Chapter 1: A Forgotten Seed
"You guys ready?" Beor kept his iron voice hushed as he took point at the border of the forest clearing. He kept as low to the ground as possible, his leathery armor and earthen-hued helmet blending well with the dense foliage. While the equipment had been well-crafted for this mission to suit the surroundings, Beor still didn't want to be spotted so early into the mission. He received a quiet but almost immediate acknowledgment from both of his comrades lying in wait only several meters behind him; Beor didn't dare turn his head away from the obstacle before them - his crisp blue eyes darted about the make-shift campsite across the meadow, basking in every last detail.
Across the moderately-sized field, a group of black-robed members of the Sinistral-allied Daosian Cult had set up a tiny base. Several plain-looking tents had been hastily erected around a decently sized bonfire pit; the more ominous touches were the small collections of pentagrams and otherwise unsettling runes that had been etched into the soil surrounding the blackened hole, indicating that during the nighttime hours, they probably performed their own minor occult rituals while the rest of their troupe was further within the forest tending to their own devices. Early scouting had shown this to be the most lightly guarded checkpoint of the cult's holdings in the forest - although when it came to wizards, Beor was never certain - he'd seen scraggly old mages churn out impressive and lethal spells on overconfident warriors before; he wouldn't make that mistake.
Four mages on the left...two inside the closest tent...yeesh, four more taking a breather just outside the eastern edge of the camp...this could get messy...
Tasks assigned to his group normally were, but those missions of Aguro-class knights of the Lidalepsis Commonwealth Army more often than not made the difference between prosperity and disaster for the various states under the unification charter. This infiltration job against the Daosian Cult wasn't any different; while Beor always knew that such risky ventures could end in calamity, to him that was all part of the thrill as a swordsman. Preserving the Commonwealth and earning his pay was one thing, but to practice his nearly unerring skill against its enemies was a pleasure all its own. The greater the risk, the greater the rush. It was a suicidal philosophy if there ever was one; some had written him off as just such a maniac, others had said the warrior drive was instilled in his bloodline considering the accolades of his ancestors, most of which had their names inscribed in the history books. Whatever its source, Beor was happy to have it within him during the midst of a fight – with such skill, he'd muscled his way out of brawls and traps in which lesser men would've perished.
"There's probably a magic sentry of some kind around the perimeter," A small voice came from behind. Beor recognized the softer, more analytical tone of De'Lacuyl, his recently promoted Second for this particular assignment. "This area is too wide open...they have to know that they're vulnerable."
Beor concurred - had they brought along a host of archers, the lightly armored wizards would be walking pin cushions in no time. But he was quite familiar with the notorious cult's mystic trickery – there was likely an invisible field surrounding the campsite, ready to beat back stealthily launched arrows or to incinerate a careless intruder.
"Can we get around them?" The third voice came as lowly as the first two. Crawling forward on his belly, the muscular Perseus shook his head, his thick black hair spilling out the back of his helmet. "Why face a needless battle when we don't have to? Their primary base is probably deeper inside the woods."
Beor felt a smirk sprouting on his face.
"When have you or any Commonwealth soldier turned down a chance to take a few Sinistral-lovers out of the world?" He simply asked. Perseus didn't answer - despite the burly knight's caution, any cult or rebel faction that backed the motives and ideals of the god-like Sinistrals was utterly reprehensible, and most had gone through insane attempts to bring the powerful beings back to reign supreme over humanity. While it had never been proven that their rituals had any effect in the uprisings of Doom Island over the past decades, the civilized peoples of the world had always condemned even the very idea of humans worshiping such destructive monsters, especially since many actions by the cultists had come at the expense of innocent life. The Daosians were some of the worst offenders; Beor knew that first-hand.
"In that case..." Perseus reached down into a thick leather pouch that hung at his belt, withdrawing a tiny metal orb that he carefully handled. He motioned for Beor to take it, bringing a smile to the commander's face. "...You want the honors?"
"My throwing arm needs some practice," Beor responded, taking the neutralizer. "If neither of you mind."
Perseus gladly handed off the ingenious little piece of technology to his First, who spoke a few choice archaic words while concentrating what little magic power he did possess into the device. Sure enough, it began to silently glow a crimson red, and momentarily, Beor felt somewhat dizzy as he always did when he handled the neutralizers. The tiny orb was sapping his magical energy with its own, effectively nullifying his spell-casting ability momentarily. Thankfully, he'd never chosen to develop his latent powers into more than just a few weak spells here and there during his training, or he'd be in greater pain right now.
As for the seasoned wizards and druids of the Daosian Cult, however, things would be far worse.
"Alright...I launch this and I go left, De'Lacuyl takes the tents, Perseus cuts right," He quickly laid out a basic battle plan for the trio. "With any luck, this'll shut off all the magic in the campsite's range, so hit 'em hard, and hit 'em quick."
