Title: The Canthan Chronicles

Author: Timeoffire45

Rating: T (for language)

Disclaimer: See Profile. Credit to marintha for inspiring me to write this with her story Through the Eyes of Heroes: Prophecies. I think only the idea of a "Mage-Born" is mine... I'm pretty sure that's original...

Summary: The story of a young elementalist and her friend as they begin their journey through a Cantha beset by Afflicted, demons, and the Betrayer himself. Factions storyline written out in story format.

A/N: WOW It's been a while since I've updated... A big thank you to the few people who actually reviewed the last chapter! I haven't looked at the hit count recently, but I'm sure it's rather abysmal... Anywho, that all is pointless... What I'm really here to say is I'M SORRY to those of you (the, like, 4 of you) who put this story on your favs/alerts and who haven't seen an update from it in ages... I have actually been trying to come up with a way to start this chapter because this WAS going to be one of those filler-type chapters and I suck at writing those... But, because of a review from a certain someone -coughcoughKonekocoughcough- I was actually randomly inspired while sitting on a bus for how this whole chapter will go down... Yay for plot bunnies, eh? So: sit back, relax, and enjoy; this is all as much a surprise to you as it is to me --Just a warning: this one will center on a character from about, oh, six chapters back whom you might have forgotten about; if you have no idea who they (the character) are whatsoever, then SHAME ON YOU! YOU NEED TO READ CHAPTER ONE! XD Also, because it is mentioned in this chapter, I KNOW that I said Janet looked to be 16 back in chapter one; well, she's actually 18: she just looks reeeally young (and is short for her age... part of the whole mage-born thing... will be explained in full eventually, fear not)

A/N2:Sorry about the other uber-long author's note... -slapforehead-

And now, The"d"keyonmylaptopkeepspoppingoffrawrTimeoffire45 is proud to present:

Chapter Seven

Of Bad Days and Best Laid Plans

He could hear the army following him, each member baying for his blood. The sound of their voices, enraged at the murder of their leader, grated harshly on his eardrums like nails on a chalkboard. Boots thudded in a never-ceasing roll of thunder. Armor gnashed against armor as they gave chase, each soldier wanting to rip him to minuscule pieces.

Crimson flowed from the blades in his hands in rivulets, evidence of his deeds. His legs ached from attempting to traverse the sandy marshes of the peninsula so rapidly, but he knew that speed was the difference between life or death. His face betrayed none of the panic racing through his mind, hiding it behind both an emotional mask as well as a physical mask that obscured all but his coal-black eyes; eyes that were hard and unyielding. Vicious, blood-lined slash marks covered his navy-blue clothing, indicating that the wearer had recently been wounded and hastily healed.

Adam Aracantus was not having a good day.

A Crimson Skull patrol was guarding a passage through the cliffs ahead about twenty-five meters away, their red-and-black tunics billowing slightly in the breeze. If he wanted to get off this god-forsaken spit of rock and sand called Panjiang Peninsula, then he knew he would have to go through them. To add to his difficulties, he was running out of weapons. The only advantage he had was that they still hadn't spotted him practically limping towards where they stood.

One of the soldiers, a woman, barked a command at the others. They stiffened noticeably at her harsh tones; perhaps this was the patrol commander? They re-formed their ranks, organizing until the bulk of their strength was facing inward, defending against a force from within. Somehow, a message had reached them that an enemy was headed their way. So much for the element of surprise.

The army behind him was becoming louder. He knew he needed to act now, or else he would be torn to pieces from behind. There were only ten soldiers in the patrol versus his one. How much of a proble could they be?

Chanting softly, he felt as much as saw a shadow wrap itself around his body and solidify, forming an added layer of armor. A second chant had multiple shadows wrapping around his blades, thin, black tendrils connecting them back to himself. The shadow armor fluctuated, covering all of him except for his eyes. He was ready.

Abandoning his relative safety, Adam sprinted across the field between his position and the guards in approximately five seconds flat. By that time, of course, they had figured out he was coming, but there was nothing they could do.

He shouted harshly, purple-black light enveloping his hands as he paused for a split second and slammed them into the ground. The familiar there-not-there feeling of a shadow step engulfed him for a moment, and then he was beside the group leader, his dagger slitting her throat. Her blood fountained into the air in a crimson arc. Before it could land, Adam reached for one of his few remaining knives and flung it as hard as he could at the only guard with a bow. His aim was true, and the knife embedded itself with a shunk in the man's skull, protruding from his forehead.

The remaining guards blinked.

