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Angry sparks illuminated the night as the titanic weapons clashed, locked together, grating steel against steel. Jostalphin pressed his opponent down with his great axe, but the lycanthrope refused to give ground. Golden motes of pale light glared down at cold dead eyes as Loki kept his blade steady.
It seemed they stood locked for eternity atop the crumbling tower Loki called home, that the old stone structure would fall to dust long before either fighter let up. Yet Jostalphin was impatient for one of his kind, and with a mighty shove that sent the cloak-enshrouded lycan back on his heels, the sunwyrm renewed his assault, battering at Loki wildly with his axe's deadly edge.
Lightning quick for such a huge sword, Loki blocked each blow, turned them aside, stopped them cold, then reposted with a vicious swipe that fell short when Jostalphin ducked back.
Jostalphin planted his feet and raised his axe high. Loki struck for the opening without fail, lunging forward to stab through the barbarian's shimmering mail. Jostalphin, with alarming speed, shifted his weight to his left leg and jabbed the lycan with his armored right knee, knocking Loki back a good five feet and battering the wind out of his lungs.
Loki was percariously close to the circular balcony's edge now, and it seemed like he was finally starting to waver. His two-handed grip on his blade's hilt was white-knuckled with nervous adrenaline and his breaths came shallow and labored.
His confidence rising, Jostalphin stalked closer, tentatively at first, but then santering when Loki kneeled and lay his sword upon the stone, finally feeling the silvery blade's weight, it seemed. Yet he refused to loose his grip on the magnificent sword, which grated upon the sunwyrm's nerves.
"Give up now and give me the sword, Loki." He commanded sternly, haughtily, and was met with a steel glare as sharp as a spearpoint.
"You'll...never take...my Soul...!" The human-formed lycan snarled back between labored gasps.
"It is not your soul I want, it is your blade!" Jostalphin growled, fed up with Loki's insolent stupidity.
"Never!!" Loki roared, bursting into motion.
Caught flat-footed, Jostalphin could barely raise his axe in time to meet the spinning swipe of Loki's blade that nearly sheared his head from his shoulders.
Loki refused to back down and, fighting like a madman, he finally started to push the stunned sunwyrm back. This did not last, for when Jostalphin finally regained his senses, he stuck into Loki's strike forcefully, bouncing the mithril sword back and taking a nasty chip out of his own axe with it.
Loki stumbled away with the recoil, his arms shuddering and his hands numb with their vice upon the sword's hilt.
Jostalphin never missed a beat and charged the lycanthrope, sweeping his axe in a horizontal arc. Loki ducked the swing and swung his blade for the sunwyrm's armored legs.
The sword struck soundly, jabbing hard into the polished steel, but failed to break through. Still, the strike jarred the great man's footing which severed much of his next swing's strength that he swung down at the werewolf. His blade, too, rebounded off armor without damaging his opponent, and they both lept back apart from one another.
The combatants stared each other down.
Loki labored for each breath, strained to stand, steeled his will to keep his hands steady, forced down the pain of his bruises, regretted engaging the barbarian again, and glared with eyes that bared fully his hate.
Jostalphin was breathing a bit harder now, but otherwise didn't seem at all winded. Surely his arms and legs should be aching, but he stood tall and straight and held his massive axe with ease in a steady one-handed grip. The sunwyrm glared at Loki's pools of hate with annoyance, as if this exchange was just an irritable problem that was taking too long to solve. The though infuriated Loki even more, his hate and his anger boiling his blood until he could no longer stand still, battered and bruised or not.
With a howl Loki rushed low, his blade trailing. Jostalphin took a stance and waited for the strike. Loki's sword cut a deadly upward crescent deep into the barbarian's guard, grinding away at steel. Sparks jumped, but the axe held.
Focused to the point of zealous obsession, Loki was so intent upon the clashing blades and the rage blinding his sight that he never saw Jostalphin's fist fly for his face. The pale fist battered hard into Loki's cheek, sending him flying into the remants of a steel railing, broken and rusted with time's trials. The rail held, amazingly, and Loki staggered up and forward.
His vision was tunneling, he knew he was losing concience, but he refused to fall. He kept standing out of sheer hate, but soon he was sent to his knees, reeling in pain. His sword dropped to a great clatter as he clutched at his stomach. The pain was starting to get to him, and to make matters worse, he could feel his skin tingle, as if something were crawling just under his flesh.
He tried to fight down the transformation, but he had already lost control and soon his skin was sprouting a coat of fine white fur. His face jut forward into a canine snout and his ears pointed and crawled up to his scalp. A pain in his lower back soon sprouted into a long, furry tail and his hands and feet twisted into vicious claws.
