Chapter 2 – Horrible History
-.-.-.-.-.
The Frontier had been the last of the regions to stop warring with the monsters. This was mostly because of the kill-or-be-killed attitude ingrained within the locals, the result of generations of struggling for survival in a war-torn world. But finally, the monster-hunting stopped and the merciless retaliations ceased soon after.
Now, peace could at last reign supreme. And this made the restless master of the Frontier's Hunter's Guild feel uneasy.
He was an elderly Wyverian, a race that had allied itself with those like the humans and Troverians many millennia ago. They could either be short and goblin-like, or tall and almost human in appearance. The Guild-Master was on the lower end of the scale, but for what he lacked in stature he made up for in wisdom. He had maintained his position for generations, and was a trusted, well-respected leader.
For many a night he had gone without sleep. Mostly, these long and torturous nights had been due to monster attacks or a fear of impending monster attacks. As the largest city and center of trade in the Frontier, Mezeporta and its neighboring military base had seen its share of invasions by the strongest of monsters. Most of them were elder dragons, intelligent and vastly powerful creatures probably hoping to put a huge dent in the Frontier's human population by laying waste to its main trade center.
That was why Mezeporta was home to a Hunter's Guild. This one boasted the most courageous and elite hunters out of all the Guilds, trained to fight back against the hordes of extremely vicious monsters that the Frontier was so infamous for. Thanks to the Guild, and by extension the Guild-Master himself, Mezeporta had been saved from destruction more times than anyone could count. Not to say that the amount of loss always seemed to be tragic… but the losses would be undeniably worse without the efforts of the hunters.
All of this, though, was now in the past. The 'Age of Hunters' had been declared over, and a new 'Age of Knowledge' had begun. While there had always been scientists and explorers that dedicated their lives to studying monsters, the Human-Monster War was over, and the explosion of opportunities for monster study was absolutely tremendous. The risk of being killed on sight had gone with the end of the war, so now researchers could observe monsters to their heart's content, and learn so much more about them.
The Age of Knowledge owed its success to one individual. This individual was known only as the Hero – an otherwise ordinary hunter that had been born about forty years ago, in a small village deep within the Central World. The Central World was a very mysterious place at the very heart of the Great Continent, crawling with deadly new species of monsters. Hunter's Guilds all over the known world had received reports from their field workers about serpents that shone with the power of the sun… a wyvern that roamed the land and stained its horn with the blood of innocents…
Anyway, this Hero grew up in the Central World and was trained to hunt monsters, but he ended up befriending one instead. He and his new companion, a Rathalos, convinced the people of the Central World that the Human-Monster War should be stopped – and gradually, the entire continent followed, putting down their weapons and hailing the Hero as… well, a hero.
Yes, the Age of Knowledge was a glorious time.
That didn't help soothe the Guild-Master's uneasiness one iota.
With a half-strangled gasp, he awoke from his nightmare and immediately sat up. His brow was slick with fear-induced sweat, and his breathing was heavy and labored. His heart was beating at a rate that was probably rather unhealthy for a being of his advanced age.
"Just… just a dream," the Guild-Master assured himself. "It was a manifestation of my imagination, that's all. It wasn't real…"
But the words from his nightmare were still in his head, taunting him, singing the same verse over and over again. They chanted a song that went like…
"We're just useless spellcasters that aren't whole.
But the Eye will restore our glory.
You'll be dead, we'll be rulers so promptly.
We'll kill all of you,
That's very true,
Who is it that just got free?"
The chant from the Guild-Master's nightmare chilled him to the bone whenever he thought of them. At first, the old Wyverian had been dreaming of things that had nothing to do with him – he saw the Hero and the end of the Human-Monster War, the first researchers embarking on their expeditions, the hustle and bustle of a city no longer plagued by monster attacks… and then the dream had turned dark, and the Guild-Master had found himself surrounded by shadowy figures that sang ominously in his ears.
