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Jolus the Malignant had been anxiously awaiting the arrival of the Chosen One and her Guide when the door in front of him blew to smithereens.  Some splinters shot passed his head, one burying itself in his hand.  He pulled it out, studied the dark red end, stuck it in his mouth, sucking on his own blood.  He watched the dust settle and smoke disperse, and then spat out the splinter when he saw the two in the doorway.  They looked little worse for wear.  He hadn’t necessarily expected them to get this far, and to best all his guards, as well as pass and avoid the traps he’d set along the way.  The boy had a wound in his side, but it was minor compared to Jolus’s imagined wounds they should’ve sustained.  Seeing them there, ready to do battle, wasn’t as he’d intended it.  And he certainly hadn’t expected Kyra to possess a power to demolish one of his doors.  This wasn’t the Kyra he’d seen in his visions.  For the first time, Jolus wondered about the outcome of this final battle.  But he had his ways, one of which was guaranteed to work, should it be necessary.
    
“Welcome my friends,” he growled at them.  “Welcome to my humble abode.  I hope you have been treated well.”

    
Kyra gazed upon the one man, no, the one creature she detested most in this world.  Yet, as she looked upon him with hate, she couldn’t get over recognizing him as her sibling. 
    
The memories were not poring back into her mind now, like they had before, but they were trickling into her thoughts, and she not only knew what her brother had looked like, but entertained some memories of experiences shared with him, whey they’d been younger.
    
And now as she looked upon Jolus the Malignant, for the first time in the literal flesh, the likeness was uncanny.  She was even beginning to wonder if she . . . but no, she couldn’t go there.

    
Doci looked at Jolus the Malignant and saw nothing he hadn’t already imagined in some shape or form, except now that this was all real and coming to pass; everything had a more severe garish look than his mind had ever conceived.
    
He wanted to get this big confrontation over and done with as quick as possible: whether they died horribly, or they killed Jolus triumphantly, he just wanted it finally over.

    
Kyra didn’t reply to Jolus the Malignant’s welcoming, and made a quick glance to make sure Doci had nothing to say; he had only a determined look in his eyes.
    
Jolus watched them, waiting for them to say something.  He huffed.
    
“No way to treat someone you’ve been dying to meet, surely, Kyra,” he said.  He opened his arms, beckoning her to come to him, so that he could embrace her like a long-lost friend . . . or a brother.
    
This was a little too eerie for Kyra and she called his bluff.  She took two steps towards him and watched as he dropped his arms, unsure of what she was going to do.  For the first time in his presence, she grinned. 
    
There was a long, uncomfortable pause.
    
“So what’s it going to be?” Jolus finally asked, breaking the piercing silence.
    
“Less talk,” Doci replied and launched himself at his enemy.
    
Kyra had been so unsure what to do, struggling with this internal emotion that Doci knew nothing about, and was quite unprepared to see him react so.  Unable to stop him, for the second time that night.
    
Doci came at Jolus with his sword held high, bringing it in a graceful downward-slashing movement, aiming for Jolus’s head, hoping to cleave it in two, as well as the creature’s body, burying the blade into the solid throne.
    
Jolus, however, had other ideas in mind.  He saw the fast movement and reacted with his own, raising his left hand and using his will.  A thick staff that had been lying against the wall came to life and flew to his hand.  He deftly caught it and brought in front of his head, blocking the slash from the sword in perfect time.
    
Doci had seen movement from Jolus and saw the staff come to his hand too late, he’d been unable to halt the movement of the blade.  He increased the grip and felt the jarring in his arms as it made contact with what appeared to be a wooden stick, but was clearly something much stronger and magical in nature.
    
Jolus gripped the staff with his other hand and stood, pushing Doci back.  He smiled an evil smile as he watched Doci lose his footing and then regain it.  Doci moved in for another attack and Jolus met the lunges and attacks with parries and blocks from his staff.  The choreography of the fight increased in speed, until movement began to blur, but Jolus easily matched the young sword fighter. 

