulders and headed for school. On his wrists gleamed four inch wide bands of silver.

Duncan’s body entered class and sat down in Duncan’s place. He crossed his arms and leaned back, waiting for the others to arrive. He had gotten there early for the first time ever; he hadn’t stopped to eat breakfast or say good morning to his parents. He stood up when the teacher entered before the students, as respectful as he had been before the incident with his girlfriend had happened. The teacher made some comment about a comeback, Duncan’s corpse didn’t hear it. He merely exited the room before the other students came, leaving the teacher in a pool of blood and bile.

He waited in the hallway for his old friends to appear, and said he was going to the bathroom. He spent fifty minutes there, vomiting blood and bile of his own into the toilet continuously, like a fountain, the images of heroes and dragons gone, only the blazing red eyes, engulfing his vision, remained. Exactly as the clock tower outside tolled, he exited the toilet, wiping bile from the corner of his mouth with a sleeve.

He met his companions outside, evidently a sub had been hired to remain and teach the few who hadn’t left early from queasy stomachs. He didn’t sympathize, after all, what was some guts to the kids? He went with them to the next class, the whole way fingering a smooth wooden handle in his pocket.

They got to class, and by then the others still hadn’t noticed that Duncan was different, he was normally withdrawn like this. They sat themselves in the cramped wooden booths, and readied their test material, their quills and ink wells. Everyone, that is, besides Duncan’s body.

“What are you doing, man? Professor is giving us a test today! Don’t you want to have the full time?”

“I’m going to sleep...the full time,” the body said thickly, opening wide its disfigured white mouth in a sickly smile, tenfold sicker than the smile of the strange man in the tavern. The professor entered and passed out the sheets of test parchment, the students started scribbling busily, occasionally pausing to refill their quills. Duncan’s body leaned back and shut its eyes.

White and red flashes shot through his brain, he saw his body being impaled on a giant trident. He saw eight great beasts caged in a dark hall, he saw one hero turn and stab another. He saw an angel slay a devil, saw the devil destroy the angel. He saw a pillar of white flame, blazing red eyes shining brightly in the depths of the torrentuous fire.

And then he woke with a start and a scream, finding himself standing over the corpse of this class’s teacher, a long, wicked looking knife in his hands, its blade profusely covered in blood. He looked around the room, his eyes white and dimensionless, his wide white mouth grinning like a mad rabbit.

The room was painted red, arcane runes that he couldn’t read scribbled on the walls in blood. His own hands were red, his clothing spotted with blood. And everywhere on the floor, lying among the wooden chairs and desks, were the blood-soaked bodies of his classmates. He wiped his blade clean on the teacher’s hair, and exited the room.

He staggered along the deserted hallway, holding his head in his bloody hands, screaming like mad. A nurse approached him, and before she got within three feet of him, she fell to the ground, an explosion of blood covering the walls. Duncan’s body made its way slowly..ever so slowly..to the Magister’s office, where he turned himself in. While he waited for the town guards to come, he closed his eyes, and when he woke, he himself was covered in a pillar of white fire, the Magister a pile of ash at his feet. When the fires dissipated, he was left not in his school uniform, but in a ragged black cloak. The bracelets were ten inches wide now...thick and heavy.

Duncan made his way out of the building, brushing aside those who would attempt to stop him with bursts of blood and gore. He walked down the streets, cobblestones erupting in flame where his feet tread. He scrambled to the highest point in the city, and from there, the destruction spread, and the entire city, with one uniform twitch, imploded.

For months, Duncan lay out in the midst of the ruins of the Dead City, killing all life he came upon, slowly wasting away, his insanity almost complete. His master, the red eyes, who spoke so oft in his sleep, had given him a gift, a mighty polearm, black and deadly as the night. The silver on his wrists had manifested a new shape, and had formed a pair of silver gauntlets, covering his forearms from the elbow to the knuckles, the red eyes and mouth set in on them.

And so oft, in his sleep, Duncan heard the voice of his master, calling out for him. Calling out for ‘Gauntlet’, calling out for a servant to heed his call. And every night, he was the dragons in their cage, battling their walls, trying to break free, he saw the heroes, turning their heads towards him, and readying to strike him down.

