MW: Hey, yo, what's up, my readers. This is the updated version of chapter eight with grammar fixes, spelling fixes and continuity fixes. Some questions are at the end, but other than that, please enjoy and review!
8 - The Consequences of Freedom
Briskbreeze was cold. The prison wasn't the worst-or at least, Talon assumed-but it was hell to the inmates. Talon had tried to ignore it for the first few months and managed to, building a slight tolerance to the cold, especially during his training with Dworgyn almost seven months after his arrival. Touching death made his blood run cold, his nerves turn to ice and his eyes glaze over like water beginning to freeze. But even then, Talon had to try hard to ignore the cold of Briskbreeze. After being trained intensively by the draconian warrior Shina during the rest of his time at Briskbreeze, Talon was able to withstand the cold. For the most part, at least.
Dworgyn was only in prison for half as long, but noticed Talon's affinity for Necromancy and taught him all he knew, which included resisting the other magics, more specifically ice. It may have been to Dworgyn's dislike of the cold and ice magic in general, but Talon never asked.
Shina had taught Talon to never show his emotions, or at least, hide them behind a mask. He had to be calm in situations of dire consequence and could never allow his passion and rage to consume him. She taught him what she knew of combat and how to wield a two handed weapon in one hand almost effortlessly. How she was able to break into his cell and teach him about battle, Talon didn't know. Why she couldn't just break him out of the prison altogether, Talon didn't know. He assumed Shina didn't break him out to teach him a lesson of sorts, but didn't put much thought to it.
Ultimately, after six and a half years of a life sentence inside a prison that was colder than the Earthborn hell, he was being released.
Talon was first notified of this when a guard-different than his usual one-smacked his cell bars with his spear, rousing Talon from his sleep. The guard had opened the door and told Talon to follow close behind, cuffing the young man. Ever since Talon had begun building muscle and growing in power (and growing taller), he had been watched constantly as the sentries began to notice his changing physique. Today was different. He figured that the guard would guide him to the cafeteria where he ate as he was watched constantly by guards who held no regard for any of the inmate's' health and safety. Yet they passed the cafeteria, causing Talon to raise an eyebrow.
"Where are we going?" He asked, glancing at the unfamiliar surroundings.
"What's it to you?" The guard responded harshly.
"Fuck you too, man," he retorted, rolling his eyes.
The guard whirled on the young man, whose eyes flashed dangerously. The sentry fell silent and continued walking. Talon followed, simply because he had to. It wasn't like he couldn't return to his cell, but he wasn't sure if he was finally leaving this dump or if he was going to be interrogated again. But he was sure he was leaving.
The guard paused at a rusted iron door and prompted Talon to speak. "I don't recognise this," the boy said. "Where are we?" The door slid open in an agonisingly slow fashion, and the guard unlocked Talon's handcuffs, pushing him outside.
"You're free. Don't come back. And be sure to see the Headmaster-Ambrose-before you do anything else."
"Wait, what?" Talon asked, but the guard didn't answer as the door began to close ever so slowly. The door creaked hideously, the metal sounding akin to a bloodcurdling screech. Talon, frozen in a mixture of shock and confusion, stood stock still, blinking blankly until he managed to grasp his surroundings. The guard had spoken a few words and that was it? Talon was sure that wasn't how they released prisoners on Earthborn worlds. Didn't Wizard City operate like an Earthborn world? Well, not that it mattered much anymore.
He was free. Six years, and the past was behind him.
"I'm...free..?" He began slowly. "I'm free!" Talon's laughter rose in volume until he was sure the entire world could hear him. Wiping tears of joy from his eyes, he hissed to himself, a low promise that he was sure would motivate him. "I'm coming, Hunter."
"War?" Astra asked, staring at Cyrus Drake quizzically. "Why would there be a war when all of the races are at peace? Malistaire-your brother-has been killed, reunited with his wife, and all the worlds are connected. Aren't we in harmony?"
Astra had learned quite a bit since she was liberated four years earlier. Cyrus Drake, a friend of her father's, had taken her under his wing and treated her like his own daughter. Astra was taught about the Spiral and its history, war between wizards, diplomacy, and anything else Cyrus could shove into her head in an effort to mold her into the feisty yet overly curious girl he once knew.
