Undead Nemesis, Renewed Existence, After Life
Chapter 2: Betrayal
There is a world to keep the dead, the many souls that departed their own world.
There, in that world of Death, dead men live as tiny, divided atoms, each of them hovering about uncertainly.
One would need to harness an inordinate amount of energy to bring back the dead, to reunite those split particles of life. That is why the legend of Unreals is widely believed as untrue.
Unreals are dead men who have been revived, in a sense. They are the living dead, with their atoms linked together once more. Their organs have long wasted away, and thus they continually require blood to fuel their body.
If one puts stock in the myths, the first Unreal, a great necromancer, was born by chance. While his molecules randomly drifted about, they, through some nigh impossible occurrence, bonded together and he was thus brought back from the dead. Once he realised what had happened, he perfected a ritual which used his power in the dark arts, and he controlled the energy released to raise the dead. As Unreals are most likely unable to be killed, that necromancer probably still lives on somewhere.
This particular legend is possibly formed by mothers trying to prevent their children from wandering outside on dark nights, because the dark necromancer would prey on anyone who crossed his blood-spattered path.
Thus, Unrealism is, as its name states, unreal.
I I I
A dark, grim mood spread over the congregation, grief surging in their hearts. After all, they were members of a funeral service.
Here they were, gathered around a small mound - Linear's small mound. As the relatives and close friends of the deceased went up one by one, to give a short eulogy, Karina felt a growing sorrow within, surreptitiously stealing over her heart.
"My son, Linear Garde, was a great man. He willingly gave his life for a chance for our forces to win. He has made the great sacrifice of life for us. May he be blessed in the Heavens," a solemn Jasten Garde declared. Stepping down from a tiny stone plinth, one could see the reflected tears in his eyes.
A certain salty moisture clouded Karina's vision, causing her to trip as she got up the steps. Stumbling onto the ground, she hastily stood up and started her speech.
"Linear was a likeable person…"
His smile, his laughter, his every action…
"Who possessed the highest degree of bravery…"
Racing into a swarm of Balrogs, brimming with courage…
"And he showed care to his fellow peers…"
He took the stab for her…
She broke into silent sobs as she left the platform, unable to control herself.
After all, she pretty much lost a lover.
I I I
Linear was hovering in darkness, blind to the fact that he was, in some respects, conscious. He was not fully unconscious, yet not the opposite either. After all, he was split apart.
Roughly a week had passed, and the separate pieces of Linear were still floating. He was unaware of anything. He could not feel.
Just then, his atoms swirled around in a complicated manner. A pattern was forming. A human-shaped pattern.
His molecules were jolted, and he regained sentience. All was dark before him.
Firstly, he realised that he could not breathe. After all, who would put breathing holes in a coffin? But then, he did not know where he was.
With a sudden rush of vigour, he pushed away something before him, something cold, hard and unfeeling. He realised that it swung on hinges.
As it was shoved away, a flurry of soil crushed down on him, and he clawed his way out madly, and stood up when he got rid of the wet dirt.
The first thing he saw was a strange object, made of grey stone and rounded at the top, not unlike a thumb shape. He looked behind, only to see an old, weary man. The stranger motioned for him to look at the gravestone, for that was what it was.
He saw his name on it.
"What the…" After making that shocked exclamation, the memories flooded back to him. The Cassiopean King, the doppelganger, the spell that killed him…
He whirled around quickly. "What happened? Tell me!" Linear demanded of the man. Through his confusion, he could not make any sense of why he was living.
"I assume you have heard of Unreals?" the old man asked.
He knew it. After all, his father often told him that story in his childhood, due to his mischievousness. He always played outside even after twilight hours, and his father had to make sure that he did not roam too far away.
Then, he got the man's meaning.
"I'm an Unreal?" The man nodded.
"I am your sire," he replied. "I brought you back to this world."
"Why not others? Why did you pick me?"
"Well, you looked like you had a really short life." The old man gestured towards the gravestone, his gravestone, once more. On it was engraved:
Linear Garde. Lieutenant of Regiment A, Son of Brigade Commander Jasten Garde. 1610 – 1630.
