It's a story I wrote long ago...when I was still quite good at LF2... hope you like it The characterization is a bit crappy cuz I was a bit young when I wrote's now on hiatus, but I have many more chapters to upload. Maybe you can rekindle my passion for this... hinthintnudgenudgeinnuendoinnuendo


Banished; there he stands. The Necromancer, the Dark Summoner. Burning with vengeance, vowing to destroy. Unthinkable distances away, a new group of people are created; united through a prophecy, divided by their human natures. All posessing blood that boils with an unsettling obsession. Blessed with the same past, cursed with an uncertain future. People who are willing to fight. People who are just like you and I. People named, Little Fighters.


Screams and painful sobs choked the thick air, mingled with the duet of the wolves and the wind. All LF Earth was a battlefield, thanks to one young, devious man: Julian. Every muscle charred and hardened with fire, he was the ruler; he was all-powerful, but he lacked a heart. His only wish was to reign over the stars, to spread darkness and despair to every corner of the world. His greatest ally was that of equally great power: Firzen, Master of Fire and Ice. Handsome and green haired, he was prepared to sacrifice all to his friend: except two. For Julian had uncovered the Scroll of the Warriors, and discovered an ancient way to gain overwhelming strength: by engulfing in fire the sons of the power-seeker and the sons of his most faithful ally.

1. Days of Our Short Lives

'Aaaahhh...' yawned Davis, as he stretched out his arms. It was a beautiful sunny day in Tai Hom Village, his home town. The birds were twittering away, hopping from tree to tree.... He sprang out of his bed, barged out his room and went to call up Dennis and Woody, his younger brothers. 'Dennis first', he announced jovially, since Dennis was the one who hated waking up the most, and marching up to Dennis's room, opened the door.

His little brother's room was wide and extremely spacious. It had the airy freshness of a house whert the windows were open perpetusally. Although Dennis was also a teenager, like him and Woody, he was cheekily humourous and reminded one of a bouncing toddler, thought Davis, before hurriedly squashing in a 'Sorry Dennis, forgive my wild imagination' before doodling his way to his brother's bed.

'Hey, Dennis!!' he coaxed, pushing gently on the bundle of blankets in the middle of the bed, 'Wake up!!!' There was no reply. Davis, getting agitated, shook the blankets in desperate attempt to get his brother out of bed. 'Dennis, don't act dumb, I know you're there.' he said through gritted teeth.

The blankets didn't budge, and not a peep came from underneath.

'OKAY! YOU ASKED FOR IT!' yelled Davis crazily, although still filled with a crisp happy feeling inside of him, as he pulled the blankets away. Then he froze. Lying on the bed, bloody and putrefied, was Dennis's carcass (or maybe that's how Davis thought it looked like). His abrupt change from joy to horror unnerved even himself. The body's acrid smell burnt Davis's nose, and Davis, mortified, broke down in sobs, sinking onto his knees.

', you can't die! This is a dream, this is a dream!!' he cried, heartbroken. Now, this house would be quieter. There would not be anyone to make fun of him. There would not be anyone fighting over Jan with Woody. There would not be...Dennis...After a considerable amount of time, he stood up, vengeance burning in his eyes. By now Davis was quiet, like the threatening calm preceding a thunderstorm.

A flame flared in his heart. He was going to find this murderer, whoever it may be. This act surely deserves an agonizing death of a thousand flies! He fell oddly quiet, as he looked at Dennis's corpse for the last time, almost as if seeking comfort, but what met his eyes caused him to turn away in disgust. He shrouded Dennis ceremoniously with the blanket, trying hard not to choke or look the other way, and walked out Dennis's room, stiff as a poker. He would have to tell Woody the news. He would help and comfort him, he knew he would. Woody was more mature, sober, for he had been through more...much more...yet Davis always had the odd habit of going to Dennis rather; he did not like to admit it, but he preferred his youngest brother to him. Woody's door creaked open with the normal sound associated with a broken hinge. Davis first let his mind drift gently to the time when they moved rooms, and Woody got the worst room because he was always out of the house. He had always spoken about getting the hinge fixed, but Dennis would pour cold water on him,, no. It was too painful. Davis instead fixed his eyes determinedly on the bed in front of him, as though on an assignment involving an impossible mission. It was hard to start a conversation with Woody; he did not have the talkativeness of Dennis. Davis saw the toilet brush hairdo sticking out the bedcovers.

He looped around the bed, ducked, and surfaced to check the breathing. The blankets heaved up and down slightly. Good, not a dead Woody, Davis thought. 'Woody?' he ventured tentatively. A hand slowly moved up from the bed, and drew back the covers...


