The Power Keeper- Origins

Throughout history, there has been a being of the dark among us, always different, yet very similar to ourselves. Though he is known by many names throughout time, they are never remembered by those whom never knew him, never recited through history, forever to be the unknown hero, despite what their achievements were, they shall never be known...or perhaps, maybe they will someday. The line of the Power Keeper shalt never fall, until bested by its mortal enemy, created by same hands as he, with the sole purpose to hunt down and destroy his brother, the Abysmal Demon Manus...

I stood before him, as he looked over my body, examining every significant detail of my physical being with fierce eyes, emanating hatred and anger. His fingers ran over my shoulder, then reaching up to my face, and he brushed his long, sharp claws upon my cheek. He backed away from me, only a few steps, then looked at his newest creation, the overall figure. I stood there motionless, awaiting my orders like a fool, and saw in his eyes something of a sense of accomplishment.

A cruel smile trailed across his face. "March" He ordered, and I obeyed immediately. I exited the room, following each footstep of my creator as they stomped on the ground in unison with his, staring aimlessly beyond the world I was so cruelly bound to. My posture was perfect, just as everything else I did, just as I was meant to be. Of course, he was not satisfied enough with just the pure loyalty I possessed towards him, looking up to him in complete adoration, therefore, I was tested, to ensure the success that I supposedly was. I remember one specific time where I had been told what I was meant to be, the perfect warrior, when he had so much faith in me, and I so much adoration in him. I was told of every aspect of my mental and physical being, with a constant need to be so precise, as to only proceed with the quickest and decisive of strikes upon my enemy, and a fail safe that, in any case that I might die in battle, I would be reborn.

It was as though I was lost, forever in a dream...or perhaps...a nightmare, only seemingly so benevolent of a life that I was created to lead. I was made to be a warrior, with perfection so keen that I was to be unstoppable, as to kill my...no, my master's enemies, without conscience, without regret or emotion. I was adorn in only the finest of armour, so beautifully made that I was honoured purely to bare it. I was crafted a sword, specifically made only for me, and again, I was honoured. It was a one-handed short sword, simple, yet affective...the blade with a sharpness so fine that it could slice through muscles as though it were a soft butter, glowing a bright blue.

I looked to my fellow brethren, for assistance when needed, and they did the same with me, as though I were one of them, just as I believed I was...but I was different from the others, I was unique. I felt distant from the rest of the soldiers that made up my master's rank, and everyone else felt the same towards me. I did not know, at the time, the expression they bore when I neared them, a feeling, that I later recognized, and felt myself, so often that it was inconceivable to think that I had ever once lived without it, a feeling that I recognized as fear. I stood tall, over the others in my finely polished coal-black suit of armour, with a silver shine so bright when in whatever light I stood in the presence of, that all made everything seem ever so much more ethereal.

It was not uncommon for me to fight the other warriors, as to strengthen myself, and I was never beaten, though the actions that displayed were nothing but instinct, coming to me as the opportunity arose, flowing through my mind as I mapped out the environment I was in, thinking of every possible way to exploit its advantages and disadvantages. Usually the arena was that of a rough terrain, with dehydrated soil and air so hot that it burned the very soul to breathe in. I remember so clearly now, the plethora of challenges that I was to face, without any emotion within me, except the fear of disappointing my creator.

I remember one time in particular, as I stood over my opponent, lying on the ground helplessly...that I doubted my given orders only for a moment, as he demanded, "Finish him". I stared into the eyes of my fellow soldier, pleading that his life be spared, and I nearly denied the action, before I rose my sword over my head, watching the warrior that had been created by the very same hands that I was, and brought it down unto him. I remember the cruel, sick humor that he took, with laughter that screeched throughout the bowls of Hell where we stood, as he walked to me and only glanced at the broken, bloodied, two halves of a corpse that lied limp and lifelessly before me.

He announced yet another victory for me, with such pride that I, too, laughed at my opponent's misery...what a fool I was! Every night I think of the actions of my past, and resent myself for how blind I was, how shrouded I was in belief that he was something great. But I now know better. And I learned to develop a conscience eventually, which led to my downfall.

I had fought several men at once, all of which, were of the highest ranking class, second only to myself. And I picked them all off, one by one, granting them life for as long as possible before sending the next to the ground. Mortally wounded, but still alive. I did my best to allow them to live, hoping that I would not be ordered to off them. Oh how a daft fool I was, thinking that such a thing would be allowed. At last, when I was ordered to end them, I stopped myself.

I began to raise my sword as to abide the command, but instead, dropped it to the ground, with a loud clang of metal clashing with the stone ground. The amusement quickly vanished from his face, and turned into anger. "Pick up your weapon, soldier." He hissed. I looked at him, without a word to escape my lips. That was the first time I had denied him his will. I was quickly taught, however, what punishment I would receive if I were to disobey him, because afterwords, I was forced to kill them in cold blood, rather than the heat of the battle. I was mercilessly beaten, to the point where I was nearly knocked unconscious, with my blood coating the dimly-lit stone floor, as I looked up to my master, wordlessly begging for forgiveness and mercy. His eyes narrow as he raised his fist again, and once more impaled me with his long claws, then leaving me alone to grasp for breath while enduring the pain my punishment (which at the time I believed was well deserved), had forced upon me. His words still echoed in my ears..."You are a soldier, act like one...if you will not serve me...then you are a traitor, and will be punished as such..."

