They
were a perfect sacrifice. Yettem squinted and focused his purple colored eyes
on the city lying down in the valley below him. There was a tremendous forest,
stretching high into the air even above the cliff side where he stood.
Interwoven in the trees and foliage was a city that almost seemed to grow out
of the ground like plant life. Delicate white walls, etched in intricate
patterns and symbols peaked out in between the dense trees and heavy vines. The
buildings reached up high into the trees, with tower tops that often resembled
sea shells.
Even with the intent to
slaughter all these elves, he was impressed. Such large and seemingly delicate
architecture was a feat only the dwarven stonemasons could match. There was a
quiet tranquility to the city and surrounding forest that Yettem, in all his many
years and travels, had never experienced. He closed his eyes and felt the warm
afternoon breeze against his pale white skin. Long, sun golden hair tossed about
gently in the wind, caressing his face like a lost lover. Like Ellaina. His
youthful face twisted in pain. When he opened his eyes, the slight peace was
gone. Now a pair of empty caverns scoured the land, searching for what he
needed. They came to rest on a magnificent pool of shimmering silver liquid.
The pool was held by a
stonework basin that was more intricately etched than anything he had ever
before seen. Standing above the basin were several elves in long, earth brown
robes. They held their hands above the silver liquid and spoke in a slow,
deliberate chant. The liquid almost seemed to undulate in time with the
chanting in a peaceful, natural rhythm.
Yettem’s face was now split by
a wicked, tooth baring grin. He knelt down and put his hand on the edge of an enormous
inscription. All across the cliff where he stood was a large, white line
drawing comprised of hundreds of symbols and a multitude of geometric shapes.
The large inscription surrounded him; a small circle void of any other symbols was
immediately around his feet. His small form, one that was childlike and
undeveloped, seemed miniscule in comparison to the drawing and the city below.
He raised his hand and spoke a
few words in a strange, lilting language. The end of his fingers took on a
soft, white glow. He then touched the inscription again and the lines began to
glow. The glow stretched out through the lines and symbols like a fire
spreading across a trail of lamp oil. He stood up, raised his arms into the air
with his hands spread wide and began to chant in the same rhythmic language.
It was perfect. So much death
would serve his purpose. He watched the elves going about their daily lives,
unaware of what was about to occur. They moved to and fro, some bearing great
loads, others fletching or tanning leather, some simply enjoying the mild
afternoon warmth. He saw a pair of elven children, a boy and a girl, darting
through the foliage and large roots of the trees. They laughed and played,
chasing one another in an energetic manner that only children were capable of
doing. He hesitated for a moment while watching them. They were the picture of
innocence. The young girl stopped for a moment and chewed on the end of her braid
of honey colored hair. A face flashed in his mind, another young girl but this
one with olive skin and black hair. She too chewed on the end of a braid. Then
the vision of her face turned into a bloody image of agony.
Ellaina!
With a wordless scream of
anger, Yettem finished chanting his Formula. A burst of blindingly bright energy flashed up
from the inscription and into him. He thrust one hand towards the pool of
silver liquid and a thick bar of purple flame shot forth from his hand. Within
seconds the flame tore through the city, punching through walls and trees and
elves alike burning all to ash. Finally it slammed into the basin of liquid.
The chanting elves were burned to cinders, screaming wildly as the purple
flames engulfed the pool. The stonework shook and groaned, and the entire basin
crumbled. Then came madness.
The liquid evaporated into the
air as it escaped from the broken basin. A great sound, like the collected
chorus of a thousand screaming voices, erupted from the center of the basin and
a pillar of light shined up into the air. Soon apparitions with humanoid faces
and thin, cloth like bodies began to emerge from the light. They were angry,
and they were the source of the screaming. Elves ran in terror every which way.
One of the apparitions flew through a tree and struck a fleeing elf. While it
seemed to lack corporeal form, when it met with the elf’s flesh, there came an
explosion of viscera, blood and bone. The elf was torn into pieces as surely as
he would had he been struck by a physical object.