All three lightly clad knights moved into a squatting position as Beor reared his hand back for the pitch. As the brightness of the sphere reached its peak, he let fly.
The tiny metal sphere would've sailed deep into the campsite, but a cascade of green energy instantly sprang up from the grass to intercept it as it reached the nearest of the sorcerers. The snake-like tendril had come seemingly out of thin air, swallowing the burning orb like a piece of candy. As Beor's Second had rightly noted, the wizards had been ready for visitors, and the fiery concoction would've likely torn them apart had they simply charged forward without thinking.
However, the red sphere finally did its work - Beor's tiny incantation had 'lit the fuse,' so to speak, of the mystical explosive, and as it mixed with the offending energy of the magic monster, the compressed power within it erupted, shattering the green fire tentacle like stain-glass and flooding the campsite with a wave of crimson energy.
Their path blanketed by the null-magic field, Beor and his two comrades rushed the cultists, weapons drawn and ready. The steel implements were the heaviest pieces of equipment they carried with them - the intention of low-grade armor had been to provide ease of movement through the thick forests rather than overbearing protection - but such circumstances hardly hindered Aguro-class knights. As some of the sorcerers began to convulse and cry out as their precious magic energies were drained from them, most of them never saw their assailants coming.
Perseus reached his targets first, swinging his sharpened mace up from the ground and cracking the jaw of one pallid-looking druid before redirecting toward his panicking comrades. De'Lacuyl, though slower than the other two, was quick and accurate with his saber, skewering one cultist that had burst out of his tent to investigate the commotion and quickly punching out another before delivering the fatal stroke.
But as per usual, Beor's inherent skill with the long sword gripped in his gloved hands was a sight to behold. The four cultists he'd targeted had been smarter then their peers, regrouping and drawing smaller weapons to compensate for the loss of their spell work. Beor slowed his approach, inviting the first sallow-eyed cultist a free stab with his crooked dagger. He deftly slid away before the blade touched his armor; at the same time, he executed a quick spin and sliced across the throat of the zombie-like wizard. Vile, dark-colored fluids that bore almost no resemblance to human blood poured out as the attacker crumpled, leading Beor to wonder how much of their humanity these cultists had sold to their demonic masters.
The next two were less decrepit than the first, swinging wildly with miniature hand-maces. Beor arched backward, a maneuver only possible with such lightweight armor, letting the wild swings sail past him. Before the two hooded assailants could compensate, Beor threw his weight forward, bringing the tip of his sword squarely across the gut of the left-most enemy. Spinning to his left, Beor shoved the wounded man into his comrade; both cultists tumbled onto the ground. He would've delivered the fatal thrust to both of them were it not for the interference of the fourth cultist, who'd at least had the intelligence to carry a broadsword in case his spells failed him. While the stunned pair was pulling themselves up, Beor had an entertaining bout of swordplay with the final cultist, parrying a few well-placed swings and slashes before countering with a quick slice across the wizard's sword-arm. The weapon fell as the cultist cried out at the jolting pain. Beor ended the man's sudden torment with a thrust through his robed midsection.
The remaining unwounded assailant had stumbled back to his feet and rushed Beor so quickly that the knight was almost taken off guard. The cultist's hand-mace scraped the left side of Beor's helmet, sending him slightly off-balance. Sensing weakness, the cultist swung again toward Beor's jaw. Seething, Beor snared the wizard's wrist with his free hand, gutting his exposed stomach as he'd done to his comrade.
The final sorcerer who Beor had slashed across the side was still down clutching at his oozing side, his tiny mace discarded. Beor removed his helmet to survey the damage, his thick blazing red hair spilling out onto his shoulders. He snuffed – the overzealous wizard had come closer than he'd anticipated; the mace's sharpened tips had torn right through the earthen-tinted metal, and Beor realized that any further delay of evading the lunging attack would've meant a healthy chunk of flesh being torn off of his skull. He dropped the now-useless helm to the ground, loudly swearing more at his own carelessness than anything.
Seeing the crumpled sorcerer nearly whimpering on the ground, Beor bent down quickly and snared his rubbery throat.
"Where is your Inner Circle?" He quickly demanded, nose to nose with the pallid man. Beor gathered that the quivering cultist couldn't have been much older than him, though adherence to the toxic magic employed by the Daosian Cult made him appear wrinkled and ancient. "What part of this forest are they hiding in?"
He quickly shook his head in full denial, rambling and sputtering in some unknown tongue. Beor viciously shook him; he'd seen this trick before.
"Don't play games; I've heard you guys using the Traditional speech," He spat. "Where is the Inner Circle?!"
"Inner…Inner Circle…not…" He gruffly stuttered. "Not here, not part of this mission…we are…we are…alone!!"
