A poison coursed through my veins as the gravity of my actions hit me.  I dropped my smoking gun, backing away in horror from the atrocities I’d committed.  In hindsight I suppose that there was a macabre irony in it all; after everything I had done to keep my humanity, ultimately, I’d been the very one to drive the final nail in my coffin.  I think I went mad for a moment in that cellar as I realized what I’d become, what I’d done.  What I’d always done.  How had it come to this?

***

I - Three Months Prior

     The decorum in the forest air was so thick and heavy with malicious intent that it could have driven a lesser man insane.  Although, it was not so much the stillness as it was the mystery that made my gut twist so.  My would-be killer could be blanketed under the concealing arms of Mother Nature at any one of dozens of points I had counted out in the area.  I tightened my grip on my force-edge, the cold metal under my fingers a small measure of comfort-
     There was a flicker of movement behind one of the larger oaks.  I burst from my hiding place (a tangle of branches in the canopy that created a veritable aerial platform), and pulled the trigger on my sword, the blade igniting as energized death began to course through it.  I hit the ground hard and kept going, moving like unto a raging river, twisting around wood and rock as I though I were a serpent, but remained fixated upon my target: the small flutter that accompanies a trench-coat; as it would happen, my enemy was habitually accustomed to wearing just such a type of coat.  I reached the tree, spinning around it on my heel, using my momentum to carry my force-edge forward… and smack it against wood and fabric but not flesh.  Ice filled my stomach as I realized that this was not my enemy, but simply a tree with my enemy’s coat nailed to it via a dagger.
     The sound of breaking wood reached my ears and I just barely managed to turn around and block a strike aimed for my head.  I managed to dodge his next swipe, leaping back into the en garde position, he doing the same.  Our blades began to converse intimately, leading the two of us on an elegant dance of death across the earthen ring.  I fought with a vigor and ferocity that most swordsmen spend a lifetime striving to reach, but my enemy’s style was cunning and fluid.  We were of two entirely separate worlds, he and I.  He preferred the katana, I the shashka; his style was graceful, mine was brutal; he was Yin, and I was Yang.  It was no wonder that he had been my closest friend since our earliest days.
     My enemy advanced and made to attack via a coup double.  I deflected the first of his strikes and moved to counter-attack… but my blade tasted only air; his second attack had been a feint!  I began to shift into a defensive form, but I felt a boot against my calves, and then I was flying.  I hit the ground hard, barely managing to keep the wind in my lungs, but was left defenseless.  My enemy swept his blade down towards me… and I felt a sharp sting as his dulled training sword struck my neck.  I cringed as the aether lashed at my neck, and I felt a burning followed by a lingering chill.
     Nathaniel Storm leaned over me with a grin on his face, his straw blonde hair nearly blocking his eyes from view.  “How does it feel to be dead, Tristan?”
     “Vindictive,” I answered, “You couldn’t just let me win?  I mean it is my birthday after all.”
     “And so I thought I’d help you appreciate twenty years of life much better by reminding you how lucky you are not to have been killed already.”
     “How thoughtful of you,” I drawled as he helped me back onto my feet.
     There was a shimmer in the air and the forest around us dissolved, fading back into the circular room it had once been.  Nathan and I turned to face the window at the head of the room, standing with rigid respect; behind it stood the three men that commanded the respect of nations both near and far to our own: Thadius Myvon, the Marquis de Seländro, and Aramyus Storm.  They were the Grand Magistrates, Leaders of the Tribunal, and commanding officers of all the Wardens.
     “And the victory goes to the younger Storm,” said Myvon through the intercom, “That’s six wins and losses for both parties; your protégées aren’t making this easy for us, Aramyus.”
     “A High Warden there must be,” said the Marquis, “Between the two of them we must choose, but who shall be the victor?  The younger Storm or master Daon?  To Storm senior, they both belong, and so decide shall their mentor.”
     Our mentor put a hand to his whiskered chin, the choice twisting and turning in the machinations of his mind.  “I choose… both of them.”
     “Pardon?” asked Myvon.
     “I choose both of them as High Warden.”
     “Foolishness and nonsense,” snorted the Marquis, “Only one High Warden there can be at any time, as dictates tradition.”
