It was a warm first day of Spring, and two brothers were playing one of their favorite games. Just a few minutes ago, the brothers had stolen a few jugs from their families' kitchen to use as targets. The goal of the game was simple: whoever could hit a jug from the furthest wins. The older brother picked up a smooth gray rock and backed up about fifty yards. With a quick flick of the wrist, the rock was launched towards the boulder at a frightening speed. With a loud CRASH, the rock exploded into the center of the jug, shattering it into a million pieces.
     “Nice shot!” called his younger brother, “now it’s my turn.” as he bent down to pick up a rock, the brothers heard a horse galloping towards them. They turned around, knowing what they would see. Their parents were home from their daily ride around town! His father hopped off his horse, a scrawny old brown colt named Jasper. He strode towards his children, his face red as an apple.
     “Who’s idea was this?” he bellowed.
     “It was both-”
     “Silence!” shrieked their mother. She turned to her husband. “I think this calls for a few lashes.”
     “I agree,” spat his father, glaring at the older child. “Get down boy!”
     “But what about-”
     “I said get down!”
     Knowing better than to argue, he bent down onto his knees. As the lashes started raining down, he felt rage boiling inside like a pot of hot water, ready to burst. It wasn’t fair! He was always blamed for everything while his “perfect” little brother got away with everything. Suddenly, the pain became too much to bear, and everything started going black. As he fell into unconsciousness, he felt nothing but a burning, hateful desire for revenge.

     King Christopher IV woke up in a cold sweat. Like many times before, his dreams had taken him back to that fateful day, the day his older brother had turned to the path of crime and murder. Pushing the dark dream out of his mind, he got up and ready for the day. He was the king, after all, and he had a lot of things to do.
     After completing his duties, Christopher decided to take a ride around the capital city on his horse to get some fresh air. He took his favorite hat off his golden hat rack, and set out to the royal stables, where he saddled up his favorite horse, a beautiful white stallion named Bonnie.
     “Giddyup,” said Christopher, pulling on the reins. They took off towards the city at a steady trot, and Christopher began to feel his head clearing. Soon, he was lost in his thoughts.
     It had been a year since Christopher took over the throne. So far, his kingdom had been doing well under his leadership, and he vowed to be the best king he could be. Little did he know how soon that goal would be put to the test.
     As he arrived in the city, Christopher saw two peasants sitting on a bench, talking about something. As he got closer, Christopher realized that they were whispering excitedly to each other. Curious of what his people were talking about these days, he steered his horse close enough to where he’d be able to eavesdrop on the conversation. What he heard next sent a shiver down his spine.
     “Didja hear the” news?”
     “What news?”
     “Of the revolution o’ course”
     “Revolution? Who’s leading?”
     “This man they call the “Lord of Death. Nobody knows nothin’ about him; where he’s from, what he looks like, what his motives are. Rumor has it that he’s trainin’ a bunch of warriors underground, preparing for a big rebellion on the kingdom.”
     Christopher galloped away, his heart pounding a million times a second. He had heard enough. Thousands of questions swam through his brain. Was this rumor true? Who was this “Lord of Death”. Was he really going to try to overthrow the kingdom? Christopher pushed these questions out of his mind. It was probably just some rumor going around. Nothing to worry about.
     As he approached the royal castle, Christopher noticed that there was some sort of commotion going on in the courtyard. Hopping off Bonnie, he ran over to one of the guards to find out what was going on.
     “What happened?” Christopher asked the guard, whose face was pale with shock.
     “Y-your majesty,” stammered the guard, “it’s your son, T-timothy.”
     “What happened.”
     “He’s dead!”
     “Dead? No, he can’t be.” Christopher said in disbelief.
     “Over there.” the guard pointed to about twenty yards away, where a crowd of people was surrounding something. Pushing his way through the mass of people, Christopher found his son, his only son Timothy, lying dead in a pool of crimson blood.
     “No”, he whispered, tears welling in his eyes. Then, he noticed something. Next to his son’s gashed throat, a dagger was impaled in the mud, red with blood. Pulling it out, Christopher noticed that a piece of parchment was attached to the blade. What was written there shook him to the core. He read it out loud in disbelief.
     “Beware, brother.”

     The Lord of Death sat at the head of a large oval table, his face hidden by a black cloak. No one had ever seen his face before. Seated around him were his top generals, all brutally skillful warriors. Under their strict command, the Lord of Death had built the most powerful army the world had ever seen.            The Dark Army.
     “The warning has been delivered, and the plan is in motion.” the Lord of Death announced in triumph. “In a week's time, we will attack. In the meantime, make sure your soldiers are strong and ready to kill. We will show no mercy.”

     Six days had passed since Timothy was murdered. Everyday, Christopher was terrified of what his brother would do next, but so far nothing seemed out of the ordinary. As a precaution, Christopher made sure that all of his citizens were armed and ready to fight. He also had his army training extra hard everyday. Christopher hoped that his soldiers wouldn’t have to use any of their skills any time soon.

