Chapter 8: Queen of the Realms

She stands amongst the mists, looking around at her surroundings.
:The duel!
She stands tall, looking across the grounds at her opponent. It steps forward, the mist parting. Figure of a man.
:Father.
She frowns, noticing for the first time, she is not in the gardens of Darkened Shadows and that she held her staff in her hands. Her father now stands before her, rising half a head above her, mere inches from each other. She stares at him with cold silver eyes. Eyes full of hatred and betrayal. Eyes full of hurt, pain. Faintly she hears the grounds of the duel. Duel for her father's kingdom, for her revenge. She clenches her jaws.
"I have long awaited to confront you, Father."
She spits out the last word, as if it disgusts her to know he is blood.
"I had hoped it wouldn't come to this, m'dear."
Her father looks across the ground at her, father to daughter, the tension growing thicker with every passing moment. She is just barely aware of the crowd that surrounds the area, almost as if they were there for sport.
"You have hoped wrong, Father, you did not think of this when you abandoned me so many years past. You did not think that I may come back to haunt you, Father. I am quite disappointed in you, O King.
"Mother was quick enough and knew what was coming for her. She will not suffer as you will."
Her father laughs, his voice as pure and as cold as her daughter's.
"My chylde, you are the only here that will suffer. I will not attempt to right wrongs. Chylde, shall we begin?"
As he spoke both characters steps back, her father drawing out his swords and proceeds to get into stance, as she. She swings her staff a full arc, ending with her staff level with her neck to the side. The blades slide out, the sound of metal against deadly metal, pointed at her father. Both father and daughter bar their fangs, a sign of warning, danger, death.
"Only if you are ready, old man."
"Ready as always, daughter. As I have taught you."
He smirks.
"I have taught you all you know, daughter. Do not forget that when I let your blood spill onto the grounds."
Both father and daughter circle around the area, neither taking their eyes of each other. She growls low and moves swiftly towards her father, aiming her blade at her father's throat. She strikes. Too slow. Her father moves to the side, grabbing her staff and sending her crashing to the ground. Her father stands above her, looking triumphantly down at his daughter as if already he has won the battle. She gets up and backs away.
"Do not be so quick to judge my skills, Kyan. This is only the first you've seen of me since I was a chylde."
"I do not need to judge, I already know."
Again the two fall silent, watching each other with hawk eyes. They both lash out at the same time, sword against staff, metal against metal, hatred to hatred. He pulls back and strikes again, swiftly at her mid-sides and then at her legs. She moves too slow, falling once again as he slices open the side of her leg, she growls, blocking his sword as he brings it down to her. Silver to silver, eyes burning into each other.
He bares his fangs, ready to tear her throat apart. He growls loudly.
"Why won't you just die!"
She growls low, her anger exploding within her, forcing his sword away from her and him back up, with renewed strength upon hearing his words. As she does she brings her knee upwards, striking him under the ribs, knocking the air out of his lungs. She quickly pulls back her staff and swings low, knocking him onto his back a few feet away. She steps up to him, her face, emotionless, bladed staff to his neck. Her voice, soft yet the edge remains.
"What does not put an end to us, father, inevitably makes us stronger. I have grown stronger. Stronger than you, father."
She presses the tip of her blade into his neck, a thin line of blood seeps out from the puncture, soaking into the dirt below him. Bringing down her foot onto his chest as he tries to get up, the sound of his ribcage snapping resounds through the surrounding area.
"What do you say now, father?"
She waves her hand at the people, his people, his realm.
"And to you people, father? What shall you say unto them? To have failed to protect them. To lead them well."
She laughs softly, bringing slightly up from his neck, like a guillotine, her foot still upon his chest. She whispers.
"Goodbye, father."
The blade falls.