     “Then explain how there are three Grand Magistrates.”
     The Marquis was silent.  Myvon was not.  “I request further proof that they are both fit to take on the title; both of them have proved themselves as leaders and strategists, but the High Warden must also a warrior of unparalleled skill.”
     “What would you suggest then, Thadius?” asked our mentor.
     “I would have a battle royale.”
     The old man clapped his hands and the doors on either side of the rooms opening.  From each of the portals emerged a dozen forms in black tunics.  Senior Justices.  Fun.
     “Whosoever stands at the battle’s end will be named High Warden.”
     The older officers drew their force-edges, the training edges igniting white.  Nathan and I moved so that we were standing back-to-back, each of us holding our own blazing sword.
     “What say you, master Storm?” said the old man, a hint of a smug smile tugging at his lips.
     Our mentor leaned back in his chair, getting comfortable, before saying, “Boys: do what you do best.”
     At this command, every single Senior Justice charged at us with a mighty battle cry.  Five minutes afterwards, not one of them was still standing and Magistrate Thadius had broken the world record for having one’s jaw closest to the floor.  The Marquis stood up.
     “Clear the winners are,” he said cryptically, “The younger Storm and master Daon both emerge victorious.”
     “Sweet!” Nathan exclaimed, I quietly sharing his sentiment.  Then a thought crossed my mind, and I looked to the Grand Magistrates, wondering how they were receiving us.  Magistrate Myvon was wearing this horrible grimace, begrudgingly conceding that both of us were to be High Warden; I don’t think it was the unorthodoxy of it all that infuriated him as much as it was his own protégée hadn’t even qualified for the position.  The Marquis wore an inquisitive grin; I suppose that he was of two worlds.  On the one hand, he was very traditionally driven, and this was an event most unheard of… but on the other hand, perhaps this could open up a new age of efficiency in the Tribunal.  And then there was Aramyus; Nathan’s father, our mentor, the man whose approval we had striven for since our earliest days… where was he?
     “Very well done, boys.”  The voice in both of our ears made Nathan and I both jump.  We whirled around to find our mentor standing behind us, an amused grin on his face; how the hell did he always manage to do that?  Then I noticed he had a sword in each hand.  Were those…
     “Tristan Daon.”  I snapped to attention.  “Nathaniel Storm.”  My friend did the same.  “Kneel.”  We did so.  “You have proven yourselves to be the greatest warriors and leaders among your many associates, and the Tribunal recognizes you both as such.  As per the power invested in me, I bequeath upon you both the title of High Warden.”
     Aramyus bent down and laid each of the force-edges he carried before us.  “Take these swords, and carry them with you as long as you both live, so all shall know both for what you are.”
     We each took our blade, bowed, and left the room in solemn silence.  We were halfway down the hall and most certainly out of earshot that we audibly announced our elation.  I leapt higher in the air than I think anyone ever has in the history of sentience, yelling an almighty “YES!” as I did so.  Nathan withdrew his blade, marveling as the katana’s silvery sheen.  Tentatively he held it as he would in battle and pulled the trigger on the hilt; there was a sound like motor-bike’s engine roaring and the blade ignited.  It wasn’t a snowy white, like our training swords, but a fiery orange blaze.  He swung it slightly, enamored by the small trail the aether left in the air, before turning to me.
     I drew my own sword from its sheath, taking the time to gaze in wonder at my weapon.  It was of the eastern broadsword make, a long, straight blade, but with a single edge that curled at the top.  The blade hooked slightly where the edge and the hilt met, giving me an advantage were I ever to meet a foe in a grapple, and the guard had been removed to allow for more exotic techniques.  I took my sword in hand, holding the blade away from my friend and me, and pulled the trigger.  The blade ignited, azure aether enwrapping the blade in a manner synonymous to the way water clings to the leaf.
     And it was there that I first knew true accomplishment.  I had worked myself to exhaustion every day of my life since I was six years old; poured my blood, sweat, and tears into my training, left more than a few bodies in my wake, all so I could hold that sword in my hands.  That had been the single greatest moment of my entire life.
     It was the last time I would be happy for a long, long time.

