Author's Note: DDX, that was indeed a flashback. I mentioned that Kyra was
fifteen at the time. I also mentioned Emerson, who was the man that killed
Shade's brother and framed him for it, getting him thrown out of his home.
Remember, Shade met up with him when he pretended to join the bad guys,
then killed him while the Dragons were being released. It was either
Chapter 25 or 26, but I'm too lazy to check which one. That was just Kyra
getting Emerson the Spirit without intending to, and killing a whole bunch
of Winglies. So basically, Kyra was beating herself up over accidentally
killing that Wingly girl, which caused the sentries to move from their
hiding places and allowed the bad guys to make their whole hostile takeover
bit and whatnot. She's mad at herself because she believes she caused all
those Winglies to die, and she doesn't really believe she belongs with her
species anymore. Yeah. I can understand how that would be a bit confusing.
Anyway, I realize I said that I try to update this one every three days, but the keyword there is try. I wasn't able to get access to the computer in the living room on Tuesday (I have my own computer in my room where I do my typing, but it doesn't have Internet access), so I had to update this a little late. Sorry.
Chapter 65
Rayen had a lot more on his mind than retrieving his weapon when he had accidentally glimpsed her in her private battle. In fact, he had been in the room Kyra had chosen for her venting to gain some time alone of his own. Once he was back walking down the corridor, the sight of the Violet Dragoon in tears was quickly pushed to the back of his mind by other things. Still, he could not help but be surprised and confused by what he had seen. Kyra would rather forcibly rip someone's stomach open than let them find her crying, and yet she hadn't moved to somewhere more private where she was sure nobody could see her, and she hadn't even bothered to close the door. Plus, he didn't even have any idea what she was crying about.
Well, he would have time to think about this strange situation later. He found another room, and slipped in the door, shutting and locking it behind him. He sighed, pulled the Prism Spirit from his pocket, setting it down on the table. Jamming his hands into his now-empty pockets, he began to pace restlessly around the room. It came soon, as he knew it would.
A voice, quiet enough to seem like a whisper, but actually seeming like it came from a source that merely dampened the noise. "You're angry. I can sense it."
Rayen made no response, he just continued to wind his way around the room, as if not actually caring where he was going, which was true enough. Some of the colors in the Spirit flashed as the voice spoke; the light gray of midsummer shadows, the light black of twilight, the deepest black of pure oblivion, and everything in between. "So why not lash out? Release your anger."
A grim smile crept across Rayen's face. "At who, exactly?"
"At those who have wronged you." The voice stated this like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
However, this obvious response earned a biting sarcastic remark from the Guardian Dragoon. "Ah, but they don't seem to be here at the moment, do they? Perhaps I should mail them a nasty letter. Then they'd think twice."
Rayen could sense the voice quickly losing its patience with this impudent human and his pathetic morals. "It doesn't make any difference. Lash out at whatever you want. It achieves the same thing."
"For you, yes. But I doubt the castle or the people of Deningrad would be too pleased with me for doing it."
"Why should that matter to you? You can disintegrate them in a split second, flay their flesh from their bones, and have your way with them in any way you choose. You have the power."
"Of course I could, but what would that gain me?"
"Gain you? You could crush this world and everything in it beneath the heel of your boot."
"Oh, how silly of me. Ruling over a dead planet would be so much more preferable to my current existence. I wonder how I didn't see that before."
The dark colors of the Spirit swirled in agitation when the voice spoke next. "I regret that the Spirit landed in the hands of someone with such little ambition as yourself."
Rayen smirked at the Murderer's obvious exasperation with his human pawn. "No, what you mean is, you regret that it didn't go to someone easier bent to your will. I'm too stubborn for your tastes. But I know better. Remember the whole 'greatest capacity for both good and evil' thing? I'm not ignorant anymore. It will be more difficult to take control of me now."
Open anger was discernable in the voice next. "If only you weren't such a fool as to not realize your true potential!"