For quite a deal of time, I continued to follow my creator's directions exactly as ordered, for fear of disappointing him any more than I already had. I was joyous purely to still be alive. Though something in me, something that I even did not have knowledge of, told me that the being whom I considered my father was chaotically evil. His presence, though dear to me, was one that felt menacing to all, which perhaps was just how he kept all of his warriors, me included, in line. It was my first battle against what my creator called the "still loyal ones", where I began to completely doubt the sanity, as well as reasons, of my master's doings.

There were many of our enemies, those of which we encountered, looked surprisingly similar to our own higher ranking soldiers, something that set confusion into me, not knowing whom I was to hit. So, I stopped progressing. When my master had noticed that I had quit doing his bidding, the very same anger that I had seen so long ago, the first time I resented his command, had reappeared. Before I could defend myself, he sent me to the ground with a mighty blow. I lied on the ground in a daze, with the world around me spinning endlessly...I began to get back to my feet when I was sent back down with a foot firmly placed on my back, pinning me where I was, without any hope of escape.

"You dare not fight for me?" He hissed through clenched teeth. His foot dug into my back. "Then it is not the enemy who shall kill you!" It was then I noticed my sword, lying beside me...I reached for it, and a claw impaled my outstretched hand, trapping it where it was. I cried in agony, and one of the enemy came and knocked my master off of me. One adorn in full-body black armour, with two horns from his helm that pointed upwards in an eerie fashion. He reached out a hand, but was blown away by a blast by my master's hand. I quickly grabbed my sword, and pointed it towards him, but he simply knocked away with his forearm, then grasped my by the neck, then lifted me over his head.

I felt a warm liquid flowing down my chest as his claws dug into my tender flesh, piercing my throat. He muttered something that was inaudible, for I could not hear, desperately trying to cling to what little air was left in my lungs. Then everything became a daze again, and began to fade to black, and I was dropped to the ground heavily. I lied there limp, just as all the men I had killed had as I looked down at the lifeless corpse that lied before me...the world around me began to disintegrate, and the darkness closed around me. My insolence had not occurred to me until that moment, when my mind grew numb, and I was lost in the dark. I felt alone, and for the first time, afraid. I had nothing...everything I was meant to be was not only evil, but completely gone.

Timelessness...there was no sense of time whatsoever, and I lied there, fixated in that position I was left by my master in, without movement, without thought. At last I gave up, and I gradually began to let my eyes close...before a blinding light came from above. I gazed at the majestic presence of the light, tantalizingly awe-striking. There was a distinct comfort within me, and I felt...honoured...to be in the very presence of the majestic, yet strange light that illuminated every bit of my very being. I remember it speaking to me, with a voice that had given me a sense of purpose, not for destruction, but for something I do not know just how to describe, and although I did not know just what it had said, I knew that my life was about to take a turn for the better.

I fell to my knees, bowing to the great being, still speaking to me with a deep, booming, magnificent voice that gave unto me a sense of being loved. I gazed to its beautiful light, and it soon completely overtook my vision, engulfing me indefinitely until I was blinded by it. The light, though my eyes were closed, never left me, and I felt as though I was enveloped by it still. For the first time, a smile graced my lips. I heard a single word, this I still remember distinctly. "Dravius", I heard. I felt some sort of connection to this word. It took me some time before I realized...it was my name! Even today I still feel such joy at the simple liberty of my own name. Just think...a single word to describe my entire being! I had my own name! I was Dravius...

I awoke alone, in a dark, musty, damp cell with only a small light that casted onto the stone floor filtering in through a barred hole in the ceiling. I looked down at my body, now degraded from its original state, with skin brown and a texture resembling that of leather. I was nearly stark naked, with only a loin cloth wrapped around my waist to dress me, and deprived of everything. I had nothing, but I was comfortable with it, for I still sensed the presence of that light being with me. My only company, in the cell, was that of a skeleton, hanging by his shackled arms to the stone-brick walls ever so cruelly.

I heard a noise from above, and when I looked to see the cause, a body dropped from the hole in the ceiling. I looked to the bringer of the corpse, whom was adorned in a dark blue tunic, leather belt, and shining steel helm that covered his face. He nodded to the corpse, then disappeared. I turned my gaze to the body that now accompanied me, confused. I got up, and a glint of light caught my attention. Curiosity took hold of me with a firm grip, and I could not help but see what it was. I found an old rusted key that the poor soul's hand still clung to. I bowed to the body in respect, not knowing what else to do for the poor lifeless being. I took the key, removing each finger still wrapped around the metal key and getting back to my feet. I looked at the barred metal door of the cell I was still trapped, and returned my attention to the key. A sense of hope sparked within me, as I walked to the door, peering through the bars, and inserted the key into the lock, perfectly fitting. The old metal made a loud thud as it unlocked, and the ancient hinges squeaked as the door swung open, allowing me passage to the long, dingy, dimly lit hall that followed.

I peered through the hall, filled with others with conditions similar to my own whom sat in confusion and appearing lifeless. Proceeding into the halls, so many thoughts and feelings rushed through me, and, for reasons unknown to me still today, I could almost...feel many, many deaths lying ahead of me, showing me, for the first time, the feeling of fear within me. When I took the first step out of my prison, I felt the sense of belonging again, and I knew my destiny was about to be revealed.