Coated in shaggy white fur that sprouted out from gaps in his half-plate armor, the werewolf shuddered as sense flowed back through his body. His bruises didn't pain him so much anymore, and he found that he could stand with a bit more ease.
Jostalphin hadn't moved an inch during the transformation, perhaps out of pity or, more likely, a sense or sport that dictated that a more interesting fight was just ahead.
Loki smiled an angry, bitter smile. A more interesting fight? he spat in his mind, prepare for a true fight, you b*****d. Clawed hands grasped the hilt of the mighty greatsword, which felt a bit lighter now, and silvery fire began to run across the blade's edge, shimmering like quicksilver.
The 'Soul of the Crescent Moon' the blade was called, a sacred relic to lycanthropes and Selunite clerics. It holds many secrets that can only be unlocked by the grip of a true lycanthrope, yet even Loki did not know all of them. Still, he knew enough.
"That is truely and impressive blade..." the dastard observed, daring to speak in such a facinated tone about an item so treasured by the lycan, "I was not lied to about his magesty. I will be sure to keep you alive so that you may teach me its secrets."
Loki spat. "You'll not have this blade so long as I continue to draw breath!" The werewolf roared.
"Pity."
The combatants clashed again, sparks of gold and silver flaring with each encounter of steel. Each strike shuddered through the stone beneath their feet and sent loose pebbles plummeting to the forest floor below.
Loki's quicksilver sword weaved a deadly dance that tested Jostalphin's defense to its limits. The silvered flurry would not allow the hulking barbarian the chance to counter, so focused upon deflecting blows he had to be. Jostalphin cringed at the thought, but he realized that he might have to shift forms just to fight this accursed lycanthrope.
Loki refused to let up, striking deftly for such a hulking weapon which left a silver trail in its deadly wake. Twice did he slip past the sunwyrm's axe and twice did he strike home, cleaving armor and flesh with ease. Jostalphin could hardly believe it when Loki cut deep into his side, sheering through armor and flesh and sliding out in a shower of crimson.
Enraged, the barbarian crushed the axe's handle in a twin-fisted grip and hammered down at Loki, tossing aside any thought of defense. His pupils dialated and his breath started to come in animalistic pants as he riled himself up into a devastating rage. His vision focused entirely upon the smaller lycanthrope, obsessed with wanting the wolf-man dead.
Loki's blows soon shifted into defensive blocks and parries once more and he cursed at the tide of the battle. He tried desperately to distance himself from the berserking aasimar but each attempt brought only more of Jostalphin's fury. The sunwyrm struck with bone-shattering blows that left Loki's teeth on edge with each parry. A particularly violent clash of steel nearly jarred the sword right out of the werewolf's hands.
Gritting his teeth, Loki met Jostalphin's swing midway, catching the axe before it could begin its swing and lunged for the barbarian with canine jaws that clamped down on Jostalphin's muscular arm, gnawing through steel and sheering through flesh.
The jolt of pain and the immobalization of his axe fueled the berserker into an even more destructive rage. He balled his fish up and struck at the lycanthrope's head, not caring whether it knocked out the wolf or killed him outright.
Each blow shot pain through Loki's skull, but he refused to let go, digging deeper into his foe's arm in the vice grip of his cursed jaws.
Several more hits were landed and still neither Loki nor Jostalphin would relent. The werewolf was certain he had blacked out at least once, but he couldn't tell with his eyes shut tightly in a futile attempt to dull the pain of each punch. The barbarian was starting to get winded, but he intended to beat the wolf down before he tired out.
Another hit and lights danced before his clamped eyes. The lycan couldn't take much more of this punishment, and he feared Jostalphin was just getting started. He braced himself for long, eternal moments...but nothing happened. Thinking perhaps the aasimar was more winded than even he, Loki looked up, loosening his jaws ever so slightly as he did-and was violently shook about as Jostalphin flailed bitten arm around in a rather brutish fashion.
Unable to keep his grip, Loki was tossed away, tossed away to slam back into the rusted railing which, once more showing amazing fortitude, held up.
Loki tried to pull himself up, but his legs refused to stand him up. His mouth tasted of blood and the back of his head was cold. He reached up a clawed hand to see what it was, only to find that his fur was matted down with his own blood. He cursed, and only then did he feel the extent of his pain. His head felt like it would split in two, his jaw was sore and little stars were starting to dance around in his vision.