Inadvertently, the song slipped to the front of his mind again – "Who is it that just got free?"
"Tea," he grunted, crawling out of bed. "A nice, warm drink is what I need."
Yawning widely, the elderly Wyverian exited his chamber and went down to the kitchen for some tea. A hot beverage was always a welcome friend for an old, deteriorating fellow who couldn't fall asleep. As he got the kettle ready, he inadvertently turned to look out the window – even at night, where the only light came from the moon and the stars, the shadowy silhouette of the huge Guild Hall never failed to impress him. In the old days, that was where the officials determined which monsters were to be hunted, and where hunters accepted quests to slay those monsters. Recently, though, the Guild Hall was now home to the researchers, who would accept missions to go out into the field and conduct their studies.
For some reason, not even the sight of the Guild Hall, or the thought of working with his fellow Guild officials, could make the old Wyverian feel any better.
Peace prevailed, and yet the Guild-Master was not celebrating. Instead, there was that feeling of dread that welled up inside of him, telling him to watch his back. Things weren't as they seemed.
I'm just being paranoid, he decided, filling his kettle with water. I've known nothing but war my entire life – my long, long life. I'm not used to things being so calm.
He remembered his dear old father, who had been born before the Human-Monster War first began. He had been the first Guild-Master of the Mezeporta Hunter's Guild, one thousand years ago. He would sit his son on his lap and retell the stories he had heard from the other Hunter's Guilds – tales of chaos and people struggling to survive in a world that, all of a sudden, wanted them dead.
In a region on the other side of the continent, known only as "the Nameless", an elder dragon had awoken from its slumber on Heaven's Mount and wiped out a village called Cathar. After eating its fill, it had slithered back to its nest and fell asleep once more, and was never seen again.
In the mighty Schrade Kingdom, another elder dragon had single-handedly destroyed the entire city and settled down in the ruins. No hunter who journeyed to Castle Schrade, where the dragon slept, ever came back.
There were more disasters in those first few weeks of the war – in particular, the Guild-Master remembered his father telling him of a largely unexplored region called the Mysterious Beyond, whose biggest trade city had fallen and crumbled to nothing. The beginning of the war had seen some of the darkest days for humankind and Wyverian-kind.
The Guild-Master remembered those tales even though his father was long dead. In all his time serving as Mezeporta's Guild-Master, he had only heard of one disaster as catastrophic as the ones in the stories. Fifty years ago, a hurricane had battered Moga Island and destroyed the villages there. He recalled that day as if it were yesterday, thinking back to the urgent messages, and the arguments with the Guild officials, and more sleepless nights…
A shrill whistle brought the Guild-Master out of his troubled thoughts. His tea was ready. Grunting as he forced his tired old bones to move, he took the kettle and poured its contents into a mug, then crushed a tea leaf in his shriveled hand and dropped the pieces into the hot water. After stirring the tea for a while, he took a tentative sip. Yes, that was satisfying.
Before he could make himself comfortable, though, there was a flutter of wings from outside. Suddenly, the moonlight streaming into the kitchen was blocked by a large figure that strained to get its bulk through the window. It was a Halk, and an unusually big one at that.
Halks were one of the few monsters that had not been hunted during the Human-Monster War. In fact, they were used as companions and scouts by hunters in the Frontier – the flying wyverns would fly long distances to find their quarry, then lead their masters to the monster so it could be killed. And for thousands of years, Halks had been a huge part of culture in the Frontier. Even in the middle of the war, you couldn't just throw such a thing away.
"Algor?" the Guild-Master rasped, recognizing the bird-like monster. "Ah, you've returned from delivering my message to His Immenseness in Dundorma. Finally, something to be happy about."
With a squawk, Algor squeezed through the window and extended his wings to their full seven-foot span. Attached to his leg was a scroll, a return message from the master of Dundorma City's Hunter's Guild. But when the Guild-Master looked up at the Halk's beak, he could see an unmistakable frown.
It's not good news that Algor brings, he realized.