***

     It was on the thirteenth day of Nonama that Relagia, the desert nation to the north-east, invaded the city of Kormaat.  It was on the thirteenth day of Nonama that the peace we’d maintained between the Quintet was broken.  It was on the thirteenth day of Nonama that all of our troubles began.
     I can’t say I was surprised when the news of Relagia’s invasion reached Nathaniel and me.  I did raise an eyebrow, but then Altair had been threatening to expand his nation for years.  A lot of people never thought he had the balls to do it; I guess they were wrong.  Needless to say, Relagia wasn’t our problem (not yet), as Juantir and Arkos had yet to request aid from the Tribunal.  Our problem lay further east of the desert nation…
“Garduua?” I parroted, staring at Aramyus Storm like he’d gone mad, “What do they have to do with… anything?”
     “As you both know,” Nathan’s father told us, “Garduua has maintained peaceful trade with Baristod for quite some time now.  However, our relationship is strictly economic; Garduua and Baristod have no love for each other, and either country’s been looking for an excuse to pull the trigger for quite some time now.
     “We’ve intercepted foreign intelligence that’s led us to believe that Garduua is intending on boycotting trade routes between our two nations, and instead give the leftover goods to Relagia in return for military force.  Thirty percent of this country’s agricultural imports are Garduul, and I’m guessing you know where I’m going from here.  Because of this, the Council has decided that Garduua is no longer convenient to have around.  They want you two to go in and remove Vicari Xenneth and his Barons from power.”
     “On what grounds?” Nathan exclaimed, outraged by the thought.
     “Besides siding with Relagia?  Apparently the recent worker’s strike turned into a full-fledged uprising, albeit a swiftly quelled one.  The Council’s defining this as an ‘unjust government’.”
     “That’s ridiculous!  The Council doesn’t have the authority to authorize this!”
     “That’s what I said; they didn’t care.  You two leave in the morning.”
     “But father… sir, this is subterfuge; it goes against what the Tribunal stands for.”
     “You think I don’t know that?  Boys, if there’s anything I’ve learned in life, it’s that politicians listen to only one thing: their wallets.  Whether or not we know it to be right or wrong, we can’t do anything about it.  A formal request was put in for Wardens, and the suits jumped at the chance to make a few pence.”
     “A request?” I repeated, “By who?”
     “The source was anonymous.  It doesn’t matter anyway; you’ve both been roped into it already.  Look, boys, be careful out there; there’s something about this whole thing that’s rubbing me the wrong way.  Trust your gut before anything else.  All right?”
     “Yes, Grand Magistrate,” we both affirmed with a bow before taking our leave.  In the corridor outside, Nathaniel had quite a bit more to say about the council, most of it inappropriate to use in polite company.
     “They cannot actually expect us to do this,” he growled after clearing the worst of his rant, “We maintain relations between countries, not usurp them.”
     “If that’s what you’d like to think,” I replied nonchalantly.
     “What’s that supposed to mean?”
     “It means,” said a light and sweet voice, “that Tristan knows how you two fit into politics.”
     We both looked up to see Briyanna Edallas walking down the hall towards us.  It was widely said that Briyanna was the most beautiful woman in the organization.  I didn’t really see it; I mean, she was cute, and fun to be around… though she did have this certain, irritating air about her... did she?  I’m getting off topic, aren’t I?  Nathan met her with a weathered glare, I with a polite nod.
     “Hello, Briyanna,” I said.
     “Edallas,” Nathan said coldly.  The two of them had never quite got along very well.  I never quite understood why.  It was rather infuriating… it was?
     “Hello, High Wardens.  I hear that one of you has a problem with the way things work.”
     “Nathan has a few grievances with the Council’s methodology.”
     “That’s a shame.  I’d really hate to have to listened to that on the ride over there.”
     “Wait, what?” asked Nathan.  I glanced at him and suddenly saw him in great detail.  I could trace every single blood vessel on his face, pulsing with the life-giving fluids.
     “Oh weren’t you told?  I’ve been assigned to you two as a scout.”
     Briyanna works in the “information acquisition” department, using her allure to get the information required of her.  I let you figure out the details of that job.
      “You?” Nathan inquired, “What could you possibly do for us that we couldn’t do for ourselves?”
     As my irritation began to grow into fully fledged ire, I realized that I could very easily be rid of their incessant bickering if I were to cut them down right there… wait, what?  Why was I so angry all of a sudden?  …oh no.
     “Oh Nathan, darling,” said the temptress, “It’s very simple: I find out who you need to put your sword through to get this job done.”
     “I’m not putting my sword through anyone in Garduua!  Tristan and I are marching up to the Council Chamber and-”
     “Nathan,” I said quietly, “Shut up.  Go to your room and pack.  I’ll see you both in the morning.”  I began to walk away, my steps slow and deliberate.  I think either Briyanna or Nathan called after me, but if so I didn’t hear them, for the roaring had reached my ears.
It took all of my self-control but I managed not to run to the lavatory.  I locked the door behind me and fell to my knees, a vicious snarl escaping me.  As I tried to keep hold of my sanity, a want formed at the front of my mind, quickly becoming a need.


Kill.


     I raked my nails across the floor, leaving several deep furrows in their wake.  I grabbed hold of a sink, using it to climb back to my feet, and looked in the mirror; staring back at me was a monster.  The Craze almost had me.


Kill.


     An image appeared before me: Aramyus, Nathaniel, Briyanna, Flynn, Marcus, everyone I knew lying dead in a river of blood, the Floating City in flames around me.  I was at the heart of it all, howling with malevolent, triumphant mirth, overjoyed to see the great pyre I had set aflame.  Everything had to die.


KILL!


     “NO!” I shouted and smashed my fist against the mirror.  The Craze snarled in anger and tightened its hold on my heart.  Barely clinging to my reason, I took hold of one of the larger shards from the mirror and plunged it into my free hand, twisting it as I did.  There was agony for a moment, and then numbness as adrenaline began to course through me.  I watched the blood well up from under the makeshift blade, drinking in my own pain, and felt the Craze begin to recede.  I glanced at myself through the reflective surface of my knife; I saw myself once again.
     A small measure of relief gripped me and I allowed myself to pull the glass from my palm.  I moved over to a clearer sink and began to clean my wound.  As the scarlet fluid circled the drain, I mused on how unpredictable the Craze was and made a mental note to be more careful in the future.  
     Perhaps you are wondering why I daydreamed of murdering my friends, or why I mutilated myself to clear my head.  I knew not where the Craze came from, or what caused it, but I had Murder in my soul, and if given the chance, it would destroy everything that I held dear to me.  That was why I said nothing against going to Garduua; in Garduua there were people to kill; people to feed to the Craze.