The man in tattered robes carrying a heavy war hammer on his shoulder laughed at hearing the word crazy. He seemed like a child giddy with a secret only he knows. To the squad leader, he did seem like someone with a child's mind.
The squad leader frowned, and slowly he transitioned into a guarded stance as his squad slowly encircles the man called Cracked Skull. The squad leader did not seem afraid, but he did look cautious. Ordered by the King himself, he was to hunt down the Heretics. He asked himself now, if someone crazy can really be guilty of heresy. Then again, anybody who does not conform to established beliefs is considered crazy, or worse, dangerous. Heretics, the Priest King commanded, must be educated in divine wisdom. The Captain, as the squad leader is known, finds it ironic that most of the education done was with the sword; and that the divine needs help from dirtied hands. Yet he obeys, in the hope of ending this ravaging war started by people who claim, without compromise, that they are in the right. Those people all belonged on his side.
The man called Cracked Skull laughed again. He started coughing as he tried to stifle the laughter that seem to involuntarily come out of his mouth. The laughter came out still, and when he clamped his mouth with his huge hands, the laughter came out below his body transformed as a long tooting sound so embarrassingly out of place in the current situation. The man laughed so hard again while slowly his glassy eyes turned sharp with malice.
Time stopped. No time just slowed. But time is just a concept -- it does not exist. And yet, time passes.
The Captain saw two of his men fall down, unable as they were to dodge the hammer swings of the man called Cracked Skull. Elite warriors his men where, but it is as if they don't understand how the weapon comes. Their quarry did not seem to move faster; in fact he saw everything in slow motion. While his men's moves were confused, the man in tattered robes planted solid strikes to another three of his men.
The Captain was befuddled. But then he understood as he smelled the putrid air suffocating the hall that was the battlefield. There is no reality. Only perception. And something is causing him and his men to perceive the man's moves incorrectly. Time is a concept of the mind, so it is not time that slowed down. He can only conclude that his mind has sped up, and he is not accustomed to it.
The Captain woke himself from his philosophical stupor, as he saw the tip of the war hammer angle his way. He executed the parry that will deflect the blow. He watched in excruciatingly slow motion the hammer falling down, while his body moved along with the flow of his sword. It took forever, but the hammer missed him; and his sword was already sluggardly moving to his opponent in what would have been a masterful counterattack. But he was not a master of slow motion sword fighting. Not yet anyway. And basing on how the fight is going, perhaps never will be.
The man called Cracked Skull was nearly disemboweled with the Captain's sword. But he was able to break his shock and side step the stab aimed at his guts. Nobody was able to react like this to his assault before. Did the Captain know of my secret? Looking at the man who almost killed him, he realized that his opponent didn't. But for certain, he was figured out now. Feeling for the first time in a long time that he is in danger, he quickly finished the rest of the King's Shadows before again facing the man one-on-one.
The Captain was standing alone. And after a few but very long moments in his drugged state, he was lying in a pool of his own blood. His new knowledge did not beget him mastery. And in this fight, unfair as it was, he was the novice. He looked into the Cracked Skull's eyes and was surprised to see... respect. And sanity. He saw the man walking away, confused that he was left alive.
The Captain closed his eyes and meditated himself to deep rest. He is tired, but he has more battles left to fight. And some questions to ask of himself.
