Ike watched Samus go off into the distance before glancing in front of him, after a while...you saw where it could be. Minor little oddities, like you were staring through something...and you didn't really know how or why that worked. Maybe some part of him knew what home was, and that was why he was confident...or stupid. His men...did he even know any of their names? Did he even care? He spoke to them only informally, they trusted him implicitly. They were the finest of Medusa's army, ten thousand strong. Secretly, his blood boiled.
It was some cruel joke that Gurgurant was in his possession. It was almost a true representation of what he had turned into, a blade that had so much evil to it's name...a sword that seemed to soak in all the innocent, weak blood Ike had spilled. He could hear the voice of Mad King Ashnard burning into his ears as he closed his eyes.
Heh heh heh...I remember that stance well, so your father taught you swordplay, did he? How very happy that makes me. Ike discarded his helmet and turned to his men, drawing his blade in the same stance he faced him. Ragnell...Ragnell was a long forgotten dream, Sona was a distant memory. The smiles, the laughter...all of them were nothing he deserved for what he had caused. His men stared at him in confusion, glancing from one another. For once, Ike's eyes did not falter...they did not crack. They became wild and resolute.
Mad King Ashnard! I will cut you down with his blade and end your reign of terror! The blade swirled with darkness, making a few men step back in shock.
"L...Lord Ike?" One mumbled in puzzlement.
"By the name of the Goddess of Light, Palutena, and the holy protector of Tellius, Ashunera. I will not let you enter my homeland. Medusa is a thief, and a snake in goddess robes. I will no longer do her bidding, and I will no longer serve for the general of a army of zealots. All of you weaklings, you will never set your corrupted boots in my home!" he roared, rushing forward in a shower of darkness. He spun, his wide blade slicing through skin and armor like it was nothing. Men staggered back in shock, but their zealoted howls overcame their fear. Ike was a sacrilegious tratior! A heretic! They would kill him and burn his body for their lady!
You!? Cut me down!? Heee....good, if you possess the strength to do so...then do it. This process is the principal on which my ideal world operates!
They came at him in a wave of precise training, training that Ike had drilled into them effortlessly. They came with a wall of shields, and Ike's sword swung through it with a shockwave of darkness. Archers let arrows fly, three slammed into Ike's chest, but it didn't slow him down as he rushed forward, Gurgurant swung high and hacked an archer in two before he spun, slicing two more in half. Their lines were shattered, the blade hungered...and Ike fed it. Soon, the roars of fury and violence scattered into fear, blades and arrows slammed into Ike's body, but they did nothing, his eyes burned with inhuman rage. He hacked a man in two with a diagonal slice, the dark magic of his tainted sword hissing away at flesh and bone as he spun, slamming the long blade into the gut of another and ripping it out to connect across the chest of one more.
He remembered, he remembered everything. Every life that flashed before his eyes, every friendship he had shattered, every life he had ruined. He could feel the tears running down his face, but he didn't know if they were from pain or misery. Five thousand men, arrows and blades seemed to only infuriate the demon that had turned on them. Weaklings that scattered to the wind as the blade of the fallen King Ashnard harvested more weak souls. The world was different, rage was given form...corruption made manifest. Ike's eyes were full of fury and rage, pain made his arm swing harder. Retreating men were cut down, archers simply fled, mages were hacked in half with horrified screams.
It was over.
It was finally over.
The nightmare was done. His nightmare was done. Bodies of five thousand men and women, cut and slaughtered by a demon who had been festering within the body of a hero, too humble to admit his glory, too proud to realize he had caused his own death. His wicked blade dragged as he turned, moving towards the barrier. He knew it was the barrier...he knew it, he knew in his heart that his homeland was right behind that wall. His armor was bloody and punctured, arrows jabbed into his chest and back, gashes and wounds marred his skin.
He wondered...did he deserve to die under the sky of his homeland? Did he deserve death? His hand pressed against what he knew was there...and it offered no resistance as he limped inside, the pain was extraordinary.
Well done, boy. He heard, laughter thundering in his ears. His blade dropped from his hand, and Ike sunk to his knees. It was...it was the same as he remembered...the beautiful blue sky, even the air smelled the same. The tears stained his dirty, bloody face as he looked up at the warm, forgiving sky. Everything hurt...maybe...it would hurt a little less if he closed his eyes...he could see his father, and his mother....so far away from him now...maybe, if the goddesses had mercy, he would see them...at least once.
The last thing Ike heard was the wonderful wind of his homeland sweeping against his slumped face.
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