With little more than a
slightly crooked smile, Yettem knelt again and touched a small inscription
surrounding a pendant. It was made of large, clear crystal set in a clawed hand
of midnight black metal. The same glow spread through this inscription, and he
stepped back quickly. Energy began to funnel from the tower of light above the
ruined pool and into the pendant. The force of the moving energy sent tremors
through the ground, almost enough to shake the cliff apart. Then all at once
the funneling ceased. The pendant’s crystal was now a deep, blood red.
Yettem walked over to the
pendant and picked it up. It was done. Now he could avenge her. After
retrieving the pendant, he began to trek down the hillside and into the city.
The city was in complete chaos, most of the buildings had been destroyed and
the inhabitants were all being slowly murdered by the apparitions. As Yettem
walked, he stared lustfully at the pendant. An apparition caught sight of him
and approached full force. Without so much as looking up from the pendant,
Yettem raised a hand, spoke a Formula, and a blast of energy engulfed the
apparition. It screamed and writhed for but a moment then was no more.
A female elf in torn clothes
clutching a small baby saw him kill the apparition and came running to him.
“Save us, Magi! You are the
only one who can!”
He continued to walk,
entranced by the pendant.
“Please,” her voice was loud
and ragged, “help us! Do something!
My baby!”
Before she could continue, one
of the apparitions plowed into her, ripping her and the child in her arms to
pieces.
But Yettem continued to walk,
smiling wickedly.
****
Mynos the young knelt down over a
boy and stroked a hand through the boy’s shaggy brown hair. Half the boy’s face
was burned and unrecognizable; it was red and tangled and resembled a mass of
meat rather than a face. Tears streamed from the boy’s unburned eye and he
whimpered quietly.
“Hush now, Klevan,” Mynos said
softly, “I promise this will not take long.”
Mynos stood and focused purple
eyes on the boy’s small form. Not just his face, but the entirety of his naked
body was burnt into ruins. They were now in a side room of a makeshift hospital
here in the Lower City in Restale, capital of the Empire and home of the Golden
Enclave. The entire room was filled with children in various states of injury.
Some merely had broken bones while others, like poor Klevan, were devastating
and even life threatening. This place was where the forgotten victims of the
war with the dragons were sent. The poor that no one else cared to tend for.
Many of these children had been brought by parents desperate for medical help
but with no money to pay for it. Not only were these people were forgotten,
they were left to die. Mynos looked around him again, at crying, often naked
children left to fend for themselves and he clenched his fists in anger. How dare the Enclave do this?
He took a deep breath and
refocused his attention on Klevan. The boy, perhaps in his eleventh or twelfth
year, was laid out on a long wooden table. The table itself was a plain oak,
unremarkable in appearance, but it was covered in a multitude of interlocked
geometric shapes and symbols written with a plain, white chalk. Mynos the
young, only in his two hundred and fiftieth year with the Enclave, was well
known for his expansive Memory of Healing Formula. Most magi had a Memory of
one or two Formula, the powerful Magi-Kings normally four. Mynos was the only
magus in recorded history with six. Despite such power, he still had to write
out the Formula for such a complex binding. It was going to take every ounce of
his power to be able to Heal this boy.
Mynos bent over, he was tall
and looked little more than a young teen himself, and grasped Klevan’s small
hand. His shoulder length, fiery red hair obscured the sad but hopeful look in
his eyes.
“Be strong, Klevan. This will
be painful.”
The boy sobbed louder, but
nodded slowly. Without any more hesitation, Mynos stretched forth his other
hand and began to chant. The tips of his fingers began to glow with a faint
blue light and he touched them to the edge of the Formula drawn on the table.
Light erupted quickly through the drawing, flooding the room in brilliant blue.
Klevan’s sobbing turned into a gasp, and then a groan and he clasped Mynos’s
hand with enough force to cause pain. The light began to subside, Klevan’s
grasp lessened and then his hand fell away.
Where once had lain a burnt
and disfigured war victim was now the naked form of a fair skinned young boy.
Mynos let out a heavy breath, carried Klevan’s unconscious form to a nearby bed
and covered him. The boy was breathing deeply in a relaxed, sleeping manner.