Jostalphin panted heavily and switched his grip on his axe to his left hand. He then inspected his arm's wound. It was deeper than it felt and he felt no reprieve in the fact that lycanthropy could not affect his kind. He tried flexing the fingers in his right hand, but the motion caused pain to shoot up through his entire arm. It was useless to him now.
Both men were in no condition to fight, but still neither would rest until the other was beaten. Loki managed to used the tedious railing to stand and Jostalphin still had a hand left. It was still enough to fight.
Gripping the sacred blade, which did not burn as brightly as before, Loki started forward just as Jostalphin stalked towards the wolf. They both approached slowly at first, but then exploded into motion when the other was within striking distance. They raised their weapons high, the half moon shining across steel, and howled their defiance as each cut a vicious arc into the other, igniting a shower of blood.
Jostalphin grit his teeth as the silvered blade ground into his shoulder, his ivory armor drenched in running blood. The pain dulled his senses, but he still managed to stand.
Loki breathed in shallow gasps, unable to fully draw breath, it seemed. He could feel the frigid steel in his side just as he felt the chill of the hilt in his hands, both sensations of cold biting deep into his soul. His sight was fading...his body was turning numb...he could only watch the flickering light of The Soul. The silver fire of the sword sputtered once, then grew dark. Loki felt as if his own soul had done the same as the world went black.

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The sharp light of the sun glowed painfully against his closed eyes. His pain throbbed painfully with each contemptable, pounding beat of his heart. His side was wet and cold...actually, his whole body was chilled, right down to his soul. His clawed hands slowly clenched around air until the sharp talons dug painfully in his palm.
There was nothing there...
The sudden wave or realization jolted through his pain-wracked brain. Steel grey eyes flared open to the painful sunlight and the werewolf pushed himself up from the stone ground.
Or, at least he had intended to. A wave of nausia and bursts of pain forced him back to the dirty ground. Still, that wasn't enough to distract him from his plight.
It's gone!
Loki cast about as extensively as he dared, yet when he found nothing he defied his injuries and forced himself into a sitting position. He scanned the balcony floor and looked into the room just inside the tower. He even crawled to the balcony's edge and looked down to the forest floor below, but still it was not there.
It's not here!!
In a fit of emotion, the lycanthrope threw back his lupine head and howled an enraged, broken howl, an accurate reflection of his spirit, if nothing else.
Biting back another cry, Loki forced himself to his feet, defying his bleeding side and narrow sight and the waves of pain in his pounding head and staggered into the old stone tower. The top chamber wasn't at all furnished, leaving just bare, dusty floors and the old, rough stone walls. At the far end of the room was an iron-wrought spiral staircase that plunged deep down into the tower's depths.
The werewolf limped across the stone floor, holding his side and kicking up dust that made him sneeze, which only made his head hurt worse. He grabbed onto the stair railing like a lifeline, holding there for a few moments to orient himself.
He then proceded down the spiral stairs, one excruciating step at a time. Hours seemed to crawl along as he slowly descended the steps down to the grond level, spiralling down through chamber after empty chamber, each floor containing the remants of battle--small bones now crumbled to dust, discarded weapons rusted in age and in blood, cuts, scratches and old blood stains adorning the walls, floors and cielings. Each mark was a badge of victory, each corpse a coup of death, each broken blade a token of honor for both victor and defeated alike.
But now...now he faced the greatest dishonor he could ever imagine. He had lost his Soul.
He felt empty inside, empty and open to the frigid chill of death that has always hovered over his shoulder, watching eagerly for the fateful strike, the stupid mistake, the lucky blow that would finally end the war-hungry wolf's travesty of an existance.
But he had cheated death, but at a price. The thing he had most treasured in this hell of a life. The Crescent. The sacred blade that was now surely over that b*****d's mantle now, an ill gotten trophy that he did not deserve. That no one else deserved.
No one.
The stairs ended abruptly, dropping Loki into a wide chamber just as unadorned as the others, yet far more battle scarred. A door of rusted iron stood ahead of him, and the lycanthrope angerly shouldered his way through it, knocking it off its hinges.
He didn't care. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered. Nothing, except the sword.
Yes...the sword... Loki thought, his words dark even in his own mind, The sword is all that matters... I cannot allow it to rest with Jostalphin. I will not abandon it!
Loki glared up at the sky, bright and without clouds, a merry mockery of his plight. Yet the moon was still there, though a mere shadow to the superior light of the sun. Still, it was there, half-full, a welcome sight.
"Yes," he said softly to the grey mote in the heavens, "I will restore honor to the Moon. I will get back the sword and kill that b*****d...!! I will get it back for you.
"Nothing else matters."