Beor paused briefly, thinking as the cultist lapsed back into his incoherent babbling. That hadn't been the answer he'd been expecting. In his past dealings and interrogations of Daosians prisoners, he'd always known them to be mindlessly loyal to their precious Inner Circle, the most committed and knowledgeable of their unholy order. To venture outside the jurisdiction of their wisest members was inviting ex-communication from the cult, their hive mind...of course, he could've been lying, but that option wasn't very likely either. Daosian prisoners that the Commonwealth Army had interrogated up to this point had been quite accommodating and forthcoming with their questions, almost uninterested that they were exposing their comrades to further wrath of the civilized world. Their arrogance in the matter had always been for the same reasons – should the Commonwealth knights dare capitalize on their divulged information, the remaining Daosians would be waiting, ready to rend them to pieces with their hellish powers. In some cases, that had been the case, but not very often.
Frightened as the wizard may have been, Beor was certain that he'd still pride himself with warning them of their deaths at the hands of his Inner Circle masters had they been nearby.
Beor calmed himself a bit – if his instincts were correct, then the dynamic of their mission could've changed completely.
"Who?" Beor asked slowly but firmly. "Who are you working for?"
"War…war…lord…" The wounds of the pale wizard had taken their toll, the dark ichor oozing freely from his side and forming a purplish lake beneath him. "Ge…nnarrghh…."
"Wait…wait…!!" It was too late; the sorcerer was gone, fluid bubbling up into his throat and his eyes rolling into the back of his head. Beor dropped the recent corpse in disgust, wiping the foul-smelling mess onto the grass.
"Taking prisoners, commander?" Perseus approached him with a broad smile on his face. Various splatters of fluid dotted his leather armor and his mace, and his helmet had also been knocked away; Beor presumed that Perseus had been none too gentle with his opponents. "That's not like you, especially against the Daosians."
Beor snuffed again at the observation, returning a decidedly unamused gaze to his Third. Perseus's casual grin instantly dissolved into a more solemn tone as he nervously straightened himself and returned to business.
"Did you find anything out?" He wondered.
"Something…" Beor stood up, noticing that the quick work of his two comrades had been nearly as efficient as his own. Along with the four that Perseus had slain, five other cultists were sprawled out in front of the nearby tents. "We might just be dealing with rogue Daosians here – he said they were following the orders of a warlord."
Perseus seemed equally perturbed at the revelation, slinging his mace over his shoulders.
"Away from the high-and-mighty Inner Circle?" He shook his head, nearly in disbelief. "Just when we think we have these guys figured out…but what could a warlord provide that their omnipotent high priests can't?"
De'Lacuyl's smaller frame re-emerged from the closest tent; his saber sheathed. Instead, he bore a large section of parchment that, from the knight commander's eyes, contained symbols of the same cryptic language that Beor's ex-prisoner had been babbling.
"There were some scraps around the fire pit," He reported as he showed the parchment to Beor and Perseus. "Whatever orders this group was receiving, it's very likely that they destroyed them to prevent this sort of seizure from occurring."
Perseus blankly stared at the inked symbols.
"Well, you're the language buff," He pointed out. "You tell us."
"Ah, yes, right…uhhm…" He stretched the wrinkles out of the dried material, his hazel eyes squinting to discern the images.
Beor smirked as he observed De'Lacuyl's concentration and attention to his work; almost instantly, his anxious, almost jumpy attitude had shifted to that of an alert, seasoned archeologist. Just like Beor's first days alongside his friend in the training academy at Alstadt, De'Lacuyl's laser-like focus toward the intellectual end of business brought out his stronger characteristics. His mental library of knowledge was known even to the higher scholars and historians of the Commonwealth; it had been more because of his affinity for history, battle tactics, and humanities that he'd been promoted to Aguro-class as a knight. His slight shortcomings in terms of physical strength had been compensated by his almost encyclopedic memory of hand-to-hand combat fundamentals and advanced theory.
The fact that he'd taken time to study a language so closely tied to a cult of demon-worshipers had impressed Beor even further; some of the most physically-chiseled officers in the army wouldn't have gone to such lengths, fearing mystical curses as reprisals for dabbling too far into the darker side of magic.
"Let's see…It just appears to be orders to safeguard this section of forest against intruders…while they carry on…" He paused, mumbling to himself almost absently as he pursued his translation effort. "…An excavation effort…for an artifact?"
Perseus nearly laughed.
"You're joking, right?" He scoffed poking at a pencil-thin corpse nearby with the tip of his mace. "Some small-time Lord Smash-and-plunder hires these twigs for manual labor? He might as well use a fly swatter against a dragon…"
Beor ignored the humor, his mind instead enraptured by the sudden mystery.
"Does it say anything about that artifact they're looking for?" He asked De'Lacuyl.
The Second read over the symbols again carefully, but he finally shook his head and let the parchment drop to the grass.
