Read, I need the Feedback

Alright, this is my first attempt at a fantasy story. This is the prologue of it, and I have yet to create a title. If you can, give me feedback on how to improve my peace.

The night was cold. I shivered as I stood in rags around a shrinking fire, my back against a giant oak. I was surrounded my demons, each cackling and shouting my name, glaring at me as if i didn't belong. The dirt under their feet billowed as they hopped oddly on one foot, then the next. Their tails were long, and ended with a twist and spike, and each demon was a different shade of black. Slowly, the fire diminished, and finally went out, and with it, my light. I cowered down in front my oaken guardian, and more of the demons laughed at me, and my fear of them. Then, right ahead of me, a loud screeching sounded the air, followed by a burst of the darkest light, a dark so dark that it pierced the surroundings, until only pale whiteness remained. Its odd how this darkness canceled the other, but somehow, this new white seemed even more sinister than the first pitch black.

Smoke billowed from the spot where the darkness escaped, and a figure of menace stepped forth. His eyes were deep into his skull, and his jaw hung off his hinges. His nose had gigantic gash through it, and was sliced in half, yet still fully connected to his face, with blood still oozing out. his hair was of the deathly blackness, and fell down to his powerful shoulders. His face was thin beyond thin, and even though his jaw dangled slightly off its case, he still smiled malignantly. He wore a broad, black cloak, and at his hip dangled another case of deathly black, his scabbard for his long bladed sword. Protruding from his long sleeves showed decaying hands, yet he moved his fingers so fluently, better than a master pianist. His body was built strong and chiseled, and to complete his costume, he had blood-stained white boots.

When this man stepped through the darkness, into this newly formed white background, my fear augmented ten-thousand fold. I was scared to hell and back. I was petrified. The man gallantly bowed to me: a deep bow, not a pity bow. His grin grew as he left his bow and stood up, a full eight and one half feet. He towered over me, and i began to feel small. Very small.

"Hello Benyl, it seems we meet again. However i wish these were better terms. You may call this body Jewel, or you can call me by what you know me as, Avaticus." The corroded man's grin grew even wider."You see me in a pitiful form, for i do not look as i should. For that, you are lucky. But for what you have done to me, well, i cannot let that go so easily. You have tortured my soul, Benyl, tortured my soul. You seem to think that you are better than me, that you can destroy me, Benyl." The man now drew his sword from his death black scabbard, and its red blade emerged, a skull pommel at the end of its handle."Dear Benyl, we could have been friends... but you had to go and be a hero. All you have done is make it worse for yourself, and thrown yourself into a pit of misery."

I got up from my tree, and drew my sword from a nicely crafted sapphire and gold scabbard. Its blade was a menacing silver tone, and shone with the light of honor. My mouth twitched, and uttered, "Avaticus, don't count me out yet. You just have me trapped, that is all. This pit of misery isn't without its pleasures."
"Ah but is it, Benyl! All your dreams awash, taken from you like everything else?"
"I still have one dream, Jewel. It is to kill you." My arm thrusted out, right at Avaticus's chest, but he parried it easily with his sword. I slashed again, this time for his head, and he blocked, his sword hitting low against mine, as he twisted it, and thrusted downward with immense force against the handle of my blade, slicing off my fingers. I screamed in pain and dropped my sword and Avaticus's feet, the blood from my wound dripping upon my silver blade.
"Benyl, you have grown weak. You used be such a better fight, but now you are just a pity to even put my sword up to. Goodbye, Benyl."
"Avaticus, wait. At least honor me with the death of my own sword." Avaticus thought for a moment, then said, "So be it." Avaticus (or Jewel) bent down low, picked up my blood-stained silver sword, and swivelled it in a fancy gesture.
"You do know silver burns more, don't you?"
"Yes." And with my final answer, he thrust the sword right through my skull. My senses dulled, and i faded as Avaticus bent down to pick up the sword, and grabbed my head by my hair. The demons around me cackled more and more, but slowly dimmed nothing.

Bzz... Bzz... Bzz... I sat up. The alarm clock jumped and hollered at me to the left on my oaken table. 6:30. I positioned myself so i lay back on the bed, looking up at the ceiling, starring into its white mind as I began to think- but i shuddered off my thoughts, got up and threw on some jeans, t-shirt and coat. I looked around my crowded room; past the dirty laundry scattered across the floor, and back to my closet where my pack lay, and picked it up. It rustled over my arms as I hurriedly went out, and slammed the door shut. The wooden stairs shuddered as i walked down them, reaching the pasted diner table, that lay as a center piece in our down-to-scale kitchen. Mom was busy on a phone call, so i scarfed down my breakfast and left by the front door.

It was just a dream after all. It wasn't real. Not the least bit. I pondered the dream as i walked through the bustling streets of Seattle at 7 a.m in the morning. A car rushed by in front of my face. Careless... I uttered to myself. After about a mile of walking through the city, i had finally forced myself to stop thinking about the dream. Half a mile later, i reached Augustus High School and began my tedious classes as a middle aged teen.