“It has been a long time, pupil,” the Matriarch introduced.
The Fairy King snarled at her old name for him. He was a king and would accept being called nothing less.
“It has been a long time since I needed your guidance.” The Fairy King drew himself to his full height (which was about five and a half feet) and gathered his dark green robes around him.
“Where did I go wrong?” the Matriarch asked.
“You accepted being ordinary,” the Fairy King accused. “I outgrew the need for you long ago.”
The Matriarch shook her head sadly to see how twisted her student had grown.
“Your obsession with Death has caused greater damage than you could ever know. It is time to take back what you stole.”
The Fairy King was impatient with talking so he released a bolt of magical energy at the Matriarch who was only just able to fend it off.
“You’ve grown weak,” the Fairy King chided, seeing his opponent’s concern.
Indeed, the Matriarch realised her own frailty; far away from the Magicgarden, her reserves of magical energy were low and somehow her adversary still maintained his powers.
“It does not have to end like this,” the Matriarch negotiated.
“I agree,” the Fairy King accepted. “If you all vow to serve me as your king I will end this conflict.”
“We came for the timepiece, to undo your mistake, and none of us will ever recognise you as our king,” the Matriarch replied.
The Fairy King shrugged before releasing another crackle of energy from his hands that brought the Matriarch down to her knees.
“You will kneel before me,” the Fairy King screamed maniacally.
From out of nowhere, the Peritwinkle placed his mammoth bulk between the two sorcerers; his long hair and thick skin seemed unaffected by the Fairy King’s magic and allowed the liberators to recover. Infuriated that his onslaught had been stopped prematurely, the Fairy King ordered his army to attack the Peritwinkle, and without hesitation the Sprites charged as a group against the giant beast. With his army engaged in combat with the Peritwinkle, it left the Fairy King alone and vulnerable. Delridden, sensing his opportunity, rushed forward with his sword in hand to face the man who had stolen his love and family from him.
“I will kill you,” he roared.
The Fairy King was not intimidated. He had eliminated the threat of death long ago and his magical powers were unmatched. He easily avoided Delridden’s blade before sending a pulse of energy into the soldier’s chest and hurling his body through the air like a projectile. Delridden landed heavily at Bakka’s feet. The great smith checked on his friend and although the warrior was unconscious, he could still feel a pulse.
“You cannot defeat me,” the Fairy King reasoned.
“Oh yes, we can!”
Buttontail emerged before the Fairy King, holding the stolen timepiece aloft. In shock, the sorcerer checked his chest and when he found it empty his eyes burned red with anger.
“No one steals from me,” the Fairy King raged.
Buttons dodged the barrage of magical strikes launched at him as he ran full pelt across the battlefield, zigzagging as he went. Frustratingly for the Fairy King, he was unable to stop the fleeing rabbit, and he could only watch as Buttontail delivered the timepiece to Bakka. The great smith accepted the gift with reverence before studying the object closely.
“What’s wrong?” Buttons questioned.
“This is not my timepiece,” Bakka revealed. “It is a fake.”
The battle stopped as everyone turned to witness the drama that was unfolding. The Fairy King walked towards the enemy without fear for his personal safety.
“What do you mean it is a fake?” he demanded.
“This is not the timepiece I created for Death,” Bakka repeated.
“That is impossible,” the Fairy King declared. “You are trying to trick me.”
“I will admit it looks exactly like the original, a feat likely achieved with magic; however, this timepiece is a fake.”
“Then where is the original?” Buttons asked.
The Fairy King, whose ire was building exponentially, felt a powerful surge of magic tingling through his fingers.
“Prove that it is a fake,” he demanded, barely containing his flow of magical power that would decimate the area.
Bakka could not explain to someone who did not know his craft how he could tell the timepiece in his hand was a fake. There was something alien about the weight and feel that was almost impossible to explain. Knowing that the Fairy King would not accept opinions from someone he already distrusted, the great smith did the only thing he could think of to convince his opponent that the item was indeed a trick.
“Here,” Bakka threw the timepiece.
The Fairy King drained the power from his hands before catching the watch. It looked and felt the same as always to him though he understood Bakka’s explanation.
“You would not have given this up so easily if it really was Death’s timepiece,” the sorcerer comprehended.
“We have come all this way for nothing,” Delridden commented.
As a deafening silence descended upon both sides, a small, lyrical voice broke the
