The blow to Darris's shoulder was painful, though not lethal. Avir was using a training sword. Even if the blade were not sharp, it would leave a massive welt on his brown skin. But Darris did not complain. He did not cry out. That would indicate to his father that he was regretting his training in any way. He would never do that. He had begged and pleaded with his father to train him in the way of the sword. It had taken years for Avir to relent. He was not about to compromise his opportunity with something trivial as a little pain. Still, Darris couldn't help but clutch his shoulder. He cursed himself for his weakness. 

"Do you think," his father said, staring down at his son –a rare thing as Darris was almost twice his height—with his remaining eye, "that your opponent will grant you mercy like this?"

His scarred face was hardened with resolve. Darris may have been his son—though not related by blood—he was willing to be brutal if that meant that Darris lived up to his potential. Yet, he was still Avir's son. The man had still nursed him as a sickly child, working to keep sickness from killing him. No matter how much Avir tried to hide it, Darris could guess what his father was thinking; he was as easy to read as a book.  

Avir continued. His voice gave no sign of love, "Your opponent will take any opportunity to end you. Had I intended to kill you, I would have slit your throat as you dropped." He emphasized this by swiftly but lightly dragging his sword across his son's throat. "Like that."

Darris nodded. "Yes, I understand, father," he said in his breathy voice. His voice always made him sound calmer than he felt. 

"I hope that's true." He walked to the log where his broad sword leaned, then switched his training sword with the real thing. He turned back toward Darris, pointing his sword at his son's throat. "Let us see if you can hold your ground against the real thing." 

Darris hastily rose to his feet, readying his training sword, which felt more like a knife in his large hands. He glanced towards the forest, where his birth father's sword lay, waiting for its rightful heir to claim it. If I had that, no one could stop me.

"Pay attention, lad," came his father's voice, who was running at him as fast as his bad leg would allow him. Darris focused on his opponent but smiled as he noticed that his father's stance favored the hand with only three fingers. It used to be his stronger hand, but after the beasts destroyed his body, he had to adapt to favor his left. Yet, no matter how stoic he was, he still loved his son.

Darris wasn't sure why he had recalled that memory. Maybe it was because boredom had overtaken him as he waited for the owner of that mysterious power to arrive. He had been excited as the holder of the power had rushed quite quickly toward him, but that had only lasted until the holder stopped for whatever reason. 

They were almost here, whoever they were. If Darris had to guess, they must be some sort of defender of Earth appointed by this place's government, perhaps some large muscular man with a charismatic personality and a winning smile whom all of Earth's women fawned over like some deity. He desperately wanted to go and meet him himself, but no, patience was the key to an excellent first impression. 

Still, he was tempted to remove his boots and dip his feet into the bay, but that would look undignified if the holder came upon him giggling and splashing about like a river maiden when she thinks no one is watching. Darris would have done it, too. He knew he would. It had been over 200 years since he had last encountered actual water. Not that sorry excuse for muck that the Ahngreel used to bathe with. Even if the bay was saltwater, he wanted to dip his face in and take a long drink just to feel the coolness in his mouth. But no, he had to restrain himself. 

Darris tried to distract himself by looking out at the cityscape before him. Therewere indeed numerous lights, enough to drown out the stars above, which was a shame. He had always loved looking at the heavens. Still, the heavens lay on the surface of the water, shimmering pale reflections which could not compare an iota to the actual celestial bodies. The bridge that cut through the horizon was especially garish, with its multicolored lights painting an artificial rainbow; wherever this place that fate had brought him to was, Darris could tell that it was not a kind place to be. 

A fluctuation of the holder's power brought Darris from his musings. He perked up as he honed his senses, trying to gauge more information from the pattern the energy wove. It ebbed and flowed like the waters of the bay. It created a rhythm of power that almost brought a tear to his eye. It was truly beautiful! He could picture their inevitable encounter in his mind's eye:

The hero would walk confidently towards him, all swaggered up, but then be shocked into silence by Darris's size. 

Then Darris would say, "So, you've arrived at last. You've kept me waiting, hero."

And the hero would respond, "I've come to stop you, cur!" 

According to his most recent copy of the Oxford dictionary, cur was an outdated word. There was a better word out there. He just couldn't think of one for some reason. Mayhap monster or fiend? Darris sighed. Mayhap was also outdated, as well.

"I've come to stop you, fiend! No matter what it takes!" Yes, better. Not the best, but better. 

"Is that so?" Darris would say, "Then show me your conviction.

Then the battle would commence. Power vs. power duking it out like one of Oriander's boxing matches, only with swords. They would be evenly matched—this was most unlikely. Though he could dream—Their battle would draw scores of onlookers. They would see him and recognize his strength, that he was a legend worth remembering. 

Oh, just picturing it made his skin tingle! He stood, shaking out his stiffness and stretching to be as prepared as possible. He, too, wished he could warm up with a battle, but his initial opponent had died far too quickly, just like the rest of them. 

So close… Oh, so close…

Darris had once possessed the ambition to challenge the gods themselves, but that was before actually meeting them at their so-called peace conference when he first became Hidaar. At first, he had been irked that none of them accepted his challenge to battle. But soon, he realized that none of them were worth fighting anyway. They were weak. Forever under the thumb of that wretched Urzuran. That and they looked down on him for associating with the Ahngreel.