Then, one night, he heard the voice of his master, ringing through his brain like a doom bell, telling him of his fate. He had failed, he was merely an experiment. He was unstable, and therefore dangerous to his master as well. He was a failed experiment...and now he would be hunted by the denizens of his master, who revealed his identity as al’Kai, Maha, the true evil of the world. Gauntlet fell to his knees, but didn’t stay on the ground long. He cut his communication with Maha, and ran north, hearing the rasping yells of Ly’ban approaching. From then on, he roamed the world, slowly regaining his sanity and memory, killing his pursuers, the Ly’ban, with Maha’s own weapon.

[Flak]

Matthias Kinjaku- ah, I remember him well. Very well. We grew up together, in fact. Before I moved to the Dead City, he and I made a pact to meet again." The speaker's face looked like a tangled mix between agony and fond memory.

"Did you?" The second man leaned forward, brushing his green bangs from his face.

"Yes, but it wasn't in the corn field outside Ebony Fields that we met in, as we had promised. We found eachother after long, long last, in a field of flame." The teller's teeth gritted and he lost all pretense of fond memory. He was in pain, true soul-drilling pain. And seeing this, the listener felt saddened. Why was he making the poor man recount the tales of Kinjaku? Was it because he needed the information, or simply to make this strong demon cry?

"A field of...flame? The Net?"

"No...much, much worse than the Net. A place continuously enveloped in flame and shadow. The great pit, the abyss. The Inferno." The speaker looked up suddenly, his sad eyes wreathed in white flames of anger. "Why must you question me, Legend?" he asked, his very voice on fire. "Is my plight not enough? Must you make the soulless cry?"

"Hush, Duncan. I'm not trying to question you," the listener said, and yelled at himself internally. It's a lie, you just want to give this beast pain. "I need to know about Kinjaku." This was, at least, the other half of the truth.

"Kinjaku? What is he to you? Yet another poor, haunted kid who was locked up and killed by those he loved? He's gone, he's not a 'threat' anymore. Leave his poor memory be!"

"Duncan, I'm being civil, so please, tell me about Matthias."

It's true! He's being civil...he's not calling me Gauntlet or slave, he's not calling Matt the Broken Angel...He's not being insulting or demeaning. Would it hurt to tell? Ebony Fields is gone, as is the Dead City. Nothing will change, just by letting another know of my friend's life....

"Legend, I-"

"Gem, Duncan. You know full well that Legend is not a welcome word in this place. Gem, or Lord Hunter."

Legend...maybe that's to him what Gauntlet is to me. A burden that he wishes he never had to bear. Maybe...maybe I can try and be more civil myself.

"Yes, Lord Hunter."

"Now, about Matthias?"

"We grew up together in Ebony Fields...

Blackness consumed Duncan.

As his vison returned slowly, he saw a pair of friendly eyes staring into his. He bolted upright.

"Matt!"

"Don't sound so frightened, buddy. I'm here."

"What...happened? How are you here?"

"I've always been here. See, silly, we're right here." The young man spread his arms as Duncan realized he was in a recently harvested cornfield. He jumped to his feet and looked around him. In the distance, Ream and the ocean. Only yards away, Ebony Fields hill, upon which stood the Temple. On the other side of a road that sat a few hundred yards away, Ebony Fields. His hometown. He felt lighter somewhat. Something was missing...

Duncan looked down at his wrists and cried out.

"They're gone!"

"What's gone?"

"The gauntlets!"

"What gauntlets?" asked Matt, confused.

"What's going on?" asked Duncan, and he looked back into Matt's eyes. Matt's eyes, not those of the Broken Angel. "Wait. Look into my eyes. What color are they?"

"Hazel, just like always, doofus." Duncan fell onto his back, laughing. Ebony Fields was still there. Matt was still there, he was still there. Their demons were gone. This might be a dream, but it was a nice one. And it didn't matter. The present was the present, and he'd enjoy it. Besides...perhaps all the other stuff was a dream.

Maybe Gauntlet was a dream. Duncan relaxed, and melted into the fields of his hometown. But Matt shook his shoulder.