After duelling with her so long ago in Marleybone, Cyrus was forced to imprison her in the rent that she would become a menace to the already unstable and skeptical wizard community. It took two years for Cyrus to work out the adoption papers due to the girl's repeated attempts on Talon Bloodbane's life, but he managed to convince the world that she would be alright. When Cyrus reunited with Astra Snaketounge after freeing her from Briskbreeze, he noticed her old mannerisms and memory of her childhood had returned. Eventually, he deduced that she had been memory wiped several times and was a semi-cyborg (she still was able to reproduce and was mostly humanoid) and did his best to restore her memory.
The most he managed to return to her was her memory of him, a more vivid memory of her parents and a boy she kept calling "Talon" (who he assumed was someone other than Talon Bloodbane, seeing as she tried to kill her fellow inmate when in the cell with him).
But now...she's progressed faster than Cyrus anticipated, processing and learning things almost twice as fast as an average human. It was most probably due to her cyborg implants, but even so, Cyrus was amazed.
He nodded solemnly; slowly. "Yes, Astra. War. War is upon us, and despite the public appearing safe and confined-protected from evil-we aren't. The most we can do now is wait, but I have deigned to tell you what's been going on behind the scenes because we need to prepare." Cyrus paused, letting his words sink in.
"Who?" Astra inquired. She sat across from her father's friend, staring at him curiously.
"Hmm?" Cyrus murmured.
"Who does he want on the team?" She twirled her burgundy ombré locks around her fingers, glancing at Cyrus every now and then, awaiting new a response.
She was already steps ahead of Cyrus, despite him never mentioning the team or even implying that there would be a team. Amazing. "As of yet, I don't know. I would assume he'd send veterans like myself and the other teachers, but knowing Ambrose, he'd be willing to bet his hand on the younger generation." Cyrus was silent, musing over his words, and then, "He'll select team members by the end of the week. I want you to be ready. Remember what I taught you?"
Not only was Astra knowledgeable about the historical and political side of the Spiral, but while under Cyrus' wing and tutelage, she learned Conjuring. Summoning monsters right out of storybooks worked quite well with her ferocious and brutish fighting style. Astra preferred to use her fists and would often train with a cyclops of her own summoning to increase her strength. In the end, if she could conceptualise it, it was possible.
"Of course, Cyrus!" Astra exclaimed, smirking slightly. "How could I forget? One last spar, then?"
"Sorry, Astra, but I can't today. As long as you continue to practice and hone your skills, you'll be well prepared." Cyrus murmured lowly, shifting his weight about as if nervous.
She nodded. "Alright," Astra stared at Cyrus, her single blue eye watching him carefully. "Thank you." She concluded finally, standing and leaving the room. Astra leaned against the door, back pressed to the oak. She thought to herself for a moment, and turned left, exiting the Drake manor. She might as well squeeze in some practice at the arena. The girl rolled her shoulders, soft cracks resounding in her ears as she did herself of the stiffness in her joints. Astra grunted, cracking her neck, and flicked her ombré burgundy hair out of her face, blowing straggling strands from her cheeks. Closing her eyes, she began to imagine the arena in all its glory, a beautiful area, intricate, visually spectacular designs carved into the floors; designs that were so elegant that merely touching them with your shoes filled you with a feeling that could be identified as beyond holy. Inhaling deeply and concentrating solely on the arena, Astra poured her magic into the single spot she had visualised, imagined herself there-put herself in that one spot-
Opening her eyes, Astra glanced around, drinking in her surroundings.
Wizards of all ages, races and ranks crowded around scrolls that floated just out of the reach of eloquent marble pedestals. The walls were covered in grandiose and excruciatingly colourful paintings, which tilted and twisted ever so slightly, joining together as a single architectural piece-a ceiling-at the end.
The arena lobby was a majestic creature in its own right, and every time Astra came to practice she gasped softly and her eyes sparkled. The arena turned a monster like her into a glittering flower.
She scrawled her name on one of the last open slots, slipping into the line that stretched from the ranked matches signup to the outside of the arena. Although she was a nineteen year old girl, she felt at least ten whenever she arrived in the arena.
Stepping away from the scroll, she found a comfortable spot against one of the pedestals and waited for her match. A dark skinned, lean young man with surprisingly red eyes-for a second, she could've sworn she saw him phase out of existence, or even transform into another person-and hair darker than black scrawled his name on the scroll, presumably next to hers. He didn't look very strong. Astra wondered-if she were to fight him, of course-how strong he was. Never make assumptions.