One of them, possibly the second-in-command, yelled an oath and swung his axe at Adam in a vicious arc. The assassin dropped to the ground, easily avoiding the blow, and slashed upward with his daggers. The man went down screaming, trying to gather his innards back together before he died. He was soon followed by the man standing closest to him, who, like his leader, had his throat cut.

By now, the others were fully prepared for an attack and had brought their shields and swords to bear. Six of them. One of him. This time, however, they were ready for him, and they had an army on the way. The odds were beginning to slip in their favor.

Adam threw another knife at the Crimson Skull nearest him, but the woman deftly blocked the projectile with her shield, the weapon sinking two inches into the hardened steel. Lifting her shield out of the way, she brought her sword down in a vertical swing. Adam was forced to parry the blow off of his own blades to avoid having his arm severed. Even as he did this, he felt the swords of two of her fellows glance off of the armor he had spelled into place, depleting the magical barrier partly.

He parried two more blows at once, one in front and one from behind, before feeling a third bite into his side. He hissed through his teeth at the pain, but brushed it off and raked his blades over the arm holding the offending weapon. The soldier dropped his sword with a cry, blood gushing where the assassin had severed his brachial artery; he would be dead in minutes. Five down, five to go. The army in the distance was growing louder still. Individual cries were becoming discernible.

Now his foes were growing slightly wary: they no longer took risks and seemed to be biding their time. Time was exactly what he didn't have. Whispering a quick spell, Adam felt as much as saw a black haze rush around him and begin to seal his wounds. The surface damage would heal, but the internal injuries were beyond him and would have to wait until he saw a proper healer; that is, of course, assuming he lived long enough to get to one.

With a curse, he rushed one of the remaining guards, striking out with his blades. The man brought his shield to bear, precisely what Adam had been expecting. With practiced ease, he maneuvered his daggers in a flurry of motion, striking the shield so that the full force of his attack went into cracking the offending barrier in half. The only problem with this trick was that it left one with both hands down, no way to defend oneself; of course, there were ways around this. As he completed the motion, Adam swung his leg out and around, pushing a modicum of energy into the spring in his boot. A blade sprung out just in time to rake across the guard's face, bringing him to his knees with a howl of pain. A further burst of energy had the blade retracting back into the assassin's boot as he slashed upwards at the man's throat, slicing through the carotid.

Staring at his four remaining foes, Adam couldn't help but let his mind wander for a split second. This mission was supposed to be so simple; it was supposed to go off without a hitch. The Crimson Skull were getting far too rowdy and too invasive, so Master Togo had ordered Panaku to eliminate their leader: Captain Quimang. Panaku had, as was his custom, relegated this seemingly simple task to some of his more able students. Though few knew of it, the man held no great love of Togo and, in general, refused to "waste my time on his petty trifles." Also, he generally did not send his best students when they were requested, but instead saved them for times when he himself was asked to do something for the old man.

As such, when Panaku received the orders to kill Quimang and break the will of the Crimson Skull, he sent Adam, Xia, and Izitzu in his stead. Izitzu had been, without a doubt, the most skilled student under Panaku's tutelage at the time. Such a shame that now she was dead. In fact, she had died first, holding off wave after wave of warriors in an attempt to give her teammates a chance to escape.

He wasn't quite sure how it happened, but somehow, just before they struck down Quimang, they had been spotted by a patrol creeping into the harbor where the coward was hiding out. They killed the men and women that spotted them with startling efficiency, but the bodies were found minutes later, thus raising the alarm. It was a careless mistake, leaving the dead in plain sight, but it was either that or risk someone noticing the group was missing while forcing the team to slow its progress, thus still increasing their chances of being caught.

The wards surrounding the Captain had been child's play, taking no more than ten seconds to destroy completely. He turned out to be, himself, even more of a disappointment than his defenses: he was short, fat, balding with a beard, and made no noise other than his snores and a gurgling sound when his throat was ripped out. Pitiful, if he was to be honest with himself.

Again, though, the Crimson Skull surprised them: they rallied around their dead commander with startling speed, amassing an army of more than two hundred soldiers in less than ten minutes. As the assassins fled, this army gave chase and slowly but surely gained ground through their superior knowledge of the terrain. It was in this way that Izitzu and Xia had both died: Izitzu holding them off in a desperate bid for time, and Xia by stepping on a trap which severed both her legs beneath the knees. Bleeding, she instructed Adam to leave her there and run. Her screams still rang hollowly in his ears as he fought for his life yet again.

A sword swung by his head close enough that is grazed his cheek, leaving a thin, red line of blood and effectively breaking his train of thought. Musings later; killing now.