It was not Woody. It couldn't be. In front of him was the most petrifying face Davis had ever seen. Those red eyes, eyes that he could not look into without flinching, the dark bronze skin, the lopsided mouth, leering evilly at him, as though mocking him of his Never Woody. The real Woody didn't look like this. This could not be him. He had lost yet another of his closest brothers. Despite himself, he felt a sharp gush of hate, loathing, bubbling inside his stomach, as though waiting to be released when he threw up. This time Davis could not handle it any longer. Pain, actual pain, blurred with the emotional impact; he let out a scream, a piercing scream of utter frustration. He lost control of his feelings totally, all he felt was a numb emptiness, as he tore at his chest, cursing mother Earth, cursing everyone.


'Shut up, will you?'

'How dare you wake me up so early in the morning? Die!' Davis blinked. His pupils narrowed as he slowly widened his eyelids. The bright golden sunlight filtered through the curtains into the room. He looked up. Above him were the swimming faces of Dennis and Woody. The blurred images sharpened, and like a video that is paused and resumed, the figures started to talk.

'What on LF2 Earth are you doing?' said Dennis indignantly, 'you just woke me up from this really cool dream where I was dancing with Jan!'

'The hell are you doing?!' asked Woody anxiously, staring at Davis's bare chest, 'I wouldn't be surprised if you had the genes of a cat!' Davis stared at his own chest. Ugly scratch marks ran down the otherwise smooth tanned skin. Damn it all this thing hurts, thought Davis, biting his lip. He suddenly realised how stupid this situation seemed; he, the oldest brother, acting like a real cat in front of his two mismatched brothers due to some weird dream that did not matter whatsoever to them. Drifting out of this state of mind, he noticed Dennis and Woody's odd-looking faces as he put on an 'I'm confused, do not disturb' sign on his facial expression, and tried to recollect what had happened in that fateful dream...

'Davis, your face looks like the back of a spoon,' said Dennis, raising a thin eyebrow.

'Shh Dennis, you ponce, can't you see that 'Do not Disturb' sign pasted on his face?' hissed Woody, as he elbowed Dennis hard in the stomach.

'Owch...fine...' Davis shut these annoying sounds from his head, trying to remember what had caused him to scream like that. First, Dennis had died. Then, he had found the hideous, ugly beast lying in Woody's bed. He narrowed his eyes... So did Dennis and Woody after they had heard his story. 'I think I have seen that guy before...' said Davis. 'Don't start,' said Dennis. Woody checked his watch. 'Shirt, it's already eight o' clock!' he exclaimed, 'we're going to be late for school!'

'Not that you care,' smiled Dennis wryly, then turned to Davis. 'Davis, it's ok. It's only a dream, it's not like it just happened.' he soothed.

'Yeah, guess so....' Davis shrugged. He slipped the thought into the back of his head, hoping to forget it, and climbed out of bed.

'See ya Daves,' winked Dennis, as he went back to his room to change for school. 'Bye bro,' waved Woody, as he, too, exited, leaving Davis alone. Davis sighed, opened his cupboard and pulled out his dark grey uniform, deep in thought. Dennis is right, he thought to himself, it is just a dream. Why should he give a damn? But then, perhaps he should...he closed his eyes as he pulled on his blue-grey socks. That beast...somehow, vaguely, he could remember seeing it before, when he was small...

'Ag, come off it,' he shrugged loudly to himself. He walked out his room, feeling the hard bakelite floor, into the kitchen. Dennis and Woody were eating last night's cold pizza, watching LFTV2, where Henry Rehcra, the world famous musician was performing. He seated himself and watched the television, listening to the beautiful melody. 'Breakfast show on Mondays, right?' he shot at Dennis, who nodded.

'Daves, this is yours,' said Woody, as he pushed a plate with Hawaii pizza across the table to him. Not noticing what he was eating, Davis picked up his portion and pushed it bit by bit into his mouth as he gaped at the show. 'Days of our Short Lives, the famous opera,' he read at the bottom of the screen.

'It's named that because all the people in there are very short-lived,' explained Dennis, 'there is a lot of violence.' 'I heard he is multitalented,' said Woody, chewing on his pizza base, 'he is an archer as well. He is the third best archer in the world.'

'Damn him,' said Davis listlessly. He hadn't even passed Level 3 in his own martial arts exam, whereas Dennis and Woody both passed Level 4. BEEP, BEEP, came a sound from the front door.

'It's the bus, let's go.' said Davis. He was sincerely looking forward to today, hoping that the lessons, and the extra session of self-defence he had after school, would drive the unsettling worries out of his mind. All three of them rushed out and boarded the bus.