Those false gods believed them weak. That could not be further from the truth. Darris smirked. Well, look how weak we are now.

He concentrated on the energy waves again. Something about it was familiar. Darris had felt this exact energy somewhere before… But where? 

He tried to rack his brain for the memory but was met with a wall of exhaustion. The journey here was more tiring than I'd thought. How long had he been pushing through the portal? A week? Maybe more? He supposed that even he had his limits. Darris weighed the option of slipping in a cat nap while waiting for the diving plodder to arrive. But again, he struck that idea from his thoughts. If the holder came upon him dosing, it would also not make a good impression now, would it? Not that Darris thought he could be sneaked upon, but you never knew. Stranger things have happened. So, he sat back down to rest and waited. And waited. Excitement morphing into impatience, which morphed back into boredom. Just because he could wait didn't mean he had to like it. 

"Sooooooooooo boooooooriiing!" he said aloud. No one was around to hear besides the guard's corpse, and he didn't seem to care a mite. He just lay there, eyes glassy, staring at the void. 

He wished he had brought one of his books. He really craved his 1983 edition of the Oxford dictionary to word hunt. But even one of those rubbishy pulp romances that Oriander had brought back with him would do. For some reason, he thought that Darris would enjoy them.

He did, but only ironically.

Even so, Darris would take anything right about now. Anything to make his wait less agonizing. He supposed this was yet another mountain to climb. 

Despite his wisdom, Avir was a terrible teacher in anything besides combat. Any life lessons he wanted Darris to learn had to be hidden deep within the most cryptic analogies ever concocted. Avir would always think of them as clever, but all it did was leave Darris scratching his head. Something that always upset Avir.

"What's not to understand?" he had said once in their travels, "Everyone has a mountain to climb, but you have to decide how to approach it."

Darris knitted his brows, then shook his head. "Nope. Sorry, father, I don't get it. There's only one way to climb a mountain."

Avir sighed angrily, "Far from it, boy. Look, say I decide to cross my mountain—"

"The last mountain we climbed," interrupted Darris," I had to carry you on my back, don't you remember, father?"

Avir shook his head, "That's not the point. Now be quiet and listen, or I'll make you walk on your hands the rest of the way." 

Darris fell silent immediately. Never again. 10 miles was long enough. 

"If I decide to cross, I must figure out a way to approach it. Every mountain is different, see? Some are tall and craggy, whilst others are short and treed. One approach won't work for every mountain. Do you get it?"

"Sort of," said Darris, shrugging his giant shoulders, "but by the time I stop and think about it, I'm already halfway through. Of course, someone of my size doesn't have much to worry about."

"One day, there will be a mountain even you cannot climb, son."

"I very much doubt that, with all due respect. All of my toughest mountains are behind me, as you well know."

"Indeed," Avir paused for a moment, scratching his chin with one of his undamaged fingers. "But the future lies in darkness. To say you know what lies ahead of you is tantamount to blasphemy. Only God and the King know what lies in store."

He glanced behind him, "You've been awfully quiet? What say you?"

"Oh, don't mind me. I'm just enjoying hearing you two squabble." The voice was soft and melodic. It paused, "Still, I understand what you mean, Avir. Darris has always been pigheaded, hasn't he? Can't penetrate that thick skull of his with an ax."

"What, pigheaded? Why you…" he stopped and turned around to glare at—

Darris started, blinking rapidly. What had he just been thinking? Had he fallen asleep? There was no way to tell. He felt as tired as ever. If he had fallen asleep, it did him no good. 

He glanced down at his chest to find his hand massaging it. He stopped immediately, shoving the offending hand into his pocket. It was a habit that he still lapsed into, no matter how hard he tried. Darris so wished he had brought a book with him. 

Darris felt metal between his pocketed fingers. He pulled it out, laying the shoe buckle flat on his palm. It sparkled in the light of the lamps. The power sleeping within tantalized him. He had tried to awaken the power, but the buckle would not yield to him. It was a disappointment, to be sure, but he decided that this power was not his to wield, not his mountain to climb. He had already attained ultimate power. There was no need for anymore. Not until an opponent could at least provide a modicum of challenge. He had waited millennia for a proper battle; he could wait a few more minutes for this mystery man. 

The power began to move towards him once more as if on cue. Darris's skin tingled once more. Even his pointed ears twitched. 

Many centuries ago, long after Avir had passed, he had figured out a proper response to Avir's analogy. How he wished he could tell Avir all the things he had done since his passing. How he, Darris, had ascended to godhood, become ruler of an entire world, and broken the dimensional barrier. Even conquered death, the toughest mountain of all. He would be ashamed of what his son had become, but Darris no longer cared whether the old man approved of him or not. He regretted none of his decisions because they were his to make. Fate played no part in them. 

Darris looked out across the bay, his large, purple fingers closing over the shoe buckle. He squeezed the shoe buckle as tightly as he could, in a grip that could break broadswords in two. The mysterious magic user was fast approaching. 

He had climbed none of those mountains, never even thought of climbing them. At some point in his life, he had come to the realization that there was no need to climb any mountain that stood in his way ever again, no matter how tall. Not when you had the power to crush it into dust and simply walk over the rubble.