A brave soldier who gave his life for the sake of the worlds. May he stay in our hearts forever, and may his courageous spirit live amongst us.
"Twenty years is a pitifully short time to live, isn't it?"
Linear only nodded gloomily, brooding over the events that had happened so far.
"I'm an Unreal…" Linear whispered quietly.
Running on all fours, he fled his sire, in search for his old army, his old life.
I I I
It was a cold and frigid night. The first frost had spread over the land already, a harbinger of the chilling winter that was about to come. Looking above, one could see the various birds beginning their migration to flee the harsh coldness.
A dark figure, his breaths condensing into tiny clouds, drew closer to the Aquilian Castle with every step he took. Upon arrival, the man panted a few streams of mist, rested his hands on his knees and bent over, gasping for air.
"Name and purpose?" the rather bored guard asked drearily.
"Linear Garde, Lieutenant of Regiment A, son of Jasten Garde. I wish to seek the King." Garde swept his matted jet-black hair away from his equally shadow-coloured eyes.
Seeing the badges on Linear's tattered armor, the guard knew better than to question this stranger. He opened the gates and motioned for him to wait on a bench beside the door. Sitting on the edge of his seat, Linear Garde was waiting impatiently. He wanted to return to his army. After all, with his immortality, he could help tip the balance in favour of the Allied Worlds.
After several minutes, the flustered-looking guard ushered him to a small, bare room. It was empty save for an oaken table and a chair of the same material. Once more, he had to wait till the King finally arrived.
The white regal robes he wore directly contrasted his dark skin, tanned several shades blacker by the sun. Glitters shone off the sapphires on the King's royal crown, itself made of nothing other than gold. Linear immediately rose up from his seat and bowed, as protocol demanded.
Receiving the bow with a mere wave of his hand, the King stood before him, his hands placed on the table. Linear was instead sitting on the chair. Perhaps the short and stocky man wanted to establish dominance and superiority over the taller Linear Garde through a height difference. The latter certainly felt like a criminal, with the Aquilian ruler being the interrogator.
"Who are you?" the seemingly irate monarch barked.
"Me? Linear Garde!" the ex-soldier replied, surprised by the King's taciturn and impatient manner.
"You can't fool me with your lies! I know you're not Linear Garde. He has died! You are just an infiltrator from Cassiopeia wanting to penetrate our ranks!"
"No! I'm now an Unreal, I am immortal! I can help you fight against Cassiopeia!"
"I wasn't born yesterday!" Aquila's leader snarled. "Stop with your claptrap! Guards, take this liar away to the holding area!"
Before the flabbergasted Linear could do anything, he was bound in manacles and several sentries gruffly shoved him to a place where they used more shackles to secure his wrists, neck and ankles to a wooden cross. There they left him, as he protested desperately.
He felt so wronged. He just wanted to help his world, but they did not want his assistance. And they held him prisoner, at that. He tried to get free from his chains, and failed miserably. The sore injustice he felt stirred a tiny spark of anger, and it lit up in his heart.
His world had let him down. What could he turn to?
I I I
He was sleeping. Peacefully sleeping.
It was neither light nor birdcalls that roused Linear from his slumber, but a storm of lead.
He was awakened by the sharp pain and his own screams. He glanced down at what was once his shirt, rent to shreds by metal bullets. Yet, even though he felt the agony and could see the bullet holes in him, no blood oozed out of the wounds. He was sickeningly reminded of his Unrealism.
Just then, the pain abruptly stopped, along with the whistling sound of coursing bullets. He looked up, only to see a grim-looking firing squad of eight Gunslingers, carefully reloading their guns. He thrashed around wildly, but to no avail. Strong as he was, due to the necromancy in him, he could not break metal with bare hands, as he was weakened. He could not bear to think about it, but it was his lack of blood which caused his powers to abate.
Lances of pain erupted on his chest once more. Frustration spelt itself out on the gunners' faces as they frowned due to their inability to kill their target. Linear was immortal, after all. However, immortal as he might have been, he could not be spared the pain.
Each piece of metal penetrated skin, and was embedded in soft flesh. Each piece of metal hurt him, both physically and mentally.