Mynos wiped sweat from his
brow and walked to the table again. He would need to clean off the Formula and
prepare the next child soon. It wouldn’t be long before the Enclave tried to
come and assign him to some important
task. He ground his teeth at the thought. They were such cold creatures, living
so many years had robbed them of any vestige of humanity. He began to wipe the
table down with a damp cloth, but was interrupted by someone calling out his
name.
“Mynos the young,” there
seemed to be some emphasis on the latter half, but perhaps Mynos was imagining
it, “you are called upon by the council.”
“Elam of the Council,” Mynos
resumed his wiping, not bothering to turn to face the man, “surely you can relate
their message to one as unimportant as I.”
There was a brief pause before
a response. The air was heavy with implication.
“Mynos, now is not the time
for arguments and petty squabbles. The-“
“Petty?” Mynos spun and faced
the small, black haired magus, throwing his cloth to the ground, “you call the
suffering of children petty? How dare you!”
Elam stepped back, as if the
force of Mynos’s voice was enough to harm him. Mynos’s purple eyes were lit
with a fire; his glare cut right to the bone. Elam watched him in silence for
several moments. Always cool and collected, the lot of them. They were heartless
b******s who didn’t give a damn about the people below them. Mynos quivered
with barely contained rage. It was all he could do not to cross the distance
and use his fist to put some sort of expression on that cold, childlike face.
“Calm yourself, Mynos. I did
not come to initiate a battle of words with you.”
“If you don’t give me good
reason, it may well be more than words, councilman.”
The children in the room were
edging away from the two, some covering their heads under their blankets, others
even crying. Mynos felt a wave of guilt overcome his rage. It would not do to
put these children through any more trauma, and he was ashamed of himself for
doing so. Elam was again quiet, thinking slowly no doubt.
“I-I apologize,” Mynos began,
“I should not speak to a council member so. Surely you must understand the
importance of what I do here.”
“My dear Mynos,” there was a
brief moment of softness to Elam’s eyes, “we are not all monsters in the
council. I would be the first to see you here tending to these little ones
rather than off on some errand. But my voice is merely one among many and the
many have decided to summon you.”
Mynos let out a heavy sigh.
This had to happen sooner or later, it was only a matter of time. His Healing
skills were unmatched in the Golden Enclave, perhaps in the entire world. The
war with the dragons was being won, but he would be needed to help keep the
wounded magi from dying. Normal people were no match for fire spewing beasts,
but magi were often more than a sufficient battle force. The problem lay in the
lack of numbers. The Enclave was not small by any means, but they could not
match the sheer magnitude of battling an entire race. Not if they took heavy
casualties in every battle.
He looked around the room at
the children. Most were hurt, but only a few were in a severe condition. He
could return for the others, but those so heavily injured would not last long.
“Then prove to me that not all
in the council are heartless b******s.” He motioned to the now clean surface of
the table.
“So be it,” Elam said around a
surprisingly warm smile, “if it will get you to come along without protest, I
will gladly assist.”
Mynos walked alongside Elam slowly,
shaking a little bit. He had saved them all and had even healed the other
children. Elam had been against it, but after some convincing he gave in and
assisted more. It had taken more strength than he had thought he possessed. It
was even a tad difficult to stand or walk at this point, but he had been
summoned and the council waited for no one, especially not a petulant young
magus such as himself.
It was a warm, summer evening
out. The night sky was filled with stars and a brilliant blue moon. The streets
were filled with laughter, music and dancing. It was the midsummer festival and
the inhabitants of Restale, young and old, were out enjoying life to the fullest.
Bright, glowing spheres washed the streets in a sea of bright color. The smells of grilled Yanoff, a local fish
that was Mynos’s favorite, sweat, perfumes and incense from large, festively
painted clay pots on street corners mixed together in an almost overwhelming
potency.
As they passed one drinking
establishment, a pair of young lovers stumbled out onto a table set up in front
and began kissing and undressing each other. Many courtships would begin, and
conversely end, this night. The young man dropped a pint of the local favorite:
a thick, dark and malty ale. The contents spilled out all over the ground and
Mynos could almost taste the heavy beverage. It was one of the things from his
life before the Enclave that he could never give up, despite warnings from his
superiors.
