Notes at bottom


Armour: Brimflame

Weapon: Winter's Fury, Undine's Retribution, Stormfront Razor

Acc(11/11): The Bee, Celestial cuffs, Mana Flower, Sorcerer Emblem, Cryo Wings, Ankh Shield, Deific Amulet, FrostSpark Boots, Grand Gelatin, Amalgamated Brain, Evasion Scarf. (Unlimited Buffs)

Health: (500/500)


*CLANG*

The... the air is too thick. Like molasses. Heavy and oppressive as the deep, crushing sea.

I can't move through it. I can't turn quickly enough to follow the flash of gold that flies past my nose. My muscles ache, my joints twist - it's so fast, I can barely see... but I feel it.

I feel the gust of cold air brush through my eyelashes.

I hear the soft, gentle flap of a cape in the wind.

The quiet whirring of powerful mechanical joints.

A faint glow from the corner of my vision.

There is no fanfare. No trumpets. No display of great destructive power nor outlandish fury. My enemy is not a beast of great strength, nor some mindless brute of crushing power.

*shatter*

No - such a thing would be far too simple. I am not contending against a monster. A man has raised himself up against me. He is efficient and graceful. He is cautious, he is intelligent, and he has ruled over this land - fighting battle after battle - for a hundred years. The Tyrant!

"Kaaugh!"

From whence did it come from, that cry of pain?! I open my mouth to yell but find I can make no sound. The wind is cold against my cheeks. The sun, bright in my eyes. My guts are all twisted up inside me, like a million slimy snakes fighting to crawl up my throat. My fingers tremble. My armour is heavy. I've completed the revolution; I've turned to look behind me to see a number of The Archmage's shattered icicles... but, where is he?

*crunch*

The icy shards pulse with power as they sparkle in the sun. I look at them as my thoughts catch up to me. The Archmage had thrown them just a second ago. I'd dodged by instinct and in that moment, heard a metallic impact a centimeters from my left ear. The blades were crushed. I feel powder snow against my face and a chill runs down my spine. Where... where is Yharim?! Is this real or an illusion? Another hallucination? Am I losing it? I twist back to The Archmage, my voice far more shrill than I'd like as I begin to hurl one of the many hysterical questions burning in my mind.

"Archmage! What's hap-"

The words die on my tongue. I stutter. I short circuit. I had imagined this precise scene a thousand times - yet beholding it with my eyes is entirely different. It's visceral. It burns my eyes. I want to be sick. I want to wake up.

No... no!

The Archmage... my protector, my benefactor, the one who had allowed me to life my life in flippancy and peace, is held up by the throat by those cruel, cruel hands. The old man gagging and struggling weakly, his white beard is twisted in that crushing grip. He looks like he's built of toothpicks as he hangs frailly by his jawbone. Will he simply shatter? Will he fall apart, each of his bones tumbling to the ground as those ruthless mechanical gauntlets squeeze into his windpipe?

Stop! Stop!

I try to scream the words, but my tongue sits fat and useless in my mouth. I try to move, but although every cell in my body screams: 'run!' my feet are rooted to the ground in utter terror. I want to turn like a coward and leap from the castle's high ramparts. I want to scramble and flee like the Resistance Members I had mocked only recently.

Because... I know those hands.

The gauntlets clad in gold.

I'd felt their malicious pressure digging into my neck for days after the bruises faded. I'd seen those cyan lights burning in the corners of my eyes whilst I was alone, traversing the tunnels of The Resistance or the peaks and gullies of The Northern Mountains. The Tyrant, Yharim. He terrifies me. There are things I fear, but nothing terrifies me like The King does. He is insurmountable. I cannot face him. Only a few days ago, he'd caught me by the throat and observed me in the same way a hunter observes a too-small rabbit he'd snared. He held my life in his hands, and - with nothing but a look, made it clear I was to live and die at his whim.

That day, he let me live.

He let me flee to collapse and sob on The Archmage's floor.

And I, coward that I am, had decided in my heart that I will never stand against The King again. For what do I gain? Why run to my own grave? I never want to see The King again, yet here he is. A hairsbreadth away and staring down at me from behind those soulless cyan lights.