Each piece of metal, it stoked the raging flame of fury in him.
I I I
"Freaking all-out war got declared on Cass, dammit!"
Polin woke up the survivors of his group with this alarmingly loud declaration. He swore for a few seconds, told his group the meeting place for all the soldiers, and started to prepare a meal of venison. The deer he hunted down last night provided not only food, but also its skin which could be used to patch up their tents.
Karina rubbed her closed eyelids, a purplish circle forming around each of them. The lack of sleep was apparent from the somewhat-drowsy way she walked, her intermittent yawning and the fact that her eyes remained half-closed even in battle.
Legen, the current leader of the twenty-man group (as they joined up with a few other regiments), stayed in his tent, turning over to face the back of it. He was just too exhausted to wake up.
Shaking him, Polin yelled in his ear, "Wake up, you lazy asshole! If we hurry, we can get there in five days' time!"
"Who would want to hurry and face death early?" Legen murmured sleepily. And shorten my time with Karina, he thought silently. He had been carrying a torch for the lady too, but knowing of Linear's affection for her, he stepped back in the romance war. Now that Linear had passed away, he could finally approach her. Yet sadly, war got in the way of untimely love.
"We'd get killed by the King instead if we didn't rush there on time. Deadline's a week later, and we might be accused of treachery or betrayal if we don't go."
Legen walked out of his temporary abode, stretching his arms. He felt a soothing relief from the numbness than plagued his body just moments before. As he cast his gaze around, he saw what seemed like the horizon rising, a dark, dark horizon. And it was heading towards them.
"He'll have to queue up to kill us."
I I I
Monstrous roars and echoing battle cries resounded about the tiny valley the battlers were in. Claws and teeth met metal as the fight raged on. The defenders were staving off their enemies, but still the fiends charged forth, a tidal wave rippling thunderously. Arrows were launched from the back ranks, but even well-placed arrows were, essentially, twigs with sharpened ends, and they could do little to help turn the tables.
Thick in the fight, the warriors and pirates were hacking at the brutal attackers furiously. They did manage to kill some, of course, but for every monster killed, another rose to take its place.
Black, black as the night sky, the Crimson Balrogs wielded sharp, venomous claws, had eyes which glowed like fire and fangs that glistened with blood. Unleashing their inbred hatred for humans, they slew the pitiful soldiers. Blades and claws formed a dance, a morbid dance of death.
"We magicians shall try to initiate a mass teleport! Fight for a little longer!"
Legen was suffering from a few minor wounds. Fighting back-to-back with Polin, they let loose all the might they had to hold back the enemy. He could feel his friend's heart beating furiously against his back. Trepidation also forced his own to palpitate fiercely.
A small ring of Balrogs surrounded them, and Legen's watchful eye peered at each of them, waiting for a sudden movement. After all, they could not attack, due to inferiority in numbe-
A claw was thrust out at him!
With little time to react, he hastily held up his shield, hoping that the metal frame would hold. It did, but it looked almost unrecognizable. And he felt an unpleasant jarring sensation on his left arm.
"So, you wrecked my shield, eh? I guess I'll have to fight two-handed sword style now!"
He placed his left hand just below his right on the hilt, slashing at the brown arm that was too slow to be withdrawn. The authority behind the blow was so great that he severed the portion of the arm before where he struck. As one of the Archmages had imbued his Sparta with ice energy, the stump protruding from the shoulder froze, and gradually the whole body. With a quick backhand slash, he smashed the frozen corpse into myriad pieces.
Now, another Balrog attacked. And another. And another. He was, to put it in words, overwhelmed. A flurry of claws headed towards him. Without a shield, he held his sword out horizontally, his left arm placed on the other end of the blade for support. The claws glanced off the metal, and new blood stained the blue blade. Some of it was his own, of course, as the Sparta actually sliced through his gauntlet, biting into his fleshy palm.
He fiercely held back a cry of pain, and gritting his teeth, he quickly switched to his Fairfrozen with the time he had bought. With a shout of "Dragon Roar!", the brutes before him were cleared out, along with the ones behind attacking Polin. The latter man had no time to thank him, for more of the monsters advanced cautiously.