"Nothing else – whoever wrote the message was smart enough to keep everything ambiguous; it's almost as if he was expecting the mages here to be overwhelmed by intruders…"
Beor shook his head, sighing as he raised his sword.
"Secure the camp and see what you can find," He directed Perseus back to the eastern edge of the newly created warzone and De'Lacuyl to follow him to the center, towards the fire pit. As the trio proceeded on their way, Beor took point with his sword at the ready. He didn't count on such zombie-like wizards to possess the necessary wits to ambush such well-trained knights of the Commonwealth Army, but the wafting breeze tossing his hair around on his uncovered head reminded Beor of the recent occasion where he'd gotten careless.
Both knights surveyed the center of the camp, eyeing the more distant tents for signs of activity but noticing none.
"We should report back," De'Lacuyl advised in a low tone as they frisked one nearby tent, finding it completely bare. "A lot of our objectives concerning this mission were based on the presumption of the cultists' compliance with their Inner Circle. If other forces are at work--"
"Then we mow through them just the same," Beor declared. "Come on, can you name one mission where we haven't needed to alter our plans slightly?"
"I'm just saying that the mind behind this may have more than just magic on their side," De'Lacuyl urged as they swept through another equally bare tent. "Suppose we encounter a contingent of brigands or mercenaries, armed to the teeth, or a horde of trolls, ogres, summoned monsters, what then? We came prepped with enough anti-magic arsenal to wipe out an entire order of wizards, but otherwise--"
"We improvise," Beor responded simply, bringing about his own logical conclusions about the situation. "We don't have time to double back for reinforcements or new orders. If a treasure out here is worth convincing some Daosians to break from their grand Inner Circle, then don't you think it might have some purpose to use against the Commonwealth? Remember, they're not just wacky zealots parading their ideals around for all to see – they're trying to overthrow us, too."
"You need not remind me…" The two stormed one last shelter, finding only a battered wooden trunk that held various personal relics of the cultists. They departed from the far end of the camp, doubling back to catch up with Perseus.
De'Lacuyl turned toward Beor as they walked, his tone more conversational.
"You never did tell us…Why didn't General Targus approve Tasha for this assignment?" He inquired, causing Beor to shudder involuntarily. De'Lacuyl immediately took notice, his voice shrinking. "Well, I know her propensity for excitement and bravado, but this is the sort of suicidal deathtrap-type mission where Healers might be a tad useful, wouldn't you think?"
"If Tasha had been with us back there, she'd have been the first to break ranks and charge the sorcerers without heeding the possibility of magical defense. That energy tentacle would've incinerated her easily…" Beor pondered it, considering how tempting it might have been. While he considered Tasha a close friend and trusted comrade-in-arms, her fiery personality did not adjust well to supportive tasks regulated to the Healer classes of the Commonwealth Army. He would've gladly placed a sword in her hand and stepped out of her path if it weren't for those damned ridiculous gender regulations…her desire to take a more active role in battle had nearly cost them on more than one occasion, which was probably the reason that Targus hadn't wanted to risk putting her in a mission involving the Daosians…her short fuse was bad enough without personal issues to further cloud her judgment.
"I suppose you're correct…but remember that question, Beor. If we indeed find that contingent of fully-armed brigands and we end up bleeding to death in a hole in the ground somewhere, I'm going to ask you again," De'Lacuyl smirked.
The two finally reached the opposite end of the camp, where Perseus had seemingly had more luck than they did in turning up something. He was holding a decently-sized ruby in his palm along with a fresher scroll of parchment. He tossed the gem into the air, catching it deftly and displaying it like a trophy.
"Say, how much do you think this'll fetch back at the barracks, eh?" His broad grin was brimming with confidence, something of which he was certainly in no short supply. Beor had only worked with Perseus on a few missions – he'd recently transferred from a bodyguard unit in order to get some more action in the field. Strong and imposing as he was – he stood nearly three inches over Beor, who was no slouch in terms of a balanced stature – doing more than standing watch over ambassadors and regents all day had brought a spike of good humor to his overall attitude, as he'd admitted.
"Strange…" De'Lacuyl examined the crimson gemstone closely, nearly plucking it from Perseus's beefy hand. "I don't recall there being any ruby-mining operations anywhere on this side of the continent, and I've hardly ever seen any genuine stones this big before."
"Ah, who cares how it got here?" Perseus snatched the gemstone away from the scrutinizing Second and stuffed it in his pouch, instead offering him the scroll. "Here, this isn't the same scribble from the other scroll, but it's still a language I've never seen before. What's it say?"
De'Lacuyl grabbed the scroll just as eagerly if not more – Beor believed that the mildly-mannered Second would've preferred a chance to flex his mental muscle than cash in on a rare jewel anyhow.