"Fred, get up!"

"Huh? Why?"

"I want you to make a promise to me."

"What?"

"I..heard you're moving.." Matt grew quiet and his eyes lost all their liveliness.

"Uh...yeah..."

"If you go, they'll come back..." Matt's eyes were wide in fear now. The two haunted ones had found that their presence alone kept the demons from eachother.

"For me too."

"So, I want to make a pledge."

"A pledge? What's that?"

"A pledge to meet in this field once more. I don't know what will become of us seperated, nor what will happen to this town."

"Sure, let's meet here some time."

"You make it sound so light..."

"Calm down buddy," said Duncan. Kinjaku was shaking now. "Calm down. I promise. I'll be here."

"Fred!" cried Matt, and threw his arms around Duncan. Duncan winced slightly, then took the younger man in his strong arms. They were like brothers, but the inseperable bond between them was being sliced through quite easily. And in a matter of days, Fred Duncan and his family carted itself off for the Dead City. Matt slept soundly the first few nights, but then his dreams returned.

"And that's all I know. Next thing, that girl dumped me, and things happened."

"So you don't know what happened to Matt in the meantime?"

"Nothing."

"Very well. Thanks you for telling me all that. Fred...let's make a pledge."

"WHAT?" Duncan's blank eyes widened and his jaw dropped. He almost fell off his chair in shock. Gem extended one hand.

"Let's do our best to thwart Maha, and avenge the old Fred Duncan and Matt Kinjaku."

"Old..Fred Duncan?"

"Admit it or no, you're Gauntlet now. Kinjaku's the Twice Broken Angel. And together, you, Lucas Fenix, Forge, Edge, (A/N: names for now. Don't bother trying to figure out who they are, it's not important) and I can take the evil of this world."

"Why must you fight evil? Why not live your life?" Duncan asked, confused.

For once in this day, Gem sounded truly sad and hollow.

"I have no life. No life I can call mine. No. I'm Legend as you are Gauntlet."

And with that, Duncan threw his arms around Gem, crying.

"You made the soulless cry," sobbed Duncan. "Lord Hunter, I apologize for being so difficult. Please, let me aid you!"

"Now now, buddy," said Gem, patting Duncan's head. "We can do this together..."

***

Lucas Fenix, having listened in on the whole scene, squatted and bent his head towards the wall, his face glistening with tears. He remembered making a similar vow with the other man in that room, albeit when they were much younger. He hadn't brought it up, which might be for the best, as Gem didn't even recognize Fenix anymore.

But who wouldn't recognize Gem? The unruly green hair, the sad smile, the soulful gray eyes. The headband.

Lucas cursed. Why was HE the one that was forgotten? Silently, he sped from the halls, from the building, from the city. He ran and ran and ran, until he lost his legs and fell, still crying, heaving huge sobs from his slender frame. He lay there, a forlorn figure in a cornfield.

***

"Duncan, evil approaches!" Not unusual, this being the Inferno.

"Right..." Duncan clenched his jaw and closed his eyes, concentrating on the aura of black and silver that emanated into the dream world. And the white figure approaching. He made a deft movement, and dashed forward, holding a silver strand of death.

"Dun...can?" the voice was surprised and frightened. Duncan lost concentration and looked at the figure he was tying the string to. His blank eyes widened in shock and he jumped back, recognition stealing his mind.

"Kinjaku!" but his joy lasted little time. His white eyed looked into those that didn't belong to Kinjaku. The feared, immortal Gauntlet stumbled as he stepped back from his old friend's changed form. No...this wasn't right...

Then again, Duncan wasn't in the same shape Kinjaku remembered. The two young men looked at eachother. The two demons looked at eachother. So Duncan wasn't the only whose demons had overcome him. Matt Kinjaku lowered his red-skinned face in shame.

"Sorry, Fred."

"So--sorry!" Duncan fell to his knees, his head dropping forward in his own shame.

"It's not your fault. Your parents moved, and you with them. I couldn't come."

"It's not your fault either, then!"

"These aren't my demons that haunt me, Fred." Duncan's eyes widened at the confession, one he himself must make before long. "You know Ebony Fields Church Hill? How you and I always told our parents it was haunted? Well, we were right! We were just the only ones who could see it!"