Her name wasn't incredibly common-she knew that a few other people in wizard city had the same name-but the way the man looked at her made her feel as if she should remember something. Something about this man was unique. It attracted Astra. Before she could stride over to speak with him, however, he exploded into a puff of black smoke. His match-which meant Astra's, too-was starting.
The duo rematerialized in a new arena lobby, the floor decorated with ancient Azteca symbols. Astra had learned about the Aztecas during her history lessons under Cyrus. The symbols weaves together to create a relatively intimidating face, that of which glared at the contestants as they strode around the edges of the circle, preparing themselves for the fight. The black-haired boy whistled in a lax manner, giving Astra a sidelong glance. His crimson eyes found hers and he smiled. She could've sworn she saw his eyes water. She responded by giving him a quizzical look.
Astra blinked. She could've sworn that for a split second, the boy's hair and eye color changed yet again, but then returned to the jet black and crimson combination. Something was wrong.
"What's your name?" He inquired as the announcer began counting down the seconds before the match. The boy was obviously underestimating her. He was weaponless, to boot-a severe disadvantage against a fighter such as herself.
60.
59.
"I'm Astra," she responded after a small silence. "You are?"
58.
57.
56.
55.
54.
"Talon Blade," he answered simply.
Talon? Wasn't that the-
"Remember it, Astra." She heard him hiss. He grinned, his teeth flashing.
Astra was definitely hearing things now.
53.
52.
Why did his name sound familiar?
51.
Why? Astra was struck with a sudden crushing pressure; as if she was supposed to remember this boy's name. As if she was supposed to remember him. What was he?
She glanced up at the boy and his black hair flickered, as if it were ethereal. She was definitely seeing things, now. His entire body seemed to flicker, as if it were phasing in and out of existence. What the-
Who was he?
46.
45.
44.
43.
42.
Astra growled lowly her confusion turning into frustration. Her head began to ache painfully, as if it were protesting against fighting this particular opponent. Her hopes of intimidating him with the roar didn't work as well as she had hoped as he simply stared at her blankly, almost like he was anticipating her movements. Setting her eyes on the boy, she gave him a sharp glare that caused him to falter for a moment. His confidence did not waver, though.
His body flickered.
The announcer faltered for a moment, but continued with the countdown.
28.
27.
26.
25.
She had begun to calm down now that the boy had stopped playing games with her. She was sure of herself-sure and confident that this would be an easy win.
24.
23.
22.
21.
20.
19.
Talon Wood began whispering, probably preparing some sort of incantation. Astra felt as if she could see the words coming from his mouth, as if she knew what he would do next. A sharp pain lanced through her mind, but she fought through it, gritting her teeth and digging her feet into the ground, taking a stance with her fingers placed in a claw like fashion. If one were to look, they may say she reminded them of a bear.
15.
14.
13.
12.
11.
10.
The boy that stood in front of her smiled. He still flickered, occasionally replaced by a different person altogether. It made her uncomfortable, but she would remain strong for as long as she needed. "Do you really think you can win?" He asked. Astra paused, slightly, but ultimately ignored him. She nodded.
"Of course I can. I was trained by Cyrus Drake, the greatest Conjuror in wizard city. I know spells you've never seen, kid," She concluded.
5.
4.
"I'm-" He paused abruptly, and he faded away for a moment, replaced by a timid looking boy with bright blue hair and golden eyes, but when Astra dared to blink again, she saw the fearless, confident young man with black hair and crimson eyes. "-taller," he finished and spread his arms wide. He sounded like a child, and his behavior reminded her of someone.
But who? Astra stayed on the defense, cloaking her shield, prepared for him to unleash his most powerful spell first.
1.
Begin!
Talon Wood considered his options. He had prepared the incantation for the wraith, and was now simply wondering how the girl would respond. Sure, she was Astra, Cyrus Drake's adoptive daughter as most everyone in Wizard City knew, and sure, he was just a Magus Necromancer, but he'd prepared himself for fights like this. He had four incantations memorized, and he was sure that those would keep her on edge while he peppered her with smaller attacks.
She may have been a powerful Conjurer, but he could at least try.