Rayen snorted. "Potential for what? For death, for destruction, for tyranny? I have no desire to take this world in an iron fist. It wouldn't get me anything but despair in the long run."
Briefly, the other colors of the Spirit, the eight colors of the elements, flashed above the Murderer's tempest of control, as if the Creator was pleased by his answer. The other half of Soa had not spoken to him once through the Spirit, even in the past discussions, of which there had been many. Rayen wondered if the Murderer was preventing the Creator from speaking, or if the other side was simply prevented from talking to him.
When the voice of the Murderer came from the depths of the crystalline Spirit again, the anger and frustration were gone. The voice was calm and bland. It was if the past outbursts had never been. "But you can't just let your anger sit there. Even you know that."
Rayen smiled grimly. He knew that the piece of the god that dwelled in his Spirit would bring that into play. "Yes. Anger is like a rash. If you scratch it, you relieve it temporarily, but it ends up coming back anyway. However, if you leave it alone, it festers, until it becomes something far worse."
The black vortex within the Prism Spirit pulsed in an odd rhythm, almost as if the god were chuckling. "Not an analogy I would use to describe it, but an accurate one nonetheless."
Rayen thrust one hand into his pocket. Could he do this? Would it be throwing away everything? But then, could he risk the consequences if he didn't? At the final question, his resolve stiffened, and his hand remained in his pocket, his fingers firmly wrapped around the contents. He took a few steps towards the table, then paused. He began to speak, in a voice completely lacking in doubt or remorse. After all, what was the point in turning back now anyway? "Perhaps my anger should be released on something more worthy."
The Spirit did not respond for a moment. "Such as?"
"You." The ancient knife blade flashed in the air. The colors in the Spirit pulsed for a moment, although Rayen was not sure if it were in fear, amusement, or mere resignation. He hesitated for a fraction of a second, then plunged the knife through the dragon's pupil etched into the Spirit.
The knife, the only thing in existence that could so much as dent the Spirit, plunged through the crystal like a hot knife through butter. Then bolts of magical electricity surged through the knife and into the young warrior. Pain, unbelievable, unimaginable pain raced through him unchecked. The agony was sheer torture, but Rayen did not cry out, but whether it was for stealth, or out of pure resolve, it was impossible to tell. Finally, he pulled the blade loose. Sweat ran in rivers down his face, and he gagged a couple of times, but the pain faded.
The Spirit emitted a brilliant shine for a moment, then, as the light faded, the mark of the blade was gone. All the damage Rayen had done was undone. "Don't ever do that again."
However, those words were spoken by not one, but two voices. One was the familiar mocking, foreboding tone of the Murderer, but there was another, a voice that was filled with sorrow, yet kind. The Creator. So the other half could speak. The bringer of life must have refrained from talking, either to test the young Dragoon on his resistance to the Murderer's constant prompting or simply not believing it necessary. Rayen slumped, knowing it had been useless, but he had expected that all along. But his actions would make damn sure both entities treated him more seriously from now on. So, in retrospect, it hadn't been a total loss. Not really.
************************************************************************
Rayen walked into the congregation room, only to see Phil get up from his seat in relief at his approach, and start to walk towards him. Rayen groaned inwardly. What now? The Jade Dragoon reached the commander of the army; something Rayen couldn't see clutched in his hand. "Yo Rayen, you know that Jade Wingly we sent out teleporting to find the owners for the Spirits we found before?"
"Yeah. What about him?"
"Well, I've got some good news and some bad news. He finally came back today. You'll never guess what he found." He held out his hand, his fingers curling outward to reveal the prize contained within. Pearls were almost always perfectly spherical, but this one had been cut into the faceted circle, like all the other Dragoon Spirits. The odd quality about it was that, unlike most pearls, it seemed to absorb the light cast on it rather than reflect it. Such was the nature of the Divine Dragoon, enigmatic yet seething with power.
Rayen's eyes widened in surprise. "A Divine Dragoon Spirit? But... how?"