"It appears to be a Fantesian dialect…with elements of more archaic Lidal tongues interspersed, interesting. Looks like it's a form of payment…doesn't say from whom." De'Lacuyl reported. "'To Daosian Acolyte Tarse of the Fifth Order…this magic stone is hereby bequeathed to your laymen as per our agreement set forth in the contract. Your library of ancient arcane lore should undoubtedly serve to unlock its secrets.'"
"Magic?" Perseus removed the glimmering jewel from his pouch, casually tossing it up and down. "Come on, De'Lacuyl – I worked with the Commonwealth Mage Guild for nearly ten years; I know enough about magic to be able to tell if there was anything suspicious about this stone, and there's not."
De'Lacuyl, so enraptured in the language study, barely acknowledged his comrade before scanning down to the bottom of the page, where Beor noticed that a few more of the Daosians' symbols had been etched in fresher, different-colored ink.
"Looks like they found out something…" De'Lacuyl was absently saying to himself. "It's more of the Daosians' tongue…'ponE h'Et Ayw…ot EplEmtco sih yEnsDit…Risi?'"
A sudden crashing noise interrupted the study, and it was followed by Perseus's ruby cracking down its center. The trio stood bewildered momentarily as the gemstone somehow began to dissolve in Perseus's hand, hardened crystalline material morphing into a crimson gelatinous substance that spread across the Third's gloved hand like slime. The dark-haired knight's eyes widened as the ooze spread, snaking up his wrist.
"De'Lacuyl…" He murmured in sudden fright. The crystal pieces had broken down completely into gel; it now completely engulfed Perseus's entire hand and was worming its way up his arm. "De'Lacuyl…what the hell did you do?!?"
For once, Beor was at a loss of what to do; magic was still nullified in the range of the neutralizer they'd used against the Daosians – even though De'Lacuyl had spoken the enchantments, the magic of the stone shouldn't have taken effect.
Perhaps the neutralizer had worn off early – Beor snatched the scroll from the shocked De'Lacuyl, who was staring at the frenzied Perseus with wide-eyed terror.
"Quick, burn that stuff off!!" He shouted. De'Lacuyl was still hesitant, so Beor convinced him with a hardy slap on the shoulder that finally spurred the Second into action.
"Err, right!!" He conjured up a bit of offensive magic of his own, obviously coming to the same conclusion about the current effectiveness of the neutralizer as Beor. But as De'Lacuyl finished the wording of his spell, where a ball of fire should've appeared on his hand, a burst of crimson energy resembling the pattern of fire materialized instead, dissipating almost instantly. Both knights stood dumbfounded – the neutralizer was still in effect if it swallowed De'Lacuyl's Spark spell…but if it was still working, how could--
Perseus cried out again, and Beor saw the shimmering fluid spreading like a plague across his chest and branching out to engulf his other arm, neck and his legs.
"Get this crap offa me!!!" He screamed; he looked nearly ready to scrape at the mess with his mace. Beor bolted forward, deciding that using his bare hands was the last alternative short of cutting the ooze off with his sword, which would've been just as a danger to Perseus in cases where the slime already covered vital parts of his body.
But as Beor got within arms range, he was suddenly hurdled backward by some strange phantom force. He sailed a good ten feet before crashing harshly on his back. Had he been wearing heavier armor, the fall could've done some damage, but as Beor recovered his wits, he saw that it was already far too late – the ichor had completely blanketed Perseus and appeared to be condensing around him, solidifying into its original state.
Dammit…!! It had to have been some leftover Daosian trick; some cultist probably left that valuable-looking jewel for hapless attackers or thieves to stumble over in a subtle attempt to take them to Death with them.
But as Beor began to seethe over such treachery, the crystalline-body began to crack and crumble once again.
"Sword…ready sword!!" He cried to De'Lacuyl as the Second backed away from Perseus. Both knights stood ready, just in case the wicked magic would morph their comrade into some type of mindless creature. Perseus didn't deserve such a horrid fate, and Beor would ensure that it would end as soon as possible.
He'd been asleep, seemingly bodiless for so long…His spirit had been left in an encroaching darkness without a sight, sound, smell, or even touch to comfort him; in fact, describing his solitary confinement as a form of sleep was being generous, as every passing second was spent in a state between asleep and awake. It was a horrid limbo without the sweetness of dreams or the reassurance of true coherency. Ever since his entrapment here, he hadn't felt hunger, thirst, fatigue, or other physical ailments, but the heartache and sheer hopeless frustration as to the reason for his imprisonment and the lack of any type of escape was all-too evident in within this lonely vortex of the damned.
Only one thing had interrupted the monotonous silence every so often since his entrapment – a voice, a woman's voice, and a familiar one at that. While he'd never been able to match a face or name to the sultry entity, he was certain that he'd heard her before, somewhere.
