Enough

Lorrel dashed through the trees, panting. She only had one thought echoing through her mind. Fool, Fool why did I have to be such a daft witted fool. That and RUN! She did not have the slightest chance of outrunning her pursuer. Lorrel was battered and bruised, but it was the burns covering her body that had turned the fierce warrior into a pitiable girl scrambling away from a much stronger foe. Though the word warrior was perhaps a bit misleading. She was more of a defender really. She would never fight anyone one on one if she could help it. 

A ball of fire came flying through the air straight at Lorrel. The fireball really was laughable for a man of her foe’s strength, but he knew she was nearly drained of energy. Lorrel sluggishly moved her hand to block the blow. It took every bit of strength left in her to extinguish the flame and she collapsed to the ground, too weak to stand. She knew she would not be able to deflect the man’s next attack. The man seemed to know it as well. 

Lorrel was exhausted and she hurt all over. Part of her just wanted to stay where she was and let this man incinerate her, but she had been entrusted with a mission, the mission. She had been given a mission and she would see it finished. The fate of the world was at stake. So, Lorrel did what she always did. She shoved the part of her that wanted to give up deep down. Then she shoved it further. 

Here entire life she had been told over and over to give up. “You gave it your best shot, but now it is time to pack up and go home.” Lorrel’s father had been a drunk and her mother was long dead. When she wanted to become the nurse’s apprentice, no one believed she could do it. She had had no form of education, leaving her illiterate, and then there was the stain left on her family’s name by her father.  However, she had gained the nurse’s attention with her endless determination and persistence. 

When she discovered that she possessed magical abilities, she had worked tirelessly to become a sorceress. Most sorcerers would not even teach her because she could conjure so little magic. Why waste your time on the girl who could hardly make the wind blow when the next girl could summon a hurricane while also warming a pot of tea? Eventually, Lorrel met Torrvoth, an old sorcerer whose kind heart had seen Lorrel’s will. 

Torrvoth was one of the most powerful sorcerers to ever live, and he was the First Sorcerer, leader of the Society of Sorcerers. He taught her how to use her small bit of magic to its fullest potential. One of Torrvoth’s first lessons had been to never get into a one on one fight with someone stronger than her, which meant basically everybody. Today, Lorrel had allowed herself to be caught in that very position, but she could not let her mission fail because of it. Lorrel forced herself to get up. 

Her legs wobble and she feared she would fall right back down. She steadied herself. Then she took a step. Her body rebelled, but as usual Lorrel’s will won the battle. Another step. Then another. Her trudge slowly built into a hobble. Then her hobble built until she was running. She looked back and saw her pursuer's shocked face. He had assumed her beaten. Good. Let him be surprised. Surprise was often her greatest advantage. People expected her to be beaten easily because she was weak, so they were never ready when she revealed whatever trick she had up her sleeve. The problem was this time she did not have a trick. She only ran in a desperate attempt to stay alive. 

As Lorrel ran, she saw a patch of Flarian flowers. The flowers sparked old memories of her days as the nurse’s assistant. Flarian flowers were used to sedate patients who were in pain. The plant was extremely potent and enough of it could knock a person right out. The only problem was she had no way of getting her pursuer to consume the flowers. Then another memory sparked. Sometimes when people were in a lot of pain the nurse would bring them a Flarian flower and they would smoke it. 

Lorrel ran for the flower patch like her life depended on her making it there because it in fact did. When she finally reached the other side of the patch, her pursuer finally caught up to her. Lorrel feigned tripping and fell to the ground with a thud. Though her tripping had been staged, the pain resulting from her collision with the hard earth was certainly real. Her pursuer stopped and stared at Lorrel for a second. “You have fought well considering how little magic you can conjure. We could have used someone of your grit and cleverness among our ranks. I would ask you to join us yet, had you not killed my five comrades.” 