"Well, we talked about it. There's only one real possibility. This is the Spirit that belonged to Dart Feld back during the Second Dragon Campaign and the Cleansing."
Rayen felt his hands go numb. They were literally holding a piece of history in their hands. Not just any piece, one that had saved Endiness from total destruction. "OK... so what's the bad news?"
"Well now, this is the part you're just gonna hate. That Wingly teleported over every inch of this damn planet, and nothing from any of the Spirits. Not a glimmer."
Rayen felt like the bottom dropped out of his stomach. "Say what? But how is that possible? All Spirits have to have a destined owner, right?"
Phil shrugged helplessly. "Dude, you've got me on this one. I'm even more clueless than usual."
Rayen punched his fist into his open hand. "Damn. We could sure as hell use another hundred Dragoons right now."
"Tell me about it. Another Divine wouldn't hurt either."
"You're sure he checked everywhere? Even the highlands?"
"Yup. He had a world map and checked every single area. You divided them up into sectors based on the radius in which Spirits detect their owners, right?"
"Yeah..."
"Well, he checked every sector, and no dice."
"Damn. Well, I've gotta go with Shade and Oraeus for military planning. See what other information you can get."
"Right."
************************************************************************
"We're awaiting your orders, Sire."
"Very well. You know the basic strategy of tomorrow's attack. Bring just enough foot soldiers to keep the army busy, while the boy takes care of the monster."
"Are you sure this is worth it, Lord?"
"Of course. They need public support to gain the affirmation they need to come through the portal, and what could possibly bestow them with more confidence than to see their valiant leader taking on a horrible demonic beast single-handedly? No, this is what's best for the cause."
"But surely one of those is too valuable to throw away like this..."
"Remember, this is the battle that will ultimately seal the fate of these pathetic upstarts. We can afford to sacrifice one of them for that."
"Very well, master. I will dispatch your desire immediately."
"Good."
Author's Note: Yes, I had a plan to bring the second Divine Dragoon Spirit back into the story at this point. Someone simply mentioned it right before I was about to mention it anyway. Yeah. So, what's up with all these ownerless Spirits? What's Mr. Mean and Nasty, as Freefall has so affectionately dubbed him, got in store for Rayen this time? Will Striker ever asking all of these annoying questions? You'll have to read next chapter to find out. Yes, I do love doing that. Mwahahahaha. Yes. OK, I'm done.
Anyway, I realize I said that I try to update this one every three days, but the keyword there is try. I wasn't able to get access to the computer in the living room on Tuesday (I have my own computer in my room where I do my typing, but it doesn't have Internet access), so I had to update this a little late. Sorry.
Chapter 65
Rayen had a lot more on his mind than retrieving his weapon when he had accidentally glimpsed her in her private battle. In fact, he had been in the room Kyra had chosen for her venting to gain some time alone of his own. Once he was back walking down the corridor, the sight of the Violet Dragoon in tears was quickly pushed to the back of his mind by other things. Still, he could not help but be surprised and confused by what he had seen. Kyra would rather forcibly rip someone's stomach open than let them find her crying, and yet she hadn't moved to somewhere more private where she was sure nobody could see her, and she hadn't even bothered to close the door. Plus, he didn't even have any idea what she was crying about.
Well, he would have time to think about this strange situation later. He found another room, and slipped in the door, shutting and locking it behind him. He sighed, pulled the Prism Spirit from his pocket, setting it down on the table. Jamming his hands into his now-empty pockets, he began to pace restlessly around the room. It came soon, as he knew it would.
A voice, quiet enough to seem like a whisper, but actually seeming like it came from a source that merely dampened the noise. "You're angry. I can sense it."
Rayen made no response, he just continued to wind his way around the room, as if not actually caring where he was going, which was true enough. Some of the colors in the Spirit flashed as the voice spoke; the light gray of midsummer shadows, the light black of twilight, the deepest black of pure oblivion, and everything in between. "So why not lash out? Release your anger."