She spoke to him at seemingly random intervals, her rich tone almost enough to reassure him through his timeless hibernation but for the thought that she may have been responsible for putting him here in the first place. She'd always seemed aware of his paranoia, never revealing herself to him and speaking to him only in cryptic phrases. A few times, if his thoughts had been particularly strong or if he was on the verge of losing his mind, she'd somehow been able to read them and respond to them; on at least one occasion, he suspected that he'd been able to communicate with her through his mind if he concentrated hard enough.
She'd always been promising big plans for him, plans for revival in a new age where his talents would be more useful, how he'd be at his happiest once that time came or something along those lines. After so many similar pep talks (pep monologues, more or less), he'd stopped paying too much attention – perhaps it was a trick, a ploy to torment him during his forced rest…not to mention that half the stuff she'd spouted had been so damned patronizing and uninteresting anyway. Her soothing niceties only acted as the unreachable forbidden fruit, reminding him of his miserable fate...the same droning taunts over and over and over and over…
But now he was feeling something else; a brilliant cascading noise had erupted within his void-like prison. Suddenly, the eternal darkness began to lift, and he saws shades of grey and white for the first time in what seemed like five thousand lifetimes.
He heard himself breathing through his nose, which elated him more than it should have. He felt gravity on him, grounding a pair of legs down to solid ground and a pair of firm arms down to his side. Within the emptiness, he abruptly felt his heart beating, which produced a surprised yelp; he heard it through ears. Hoping against hope, he reached his new hands up to his face, tracing all of the familiar features of a nose, lips, and cheekbones. Testing himself, he jumped up and down a few times flexing his arms and finding his old sense of bodily awareness finally returning to him.
Now, what all of a sudden??
"Are you still doubtful of my promises to you?" The woman's voice! There it was, this time nearly crystal clear, as if she were standing right next to him. He darted his head around, still unable to see anything other than the multitudes of grey that still held his eyes. "It is time, you will return."
"Where…where are you…?!" He demanded. "Show yourself!!"
"Unfortunately, I can't…" She replied. "I'm on…a different plane from yourself, which I've tried to explain to you before, but you obviously weren't in the mood to listen. Nothing personal, but you have the attention span of a mosquito."
"What's it to you?!" Though it could've been endangering his newfound sense of bodily self, he didn't care. He now had the means to release his pent up frustration from who-knew-how-much time of limbo, and it was quite therapeutic. As he continued shouting at the invisible entity, she didn't stop him. "You float out there, playing with me for all this time and saying how you were looking after me?!? You wanna all of a sudden tell me that my sentence is up, just like that!! Who the hell are you and how did I get here!!"
The woman didn't respond at first, but through the mask of his rage, he didn't care – she had a lot to answer for as seemingly the only force to know of his entrapment. And if she was in a position to provide him a way out, why wait until now, after he'd nearly lost his mind?
"I know your pain…" She told him in an almost motherly voice. "It runs deeper than even what you show me now. It's been that way since that last epic battle…where those precious to you were lost without you. I still felt the pain when you touched my jewel…at the bottom of the cave."
His berserker temper froze momentarily as the responses resonated within him. That treasure-hunting expedition to the Ancient Cave had been the last time he'd seen the light of day and the clarity of reality for that matter. He'd conquered it easily, as a man of his skill and strength should have, but when he'd claimed the prize that awaited him in the cave's darkest pit…he'd found himself here…and the harbored emotions regarding the fierce fight at Doom Island, he'd never told that to anyone!
"It was you…" He seethed. "…You did this…you put me here!"
The woman resumed a more hardened tone.
"Do you wish an opportunity to rid yourself of this pain? To return to the honor and glory that you once held as a warrior?"
He swallowed hard – what he really felt like doing was tearing the seductive entity a new one after the recent admittance of having imprisoned him here…but the offer was tempting, and as much rage and mistrust he harbored toward this specter, the thought of being free in the real world…and having that chance for glory…
"…Something's happening, isn't it?" He asked in as calm a tone as he could muster. "Something big?"
"Very big," She confirmed. "You may yet have a large hand to play in it, should you choose."
He folded his arms, pondering the idea.
"And if I refuse?"
"I will grant you the peace of death," She calmly answered. "But I know you…the thought of epic adventures, dynamic heroics, slaying monsters, and saving the innocent. You of all people should be salivating over such an idea."
He couldn't help but agree with her there. Besides, he wasn't about to nonchalantly accept erasure from existence after spending so long in place in between life and death. While the after-life was an unknown quantity, he could at least embrace thrills and excitement on Earth, no matter how much time had passed.
"All right…the devil's got herself a deal. So, what about all this--" He motioned to his newly-rejuvenated body, wondering if she could even see him. "--huh? You just going to plop me down on Earth, hope for the best?"
"As alarming as this will sound…" She continued. "…The form you feel is not yours; your last body was removed a long time ago, when you were brought here. This is the body of another, comparable to you; he's the one unfortunate enough to come into contact with my jewel when the seal-breaking spell was spoken."