He looked like he was going to say more, but Lorrel seized her last bits of energy and threw a fireball at the man. The ball was small and could have been extinguished by the weakest of sorcerers. The ball did not even reach the man and fell before hitting him. He laughed at the pitiful sight, yet as he laughed the fire came down upon the Flarian flower patch he stood over. The flowers were dry, and the magical fire was eager to burn. The flowers burst aflame. 

When the man noticed, he gave the burning flowers little heed as he prepared to finish Lorrel off. Just then he inhaled smoke and began to cough. Soon she saw his eyes begin to glaze over. Lorrel knew that this would only last for a moment or two as his magic would heal him, as hers would have done to her own body were she not so burned out. Lorrel quickly lunged into the Flarian patch where the man stood. She held her breath as she raced through the smoke, grabbing the dagger she kept under her skirt for this precise reason. The man’s eyes regained focus right as Lorrel thrust the dagger into his thick neck. 

She had not wanted to strike his chest for fear of missing his heart. The only thing left in the man’s eyes now was shock. Most sorcerers would never carry any kind of weapon around with them. Why used weapons when you have magic, but this was another thing Torrvoth had taught Lorrel. “You are less powerful than most and therefore you will need to give yourself every advantage.” The man fell limply to the ground. Oddly Lorrel’s body did not seem to hurt anymore. Her pain had vanished like...like...like she had forgotten to hold her breath after stabbing the man. The world grew fussy, and Lorrel slipped into unconsciousness. 

When Lorrel awoke, she forgot where she was for the slightest second. The pain quickly refreshed her memory. Burns seared her body, cuts sliced her through her in every direction, and every single muscle in her body ached. The pain cleared away the fogginess that follows sleep. It gave her a sharp focus. Though it hurt, Lorrel knew she had to get up. Each movement brought new pains to every part of her body.  She had not even known her body could hurt in so many places. 

Eventually, when she had risen, she felt inside of herself. With her energy restored, so was her magical ability. She allowed the magic to fall over her and heal her. She would not be able to fully heal herself. She did not have enough power for that, but she could start the healing process so that her body could finish the job. Even with her magic though, this experience would leave her body marred with scars. As she healed herself much of the pain that had accompanied the wounds disappeared. 

For the first time since waking, Lorrel surveyed her surroundings. The flower patch around her was burnt up. Lucky, her fire ball had been weak and had gone out before reaching her. She had gotten lucky, again. Finding the flowers had been a huge stroke of luck. One that had saved her life and so much more. Lorrel reached down into the sack she was carrying around her waist and grabbed the bag's contents making sure it had not been taken when she was sleeping. Her hand soon found the double-sided knife with a large ruby embedded into the middle that had caused her so much trouble. Beside it was a map. She took the map out of the bag and checked it. 

She would have to find her way to the road to really figure out where she was and how to continue. She was running out of time. As she looked around a dark film seemed to be obscuring the world making everything seem slightly scarier than it should be. The grass seemed to have lost color and clouds began to cover the sky. 

The Obscure One was consuming the world. In a matter of days, he could destroy the world, or maybe he would rule in subjection. No one was really sure. That was one of the reasons people called him the Obscure One. No one truly knew who he was or what he wanted. When the world had been created seven beings called Ordimons were created alongside man. Each had represented something, and each had an opposite. One was faith and the other was doubt. Another was hope and the other despair. One of hate and another of love. Each Ordimon sowed their attribute into mankind. 

Eventually, they got tired of competing and war broke out between them. Each destroyed their opposite and in the end none remained. None except the seventh Ordiman. The seventh Ordiman did not have an opposite like the others. No one had ever discovered which attribute he represented but after the deaths of the other Ordiman he soon showed himself to be a force of evil. He drove nations to war with each other and gathered a following of worshipers for himself. 

All the sorcerers and sorceresses band together and were able to imprison him for thousands of years. Some grew to believe that the prison would hold him forever. Others, like Lorrel, had not even believed the Ordimons had ever existed until the Obscure One finally began breaking free from his bonds. It happened slowly. At first, he could only speak with certain people. He began influencing them and rebuilding his following. Those who followed him claimed he was destruction, the opposite of creation. They claimed he must bring balance to the world. The only way to balance the power of creation was the destruction of all. 