A grim smile crept across Rayen's face. "At who, exactly?"
"At those who have wronged you." The voice stated this like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
However, this obvious response earned a biting sarcastic remark from the Guardian Dragoon. "Ah, but they don't seem to be here at the moment, do they? Perhaps I should mail them a nasty letter. Then they'd think twice."
Rayen could sense the voice quickly losing its patience with this impudent human and his pathetic morals. "It doesn't make any difference. Lash out at whatever you want. It achieves the same thing."
"For you, yes. But I doubt the castle or the people of Deningrad would be too pleased with me for doing it."
"Why should that matter to you? You can disintegrate them in a split second, flay their flesh from their bones, and have your way with them in any way you choose. You have the power."
"Of course I could, but what would that gain me?"
"Gain you? You could crush this world and everything in it beneath the heel of your boot."
"Oh, how silly of me. Ruling over a dead planet would be so much more preferable to my current existence. I wonder how I didn't see that before."
The dark colors of the Spirit swirled in agitation when the voice spoke next. "I regret that the Spirit landed in the hands of someone with such little ambition as yourself."
Rayen smirked at the Murderer's obvious exasperation with his human pawn. "No, what you mean is, you regret that it didn't go to someone easier bent to your will. I'm too stubborn for your tastes. But I know better. Remember the whole 'greatest capacity for both good and evil' thing? I'm not ignorant anymore. It will be more difficult to take control of me now."
Open anger was discernable in the voice next. "If only you weren't such a fool as to not realize your true potential!"
Rayen snorted. "Potential for what? For death, for destruction, for tyranny? I have no desire to take this world in an iron fist. It wouldn't get me anything but despair in the long run."
Briefly, the other colors of the Spirit, the eight colors of the elements, flashed above the Murderer's tempest of control, as if the Creator was pleased by his answer. The other half of Soa had not spoken to him once through the Spirit, even in the past discussions, of which there had been many. Rayen wondered if the Murderer was preventing the Creator from speaking, or if the other side was simply prevented from talking to him.
When the voice of the Murderer came from the depths of the crystalline Spirit again, the anger and frustration were gone. The voice was calm and bland. It was if the past outbursts had never been. "But you can't just let your anger sit there. Even you know that."
Rayen smiled grimly. He knew that the piece of the god that dwelled in his Spirit would bring that into play. "Yes. Anger is like a rash. If you scratch it, you relieve it temporarily, but it ends up coming back anyway. However, if you leave it alone, it festers, until it becomes something far worse."
The black vortex within the Prism Spirit pulsed in an odd rhythm, almost as if the god were chuckling. "Not an analogy I would use to describe it, but an accurate one nonetheless."
Rayen thrust one hand into his pocket. Could he do this? Would it be throwing away everything? But then, could he risk the consequences if he didn't? At the final question, his resolve stiffened, and his hand remained in his pocket, his fingers firmly wrapped around the contents. He took a few steps towards the table, then paused. He began to speak, in a voice completely lacking in doubt or remorse. After all, what was the point in turning back now anyway? "Perhaps my anger should be released on something more worthy."
The Spirit did not respond for a moment. "Such as?"
"You." The ancient knife blade flashed in the air. The colors in the Spirit pulsed for a moment, although Rayen was not sure if it were in fear, amusement, or mere resignation. He hesitated for a fraction of a second, then plunged the knife through the dragon's pupil etched into the Spirit.
The knife, the only thing in existence that could so much as dent the Spirit, plunged through the crystal like a hot knife through butter. Then bolts of magical electricity surged through the knife and into the young warrior. Pain, unbelievable, unimaginable pain raced through him unchecked. The agony was sheer torture, but Rayen did not cry out, but whether it was for stealth, or out of pure resolve, it was impossible to tell. Finally, he pulled the blade loose. Sweat ran in rivers down his face, and he gagged a couple of times, but the pain faded.