"You mean?"

"The..." Insert string of curses here. "The...Broken Angel..."

"Don't force yourself to say those words!" Duncan yelled. "Don't!"

Neither realized it, but the forge spirit had long since departed.

"No, Duncan. I can refrain from hurting you with your burden, but I can't ignore my fate. I'm the Broken Angel now. I willingly put myself through the stained glass window!"

From Kinjaku's heavy robes sprung twin wings of glass shards. Duncan, upon hearing those words of confession, and knowing full well that the wings were a chosen burden, as the silver wristlets he bore, fainted dead away.

***

Duncan let go of Gem and made as if to leave.

"Where're you going?" asked Gem.

"I'm going for a walk."

"Okay, see you for supper?"

"Wouldn't count on it," said Duncan, looking back.

"Alright...take care." Gem sat back down to his desk and immersed himself in his reading, not hearing Duncan's two last words to him.

"Good...bye..." Before the strain in his whisper came to the forefront of his actions, and before he broke into tears, Duncan was out the door of Gem's office, running, running, much as Lucas had. He ran in roughly the same direction, after hours coming to rest in a cornfield. If he'd looked harder, he would have found Lucas's forlorn figure stretched out amidst the tall plants, but he wasn't thinking about anything besides Gem, Matt, and himself.

He came to a halt and drew the small, thin hunting dagger from his belt's knife sheath. He rose it above his head, and with one last thought of regret, he drove it into his throat.

***

Metal rending flesh.

Blood spurting out.

Metal delighting in the red liquid...

Lucas woke from the terrible dream with a start, and noticed himself in the cornfield. With something partially human nearby. He jumped up and drew his giant sword, only to find a body at his side. A body he'd seen before. He cried out in shock. Gauntlet, lying there in twisted death, blood running down his pale throat and cream-colored shirt, hand tightly grasping the hilt of a dagger driven into his neck at an odd angle.

Instead of crying, or being remotely disturbed, Lucas smiled.

Gauntlet's dead eyes were those of a dead human, his blood-filled mouth lined with teeth instead of blank whiteness. The gauntlets on his wrists were gone. Lucas laughed lightly. Gauntlet was gone, and Duncan's time had come. He could go and join the ranks of the great heroes in the High Council Seat, and his sister wouldn't be lonely anymore.

Lucas cleaned Duncan's body with wholesome tears of joy and fixed him up in a decent lying position. As he did this, a soft breeze came along, carrying on it petals and blossoms and feathers. Lucas, amazed by their dazzling multicolored beauty, reached up and caught a few in his hand.

When he opened his hand, he was looking at three glass feathers, multicolored like the shards of a stained glass window. The feathers of the Broken Angel.

Both of the haunted kids had passed now. Things were better this way.

***

Years have passed. The droppings of the magic wind were pieced together to form a window, and blackrock was hauled in and a mausoleum was made for Duncan right where he lay in the cornfield of broken promises. The window was installed in this mausoleum, and the polearm of Maha and the shattered katana of the Broken Angel were buried with Duncan.

At the grand funeral, Gem wept tears of joy, and his eyes, being cleared from this burden, saw Lucas, and he embraced him, and Lucas cried, realizing what had happened.

[Bullroarer]

Good beginning, but lets see how the story continues.

[Flak]

U...that's the entirety of the story. Yep. Missing some parts (specifically, the 'Arrival of the Broken Angel' section that I plan on writing this evening), but yes, this is complete in a certain sense. The last post is the last part, the first bit is the first part.

[Inquisistor7]

Yeah it seemed like ti was missing a section. Overall it was good, but at parts it felt a little rushed and sometimes the jumping from one event to another made the story feel a little choppy. Also, why would Matt's parents leave Ream? that is never really explained if memory serves, I mean, what reason is there to leave such a good place? ONe more thing, why does Ream have guards when it has no crime abd ut has no threats from the outside?

[Flak]

It's supposed to jump around.

As for your questions, Ream doesn't have guards, and it's Fred Duncan's parents who moved, not Matt's. The reason doesn't matter at all. It's unimportant.