Finally, Lorrel found the road and she began her journey again. It would still take her a few days to reach her destination. She would have to hurry to ensure she would not be too late. Lorrel was likely the last sorceress anyone would have given this task to, anyone except Torrvoth. He had always believed in Lorrel. Thoughts of him brought fresh pain to her as she remembered when he had given her this task. 

It had been only a few days ago. Torrvoth and she had been in Cavelon searching for the very map Lorrel now carried with her. After weeks of looking through every scroll in Cavelon’s vast library they had finally found the map, but it had been too late. When they were ready to leave the city, a group of the Obscure One’s followers were spotted waiting to intercept them before Torrvoth and Lorrel could stop their master’s rise. 

Torrvoth had turned to Lorrel, with the grave look only worn by those who have seen their impending demise. He gave Lorrel, the map and then he handed her the Krassator, the two sided knife in her bag. It was the First Sorcerer’s duty to guard the Krassator. The Krassator was the most crucial artifact the Society of Sorcerers had. It was taken from the Obscure One when he was imprisoned, and it was believed the knife served as the Obscure One’s opposite, possessing the power to kill him. The Krassator was passed down from First Sorcerer to First Sorcerer, but somewhere along the way it was lost, so Torrvoth spent his whole life recovering the ancient secret. 

Eventually, he had discovered that how was never the question he should have been asking but where. He had found out that there was a place called Naromi. It was the only place a Ordimon could be killed. It was where the other Ordimons had destroyed each other. If one arrived at Naromi with the Krassator, the Obscure one would be forced to come and fight them. 

Many early First Sorcerers had tried to fight the Obscure One, but he had been unable to come due to his imprisonment. Soon First Sorcerers stopped trying. In fact, they stopped passing the story when it seemed that the Obscure One would never escape his prison. 

Tarrvoth had left the city going north while Lorrel had went south. They would never have expected the First Sorcerer to part with the Krassator. Torrvoth had been attacked. Lorrel had seen the flashes of magic. He had told her he would distract them as long as he could, but they both knew he would be overrun and killed. 

Lorrel felt tears slide down her checks as she pictured Torrvoth battered and broken before the group of followers as they prepared to kill him. The thought made Lorrel want to break down. Torrvoth had been the closest Lorrel had ever had to family. He had believed in her when no one else had, pushed her when others tried to hold her back, and he had cared for her as any man would for his own daughter. Then Lorrel pictured Torrvoth’s final moments as his pursuers realized he did not have the Krassator. She imagined the smug smile that he must have given them as they killed him. The thought gave Lorrel strength as she continued walking. 

After leaving Cavelon, Lorrel’s horse had fallen ill and had quickly died. Her magic had not been strong enough to save her. Knowing her pursuers would soon catch up with her, Lorrel prepared for a fight. She could not beat even one sorcerer on one in combat, and she knew there would be several coming for her. Lorrel, however, was quite accustomed to being the underdog. The only way to beat someone who was stronger than you was to fight smarter than them. Give yourself every advantage. The easiest way for a weaker sorcerer to best a stronger one was to redirect their foe’s power back at them. Lorrel had worked tirelessly on learning how to make magical snares. Over the course of years, she had mastered every aspect of trapping. Learning how to put just enough magic in them to make them undetectable while still deadly. It was a fine line. It took precision rather than power. It was perfect for Lorrel. She set up traps all around the area where she would make her stand against her pursuers. 

She had been amazed when only three sorcerers and two sorceresses had arrived. Torrvoth had fought well. They rushed in unaware of their surroundings. Consequently, each triggered a trap waiting for them. Each was met with incineration. Lorrel let out a sigh of relief when the final sorcerer had fallen, thinking herself safe. She should have known it would not be that easy. A massive ball of fire had fallen from the sky and exploded right in front of Lorrel throwing her back and severely burning flesh. 