"hmph"

I tremble. He scoffs. The horns affixed to his shoulder pads rise and fall with the air of brief amusement. His cloak flutters and the shock of red hair crowns him like a lion's mane. He is far taller than I, and he stares down at me as if I were merely a child. Is... is this why he spared me? Did he know that if he let me go, my heart would fail, and I would be rendered harmless? The very thought grates terrifically against my pride but that wave of black terror stamps out any action I might be tempted to take.

"I see... you've forged another weapon against me?"

The King speaks. His voice is tense but not nervous. His tone is scornful, distorted, inhuman, savage, and although I wish to clap my hands over my ears, I am compelled to listen. For those eyes are fixed, glowering upon me. Dead, synthetic lights that somehow convey they are capable of infinite evil. They look me up and down as if evaluating a purchase.

"It really is... a lovely killing machine. Although I despise you, Archmage, I cannot fault your taste. An engine of war that will rise again no matter how many times it is crushed or destroyed. Is this your trump card?"

He scoffs again and jabs a finger down at me. I'm driven back one step, then two.

"This mighty weapon? Pathetic. But regardless, I will ensure it is never raised against me aga-"

"You will do no such thing!"

The Archmage is wroth. His eyes glow a pale white as he blasts away The Tyrant's grasp. Ice begins to form everywhere, upon The Tyrant's golden mask and about his joints, on the mysterious sphere in the corner, on My Teacher's gloves, on my eyelashes. Magic begins to whirl, slowly at first - then powerfully in cocentric circles about The Old Man. The air flexes and thrums with deep reverberations. Cracks begin to spiderweb through pristine ice on the walls and the floor. Hail and snow appears from nowhere and lashes at me, stinging badly as they strike any exposed flesh they can find. I'm reminded of my battle with Cryogen as I'm driven back further. My Teacher lunges for me and yanks me behind one of his wards. He hisses admonitions at me for failing to defend myself, but I ignore him. My attention is fixed, almost deliriously, upon the scene before me.

The Archmage's voice booms in indignance and authority.

"I'm not half as evil as you are, Yharim! I raised him in freedom and for peace. Perhaps he is a Terrarian, but first - he is a child; not a monster, and certainly not an object nor a weapon! Leave him be! He has no part with The Resistance!"

The Tyrant laughs now. A cruel, harsh, inhuman laugh. His blue cloak flapping wildly in the stormwinds as he brushes off the ice that threatens to arrest his joints. Both I and My Teacher are huddled in a corner - behind a magical barrier and immobile for fear of having our extremities sliced off by the whirling ice, yet The King behaves as if The Archmage's power were nothing more than a stiff breeze.

He speaks. He sneers.

"Foolishness... war is the oil that runs in its veins. It's a miracle you've managed to train it not to kill your own - but I've certainly seen it's gruesome work. Peace and freedom? Don't mock me. To the common man, your Terrarian is a legend - but the truth? That thing is a plague, nothing but a blighted beast voracious for power. It seeks creatures of strength to massacre and absorb - and will kill and grow and kill again until every mountain is leveled and the land is filled with corpses."

"..."

Silence. I blink. I look, confused to My Teacher then to The Archmage. Neither of them meet my gaze. Why aren't they saying anything? Where is the quick denial. Where is my defense? I am The Hero, am I not? From the moment I first opened my eyes - I'd been told ad nauseum that I was a brilliant force for good. The Warrior that would slay the evil king and bring peace and justice... Of course, I had little regard for morality back then, and even less now - but... could this be true? Is my nature so potent that I could be called a 'blight'?

The Archmage flares his nostrils in response. His voice is slow and clinical, and I can tell he is speaking halfway to me.

"...Even so, he is a child. His nature his unimportant."

The wind howls. The building creaks. I'm frozen in shock and stare back and forth between My Teacher and The Archmage as if waiting for one of them to deny the claim. The Lunatic Cultist dips the tip of his mask away from me and continues to maintain the barrier - his arms shaking with the effort. The Archmage doesn't say a word. So it's true then!? I... I cannot deny that I love power. I really do. I want it badly and rejoice in it when I grasp it. I have killed to gain power. I am not opposed to killing again to gain more - but a curse? I will fill this land with corpses? I am a plague The Resistance has summoned to this world?

He... has he always considered me a curse? Was The Archmage's kindness a facade? Is this why My Teacher allowed me to suffer so? Is this why Braelor crushed me? Is this-

*Shh-ing*

A horrendous noise rings out through the lashing wind, the sound of sizzling venom and crackling lightning. I feel static in the air, pricking at my cheeks and buzzing in the roots of my teeth, and when I raise my eyes - I see The King has drawn his tremendous blade. Black and ringed in burnished gold, it seems to melt the very air around it.