The festivities went on as
though no war existed. As if the dragons couldn’t at any moment swoop in and
begin a battle right in the midst of the city. This was perhaps the safest
place in the world at the moment, guarded by the Enclave and the Magi-King, but
safety was an illusion and Mynos knew that. The people here likely did too, but
the midsummer festival of Tel’vara was not one that would be missed. The event
was older than the kingdom itself, legend saying that it dated back to the dawn
of human civilization.
“We can win this war,” Elam
said suddenly, “with the plan the King has arranged.”
“Plan? It’s always plans with
the King and the council.”
“No, this is different,” his
tone lowered so that Mynos could barely hear him above the festivities, “the
dragons do not stand a chance.”
He had heard all this before.
They always had some sort of plan, some supposedly well thought out and sure
way to victory. It was as likely to send many good men and women to hell.
A loud explosion shook the
ground and split the air. Many of the globes that lit the city suddenly went
dark. Mynos swallowed hard and stared wide eyed at Elam, whose face was dark
and brow drawn. Many magi had just died.
****
Supernatural cold clung to the
swamp Yettem stood in. Strange creatures could be heard far off in the
distance, their otherworldly cries echoing through the frosty mists. Ancient
black and gray trees with skeletal limbs covered in peat crowded together and
drooped down into murky water. The fetid liquid was covered thick with moss and
other foliage that looked more dead than alive. Occasional areas void of moss bubbled
continuously, often releasing noxious gas into the already choking air of the
swamp.
A dragon that was so large it
would not fit under the largest of trees here loomed above the childlike magus.
The dragon rested on his hindquarters, his forelegs drawn up almost like arms.
His massive wings ended in spiny points much like claws and were nearly the
size of a building even folded at his back. A large head that greatly resembled
those of his smaller, lizard cousins rested atop a long, serpentine neck. His
head was adorned by a twisted mass of horns, sharp and deadly at the ends but
nearly crown like in appearance.
Eyes of the clearest blue watched
Yettem with a gaze that could bore holes into a wall.
“What is this, little magus?
Why should I not kill you where you stand?”
“Kill me,” Yettem’s face was split by a wicked, tooth baring grin, “my
dear dragon king I could destroy you
where you stand with such little effort.”
The dragon’s eyes twitched and
darted around, he knew Yettem was right. “Fine. Why have you brought me here
then?”
“It is good to see you so
reasonable. I have come with a gift, something to rid you of the Enclave
forever.”
“Why would you, one of the
magi, betray your own people?”
“Leave my motivations to me,
creature. If you truly wish vengeance, then you shall heed me.”
The dragon hesitated for many
long moments. Yettem didn’t think that the great Archae’thil, king of the
dragons, would easily agree to anything with a human, especially not a magus.
After all, the entire purpose for Yettem calling him out today was so that he could
finally have a chance against the magi.
“What is this gift you speak
of? I see nothing that would aid my people.”
“That which is powerful is not
always seen, dragon king. Indeed, look around you.”
Yettem waved his hand and a
large Formula began to glow a menacing and deep crimson. The Formula was truly
immense, stretching off into the swamp like the massive web of some demon
spider.
“Trickery!” Archae’thil
stretched his massive wings, sending out a shockwave that uprooted nearby
trees, “do you take me for a fool?”
The blast washed over Yettem,
but not a hair on his head stirred. In his hand was a pendant of blood red
crystal, and it faintly glowed in time with the Formula. Yettem lifted his tiny
hand up, the pendant cradled in his palm, and tilted his head. His eyes almost
seemed to glow red from the light of the pendant.
“O’ Great Dragon King,” his
tone was nearly mocking, “I have not tricked you. This is the key to your
people’s salvation!”
Archae’thil moved a step
forward, lowering his serpentine neck and massive head within feet of Yettem.
His snout was nearly the size of Yettem by itself.
“Why should I believe you? You
are of the Blood. The Blood have always slain the dragons.”
Yettem could feel the heat
from Archae’thil’s breath, and he knew what the dragon king was planning.
“If I wanted you dead, you
would never have known it. Do you forget who
it is that is before you? You whelp! I was feeling the power of the Blood when
you were but a hatchling!”
