Akrehd Khuda’Nahal

Thorlinthian Armada Flagship Fhit, KGT 2398273921:392:16:13

Inside the cold, dry bowels of the Qzceno-class warship, there was a
deathly calm. A young man had just struck another man. The man who had just
been struck was large and tanned. His facial muscles gave off no sign of
emotion, but his bright green eyes had lit up like seven suns. He was livid. His
cheek had reddened and was already beginning to show signs of bruising. A drop
of blood fell onto his uniform, but it would not show on the dark red tunic.

The young man, on the other hand, had
over thirty weapons aimed at him from all around the dining hall. He was
panting, sweaty and bruised, but his eyes showed as much passion as those of
the man he had struck. His arm was still stretched out as though time had
frozen at the end of his swing. His hand showed signs of broken bones, and it
was swelling rapidly. He also wore a dark red uniform, although he wore armor
plating instead of a tunic and loose kilt.

One of the armed men nearest the two
began to walk toward them, his weapon still aimed at the young, armored man. He
spoke. “Fargerre Sheii’Cronell, you are under arrest for the assault of Grand
Armadian Qzcihad Khuda’Cronell.” Upon this remark, he realized it was a
mistake.

The armored Fargerre immediately
turned toward him and smirked. He began to draw a blade from the back of his
armor and walk toward the man whose weapon was now shaking violently in his
hands. The sound of the drawing blade could be heard across the room as a deep,
painful howl that rang out ominously. Just as the tip of the blade began to
show, and Fargerre began to swing it forward, the silent Qzcihad reached out
and grabbed his arm. The blade stopped a hair’s breadth away from the attempted
arrestor’s neck. The man’s weapon fell to the ground with a pitiful percussion
of clanks.

Qzcihad spoke loudly and clearly. His
voice was deep and confident. “If you want a fight, you will fight in the
proper environment. Men, stand down. We’ll be taking this fight to the training
deck. Anyone caring to watch may do so, but no one must interfere. A
Sheii’Cronell answers only to the Monarch and myself, so no arrests may be made
in the event of this young fool’s death. Is this clear?” There were immediate
responses from the men around the room in acknowledgement of the Grand
Armadian’s orders. They then began to head out of the room into a narrow hall.
The fight would be starting as soon as possible.

As the men left the room, Akrehd
Khuda’Nahal fell to his knees. He had to fight a Sheii’Cronell, a legendary
warrior with heightened senses and abilities that would make even the most
experienced soldier shake with fear. The man had just struck the Grand Armadian
for a simple insult, and it looked to Akrehd that his hand had broken from the
force of the blow. Just as he was beginning to plan his escape, he heard the
voice of Fargerre Sheii’Cronell mock him inside his own mind. ‘Are you really
such a coward that you would run away from a simple brawl? I will use no
weapons against you. You may bring whatever you wish, even that Verier 72 you
are so fond of.’ At this, Akrehd knew he would not survive, but he stood at
last, picking up his Verier where he had dropped it, and walked boldly to the
last place he would ever see as a single tear rolled down his young,
unblemished face.