"Perhaps you call me evil, Archmage - yet look at that!" The blade scythes through the air to point to me. I can feel the bloodlust rolling off of it. "Your weapon will destroy this peaceful land, cities, towns, innocent men and women and children. It's nature is to accumulate power. That is it's role and its fate. Do you know how much blood it will drink before it's had its fill? Can you foresee how many will die by its hands?"

*CRACK!*

The King finishes his sentence with an attack. The blade slashes horizontally towards The Archmage - slicing cleanly through that odd floating sphere and smashing into The Old Man's icy barrier. The Cultist tugs at me and I'm dragged further off, yet I cannot tear my eyes from The Archmage's. They are sad, sad eyes. Full of pity and regret and a raw tenderness I have only caught glimpses of in our days together. What sort of expression must I be wearing if he's looking at me like that? Shock? Despair? I don't know.

But The King sees me and mocks me, his voice fading through the storm as I'm dragged further away - my heels scraping through the ice as The Archmage... begins to crumble before my eyes.

(Look at how shocked it is! What did you tell it? That it was some Virtuous Warrior of Light? Some Hero of Hope? It doesn't even know it's own horrendous nature! If it weren't so pathetic, it'd be a comedy!)

I'm screaming now, I can't hear myself, but I'm wailing into the wailing wind as My Teacher drags us down the stairwell. The hail grows thick. I can feel the violent flow of mana bursting and combusting all around me. Its far, far stronger than normal and singes the air. I know what it is. I can sense that life force has been sunk into this spell. The Archmage... he's dissolving. He has fueled this storm with his life.

("Move, Child! On your feet or I'll leave you here!")

Blinding snow howls and lashes furiously after us as we flee. It freezes the air with a bitter, bitter cold. My skin burns terribly, my feet are numb. I cast my eyes back and the moisture on the surface of my eyes begins to crystallize. I cry out and, blinded - sobbing painful freezing tears, I stumble after My Teacher.

*kzzzt*

The air flexes. Space bends and tears apart.

I take a step and my foot lands in fresh loamy grass.

I take another, and the bitter cold releases me from its grasp.

My eyes thaw; the tears run free. Fresh, angry tears. Deep, sorrowful tears. Confusion, despair, frustration.

I tremble and gnash my teeth as I collapse in the dirt. My mind is empty as I stare at the snowflakes coating my hands. They are cold and delicate and full of The Archmage's mana. I feel their gentle, almost comforting reverberations against my skin and am reminded of those days I've spent lounging on The Archmage's icy couches, babbling about whatever happened to come to mind. About all the strange things I've seen and heard - all the oddities and niceties and mindless thoughts.

Oh no... no...

I stare at them.

Then, as suddenly as they've appeared - they vanish.

The Archmage is gone.

The portal slams shut.

But a faraway distorted voice floats through.

A triumphant voice, soft, it burrows into my ears and makes rage leap out of my throat. I choke on it. I fall forward and press my forehead against my wrists. I grit my teeth and stare into the grass as The Tyrant's parting words ring in my ears.

(Creature... you will not escape me. You now have my attention, whether... you wa-...nt it... or... not...)


Yharim: I have a problem.

Faze: Kill it!

Y: You are my problem (draws sword)


lmao rip Braelor.

Very quick note:

In previous chapters, you may have noticed there are two unnamed Terrarians mentioned. "Legends of the past" these were like, 200 years ago or something and they did not exist at the same time. Arch and Amidas knew them. They were described not as malicious, but overwhelmingly powerful. Nothing could stand in their way. They are essentially 'apex' predators. If you dont make peace with them, they will murder you. They have been sometimes called 'dragons' for how terrifying they are. They are likewise uncontrollable. Nobody can command a Terrarian. The Archmage knows Faze's/The Hero's true nature, and sometimes called him an "Infant Dragon" for this reason. Obviously Slayer is Slayer. Monster Knight is quite inaccurate. This referances in-game mechanics. The Terrarian pretty much kills everything that's even slightly aggressive towards it. It fights bosses and derives more power from its remains. And sometimes the Terrarian kills its allies because they're not useful enough, or because the player is bored. (ie- dropping lava in your NPC houses)

cheers.