The Man of Molten Bronze. Part I. [Short]

A man stands at the edge of a dark green forest, his curved blade he bore before him with both hands. Before his eyes the forest has ended and the dew covered green grass leads ahead to a cliff. As he leaves the forest, his every step in the misty grass leaving a trail of his passage, the sky begins to grow grey and daunting. Heavy clouds of darkness rolled forward like a menacing night wolf of thunder. A silhouette appears a distance away above him and walking forward from the clouds, a man of molten bronze holds a curved sword as he stands in the sky. He takes a step down towards the green grass of the cliff, his foot turning and oozing forth it’s molten metal as each step he takes forms a stair of bronze. Again and again the molten man moves closer and further down from the sky, every step a piece of staircase, every step he slowly loses his form as the churning metal leaves him. The man of the dark green forest watches as the molten man of bronze makes his last step, his sword falling like a spear into a raised stone upon the ground, his heel disappearing into the final step of the molten bronze bridge that leads to the sky. Formless. Invisible. He is no more.

Lightning strikes with the shaking clap of thunder, white hot and electrifying it strikes the sword before him and he sees a man in blood red samurai’s armor looking away into the clouds, the grass beneath him turned to sand as white as the lightning itself, the sword in the stone glowing hot with heat.
He takes one step further and the man in full red armor with masked face, painted with black sigils turns to face him. There are slots for where his eyes peer from and he can feel the fear, the anger, the hate emanating from his presence. The red warrior reaches for his sword within its scabbard.
Lunge, stab, withdrawal, stab, stab, stab.
Thick goblets of heavy blood fall with gravitys embrace, staining the white sand, a picture almost forming in the contrast, red symbols of the story within his veins, told in the sand.
The man of the forest leaves his sword in the red warriors gut, the presence of his foe diminishing, he walks past the body to the sword of bronze, no longer molten, but strong as steel from lightnings touch. He places both hands upon its hilt, his lungs draw air in one deep breath and he pulls. The sword within the stone slowly releases then pulls smoothly from the stone that still smokes from lightning. As he holds the bronze blade that destiny has bore him he feels the winds change.
The hairs on the back of his neck rise like frightened children from their beds screaming of the monsters, the demons of their minds hiding within the shadows. A bead of sweat forms in a thousand places upon his spine and he turns.
The red warrior stands risen before him, seething anger like a rippling force, he holds both his blade and the one that was before in his gut.
Unwounded. His presence is like a wild dog of desperation, hatred is his consumer and death is his defiler. He swings both swords
in downward arcs as the man with the bronze blade rises his in answer. One upward strike breaks both the red warriors swords, heaving them in two like a forest branch, cutting through to the red armor from navel to chin, splitting the warriors skull, his body falls to the ground, his mask falls from his face, eyes of blue, open in death.
The man of the forest looks down into eyes familiar. He looks upon his own reflection wearing red armor, the cut through the body of the warrior does not bleed. He stands above himself victorious, looking into his own blue eyes. The fear is gone.
The winds now calm and the red warrior becomes white sand, the white sands become green grass, and the man of the dark green forest turns to the bronze bridge of the sky.

He watches as each slow ripple of molten bronze moves with no rhythm, but rises and falls, churning like hot magma. He moves his foot forward rising to the first step and upon his weight pressing into the stair that oozed with its boiling earth, the bronze rose up the sole of his feet slowly dipping him to his ankle. He smiles. He feels no pain as each step he becomes stronger and steps further into the clouds, again and again, each step the molten metal rises from the staircase that slowly disappears and covers  his body. He stands at the top and before him there is a dark void like a black diamond in the rumbling dark clouds. He walks forward, his only choice, and all darkness is gone.

The man of molten bronze stands on golden sand beneath a blue sky like the eyes of his reflection, white wisps of wonder float like gay clouds in a turquoise sky. Tall strands of yellow wheat rise on both sides of him like walls to the path before him. To each side he sees three figures. They wear orange robes with ornamental wooden masks in the shape of teardrops. Six in number, each are bowed as if to welcome he who’s been summoned.
The man of molten bronze takes his first step forward on the golden sand. The six robed summoners rise and in unison face him briefly, turn down the golden path of sand and begin walking between the yellow wheat.
The path leads over a small sandy summit hiding the view of what now beholds him.
An ocean with sandy beaches covered by thousands of walruses. Disputes over territory and females being settled by tusks. Many bleed and many more wore scars. The robed ones stood unmoving holding only one finger out, pointing at the sight that held the bronze man transfixed. His eyes tore from the scene of bloodied tusks as far as the eyes could see as the robed ones all bowed to the ocean in unison. The bronze man watched as the waves rose and fell upon the beasts, the water reaching to its height upon the sands and then falling away from whence it came.
As he stared at the awe of existence there was a disturbance in the water. The waves were rising higher, the water was reaching further until it was racing up to touch the toe of his churning molten foot.
A sound of rising water louder even than the crash of waves came to his ears as something large rose from the water, the fighting walruses  splitting in all directions in panic.
The water rose and fell as a great wave moved to rush upon the beach, and it was finally seen.

A great blue whale crashed forth from the sea, half it’s body stretched out upon the beach, as the robed ones rose from their summoning.
The behemoth from the depths opened wide it’s jaws only paces from where the bronze man stood as in unison the robed ones pointed with five fingers, palms open.
The molten bronze turned in its slow churning of his form as his footsteps took him closer to open jaws and he stepped into the mouth of the great whale. He was instantly swallowed and surrounded in darkness. He clung to the bones of the whale from within as it shook and slapped it’s tail, slowly drawing itself back into the waters of its home.
He felt the changing of direction and each shudder of the great beasts tail as it dove deeper into the depths.
He began slowly to see through the cartilage, the bone and flesh of the whale and as it dove deeper, it’s body becoming translucent with glowing spots emanating from its skin, illuminating the deep. As he watched the approach of the ocean floor he felt the sway of the whales tail as it increased in speed, each contraction of muscle sent it propelling forward towards it’s inevitable collision with the sand covered depths.
Just as he braced for the jarring impact he experienced a wholly different sensation.
The sand gave way as the whale opened its jaws, swallowing water and sand and as both rushed back splashing and filling the whales gut, the molten man was washed from his embrace of the whales bones. As it dove beneath the sand, it’s stomach filling with the sea and sediment, gravity reversed, what was up was now down, what was down was now up, the water within its gut shifting, the molten man spiraled in the whirlpool within, the whale now rising through the ocean floor of this new world.

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