Yettem could feel rage build inside
of him. It was a white hot rage that threatened to consume his being. He
stretched a finger out, and the dragon king was swept up into the air and bound
tightly together as if he was a toy. The powers of the unknown flowed through
Yettem. The pendant gave him a direct connection to the raw energy of the
ancient gods. It quickly became intoxicating. He had to finish this before his
rage and the power burned him where he stood. The Blood’s power, the true,
ancient name for the magic the magi used, was a powerful force. If emotion was
allowed to surface when a magus was acting as a conduit for that power, the
emotion would overpower him.
“I-I have spoken in error,”
the dragon king’s voice quivered like a child’s, “I will consider your offer.”
“A wise decision,” Yettem let
out a short breath and dropped his hand. Archae’thil dropped heavily to the
ground, sending a tidal wave of filth surging off into the swamp. It took the
massive being a moment to gather himself and regain his footing.
“Now that you have seen the
error of your ways, hear me. What I have begun is something that has been
forbidden since the days long before the kingdom. Truly, it was something
forbidden even in the time of the first of the Blood.”
Yettem could sense the terror
and anticipation in Arcahe’thil. He savored the terror for several moments
before continuing.
“I have drawn up a pact, if
you will, that will bind you to one of the ancient gods.”
The dragon king gasped, a
sound like turbulent wind howling through a cave.
“Yes, the greatest taboo of
the ancient world. And by doing so, my dear dragon king, you shall gain the
power of a true god. Not merely the
power of the Blood.”
“Then let it be done! I would
have this power. I will crush humanity.”
Yettem’s face drew up in a
smirk. The fool had accepted.
****
Mynos looked forward with sheer
terror, a feeling he had not known in many years. Beside him, Elam’s mouth hung
open and worked to form words, but none came. The Golden Enclave, the true
building where the council met and the Magi-King sat upon a throne of gold
tinted crystal, was a marvel of a structure. The center portion was massive,
nearly the size of a city itself. Small towers reached up here and there, and
the walls rose up some two hundred feet. The brick work was finely carved, dwarven
stone, often engraved with the flowing script used by the magi to write
Formula. In the center of the massive structure were three towers that appeared
to be made of solid gold. Between each were walkways of gold tinted crystal. It
had always been an awe inspiring sight. Or at least, it once was.
A large section of the
building was now in ruins, and atop those ruins was Archae’thil, but he was
nearly unrecognizable. Most dragons had scales the color of grass or perhaps
clay, but the dragon king was now a midnight black. His eyes burned a fiery
red, and a thick slaver dripped from his wickedly sharp teeth. The slaver
sizzled as it dripped onto the stonework, melting through it like hot metal
through ice.
The great dragon opened his
maw and let out a laughter that shook the ground like an earthquake.
“Cower! Cower you worms!” Archae’thil’s voice
was like thunder tearing at the sky. “I shall make you suffer and perish!”
Mynos could not believe what
he was seeing. This monster was not the dragon king he had heard of. He had
heard Archae’thil once described as a majestic, logical being, one whose very
presence evoked respect. This thing was nothing but malice and terror. On his
flank was etched something very peculiar. A glowing purple Formula was
literally eaten into the ragged and rotting flesh near the right side of his
ribcage. It was something Mynos had never seen the like of, not in all his
years of studying Formula or out in the field as a magus.
“By the gods,” Elam swore,
“that is the mark of Yorm.”
Mynos’s heart clenched up when
he heard the councilman. The Mark of Yorm. He had heard of it once in all of
his studies. Yorm was a mythical demon god from the ancient world that had once
wreaked havoc and destruction that had nearly torn the very planet asunder. To
bear the mark of a god meant you had forged a pact with that god through
forbidden powers. This pact meant that not only were you given tremendous
power, but that your soul was given to the god in exchange.
Archae’thil turned his open
jaws to the three towers and a bright bar of silver light shot forth. It
crossed the distance in nearly an instant and struck with a magical barrier
that surrounded the towers with a dazzling shower of light. Within a mere
collection of moments the bar of light tore through the barrier and hit the
first tower, puncturing a hole through it as easily as a knife would puncture
paper. The tower immediately collapsed and screaming magi, some burned half to
death, came tumbling out. Many fell and were crushed by the collapsing gold and
stonework, others were cruelly impaled on existing debris and damned to die a
slow, agonizing death. Archae’thil reared back his head and let forth a
terrifying roar. The power of the roar was so great that it knocked Mynos and
Elam to the ground, and caused several nearby buildings to crumble into ruin.
