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335. The Rider, Reunited
🕑 Added 2025-03-17 14:00:06 +0000 UTCThe ragged puppet stood in the door, body barely holding together, slender limbs draped by the same tattered cloth as ever. Ike could see light through the cracks in its limbs where its body hadn’t perfectly reformed, and realized, at last, that it had been slowly wearing down all this time. It wasn’t so obvious in the light of day, when the sunlight washed its porcelain skin to a blazing white blur, but backlit like this, he could see all the damage it had sustained. It lifted its corroded sword and pointed it at Ike.
“You wanna go, right now? Come here. I’ll take you out real quick and get back to the real fight,” Ike said as he dashed over. He lifted his sword high.
The puppet moved faster than it had ever moved before, darting its sword toward his heart the moment he raised his guard. Still holding his sword too high for a quick counter, Ike kicked the ground and threw himself backward, curving his body around the thrust. Its sword cut into his chest, drawing blood, but he moved backward too fast for its blade to truly find purchase.
“Holding back?” Ike asked. It hadn’t fought this hard before. Until now, its skills had been pathetic, its attacks slow and weak. Even if it had hit him, it struggled to draw blood, and it moved numbly, almost automatically. Now, it moved with intelligence and verve, its eyes flashing with a dull light.
The drum of heavy paws on hard ground was his only warning before the beast was upon them. Ike whirled, then dashed to the side, rather than try to make a stand between a hard place and a very quickly approaching rock. The beast ran up to the puppet, and Ike winced, already hearing the crash as the two collided.
The beast drew to a halt. Almost worshipfully, it lowered its head. The puppet raised its hand and stroked its muzzle with warmth and familiarity. The beast let out a low hum in return, as if it had been reunited with a long lost partner after far too long.
A sinking sensation came over Ike. He rushed in. The two couldn’t be allowed to reunite. If they did, he didn’t know what, but something bad would happen. Something unfavorable for this battle, if nothing else.
The puppet hopped onto the beast’s back, and the two turned to face Ike. Lifting a hand, the puppet held it out flat in front of the both of them.
Ike slammed into a wall of force. He hit it with such force that he bounced off and fell backwards, only to backflip to his feet again. He retreated, putting some distance between him and the two.
The puppet and the beast’s emanations synchronized. Power welled up, bouncing between the two of them and growing stronger with each pulse. The puppet went from cracked and pale to healthy, its body healing, its hair fixing itself, even its skin taking on a healthy glow instead of the pale porcelain. Its rags became regal armor, the ragged cloth atop it a red cloak. The puppet—no, the rider—turned to face Ike. He threw his cloak out behind him and drew a gleaming golden sword, his pale hair streaming in the darkness.
“You, who seeks the legacy of yet another fallen prince. Show me your worth.”
He thrust his sword upward. The bud in the center of the rose—the space they stood in—unfurled, revealing the sunlight. Wisp yelped and hopped off the ceiling as it twisted away from her, landing beside Ike instead. Mag chirped happily and surged into the sunlight, circling high overhead.
Ike frowned, squinting at the self-proclaimed prince. There was something about his face that was familiar. Something uncomfortably known. He felt as though he’d seen the prince a thousand times before, but he was sure he’d never seen this puppet before. It wasn’t the generic puppet face any longer, but a highly custom one, one that could pass as human. A human that he knew, but who? Who was it—
“Holy shit, Ike, it’s you!” Wisp exclaimed, pointing.
Ike blinked. He touched his face—as if that would tell him anything—and stared. She was right. Now that she’d said it, he couldn’t not see it. He’d seen that face a thousand times, in mirrors, in streams, in still ponds. That was him. His face. The skin was paler than his, and the hair far fairer, the eyes a cerulean blue as opposed to his dark brown, but that was him. His face.
“What the fuck? That’s so creepy,” Ike muttered, shivering. Llewyn’s parting words echoed in his ears once more. We crafted you. And here was a puppet that looked just like him.
Crafted. His hand unconsciously clenched on his forearm, fingernails digging into the skin. Blood welled up, and he released it. Human. He was human. This puppet wasn’t him. He wasn’t a puppet.
But why did it look like him?
“Yeah. How the hell did Brightbriar make a you-puppet hundreds of years before you were born? Is it some kind of freaky coincidence?” Wisp asked, tilting her head.
Ike clenched his sword tight. He pointed it at the so-called fallen prince and narrowed his eyes. “Doesn’t matter. I’m gonna shatter the freak and never think about this again.”
“Hell yeah. Preach it, brother.” Wisp balled up her hands into fists and bounced in place, her eyes glittering with battlelust.
The prince lowered his sword. He patted the beast. At some point, it, too, had transformed. Before, it was a worn-out, dusty relic, but now, its fur shone, its horns glimmered, and its claws curled into brutal hooked blades. Oiled leather reins draped over its muzzle, and a gilded saddle sat beneath the prince. It lowered its head and pawed the earth, and hot steam rose from its nostrils, threatening a furnace within.
“Face me,” the prince ordered Ike.
“Don’t gotta say that twice.” Ike charged, Wisp hot on his heels.
Comments
PoeticSaint
Now where is mommy Ike?!
PoeticSaint
Ooooooooh shiiiiiiiiiiiid! Long lost daddy Ike! *I shid mahself while thinking of the implications...*