He increased his own speed and Doci realized he’d met his match.  The staff moved faster than his eyes could follow and before he knew it, the end had smacked against his right hand, breaking two of his fingers, forcing him to drop his sword.  Then the other end of the staff came round and smashed into his head.  He was aware of falling backwards and down and then was saw only blackness.

Kyra stood in the same position for the whole fight, unable to move, paralyzed by Jolus the Malignant.  She watched him face Doci, watched him duel, match, and then exceed Doci’s skill, until he gained the advantage and brought Doci to the floor.  Kyra heard the dry crack of bone when the staff hit Doci’s hand, and she knew something had broken.

Now Doci was on the floor, unconscious, possibly worse.  And Jolus was looking at her, staring and grinning in that evil way.  And all she could think about was how he looked like her brother and that she didn’t know if she would be able to lift a finger against him.

He was a sort of trigger, and from the moment she’d physically looked him in the face, the rest of the memories had returned, not completely, but there was a lot in her mind now.  Most importantly her family and her brother, who she loved dearly.  Her brother . . . who stood before her right now, looking at her.  Yet it wasn’t her brother.  It was Jolus the Malignant.  The one person who had wrought pain and suffering and death through this world.  The one who was most hated and most feared.  The one who cared nothing for life except his own.

The face was her brother, but all the aspects of the face and body were Jolus.

Kyra didn’t know what to do.

    
He’d bested the Guide with little problem, and expected nothing more from the little runt..  He knew the boy wasn’t dead, and would begin the slow torture once he had disarmed and rendered the Chosen One helpless.  But Jolus the Malignant was unsure what she was doing.  She just stood there, looking at him with what looked like recognition.  That was warranted, considering how many visions she’d had of him.  He had felt each one each time and focused his mind to blight them.  But this recognition was different, deeper, as if she’d known him for a much longer time, which was impossible.

He wasn’t going to wait around for her to make the first move.  He needed to finish her quick and easy, and then his takeover of Aisis Lip could begin.
    
Jolus lifted his staff, looked for its midpoint, then snapped it across his knee.  The snap ricocheted of the walls and Jolus was left with two pieces, each with a sharpened end.  He threw one aside and grasped the other at the end, holding the point downward and then approached Kyra.  A swift stab to the chest would finish her.
    
He walked up to her, but still she didn’t move, continuing to stare at him with a distant look.  He raised the sharp stick and prepared to stab.  He was now a few feet from her and brought his arm down.  She didn’t move and he stopped his arm, leaving the point touching her chest.  Not a flicker of movement from her.
    
He looked, then grunted, then lifted his arm again and brought it down.  This time he wouldn’t stop.

    
Kyra watched the point come down and she sucked in her breath, but didn’t move.  She couldn’t do it, she couldn’t fight him.  She refused.  He was her brother.  She knew he wasn’t, but he was at the same time.  She could tell she had Jolus the Malignant confused.  Then he lifted his weapon, grunted, and tried to stab her again. 
    
She rolled aside, taking two steps away from him.  She wouldn’t fight him, but she wouldn’t allow him to kill her either. 
    
You are the Chosen One, Kyra, a voice spoke in her head.  She knew not if it was Doci, or Demto perhaps, or even Queen Anita.  Your duty, as it was written down in the Scriptures, is to save Aisis Lip from Jolus the Malignant, through whatever means necessary.
    
Yes, Kyra thought: Through whatever means necessary.
    
Kyra began channeling her power, focusing it from her extremities into her soul, building it and concentrating it.  She levitated ten feet up into the air.
    
Jolus watched her, saw her using her powers, and saw that she was preparing something.  He dropped his feeble stick and brought his hands together in a mighty clap.  There was a sizzling sound.  Then he opened his hands, palms out, and used his own powers: twin beams of red burst forth from his palms, aimed right at Kyra. 
    
She saw them coming and reacted, opening her arms like wings, forming a protective translucent bubble around her.  The beams hit the force field and bounced off it, shooting off in opposite directions and hitting two different walls.  Black holes revealed themselves as the smoke from the beams cleared.
    