Mynos scrambled to his feet;
he had to get away. He had to save the children. Elam was still trying to stand
by the time Mynos was already running off down the street. He could hear Elam
frantically screaming something in his wake, but he did not care. The children,
those like Klevan, they would be forgotten in all this. Mynos was not a fighter
and there was no saving the Enclave now. If the Magi-king did not emerge to
fight this beast, then Mynos would be as good as dead if he tried to.
As he ran through the streets
towards the Lower City, he witnessed chaos. The dragon king was not alone. Many
hundreds of other dragons, all ashen gray and with eyes of burning red and
rotting flesh, flew above the city raining death upon all those below. What had
only moments ago been joyous festivities was now a mass of mayhem and death.
People ran in random directions, some already burnt half to death. At one
moment, Mynos tripped and fell to the ground. He looked down to see what he had
stumbled on and nearly vomited. A young woman was ripped in half beneath him;
her insides were stretched across the ground and had entangled his foot. He
frantically kicked his foot until he shook loose and fell back several feet. He
stared at the corpse for a moment, fighting the rising bile down, and then
reminded himself. The children.
He got up and began to run.
Several times he nearly met his end at the hands of crumbling debris or a beam
of deadly light. Then at last he reached it. The building was dilapidated, as
many here in the Lower City were, and had obviously fallen into disrepair many
years ago. Despite the usual appearance, the building was untouched by the
madness. He let out a ragged breath and a tear ran down his cheek.
****
All the death and destruction was
beautiful. Yettem smiled as a raging fire on a nearby building lit his eyes
with a mad twinkle. He stood atop a watchtower on the southern end of Restale
and watched them all die. It was a wish he had held for nearly five centuries.
The once cold yearning for revenge was now a white hot iron, burning into his
soul. The pendant that hung down to his bare chest beat in a warm rhythm with
his rage. His magi robes, in all their multitudes of colors and beautiful
reflective material, were torn down to his belt, the remnants sparkling like
gemstones in the firelight.
He turned and searched the
city. Thargos was out there somewhere. He would find the Magi-king and he would
destroy him. He thought that a slow, excruciatingly painful death would be
fitting, a death that those who saw would forever remember. As he planned, he
felt it. The Magi-king was near. He raised his hand, spoke a few words and the
world around him shifted. Now, rather than facing a burning maelstrom, he was
standing on the roof of an old building in relative quiet. He looked around
slowly and then spotted his prey.
Thargos was a tall, impossibly
beautiful man. He had long, raven black hair, deep tan skin, and large, gray
eyes. The one magus who could be freed from the Binding was the Magi-king, and
he was allowed adulthood. It was a thing that many magi yearned for, but were
denied. It was something he had ceased to care about many centuries ago.
“My king,” Yettem laughed,
“truly your city is magnificent!”
Thargos spun to face Yettem.
His face darkened and he lifted his hand. Yettem returned the gesture with a
smile that was barely short of a snarl. The Magi-king’s hand was ripped clean
off his arm, spraying blood through the air. He crumbled into a scream, one
that was half in pain half in disbelief, but was straightened rigid by an
unseen force.
“What is wrong, powerful king
of the magi? Has even the power of speech forsaken you?”
“Y-yettem you fool! What have you done?”
“What have I done? What have I done? Good king I am merely cleaning
your stained city, your tainted Enclave from this world!”
Thargos lifted high into the
air, and he groaned in pain as the force that bound him began to bear down on
his entire body.
“I am naught but the lowly
stallboy! I am he that cleans out the filth! You,” he laughed, “you surely
understand me.”
“I understand that you are
mad. Why would you betray your own people?” Thargos’s voice was weak and
pained.
“You want to talk of
betrayal?” Yettem sprayed spittle as he nearly screamed, “what of Ellaina? My
betrayal? Your betrayal! You murdered
her!”
Thargos said nothing, only
looked at Yettem with wide, wild looking eyes.