Soon balls of fire were falling from the sky like rain. That was when she had noticed the final pursuers who had been waiting and watching. He had seen her traps kill his companions, so he was attacking her from a distance. It would make it harder for him to aim but would keep him safe from her ploys. The fire raining from the sky eventually forced Lorrel away from her traps and into a head on fight with someone much stronger than herself. 

Lorrel continued to her destination with a new sense of urgency as the sky grew darker. She feared what was to come. Her biggest fear came from not knowing what she was supposed to do once she arrived. How would she fight the Obscure One? Would she be strong enough? Three days after Lorrel’s encounter with her attackers she reached the place indicated on her map. In the middle of the forest was a cement slab with tiny engravings covering its surface. Gemstones lined the slab. Six of the seven were broken and dim. As soon as she stepped on the cement slab the only remaining untouched gemstone burst alight. The light was a bright, blinding red. Lorrel saw the same red light coming from the gemstone in the Krassator. The two gems were identical in every way. The gems seemed to be trying to outshine the other. 

The blinding lights were almost captivating enough to miss the darkness encircling the clearing. Almost. It was as though darkness itself had come to life in the form of a cloud as the Obscure One circled Lorrel. She gripped the Krassator so tightly the gem began imprinting itself into her hand. 

Could she really defeat something like this? This was no person she could trick. She had no trap ready, and she certainly could not out power him. What had she been thinking? What had Torrvoth been thinking? 

Then like an avalanche the cloud fell over her. The world turned to darkness. It surrounded her swirling, twisting, grabbing, pulling, pushing, filling her lungs so she could not breathe anymore. What had any of them been thinking? They couldn't fight something like this. Raw, unrestrained power. Lorrel vaguely felt her knees buckle right before crashing to the floor. She was just too weak. She was not good enough. Her whole life she had been screaming at the top of her lungs that she was just as good as everyone else, but now she could see the truth. She had never been good enough or strong enough. She had failed. The world would end because of her failure. 

As she lay in the darkness Lorrel felt the tears fall down her cheeks. Tears for all her failures, but more for the world which was now lost. Her whole life she had feared this moment when the world finally confirmed every horrible thing said about her. Thinking about such a moment had always made her tremor as she did now. She was terrified. So, so afraid. Afraid? The thought pierced through all the noise in her head. Each Ordimon showed their attribute into those they fought. He was not destroying her as many claimed but frightening her. The Obscure One was the Ordimon of Fear. 

Why then, did he not have an opposite to balance the scales? What was the opposite of fear? Nothing came to Lorrel. Courage was not the opposite of fear, only the ability to overcome it. There was no opposite to fear. Fear simply had to be overcome. 

Finally, the Krassator made sense. To defeat Fear someone had to overcome it. The Krassator still gripped firmly in Lorrel’s hand she slowly pushed off the ground. Still the fears pounded her. She would fail. The world would perish. Still, she shook from the terror, but that was the thing about overcoming fear. It is never easy, especially when our greatest fears are all too possible. 

After getting back onto her feet Lorrel began walking through the endless sea of darkness. Each step was agony, threatening to destroy her. Still, she continued on. As she continued the darkness seemed to be thickening. Eventually she reached a part that was so thick she was sure she would be able to touch it if she tried. 

Now she understood. As if the two sided knife had spoken to her, she understood why it was double edged. It was the final test of her courage. The only way to kill this creature was to die along with it. One blade for each life taken, but she had not come this far, worked this hard to let a selfish survival instinct to stop her. She thrust the knife into the thickest part of the darkness. She felt the Krassator dig into her target. 

The darkness around her writhed like any man struggling for his last breaths of air before his soul was claimed. When the final breath came it burst out like the winds of a hurricane. The impact knocked Lorrel onto her back, lying in the middle of the cement slab. She felt a sharp pain as something slid into her chest. Then, she felt the warm blood as it pooled around her body. 

She looked up to see the Krassator sticking out of her chest. The world began to fade away, but before it did, she got one final look at the sky. The bright blue confirmed that she had succeeded. The Obscure One was gone forever. The world would live on. As Lorrel went, she knew for certain now, that she had been enough.