The effect of his previous attack had greatly drained his energy, and exhaustion caused his brain to clog up a little. Another swipe was aimed at him, and too tired, he had to resort to ducking.
A spray of blood spurted out somewhere behind him, and when he stood back up, he could no longer feel the tremor of Polin's heart.
I I I
Legen held out for a little while. After that, he was enveloped in blue light, and the whole faction of soldiers was teleported to a place tens of miles away. He sank to his knees there, grieving for the loss of his friend. And the worst thing was, he caused Polin to die.
He was a murderer, a betrayer. He killed his friend.
Karina went over to comfort him. No one else did, for of his old group of men, only he and Karina survived. She patted his back softly, pretending not to notice the few tears from him that melted the snow.
"I killed Polin…" he choked.
"No, you didn't. The Crimson Balrog did. Not you."
He continued weeping silently, the girl he loved squatting beside him. First Linear, then now Polin. Maybe he was a jinx. Maybe he also caused Linear's death.
Caught up in morose thoughts, he fainted, due to grief, lethargy and guilt.
I I I
Scars criss-crossed his chest, scars made by tearing bullets.
Once, they even tried to hang him, and he could still feel the raw wound on his neck.
Linear lived through everything the Aquilian King could throw at him: guns, hangings, even beheadings. His head could not be detached from the rest of his body, the blade only passing through partially. It hurt like hell, though.
He wasn't bored, even if he had nothing to do. How do you feel bored if you live through tons of executions? Pain chased away his boredom in a very bad way.
A way that he loathed, and he could only blame his tormentor for it.
King Argus.
His previous unwavering loyalty had disappeared, and in its place was abhorrence. Abhorrence for the Allied Worlds, and especially for that cruel Argus. He would pay.
He really would.
I I I
The magicians in Legen's party were drained of mana everyday. Even though the mass teleports were infrequent, the two men and one woman could not move twelve people other than themselves without totally tiring themselves out.
One of the male archmages had just died from mana loss. Now, two days after that grueling fight, they were twenty miles from their destination, and could not travel there quickly enough to meet the deadline.
Legen hardly cared anymore.
Existence was cruel. Life was death-filled. Why, in life, was there so much pain and suffering? Demise reigned all around him. His men were half-dead. He himself was like a zombie; he shambled mindlessly, almost uncaring, almost unaware of the world around him. What difference was there between him and the poor souls that haunted El Nath's Mines?
I I I
Ebony skies were lit by the weak, paltry glow of the full moon. Arrows of shining light fell through a maze of metal bars, a shadowy tattoo momentarily being formed upon Linear's upturned face.
Chains rattled as he brought his arms up to touch the heavenly glow, and a pale, bloodless finger reached out of his window grille to touch the outside world, to touch freedom.
He could taste it in the air.
The moonlight shining upon him wasn't burning, or painful. It was strangely empowering and made him feel… godly.
Everyone knew about the intimate relationship between Unrealism, night, and the moon.
Adrenalin pumped throughout his body, and strength coursed through his veins once more. It felt like blood, even though none ran through his body now.
It would though, in a few minutes' time.
Chains rattled again.
His face contorted into one of vexation and extreme effort. His muscles bulked as he tried to break the metal that bound him.
A small pant escaped from Linear's mouth.
Heavily-tempered steel broke apart, a ringing tone echoing about his cell.
Eyes glowing a faint scarlet, the blood-hunger racked his flesh, and that intense craving flooded his mind. His tongue ran over his dry, chapped lips as he grinned, a fierce, humorless grin.
It was time.
Author's Note:
!w00t! I haven't updated in a long time, nor have I posted any stuff at all. I have been suffering from: Bored Of Randomly Entering Documents Of Mine, Then (Yippee) Perpetually Exiting, LOL, also known as BOREDOM TYPE LOL.
I am epicly lame, with a retarded fascination for acronyms. Hey, I took quite a while for that. And I took even longer for UNREAL. Anyway, I have been suffering from writer's block (I think).
This sucks. And anyway, I will edit chap 1 before making chap 3, cos chap 1 is weird. I shall edit according to marco's review (Thank you marco).
Linear is evil, bwahahas.