As one, the remaining warriors charged, all bringing their blades down in vertical, glittering arcs. Adam sidestepped all of their attacks, thrusting out wildly at one of his opponents. His dagger embedded itself in the man's humerus, eliciting a howl of pain from said man, yet refused to budge any further.

Blades were being turned back towards him. Metal gleamed coldly in the stiflingly humid air, swinging at his head. He deflected two, still desperately wrenching at his dagger. The extra movements caused the warrior to scream in pain again and finally pass out, taking Adam down with him. In the process, he also saved the assassin's life as swords hissed harmlessly over his head. One man had overextended himself, Adam noted, and he wasted no time in embedding his other free dagger in the exposed belly.

That left two, with himself still on the ground. Around the fight, birds were still chirping happily as if they didn't have a care in the world. A small family of Kappa wandered up a nearby stream, looking for some form of food with which to satisfy their hunger. The sounds metal clashing and men screaming or grunting did not bother them in the slightest.

The army was visible now. Adam felt a ball of dread curl up in his stomach. He flipped over onto his stomach, gathered his magic about him, and shadow stepped to just above one of the guard's heads. He drove his only remaining dagger through the man's skull, killing him instantly, and reached wildly for his two remaining throwing knives. The movement sent him into a rough tumble, and he landed on his knees painfully; but, he was upright.

Panic-driven, he threw a knife, cleanly missing the woman he now faced. She looked shocked for a moment, recovered, and then smirked knowingly. Rushing forward, she brought her blade up-

To Adam, time seemed to freeze. In his mind, he knew that the knife clutched in his hand was his last hope; he needed it to fly straight and true, or else he would surely die. Taking a best guess at trajectory and wind speed, he threw.

-and fell to the ground in a heap, her blade clattering to the earth; the assassin's last weapon protruded from her forehead, the steel embedded three inches into her skull.

The army rushed through the small copse of tree Adam had occupied less than three minutes prior, shouting incoherently. Their voices communicated only one thing to the assassin: death. He could feel now that both of his knees were broken, so it made sense that now he would surely die. The only thing he could think about, oddly enough, was his sister, and how sad she would be when she learned of his untimely demise.

"I'm sorry, Sylvia!" he screamed to the heavens, turning his face skyward, "I tried! Grenth knows I tried!"

And then they were upon him, screaming profanities and stabbing at his prone form on the ground. His shadow armor fizzled, crackled, and then failed. He felt swords, axes, and fire rain down upon his skin, both puncturing and searing his flesh. Swirling blackness enveloped him, and a howling filled his ears.

MWAHAHAHAHAHAPOORADAMOHWELLITWASHISOWNDAMNFAULTANYWAY

The floral scents of Ran Musu Gardens had never before been so appreciated. After narrowly escaping a mansion that smelt of death and decay, any new scent seemed heavenly. The cherry blossoms grinned at the weary troupe stumbling amongst them, letting their fragrance drift lazily through the air. A cloud of gloom hovered over Sylvia, Janet, and the rest of their party. They had killed Minister Cho, a prominent figure in the Celestial Ministry. At least, they had killed what was left of him. That's what Sylvia kept trying to tell herself as she felt the bile rising in her throat, threatening to make the contents of her last meal known to the world.

She could still see his warped, quadrupedal form towering over them, still hear the horrible sounds that emitted from what used to be his vocal chords, still smell the rotting corpses that led to his chambers. She remembered feeling that rush of power that came when she and Janet had joined energies, and how utterly unstoppable she had felt as the sphere of raw, untamed magic had ripped the Minister's body into hundreds of pieces. All of it done because she wanted it to be so, and because she could.

Without warning, visions of the men and women that she had killed that day swam before her vision. Whether it had been by suffocating them in a block if ice, burning them to ashes, or using frozen projectiles to skewer them like insects on display, each death left a sour taste in her mouth. How was it fair that these people had become diseased and she hadn't? How was it fair to them that no one had even thought to look for a cure, and instead they were all exterminated like animals? At the time, it had seemed the right thing to do – the only thing to do – to ensure their continued survival. Now, though, she wasn't so sure. She didn't know she was crying until strong arms wrapped around her shaking shoulders, holding her tightly as a soothing voice whispered consoling words in her ear. Without opening her eyes, Sylvia knew it was Janet; she didn't know how she knew, she just did.

Her vision was blurred by tears as she, sniffling, pulled out of her friend's embrace and met her ocean-blue eyes. Words seemed to fly unspoken across their shared gaze, a connection so intense that Sylvia was forced to look down at Janet's hands clasping her own before any intelligible sounds would come to her lips.