The Spirit emitted a brilliant shine for a moment, then, as the light faded, the mark of the blade was gone. All the damage Rayen had done was undone. "Don't ever do that again."
However, those words were spoken by not one, but two voices. One was the familiar mocking, foreboding tone of the Murderer, but there was another, a voice that was filled with sorrow, yet kind. The Creator. So the other half could speak. The bringer of life must have refrained from talking, either to test the young Dragoon on his resistance to the Murderer's constant prompting or simply not believing it necessary. Rayen slumped, knowing it had been useless, but he had expected that all along. But his actions would make damn sure both entities treated him more seriously from now on. So, in retrospect, it hadn't been a total loss. Not really.
************************************************************************
Rayen walked into the congregation room, only to see Phil get up from his seat in relief at his approach, and start to walk towards him. Rayen groaned inwardly. What now? The Jade Dragoon reached the commander of the army; something Rayen couldn't see clutched in his hand. "Yo Rayen, you know that Jade Wingly we sent out teleporting to find the owners for the Spirits we found before?"
"Yeah. What about him?"
"Well, I've got some good news and some bad news. He finally came back today. You'll never guess what he found." He held out his hand, his fingers curling outward to reveal the prize contained within. Pearls were almost always perfectly spherical, but this one had been cut into the faceted circle, like all the other Dragoon Spirits. The odd quality about it was that, unlike most pearls, it seemed to absorb the light cast on it rather than reflect it. Such was the nature of the Divine Dragoon, enigmatic yet seething with power.
Rayen's eyes widened in surprise. "A Divine Dragoon Spirit? But... how?"
"Well, we talked about it. There's only one real possibility. This is the Spirit that belonged to Dart Feld back during the Second Dragon Campaign and the Cleansing."
Rayen felt his hands go numb. They were literally holding a piece of history in their hands. Not just any piece, one that had saved Endiness from total destruction. "OK... so what's the bad news?"
"Well now, this is the part you're just gonna hate. That Wingly teleported over every inch of this damn planet, and nothing from any of the Spirits. Not a glimmer."
Rayen felt like the bottom dropped out of his stomach. "Say what? But how is that possible? All Spirits have to have a destined owner, right?"
Phil shrugged helplessly. "Dude, you've got me on this one. I'm even more clueless than usual."
Rayen punched his fist into his open hand. "Damn. We could sure as hell use another hundred Dragoons right now."
"Tell me about it. Another Divine wouldn't hurt either."
"You're sure he checked everywhere? Even the highlands?"
"Yup. He had a world map and checked every single area. You divided them up into sectors based on the radius in which Spirits detect their owners, right?"
"Yeah..."
"Well, he checked every sector, and no dice."
"Damn. Well, I've gotta go with Shade and Oraeus for military planning. See what other information you can get."
"Right."
************************************************************************
"We're awaiting your orders, Sire."
"Very well. You know the basic strategy of tomorrow's attack. Bring just enough foot soldiers to keep the army busy, while the boy takes care of the monster."
"Are you sure this is worth it, Lord?"
"Of course. They need public support to gain the affirmation they need to come through the portal, and what could possibly bestow them with more confidence than to see their valiant leader taking on a horrible demonic beast single-handedly? No, this is what's best for the cause."
"But surely one of those is too valuable to throw away like this..."
"Remember, this is the battle that will ultimately seal the fate of these pathetic upstarts. We can afford to sacrifice one of them for that."
"Very well, master. I will dispatch your desire immediately."
"Good."
Author's Note: Yes, I had a plan to bring the second Divine Dragoon Spirit back into the story at this point. Someone simply mentioned it right before I was about to mention it anyway. Yeah. So, what's up with all these ownerless Spirits? What's Mr. Mean and Nasty, as Freefall has so affectionately dubbed him, got in store for Rayen this time? Will Striker ever asking all of these annoying questions? You'll have to read next chapter to find out. Yes, I do love doing that. Mwahahahaha. Yes. OK, I'm done.