Wood shook his head, dismissing any further mental conversations and decided to start the battle off with a simple undead creature, something that would keep Astra at bay while he figured out an opening.
Throwing his hands upwards, Wood gritted his teeth, focusing his mind on summoning the skeletal pirate. The spell tugged at his mind before finally releasing his skull from its deathly grasp. The pirate burst forth from the ground seamlessly, curved blade in hand, and ran in a zigzag fashion towards Astra, twirling its scimitar. Astra was struck with the blade, but without warning, her skin peeled off to reveal that she had been nothing more than a simple golem. The golem crumbled and the pirate turned to look at Wood.
Behind.
Talon Wood managed to twist his body to look behind him, which most likely saved him from the devastating punch Astra threw, one which involved catapulting her body forwards towards his and throwing out her fist all the while concentrating on keeping a delayed Conjuration spell contained in the hand she intended to strike with. The fist grazed against his abdomen, but the moment her knuckles brushed his side, the Conjuration spell exploded, throwing Astra sideways and knocking Wood off of his feet, throwing him to the ground.
The black-haired boy's body hit the ground with a sharp, booming thud and Astra rolled mid-fall, her boots skidding against the ground, kicking up broken arena fragments. The skeletal pirate remained animate however, and Astra cocked her head to the side in a moment of confusion as the undead creation bounded over to its controller, bones creaking, and helped him up. Weren't animated creations supposed to drop when their creator lost control? Either the Necromancer didn't lose control all too easily, or he was able to reanimate the dead to the extent where they had their own minds.
Wood rose to his feet, coughing and rubbing his stomach lightly. "Painful," He grunted simply. He gave his undead minion a pat on the head-or rather, the skull-and the skeletal pirate dissolved, the white dust that now represented the once relatively lively creature swirling to form a new creature, wreathed in black, armed with a scythe that appeared as if it yearned for blood and eyes hidden by an ominous fog.
A wraith.
The black haired boy began to laugh, slapping his cheeks with both hands. "This would be so much easier if I had the axe-don't you think so?" He asked, and Astra raised a brow. Who was the question directed to? Not to her it seemed. She would've opened her mouth to answer if he didn't nod to himself and say, "Yeah, it does look like it," And then proceeding to dart towards her, the wraith trailing behind him.
This fight didn't look so one-sided anymore.
"I'm here, finally," Maximillion exclaimed, sighing in exasperation. Four years had passed since he'd first received the card. Four god-forsaken years and he was finally in Aquila. The card was still fairly blank, save for the large green arrow that had appeared on it the moment Maximillion took his first step after touching the thing. It seemed to tug on his arm, pulling him about as if he were a toy. He gritted his teeth. "This card has to be evil. I swear, if I get to wherever the other cards are and it turns out to be a dud or some sort of evil war elephant, I'm gonna…" He trailed off, inhaling sharply. The self-proclaimed hero rolled his neck, massaged his shoulders and allowed the card to drag him along the streets of Aquila.
A large banner that read "Welcome to the IMMORTAL GAMES" flashed before Maximillion's eyes and his jaw fell.
Whoa.
The Immortal Games? The challenge for the greatest hero? The challenge that suited his-no, someone with his-capabilities? Maximillion had studied Conjuring, as the card had initially led him to the Library, giving him vast knowledge of all the known magics and what he would be able to do with each. Maximillion chose to specialize in Conjuration and after years, here he was. The Immortal Games. Maybe the card had deemed him a hero? Maybe the card recognized his strength?
By the Titans.
He was here. He was finally here.
If only he had some friends to tell about it. Max gave a small chuckle and shook his head in dismissal. A hero didn't need friends. Heroes rode solo-they did everything on their own. They were strong in both weapon and magic, and a hero's leadership skills were beyond godly. Maximillion once was told of a hero who could rule gods. Well, that was before he fell at the hands of his son and his closest friends. He was called Thalo-something, and he was said to be ruthless. Though, that didn't matter. Maximillion knew all too well (not really, he just liked to believe he did) that a hero had to shoulder the woes, the burdens, the stress and the pain of all who he loved and protected, no matter how he felt towards them.
Placing a fist to his chest, he glanced at the sky, a look of determination spreading across his face.