"I'm sorry," she breathed, hiccuping slightly, "it's just... We're both only eighteen. This is... this is just too much. Too much killing, too much stress, just too much of everything. I don't know if I can handle much more."

"That's a shame," Togo cut in, earning a glare from both girls for interrupting and eavesdropping all at once, "because this is not over. There's going to be more killing, more death, more sorrow. We must combat this plague, whatever it is, trace it to its source. Eventually, we must destroy that source. We must-"

"We," Janet said, emphasising the word and stepping lightly away from Sylvia, "must do nothing. You, on the other hand, have a rather large problem on your hands, don't you Master Togo? A Minister – and what's more, a highly venerated Minister – has been slain on your island, in your precious Monastery, and on your orders. You need to somehow attach a meaning to his death, if only to make it seem that a man of such high standing did not die for no reason other than that you thought him gone and beyond help. You need to find the source of this plague as a trophy proving that you. Were. Right. Isn't that correct, Master Togo?"

By now, Janet was advancing on Togo. Despite the fact that he was nearly a foot taller than her, she cowered over him with her five-foot, four figure. Ambient magic swirled around her in a whirlwind, whipping petals off of blossoms and picking up dust. Cracks formed in the ground, spreading like a web being woven by a spider on speed. Stones quivered in the dirt before lifting up, seemingly of their own accord.

"You need to cover your sorry ass for everything that's gone on today. You, for some reason, seem to think that you can accomplish this by marching on toward your goal, and heaven forbid we even consider how this might affect others!"

Small arcs of lightning were traveling between each of the stones now, causing them to glow a faint orange where the electrical charges struck.

"Janet-" Togo started, his tone sounding like an attempt to regain authority that failed completely. The redhead cut him off.

"You are nothing but a sorry, self-serving, arrogant, ASS!" she screamed in his face, rage coloring her normally placid features. Raw magical power joined the lightning, melting the rocks into slag. The resulting tornado of lava whirled around and around, encapsulating student and teacher. At some point, Janet's staff had appeared in her hands. Her eyes blazed with an unnatural energy, an incantation flowing from her lips.

Sylvia's eyes were torn from this spectacle when she was wrenched harshly to her feet, a knife pressed to her throat. The metal was cool against her skin, a cold that she knew could envelop her in seconds if permitted the chance. A spike of panic shot through her gut.

"Enough of this foolishness!" Yijo's voice rang across the clearing. "Janet, regain control of yourself this instant; if you harm Togo, then I shall be forced to order Kyalo to kill your friend."

The shorter girl's eyes had gone wide with shock, whatever spell she had been about to use frozen in her throat, and for a moment the twister bulged outward as if it was going to explode. Untamed magic sent streamers of light radiating outward, setting flame to any object the touched. A number of trees instantly burst into flame. The whirlwind, however, seemed to deflate from this release, and slowly, inexorably, wound itself down. Where it had been sat a similarly deflated-looking Janet and a stricken Togo. Kyalo tightened his grip on Sylvia slightly, and she felt lances of pain shoot through her arm where he held it. A sudden warmth on her throat told her that the assassin had pressed his dagger more firmly to her neck, drawing a small amount of blood. Her gaze flicked upward, taking in the stocky man's face.

"Let. Me. Go." she whispered threateningly. Kyalo ignored her, looking to Yijo for assurance. Sylvia glanced at the ritualist student, a hard expression settling on her features.

"If you don't tell him to let me go, I'll make him do it myself, Yijo." She let a shred of warning slip into her tone, letting both men know she was serious. Her temper was bubbling just under the surface, and she knew that it wouldn't take much to drop the proverbial straw. She moved her hands so that she was gripping the assassin's arm and let a tendril of power flow flow through them, preparing a spell to encase the man holding her in a block of ice. Water condensed, then froze, into crystals that encased her finger.

"Sylvia, stop; it's not worth it."

The voice was small, timid, one they hadn't heard in what seemed like an eternity. All eyes turned, as one, to look at Lynia perched on a small rock she had found. Her blonde hair was cascading down around her eyes, making her expression unreadable, but her voice clearly conveyed her discomfort with the situation as a whole. Her hands were on her knees, balled into tiny fists as she clutched her monk's robes in a vise-like grip. She was shaking slightly, though whether from rage or fear Sylvia couldn't tell.