That answer was another surprise to him, albeit an unpleasant one.
"'Unfortunate enough?'" He was in disbelief and almost repugnant that he was occupying a body that wasn't his own. He felt like an eerie banshee, a malignant phantom in his own right. "Hey, I'm not about to kill someone else for all of this…"
"Don't worry – he won't be permanently damaged," The specter woman reassured him. "You'll simply take over for him while his soul sleeps. I do not have the power at this moment to craft another form for you; as time progresses that may change…but for the moment, you will have his memories to guide you, his knowledge and to a certain extent his emotions. When you awaken, you will know what you must do…"
He felt the voice tapering off, and he was suddenly afraid that she was leaving him. Despite her reassurances and the unexpected assistance of the poor fool who'd gotten caught with her jewel, he still felt like he was entering the grand scheme of things blind as a bat. Being in a tense situation was one thing, but being in one without direction or a solid plan was infinitely worse.
"Wait! What am I looking for? How will I know this great threat when I see it?!" He cried out.
"Just remember…" The voice was decidedly weaker, fading off into the distance. "…Give the treasure of the mountain…to the descendant…hurry…"
Before he could question her further, he felt himself plunging forward, and the veil of grey shadows was jerked away from him as suddenly as it had come upon him all that time ago.
For the first time in what felt like forever, he could see.
The crystal husk suddenly erupted in a brilliant flash; Beor and De'Lacuyl shielded their eyes from the radiance as well as the splintering ruby shards. As they focused back on what stood in Perseus's place, if anything, Beor found himself unprepared for what he saw next.
Perseus still stood tall and seemingly unharmed from his experience, only…he was different, in a large and instantly noticeable way. While he still donned his leather armoring and carried his mace, he appeared to have sprouted an inch or two, and his muscles had tightened and expanded themselves, making his current garb a tight fit. His previously black, untrimmed hair had suddenly brightened to a dull violet and spiked itself towards the sky. Perseus's facial expression had noticeably changed as well. His once slightly sagging cheekbones were now chiseled and defined, and his skin tones were tanner and more rigid. His pupils were nearly charcoal black, and beneath them, Beor could sense a radiance of an anxious type of excitement. It was as if he'd dropped ten years off of his life in the blink of an eye. He appeared human enough…
After several seconds of not moving, this new-and-improved Perseus blinked his eyes, glancing about with wonder. Beor was mystified – his comrade was looking around at the natural surroundings with such awe, as if he'd never seen them before. He hadn't taken notice of him and De'Lacuyl as of yet, and the Second was equally cautious about interacting with this transformed person.
"Shall we, sir?" He motioned to his blade, which Beor quickly waved away – while he was different, his instincts told him that Perseus's transformation hadn't been negative. Still, the differences were more than exterior. Beor motioned for De'Lacuyl to hold position – until this person they believed to be Perseus proved otherwise, he was still their comrade-in-arms.
Perseus glanced down at his armoring, snuffing at an apparent dissatisfaction, but his eyes brightened again as he twirled the hefty mace almost effortlessly.
"Alright, alright…" The voice was evidently different as well. The tone was much more clear and vibrant, unlike the gruffer tones Beor and De'Lacuyl were used to. "Not too bad for a start…"
He stretched out his arms, and then he bent down, stretching his legs and then bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet.
"Comparable to the original," He chuckled to himself. "Hardly close to a perfect match, but a suitable carbon copy!"
He seemed joyous, swinging his mace around and practicing a few parrying maneuvers. His laughter grew louder as he did so, and finally he javelined the weapon so far upward into the air that he had a shot at spearing a group of low-flying birds. The mace came crashing down so hard that when the handle smashed into Perseus's foot, he cried out, bending down and clutching the bruised limb instinctively.
Finally, he stood up, bursting out in raucous laughter.
"It's true, it's really true!! I'm alive!!"
He broke into celebratory whooping, pumping his fist into the air and strutting around on his injured foot, ignoring the pain.
"I'd be happy, too…" De'Lacuyl nervously murmured. "…Well, he appears normal enough after such an experience…"
"But he's different…" Beor contested. "Maybe not in a bad way, but he's different."
He motioned for De'Lacuyl to hang back as he approached the overly joyous Perseus, determined to get to the bottom of this mysterious transformation.
"Perseus…" He said, but his comrade was still too enraptured in his celebrating to notice him. "Perseus!!"
He suddenly stopped, whirling around – for the first time, Perseus seemed to notice him, though he appeared totally taken aback by his appearance.