I will protect the-
"Are y'gonna go in 'r what?" A man slapped Maximillion on the shoulder, his short blonde hair streaked with violet, black, ocean blue and gold gave the Conjurer a sharp glare. Max returned the gesture with a glare of his own. How rude. The man appeared about twenty, and was approximately three inches taller than Max himself, who was a small 5'1".
The hero scoffed. "Of course I'm going in," He answered simply. Suck it up, words shouldn't hurt.
The opening of the mountain loomed before them, shadows swirling ominously in what could've been described as the maw of an enormous rock monster.
A fairly loud growl drew the attention of both me, and they squinted, trying to peer further into the cave. A snort made the twenty year old jump back, but Max pressed forward. "The Immortal Games…" He muttered dazedly. The Conjurer continued to move closer to the cave, the younger man with the strange hair catching up to him.
"You ready, man?" Max turned his head towards the twenty year old upon hearing the question.
"What?"
"If we lose, we probably can't come back for a year or something. Are you ready?"
Max shrugged. "I'm a hero. I can't lose." He responded, trudging forwards. The man with multicolored hair took one last glance behind him before following Max into the cave.
Oh, boy.
The two minotaurs that slammed their hooves into the cracked rock floor split, each colossal creature gaining a duplicate.
"Whoa-two more?!" The newcomer next to Max asked incredulously. "Why are there two more?"
"Maybe someone else came to fight with us?" Max asked, his tone uneasy. He glanced around. "We could use all the help we can get, especially if we're going to do a double summon pincer attack."
"Double summon pincer-A what?!" Max's companion asked incredulously. "What's with the plans?"
"I'll help," a soft voice drew both men's eyes to a barely visible silhouette in a secluded corner of the room.
Max stated for a moment blankly before turning back to the Skyfather. "Alright, we're ready!" He set himself in a fighting stance, motioning for the other two members of his group to fan out and prepare themselves.
"Here's how this'll work," Max began, the plan already unfolding in his mind. "You-" he pointed to the man with the wild, insanely colorful hairstyle. "-you'll attack from that side. Be sure to spread out your attacks and get to higher ground as you do so. Once you get to higher ground, you throw your strongest attack you can and then run at them."
"Wait, what?" Was the immediate response Max received, but he ignored it.
"You-" Max continued, pointing to the silver haired, short legged, dark robed man on his left. "-you'll attack from that side, too, only you'll keep their attention and summon some minions if you can. I'll go for the Skyfather, but by that time, you'll have had to crush the minotaurs so you can help me. Got it? Good. Let's-" Max concluded, but the man who had stopped him once before stopped him again.
"Hold it, buddy! Look, I got a name-I'm Will-well, William, but Will works, alright? And this plan-this plan of yours makes no sense whatsoever. How're we supposed to kill minotaurs that fast? We don't know how strong they are!" William exclaimed, an attempt to point out the flaws in Max's plan.
Max looked at William silently before he then said, "We could've gone through with it if you didn't need to tell me that," he tried as one minotaur raised its fist above the duo's heads.
Help.
"You are not my son."
"But-Father-" Eron pleaded.
"Do not call me that!" The older draconian snapped, his voice lowered to a hiss, venom slipping from his tongue.
Eron's eyes found the ground, and his shoulders slumped in sorrow. He hung his head in shame, unwilling to look at his father.
"You are a disgrace to this family. You have shamed us all-Your lack of magical ability, let alone potential is ridiculous and preposterous-had I not seen the truth myself, I would have had you lashed for lying to me. As a result, I will have your wings clipped and you will leave this place."
Eron didn't realize he was crying.
"Am I understood, Darrien?" Darrien Viridian XIV younger draconian didn't respond. "Am I understood?"
Eron shook in his place, his head hung in shame. Darrien Viridian XIV reached towards his son, grabbing him, lifting his head, forcing him to look into his eyes-
The window shattered.
Eron was no longer in the stairwell of his home, but instead was tumbling out of the broken window, wings flailing, an attempt to catch a pocket of aid to right himself and flee. Wings clipped? Exile?
Everything Eron had ever done in his lifetime was to please his family. Everything was for his family. His father. Father this, father that. All he was rewarded with was a stern glance and a curt "run along, now," from his elder. He'd had enough. He had enough of being ordered around by a man who didn't even treat his son like he mattered. He'd had enough of hiding from himself, being sheltered, concealed from reality. He'd had enough of being bound.
