[The Z]

Konig Maka stepped from the portal that was rapidly dissipating behind him and continued to stride forward, seemingly unaware of the spectacular colors that exploded behind him. His steps were confident, as if he knew exactly where he was heading. The half-elf scanned the bleak and torched forest with intense eyes, which were a dazzling shade of silver. Like the night, Konig’s skin was dark and also like the night, he possessed an imposing figure, not because it was particularly large, but because the man resembled a panther – a hunter, silky, stalking the night.

Yet, the man he was searching for was a hunter as well. In fact, ‘stalker’ was in his name. But as the Trystian saying went, “we are all the hunted, because death comes for us all.” The human he was searching for was fortunate that murder was not the intention of this long and arduous journey. Something far more global and impacting brought Konig to this faraway and foreign land. An old score to settle and it’s not even mine, as usual, he thought bitterly. Inheriting a throne brought with it ancient ties, both positive and negative, that recessed deep into the halls of time.

A smell that was all too familiar snaked its way up his nostrils. Swearing and cursing his carelessness, he turned around slowly and spotted the two Black Orcs rumbling towards him.

“Halt, human!”

“I’m half-elven,” he stated icily.

“Same scum. You are to come with us. The price of resistance is death!” roared the other monstrosity, in a guttural tone that was stained with an unholy intelligence.

“Shut up.”

Konig pulled his two-shot flintlock effortlessly from its holster and squeezed the trigger sending two tiny lead balls into the first assailant’s head. While the wounded one fell backwards, the other had charged. But the half-elf had expected this and had already finished the incantations of a spell. Flames erupted from his free hand and ate the Black Orc; fire spindled from Konig’s fingers and wrapped itself around its victim, until all that remained was smoldering ash.

Surprisingly, the one who had been shot now stood and raised his sword. In a motion that was uncannily smooth, the half-elf sidestepped the heavy blow, holstered his flintlock, and drew Deacon, with his free hand. The bastard sword shimmered in the twilight, it’s magic evident to any creature that had even the slightest amount of vision. Turning away and under from another cut, Konig found a clear path for his sword and took it in a split second. The Black Orc grimaced as Deacon pierced his armor and continued onwards until the tip stuck out the back. While yanking the weapon out, the half-elf than smashed his opponent’s nose with his fist.

The warrior cleaned his blade upon the grass and sheathed it.

And so Konig Maka, King of Tryst, enters the fray in another world to settle another of my ancestors’ scores.

The King shook his head and continued onwards silently.

What a pitiful, pitiful existence I have.