“Oh yes, good king! I know it
was you who killed her. Not just an order, but by your very hand! You could not
deal with her loving another man!”
“You are not a man,” Thargos laughed, “you are nothing but a very
old child. You could not have been with her.”
“She was the same as I,”
Yettem shook visibly as he spoke, “as all magi are. You are filth. Ellaina
shall be avenged.”
The Magi-king opened his mouth
to speak again, but Yettem’s finger twitched, and his throat was ripped out.
Yettem clenched his fist and the blood was held in by the force that held
Thargos aloft. He gurgled and his eyes bulged in pain, but he would not die.
Not yet. It was too soon.
“Can you feel that? This is
the concentration of five hundred years of hatred.”
Thargos’s middle ripped open
and his entrails hung down past his feet, dangling in the air like streamers of
bloodied meat. Still the blood was held in, but Thargos began to lose
consciousness.
“Not yet, you coward! You
cannot escape this torment!”
The same unseen force pulled
the eyelids off his face, but the Magi-king’s eyes rolled back into his head.
He was dead.
Yettem frowned and released
the man, who fell from the air and onto the street below. It narrowly missed a
group of children being herded out of the building below by a fiery haired youth.
For a moment, Yettem reveled in the feeling of Thargos’s death. It had been too
short, but it was still pure ecstasy. He had felt the terror in Thargos. It had
been so strong he could’ve felt it without the Blood’s power running through
him. After a few moments, he looked down at the youth and the children again.
It was strange, but the youth, who appeared to be mid-adolescent, was wearing
the plain brown robes of a new magus. The youth held a small, naked boy wrapped
in blankets in his arms and was trying to guide the group of children to the
edge of the city.
Yettem watched them walk with
a smile. He wasn’t finished yet; there were still other magi to kill.
****
Mynos choked down the bile and
terror in his throat. Thargos, powerful magus and king of the magi, had been
torn into pieces like a broken toy in the hands of some twisted child. The
malevolent magus who had murdered the Magi-king truly looked the part. His
golden hair was strewn about, blowing wildly in the late evening winds. His robes
were torn down to his waist and his eyes were lit with a mad twinkle. The magus
seemed familiar to Mynos, but he couldn’t quite remember why.
“M-mynos?” Klevan said.
“Hush, Klevan, we must make
haste. Quietly.” Mynos ushered the other children forward with his free hand.
There came a tingling at
Mynos’s neck and he froze. He turned his head slowly and saw the murderous
magus looking down at them with a twisted smile. The index finger of his right
hand twitched.
“No!” Mynos screamed, but he
was too late.
Things seemed to move at a
crawl and Mynos watched helplessly as purple flames struck each of the children
around him in succession. He spun to the side, hoping that perhaps he could
shield Klevan with his own body, but his quickest motion seemed slow and heavy
and a small bar of flame struck Klevan in the back of his head, killing him
instantly.
Mynos crumpled to his knees,
holding the limp, lifeless child in his arms. Tears streamed down his cheeks
and his face twisted in pain. He had failed. The children had died because of
him.
“How does it feel, magus?” A
laughing voice said above him.
Mynos said nothing, but only
looked at Klevan’s wide, empty eyes. They looked straight into his soul,
blaming him.
“You should not cry for such
worthless things. These creatures don’t even qualify as humans next to us. But
fear not, you shall join them soon.”
Mynos’s face darkened. He
clutched Klevan’s body hard to his chest for a moment and then gently set him
on the ground. He slowly stood, blood dripping down the front of his robe and
onto the cobblestone street. He stood very still and quiet for several long
moments, his fists clenched tight enough to turn his knuckles white. When he
looked up at the magus in the air, his eyes were a solid, glowing white.
****
Yettem looked down at the red haired
magus and the dead children around him. He stood clenching his fists in quiet
rage and the pure intensity of his emotions felt palpable to Yettem with his
connection to the old gods. Delight filled Yettem, the fool thought he could
stand and fight the oldest living magus in history. This would be a great
entertainment for him before he continued on to eradicate the rest of the magi.