Eron didn't want to pretend that he loved his father anymore.
"You will never return!" Darrien XIV roared, his screams blown away by the wind. "You are a disgrace, you bastard child! No one ever loved you! No one will come for you! You are lost!"
If throwing himself headlong into abandonment was a way of escaping a lifetime of shame, then so be it.
The green skinned draconian woke with a gasp. He tilted his head to the side, yellow eyes wide and his expression frantic. His eyes flitted about in their sockets, looking for an intruder that wasn't there. He ran a clawed hand along his snout. "Goddamn," he said simply, shaking his head in dismissal.
He'd been having the same dream for-what was it-months since Ambrose had notified him of the increasing threat that manifested itself as Malistaire Drake, the once popular Necromancer who had been driven to the edge after his wife was killed. Ambrose wanted him to join a team he had already created, with a Diviner who seemed distant-as if he were lost in another world rather than rooted in the current one, an amnesiac Thaumaturge who refused to talk, a young Pyromancer who barely looked above the age of fourteen, and a girl who seemed more mature than she looked. The last girl in particular had caught Eron's attention, and held it for a while. She had hair that was a dark red, and she was heterochromatic-one eye was bright blue and the other was a deep golden
Cyrus Drake's adoptive daughter.
Why did Ambrose choose Eron? He wasn't magical. Wasn't magical at all. Couldn't use magic, probably didn't even have the capacity for it. It was why his father hated him. Why his sister gave him a look that was laced with pity and scorn. Why his cousins would laugh at him.
Eron hated his family. He hated them enough to flee his home and feel not even a shred of regret. He despised them enough to hiss their names every time he felt anger surge through his veins. Rolling onto his side, Eron threw the covers on his bed over his head, squeezing his eyes shut and letting out a strong, powerful, angry breath.
Where did this road lead?
He coughed dismissively. That wasn't something he should think about. The future. The future was unknown, unpredictable and something he disliked. But alas, the future would eventually turn into the present, so there was no use in thinking about it until then.
Hauling himself out of bed, wings, tail and all, Eron stood tall, staring at the ground for a moment before he turned his attention to the window. From his raggedy dorm view, he was able to see a young couple sharing experiences beneath a tree, a second wizard whispering an incantation hurriedly before leaping into the air and unleashing the spell-a Storm Phoenix-that soared from the palm of his hand and vaporized the ground beneath him.
The wizard-female-had attracted Eron's full attention by this point, and he watched her as she entered a deadly dance with mild amusement.
Hm.
One eye was red, one blue. She was unique. An outcast, possibly.
Like him.
Eron stared at her for a moment longer and then pushed open the door to his dorm room, the floorboards creaking underneath his weight.
Might as well talk to her, right?
Couldn't hurt.
After all, time ran out eventually.
MW: This chapter was a bit rushed, but I will be adding more in the future. Right now I'm testing character developments and perspective switches. Keep in mind, this chapter is in the present, not the past.
Q: Who is Eron?
A: A green skinned draconian who was once part of a royal family-I decided to create the royal families for plot purposes-known as House Viridian. He exiled himself after realizing that they were hindering his progress as a person.
Q: Is Malistaire dead by this point?
A: Yes, he was recently defeated by Eron, Hunter, and a few others who aren't important, hence why they have no names.
Q: Why is there another Talon?
A: There was another Talon simply for the purpose of having Astra lose her mind. The Talon we all know-one of the main characters-is actually named Israfel Talon Bloodbane la Noir Corneille Von la Crux et Brulant Ciel, but prefers to be called Talon since his entire name is lengthy and difficult to pronounce for some.
The Talon featured in this chapter is Talon Wood, or simply just "Wood" since he holds little significance. His appearance is debated (by me and myself) because Astra sees him as two people, but in reality, Wood is tall and has braided blue hair whereas the Talon Astra hallucinates is dark-skinned, with curly black hair and a fairly short stature.
Q: Was Astra hallucinating? Why?
A: Yes, she was, but it had to do with the fact that there are multiple triggers that cause her to regain certain memories, though the process is very painful. One of the triggers is the name "Talon", and depending on where she is and what she's doing, she will regain a memory, or hallucinate Talon wherever she happens to travel.
Stay tuned.