Jolus grunted, smacking his hands together again.  This time there was a loud crackling sound.  He stamped his foot on the ground, creating a shaking in the ground and parted his hands; an arrowhead shape of white light formed in the space.  He aimed his magical weapon at Kyra and let burst a single thick beam of white.
    
Kyra saw the white light form at the end of Jolus’s hands and then she felt the beam hit her protective shield and it fell apart like a cobweb in a strong wind. 
    
Jolus separated his hands again and used his right hand with a magnetic force to bring her down to the ground and closer to him.
    
Kyra was powerless and felt herself pulled down toward him.  She let him, leaving her arms hanging at her sides, while inside her forces were coursing through her limbs, coming together in a solid ball.  She was almost ready to unleash the power within her.  She was unsure what form it would take or what would actually happen, but in her mind she was focusing on a single image.
    
Jolus the Malignant was now grinning, thinking he had overpowered her.  Her protective bubble had been burst and the end was now at hand.  He lifted his left hand, stared at the nails and then used his mind.  Before his eyes the nails grew two inches, curling at the ends and tapering to sharp points, glinting in their metallic nature.  He brought the hand down and attempted to rake Kyra from shoulder to hip.
    
Kyra took a step back, but not quite quick enough, and felt one of the talons slice through her shoulder.  There was no pain because it had been so fast, then she saw the blood well up and soak her tunic; soon the front of her clothing bore a large dark red patch that was growing.  Kyra could feel herself weakening, as she brought all her power to a nexus in her chest, not giving her body a chance to fight against this new wound.  But she knew if she didn’t use every ounce of power she had, it wouldn’t work.
    
Jolus the Malignant stared at her wound and let out a loud laugh that made her skin crawl.
    
Kyra took a few short steps to the left, moving into position.  Jolus followed her, not realizing that she had something planned. He just wanted to see more of her blood spilled, ending with her death.
    
She soon had herself placed just right, with Doci lying still unconscious behind Jolus.
    
Jolus lifted his right hand now, looked at it, and made the nails transform into long talons like the other hand.  This time he raised both his hands at her, looking like a feral cat about to pounce.  He stepped back and then charged at her.
    
Kyra was ready, took one step back letting Jolus know she was afraid, but also giving her an increment of extra time.  Then she freed the force within her, feeling her soul open up and release the ball of power which left her chest transforming into a long blinding white blade that cut through the material of life, tearing it jaggedly open in a long wound.  At the same time she sent a psychic roar to Doci:  GET UP YOU FOOL AND PUSH HIM IN!

    
Doci felt the agony in his skull and pulled himself into a sitting position.  He looked ahead and saw Jolus the Malignant poised with his claws out and ready, but stopped in his tracks.  In front of him was what looked like a big slash in reality, with blackness on the other side.  Then he heard the screaming voice that had awoken him again: PUSH HIM IN!
    
He knew who that voice belonged to and immediately jumped up, ignoring the cries of pain from his wounded body and pushed Jolus with all the force he had left.
    
Jolus the Malignant was caught off balance and could do nothing to prevent his fall into the shimmering hole before him.  He let out a yell as he fell through, fear now running through him, as he knew not where this vortex would take him.  He come through one once, but that had been by his own hand; this one could and would take him anywhere, anywhere but Aisis Lip.
    
Doci watched as Jolus fell in and then the beautiful silvery white light disappeared, and as his eyes recovered, Doci saw Kyra on the floor, lying there, not moving.
    
“Kyra,” he yelled and ran to her, falling to his knees at her side, praying she wasn’t dead.  He held his broken fingers to his chest, and took her head in his lap for the second time that day and looked into her eyes, hoping beyond hope.  Her eyes slowly opened and Doci felt tears running down his cheeks.  She gave a slight smile, opened her mouth and spoke, but he could hear nothing.  She spoke it again, this time in a bare whisper, but he still couldn’t hear her.  He bent his head down until his ear was in front of her mouth and heard the words:
    
“He’s gone.”
    
Kyra closed her eyes and Doci sat back, letting out what felt like the world’s largest sigh.
    
Jolus the Malignant was no more, he thought.