"Maxim…?!" He abruptly blurted out, taking Beor a bit by surprise. He seemed to catch himself, putting up his hands. "No, wait…wrong set of memories…let's see…you're, umm…" He blinked a few times, struggling to remember. "Damn, this guy's gotta be an old timer with so many memories…Look, I know how awkward this must be, but bear with me; I've been stuck in a pit-hole for a while, and now I've got two sets of memories to smush together in a few seconds without making my head explode. I hope you understand…"
"Right…umm…" Beor was now more confused than defensive. Why had Perseus suddenly addressed him as Maxim? The red hair would've been a dead giveaway for a stranger that may've been born yesterday, but for Perseus, a man who'd known Beor for a significant length of time? "Perseus, you realize that--"
"Perseus!!" He brightened again, motioning to himself. "Yeah, that's it, that's the name of this guy…wow, what a name – it's the name of a warrior, the name of a hero!" He suddenly snared Beor around the shoulder, shifting his arms outward as if he was performing a spectacular magic trick. "And it's got such a nice ring to it – Perseus, slayer of all things evil! Yeah…that's the kind of name that inspires fear in monsters, turns them to stone at the very mention of it!"
He narrowed his eyes, pondering again.
"It's good…but not quite as good as my name." He took the speechless Beor around the shoulder again, almost casually. "Mine's just got that solid delivery, two quick hard syllables, like axe strokes."
"You were saying…Perseus," Beor finally managed, drawing his compatriot's attention. The meta-morphed knight pulled away in slight embarrassment, remembering his sporadic mind.
"Right, sorry; I get carried away sometimes. Now, let's see…" He struggled, pointing his finger at Beor and obviously straining his mind to bring back the correct name. "Beowulf…Beelzebub…umm…"
Exasperated, the commander finally gave in.
"Beor, perhaps?"
"Yes! Beor, that was my next guess!!" He shook his head. "Don't tell me these things, I've got a lot to get used to! Now, you're…my commander…Aguro-class…of the Lidalepsis Commonwealth Army?"
"Yes, to all three…" Beor confirmed with slight annoyance – he supposed minute details were important, but it had taken him longer to remember his name than the rest of his knowledge. He supposed that some type of memory loss had occurred with the effects of the spell, but it didn't explain that Perseus was now referring to himself in the third person, as if he'd come back as a different man than the one who'd gotten caught in the crystal trap. "Can you please tell me--"
"Not a word, not a word now!" He cut him off, hurrying back Beor to the frightened De'Lacuyl, who was about to raise his saber against the excited knight were it not for Beor's orders. "Second…De'Lacuyl, am I right?"
The perturbed knight nodded his head briskly, and he was rewarded with a whoop of joy.
"Alright, I'm getting the hang of this!" He charged away from De'Lacuyl, scanning around the campsite and trying to resuscitate more memories. "Okay, and we're here fighting…Daosians…"
His expression darkened.
"Sinistral lackeys, eh? How pathetic…have things gotten so bad that we're turning to the Sinistrals as a saving grace…?" He looked genuinely angered, ready to possibly do some damage in Beor's estimation. The commander finally decided to step in, ready to dispel whatever doubts there were about this man.
"Perseus!" He got the knight's attention, standing face-to-face with him. "Or rather, whoever you are, you have both me and my Second at a bit of a loss. We saw the incident with the magic stone, and when the Perseus we knew was engulfed in it, you suddenly popped out!"
"And…?" He appeared perplexed.
"AND…" Beor continued, losing his patience. "I think we can all come to the conclusion that you are not the same Perseus that we knew before the magic spell occurred, so who exactly are you?"
The light of recognition seemed to dawn on the knight, and he began laughing lightly, calming himself from his earlier outburst.
"I'm sorry, I really am," He said in a friendly tone to Beor. "This is just a bit sudden for me, and I can explain why. Just know that, well, according to my source, your friend is safely asleep in the back here--" He motioned to his skull. "--and if things go well, he'll be back before you know it. For now though, I'd like to introduce myself honorably to…the descendant of Maxim? My memories aren't crossed or anything, are they?"
Whatever that meant, Beor took a breath, reassuring the knight. If this entity's memories were indeed 'crossed' with those of Perseus, it would explain how he knew of his connection to the legend – everybody in the army idolized the adventures of the famed monster-hunter-turned-paladin and his descendents, and Beor's current prolific skill with the blade only intensified the idea of the line as natural swordsmen.
"No, that is my lineage; Maxim is my ancient ancestor, the first in a long line of knights."
The strange man smiled, taking Beor's hand and giving it a firm shake.
"Then I honorably greet the kin of my long-lost friend," He said with a hint of sorrow in his voice. Then, he puffed up his chest, sweeping the lower emotions away with a loud boast. "As for me, you are now face-to-face with one of his greatest contemporaries, a legend within the halls of the strongest of heroes!"
He snatched up the loose mace, spinning it deftly above his head between five fingers.
"I am the champion of Bound Kingdom! Renowned the world over, universally revered, despised by my enemies in all corners of civilization and noncivilization and – most importantly – adored by all the ladies young and old…they call me...Dekar!!"