A/N: A Thank You goes to MarkedBenjamin for his review! And don't worry about the power levels so much right now. The characters won't be as powerful as the ancients. The timeline is also something that I have to do out soon, and will probably come in the next few chapters as I'm still ironing out everything in my head.
This chapter is mostly about why Eragon turned darker than he was depicted in the inheritance cycle. The end is a bit abrupt though. Review! And views on writing technique, pairings and different types of magic is appreciated.(:
Also, don't expect an update too soon. I've got exams coming up in about a week's time, so probably after that.
"Only the strongest had survived."
Such were the thoughts of Eragon Shadeslayer, Blue Rider of the Alliance, commander of the first guard, and holder of many other titles, as he gazed over the bloody field. The smell of burning carcass could be smelt, from the funerals given to the warriors deceased in battle. The shouts of men trying to prevent the shrieking crows whom were eager for the feast that had once awaited them grated harshly on his enhanced hearing. Eragon sighed, and snapped his fingers. Instantaneously, eerie blue flames started to burn the flesh of the dead. Men instantly leaped away from the bodies of loved ones, and some screamed as they were burnt by the rider's magic. Several looked towards the source of the fire in anger, but they were instantly quelled, as his unseeing eyes focussed on them. At six foot tall, carrying what could be identified as a double-ended glaive, caked in the blood of the enemy, and with the sun rising behind him; Eragon struck an imposing figure to the Alliance, at the same time bringing fear into their enemies' hearts.
With a grim smile, he started walking towards what his senses told him was Nasuada's tent. The first guard was camped out at the end of Orthiad, the entrance into the Beor Mountains and the territory of the dwarves. He was part of the guard that was left behind to protect the entrance into the Beors, as Sudra had fallen to the Silver rider, A'turom, approximately four and half years ago. This was quite a loss for the Alliance, as the humans had lost one of the only cities that they had possession of. Eragon could clearly remember the grisly welcome that had awaited him as he returned from his reconnaissance mission.
Eragon closed his eyes for a moment, and spread out his mind to envelope the vast sky around him, just as he had been trained to do many a year ago. He sighed in the peace that enfolded him, that brought him away from the problems that he faced, the tortured faces of men begging for their lives, the look of anguish as he killed a loved one, and the snuffing out of life he felt whenever he killed another. But something tickled the edge of his consciousness. Frowning, he focussed on it, and the light buzz became a cacophony of misery, slamming into his consciousness like a mountain.
Wordlessly, Saphira accelerated, also sensing her rider's unease that there was something wrong. Within minutes, they had reached the city of Aberon. The conflict had been brought to Sudra, and within weeks, half of it had been taken. However, there was a sudden blackout in communications. Suspicious of this, Eragon requested to be sent on a reconnaissance mission to Lithglow, to see what had caused this silence. Eragon snapped out of his thoughts as a pile of smoke rose from the city. Saphira hastened even further, and Eragon was forced to flatten himself against Saphira's back as she rushed towards the smoke. Looking down, he could make out half the city in flames. And hovering directly over the centre of the smoke was a huge shadow.
"Dragon!" screamed Saphira as she looped to avoid a crackling mass of silver energy that had been shot at her. With dread in his stomach, Eragon recognized it as the necromantic magic that A'turom wielded. Eragon was rather shocked that the silver rider was present. Prone to fits of insanity, A'turom was not the most trusted of Galbatorix's riders. However, this did not make him any less deadly. He was a dark elf, an elf that had gone corrupt under the dark magicks that Galbatorix had offered them. The emergence of dark elves was not a new revelation by any means.
Indeed, it had been several years since the dark elves had forsaken their kin in Du Wendelvarden, and sought the teachings of the dark king. Under his tutelage, they grew to be the blackest and most powerful magicians of the Black Hand, and they were used almost exclusively in assassination missions. All except for A'turom, Eragon amended, as he dispelled another bolt of magic that would follow Saphira, and upon contact, paralyse her, making her unable to fly for a few hours, which would immediately give A'turom the upper hand.
Suddenly, several objects levitated in the air in front of Eragon. He readied a bolt of lightning, prepared to strike down the unidentifiable objects if they posed enough of a risk. The first object was a lifeless woman. Her body showed signs of having several bones being broken, and her eyes were staring listlessly at the air around him. Eragon felt sickened. As the second figure floated up into the air, Eragon choked on the very air he was breathing. A mop of curly red hair, followed by short arms, a chunky midsection, and stubby legs revealed themselves in succession. He saw red. It was his nephew, Kalton. His blood pounded in his ears, and his wayward emotions built up the disk of lightning in his hands until he could feel the static pulsing in the air.
He banished it at the shrouded form of A'turom, but all he received in response was mocking laughter. Eragon almost jumped as two bodies materialised in front of him. They were the bodies of Roran and Katrina. Arms encircling one another, locked together in an eternal embrace. Eragon let out a scream of pure hatred for the silver rider. All he received in turn, were the mouths of his cousin and his sister-in-law opening, and saying the words, "Eragon, it's your fault. Why didn't you save us?" Eragon screeched in anguish, but all he received was clapping in return. At that time, he didn't think he hated anyone more than A'turom, who had stolen his family away from him.
Eragon snapped out of his memory with sadness welling up inside him. He had tried so hard to get revenge for his family. But his efforts were futile. With his emotions out of control, he could not do anything, except feel the pain as the dead bodies of the ones he loved were paraded in front of him. Eragon mused that he was lucky that he escaped that day with only a scar across his right cheek, one that would constantly remind him of his failure to protect his family. He rapped on the tent and offered some of his blood onto the pedestal in front of the tent. The tent opened slowly, and he saw Nasuada and the Kull leader talking. The Urgal bared his teeth in what would be considered a feral grin to humans, but one which Eragon had no difficulty returning. Nasuada beckoned for him to enter, "Come Eragon, we have much to discuss."