"Can't you all just get along? I mean, honestly. You're bickering like a bunch of children, infighting over the most ridiculous things imaginable! And all the while we're facing an plague the likes of which we've never seen and which we have no idea how to combat. Actually, that's a lie: we know the only thing to do for those infected is, at this point, to kill them and pray that maybe, just maybe, we can find a cure so the killing can stop. What's more, if we're where I think we are, then Aerie is just around the bend. The Tengu are sitting up there, on their hill, completely unaware that a swarm of infected creatures is about to descend upon them like locusts, a tragedy that they could easily blame us for. Not to mention that you, Master Togo, have an obligation to warn the rest of the island about this plague and its possible implications. Can't you all see that there are more important things at stake here than your egos! Get over yourselves and let's do what needs to be done!"

At some point during her tirade, the young monk had risen to her feet. Tears poured down her face in what Sylvia could only assume was either frustration or fear, or possibly even a combination of the two. Her eyes were still obscured by her hair, so it was impossible to tell whether they were even open.

Silence followed her words. No one moved an inch. Togo stayed, seemingly stunned, on the ground beside a similarly incapacitated Janet. Sylvia and Kyalo remained locked in a deadly embrace, a gentle trickle of Sylvia's blood flowing down her neck. Yijo watched everything with an impatient eye, looking as if he would rather be anywhere else other than right here, right now.

"Please," Lynia finally whispered into the quiet, sniffling slightly, "can we just... just get along and do what's right?"

Togo was the first to recover.

"She's right. Kyalo, release Sylvia this instant. Sylvia, contain yourself. Yijo, what in the name of the Five Gods did you think you were doing, threatening fellow student and ordering them about in that fashion?"

OHMYGODTHISISTAKINGFOREVERTOWRITE

Sylvia sighed in frustration. So far, no one was being reasonable. It didn't make sense to spread their forces so thinly, especially when there were only six of them. Their motley gang was holding a war council, if that's what one would call it, outside the entrance to the tunnel that lead back to the Estate. In order to slow the progress of the infected guards through the passage, Togo had Janet and Sylvia set up multiple wards while supplying a small army of bound spirits to fight back at the guards. They all knew that soon the Gardens would be overrun, but for now they were safe.

That being beside the point, it didn't make sense to split them up into four small groups. As things stood, Togo wanted Janet and Sylvia to head to the northeast of the island and scout things out, especially around Seitung Harbor; Lynia and Kyalo had orders to head over to Aerie and warn the Tengu of the impending attack, as well aid them in defending their village; Yijo was to head over to Zen Daijun and commune with the spirit of the Kirin for aid. Togo wanted to personally go and warn the other Headmasters of the danger facing the island, and in the process, it seemed, gain points with the public for bringing such a devastating affliction to light.

"That's just plain stupid," Sylvia stated as calmly as she could, "splitting our forces like that means that if any of us get into trouble, then we are, quite simply, fucked, screwed over, shit-outta-luck, however you want to say it. It makes more sense to continue moving en masse and overwhelm any enemy forces with a higher concentration of power."

"As wonderful as that idea is, Ms. Aracantus," Togo replied evenly, "it would take too long. We don't have a fraction of them time necessary to accomplish everything we must. The plague overwhelmed Minister Cho's Estate in a day or two. How long do you think it will take it to spread all across the island? Given the number of carriers, I think we have significantly less time than the Estate did. In fact, by my estimates, we have less than fifteen hours to find the source of this affliction before it becomes practically impossible to beat this thing back. We split up the way I outlined, and that is that. Now then, Yijo, you'll need to-"

His words were cut off by a resounding BANG! and a flash of blue light above their heads. The resulting shock wave ripped leaves and limbs from the surrounding trees, stripping them bare. Black mist poured from where the flash of light had been, and a roughly humanoid object fell to the ground in a graceless heap.

"Gods above..." Togo murmured.

Kyalo was there first, shadow stepping to the object. As he examined it, he called out, "Lynia! Get over here! It's a person, and they're hurt rather badly."

He rolled the figure beneath him onto its back, and a strange expression flitted across his features before vanishing behind his usually impassive mask..

"Sylvia," he called, an odd tone to his voice, "You may want to come over here as well... It's your brother."

HAHAENDENDENDYESYESYESITISDOOOONE

Word Count: 4382

Oh... My... God... It actually hurt to write that chapter... Not really so much the writing bit of it, but more the fact that I haven't updated since... erm... about december of last year? Ish? Or was it January? GOD I've been in a slump T.T... 0.o Anywho, HAHA! Adam returns! Now the REAL fun begins :-)

As always, reviews are welcomed. If you feel the desire to flame, please try to make it constructive. Comments such as a simple "this sucks!" will be ignored posthaste.