     “Your majesty! Wake up!”
     Christopher's eyes flew open and he jolted upright in his bed. The voice of his personal servant, Ulric, was full of fear.
     “What is it?” Christopher asked sleepily.
     “Sir Percival brings news. He says it is very urgent.”
     “Send him in, then.”
     A few moments later, Sir Percival, chief watchman of the capital city, walked in. It was not common practice for Christopher to meet with anyone in his sleeping quarters, much less when he just woke up, but if the news was urgent there was no time to spare.
     “What's the matter, Sir Percival?” Christopher inquired.
     “One of my watchmen spotted something. He claims an army of over ten thousand soldiers is approaching the city at this very moment.” Sir Percival explained breathlessly. “There is no time to spare. We must go. Now.”
     Christopher hopped out of bed and quickly threw on his armor over his pajamas. There was no time to get dressed. He grabbed his trusty sword - a five foot long blade masterfully forged from the sharpest steel in all the lands - And stuffed it into its sheath. Christopher turned to Ulric.
     “Fetch Sir Henry. Immediately.”
     “Yes, your highness.”
     As Ulric scampered off, Christopher turned to Sir Percival.
     “How much time do you think we have?”
     “Not much, I’m afraid.”
     “One thing troubles me. Who could possibly be attacking us?” Christopher wondered. “We are not currently in a fight with any of our neighboring countries.”
     “I am not sure, sir. This troubles me as well.”
     “Your majesty, you called?” another voice broke into the conversation. It was Sir Henry, commander of the Royal Army.
     “Yes, Sir Henry. I’m afraid we have some troubling news.”
Quickly, they explained the situation.
     “Summon the Royal Army.” Christopher said to Sir Henry.
     “But shouldn’t we just lock the gates of the city?”
     “No. If this army is as big as Sir Percival claims, they will most likely break in, and even if they don’t, they can just lay siege on us and we will die anyway. No. We must fight. There is no other option.”

     Christopher sat on Bonnie with his sword in hand, just outside the city. Next to him, Sir Henry sat atop his horse, ready for battle. Spread out behind them, the entire Royal Army waited in anticipation. Stationed on the walls of the city, archers stood, bows at the ready. A chilling silence gripped the army as every man prepared for the battle of their lives. Inside the city, every family was armed, but Christopher was determined to make sure that the Dark Army never made it past the front gate.
     The seconds seemed to last eternities, but eventually, the Dark Army came to a stop about fifty yards away from Christopher’s army. When Christopher saw who was leading them, his blood ran cold and he let out a gasp of terror. Sitting on top of a black horse, was his evil older brother. Suddenly, everything made sense. The mysterious Lord of Death was Christopher’s very own brother! Christopher recalled the note on the dagger that killed his son. “Beware, brother.” it said. That must have been a warning. Now, the Lord of Death, Christopher’s brother, had led this attack to destroy Christopher and everything he loved.
     “Greetings little brother,” the Lord of Death called. “Why do you look so shocked? Didn’t you get my warning?”
Christopher was too stunned to speak.
     “Why are you silent?” mocked the Lord of Death. “The great King Christopher IV isn’t scared, is he?”
     Finally, Christopher gathered his nerve. “I do not fear you, brother!” He declared. “You chose to be evil, and you will suffer the consequences.”
     “Oh I don’t think so. Mother and father aren’t here to save you this time. Your puny little army will be crushed by mine, and I will soon rule over the entire world! Nobody will stop me!”
     “We’ll see about that. Attack!”
     Chaos ensued as the two armies clashed.
     “Don’t forget what you’re fighting for!” shouted Christopher over screams and battle cries. “You’re fighting for your family, your friends, everyone you love! And most importantly, we’re fighting for peace! Peace not just for us, but for the entire world. Let that motivate you to defeat this evil!”
     All around Christopher, men from both sides were dying left and right, but the battle seemed to be going in favor of the Dark Army. Christopher realized that the only way for his army to win was for the Lord of Death to be killed.
     Christopher searched desperately through the mass of fighting. He struck down many of the Dark Army warriors as he searched for his brother. For his whole life, Christopher had been known as an expert swordsman. The only person who could ever beat him was his older brother, the very person Christopher was looking for right now. Finally, Christopher spotted the Lord of Death.
     Despite the fact that dozens of Christopher’s soldiers were rushing him, the Lord of Death was slicing them down easily, laughing maniacally all the while.
     “Turn and fight me!” shouted Christopher.
     The Lord of Death pushed away a couple of soldiers and walked up to Christopher. He was wearing full body black armor, and a menacing mask to hide his face. In his hand he held an evil looking long black sword that glinted in the sun.
     “Do you really think you can beat me?” he sneered.
     “I know I can.”
      Then, without warning, the Lord of Death let out a blood curdling battle cry and charged. Christopher deflected the first strike, as gold and black steel clanged together. The two brothers were each striking and deflecting each other in a very even matched fight. Finally, the Lord of Death managed to jam his sword into the center of Christopher’s armor and push him to the ground.
     “Looks like this is the end.” said the Lord of Death, with his foot on Christopher’s chest and his sword raised above his head, ready to strike. “Say hello to mother and father for me.”
With those words, the Lord of Death brought down his sword, aiming for a gap between Christopher’s helmet and chest armor. Time seemed to slow. With ninja like reflexes, Christopher rolled away from his older brother and sprang to his feet. With a surprised and enraged roar, the Lord of Death leapt back at Christopher, but this time, with strength he never knew he had, Christopher knocked his brother’s sword out of his hand. Then, with a furious strike, Christopher sent the Lord of Death’s mask flying off, and sent him sprawling to the dust. The Lord of Death’s face was a sort of triangular shape with sharp cheekbones and black wispy hair. But most terrifying of all was the long scar that ran down the left side of his face.
     “No!” bellowed the Lord of Death.
     “I don’t want to do this, brother, but you leave me no choice.” said Christopher, who now was the one pinning his brother down, ready to strike.
     “You wouldn’t kill me,” said the Lord of Death, “you’re too 'perfect' and you always have been.”
     Sadness overcame Christopher. How could he kill his own brother? But he had no choice. The fate of the world as they knew it depended on the Lord of Death being defeated.
     “I’m sorry.” whispered Christopher. Then, he brought down his sword with all his might and plunged it into his brother’s neck. The Lord of Death coughed as blood began spraying from his wound.
     “How dare you…” he spluttered. Then, the Lord of Death, the evil warlord who was so determined to get revenge on his brother, jerked, then lay still. He would never move again.