With a deliberate slowness,
Yettem raised a hand and began to speak aloud a Formula. He needed no written
inscriptions now, not with his connections to the old gods, and this Formula’s
bound energy alone would be enough to kill a normal human. The end result
however, would be a devastation that would remove southern Restale from the
world forever.
The magus looked up at him and
curiously his eyes were a solid white. Yettem pondered this for a moment and
then realization struck him. This odd looking magus, this new and untested
initiate, was in fact a possessor of the First Blood. All magi had the Blood in
them to one degree or another, the inheritance from some ancient gods mating
with primitive humans, but few had the First Blood, the actual pure bloodline
from those gods themselves.
“You monster!” As the magus
screamed, white flames leapt from his mouth. In moments, he was engulfed in
these flames. He looked upward and lifted up to float in the air level with the
roof top where Yettem stood.
Yettem knew this young magus
was trouble, but it didn’t matter. His Formula was finished. Bright, purple light
shot from his hand and into the sky. Within moments the sky darkened, clouds
swirling around a center point like a whirlpool of black and gray. A powerful
pillar of purple flame fell down from the center opening of the clouds and rushed
to strike the magus. Yettem began to laugh, this would consume everything here.
Possibly even Yettem himself.
As the fire struck, the young
magus thrust his open hand upwards. With a deafening rumble, the flame absorbed
into his palm and ceased to exist. After the skies cleared and the flames were
gone, the magus stood unscathed and leveled a murderous gaze at Yettem.
“Why? Why did you kill Klevan?
He was innocent! They all were.” His voice boomed and echoed as if thunder was speaking.
“Foolish child,” Yettem
laughed, “no one is innocent. Not even them.”
The magus let out a wordless
scream and suddenly the very air around him distorted. Yettem swallowed hard
and his mirth quickly became fear. He had lived well over two thousand years
and he had never seen this sort of Formula before. It was likely to be his end.
The distortion compressed and
then raced across the span between Yettem and the magus. There was little pain
at first, but Yettem knew something was wrong. He looked down and saw a line of
blood form across his middle. It took a moment to before he understood. A two
inch portion of his midsection had been removed so quickly that he had not felt
it, nor had he even a chance to bleed. He watched in quiet horror as his own
body collapsed, spilling out entrails across the rooftop.
As he fell in upon himself,
Yettem smiled. He would see Ellaina this day.
****
Elam coughed up a mouth full of
blood. He lay in the center of a major intersection not far from the remains of
the towers of the Enclave. Around him were the corpses of a dozen dragons. A
large piece of granite was atop his middle, likely crushing his organs into
oblivion. Blood pooled out from beneath him slowly, emptying the last remnants
of his life onto the street. He had lain here for many eternal moments
listening to the sounds of destruction, the screaming and explosions, the
crying and shouts of anger, and was surprised when they changed.
He tried as much as he could
to look to the source of the new sounds. Off to the south were the cries of
many dragons screaming in agony. He craned his neck and twisted his ruined body
as much as the granite and his condition allowed him. Then he saw it.
A creature enveloped in a
white flames slowly moved through the air, using some Formula that distorted
the air and ripped dragons and buildings alike in two. Its power was tremendous
and none of the dragons could even get near it. An invisible barrier seemed to
repel anything the dragons could throw at the creature.
In what seemed a manner of mere
seconds, there were no dragons left. Only Archae’thil, still rampaging at the
Enclave’s building, was alive. The creature floated by Elam and he gasped when
he got a good look. It was Mynos. How was this even possible?
Mynos continued to move
through the air and the dragon king caught sight of him. Elam held his breath
expecting a spectacular melee, but Archae’thil instead retreated.
“I will not let this stand,”
his voice boomed as he fled, “how do the magi have a god in their midst? It
matters not! I will return!”
As Archae’thil disappeared
into the distance, the flames around Mynos faded and he appeared to lose
consciousness and fell to the ground.
The Golden Enclave, and even
the city of Restale, was no more. Elam felt a warm tear on his cheek. It was
truly tragic that the magi had been extinguished, but there was hope for
humanity. He had thought all was lost for sure, but now he knew better. Mynos
would save them all.
“Maybe… not all of us.” Elam
said with a bitter laugh that turned into a gurgle.
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