Obligingly, Algor plucked the scroll from his leg and bent down to give it to the Guild-Master. The old Wyverian accepted it with a smile, and patted the wyvern's majestic head.
"Go now, Algor," he murmured. "Get some rest. You've had a long flight."
The Halk chirped and affectionately tweaked his master's ear, then clambered back through the window and soared off to his usual evening roost.
With his frown returning to his face, the Guild-Master unrolled the message and scrutinized it. Every sentence he read made his expression darken, and his feeling of unease strengthen.
"Unusual tectonic activity recorded near Cathar II, cause not confirmed. Gunpowder and cannonballs going missing from the Battlequarters, thief or thieves not yet identified. Monsters native to the Old Swamp appearing outside their natural habitats, believed to be a sudden change in the environment. Storm system building over Moga Island, spotted by Dragonwatch."
It wasn't exactly bad news, but nonetheless, it was certainly not good. The Guild-Master felt the dread build up inside him until he couldn't help but drop the message. He held his fingers to his temples, fighting the dread and refusing to let it overwhelm him. He would have to think logically about all of this – and more importantly, he'd have to decide what, if any, course of action to take in response.
First and foremost, the "unusual tectonic activity". Cathar II had been built a long time ago, soon after the original Cathar had been destroyed. Once the elder dragon had vanished, and no trace of it was found even after years of searching, Heaven's Mount had been deemed safe enough for construction of a new village to begin. But with this new and worrying development, was Cathar II no longer safe?
Then the disappearance of gunpowder from the Battlequarters, which was a fortress built on the outskirts of Dundorma City to withstand elder dragon attacks. A very long time ago, it was said, such things had been stolen from the Battlequarters before, and the perpetrator was later revealed to be a hideous dragon called Gogmazios. However, when the hunters of Dundorma's Guild had retaliated, Gogmazios had retreated. The hunters followed its oily trail all the way to the edge of the Old Swamp – a journey that had taken several weeks, as the Old Swamp was part of a region away from the Frontier. But all signs of Gogmazios had disappeared, forcing the hunters to call off the search.
Nothing else had dared steal from the Battlequarters since Gogmazios attacked, not even the most ferocious of elder dragons. That terrifying beast had been the only exception. In the weeks before its discovery, it had made off with so much gunpowder that trade in Dundorma had been seriously affected. Only a year after that awful, awful time…
"The Day of Destruction," the Guild-Master whispered aloud.
Among the many things his father had told him about, the Day of Destruction had been the most important tale of all. It had been terrible – no, 'terrible' didn't even begin to cover it. The Gogmazios attack and the fall of Cathar had been terrible. The Day of Destruction had been catastrophic.
Almost two thousand years ago – one thousand, nine-hundred-fifty to be precise – a group of unimaginably powerful monsters had risen up against the world. These creatures weren't only powerful, but they each controlled a different magical element. Magic was a largely unknown force of nature that no ordinary life-form on the entire Great Continent had control over. Anyone who tried to practice magic soon learned that it was impossible to learn without severe consequences. The lucky ones died outright – the unlucky ones were corrupted and gradually consumed by a dark evil.
Many modern-day philosophers speculated that the monsters involved in the Day of Destruction had somehow come across magic and were corrupted by it. That was the generally accepted scenario, because this group was as evil as evil got. They appeared out of the blue one day and immediately started a murderous rampage, wiping entire cities out of existence. The number of casualties was theorized to be in the millions. If they hadn't been stopped, then they would have continued to spread chaos and death until every last sentient being was gone. Humans, Wyverians, Felynes… they all would have been wiped out.
But the monsters had been stopped! Miraculously, the Ancestor White Fatalis himself – a legendary beast that was rumored to be as powerful as a deity – had come down from his mysterious lair and chased the monsters to a part of the Nameless region known only as 'the Sanctuary'. Once inside the mountain walls of the Sanctuary, the evil monsters had fought White Fatalis until the Ancestor could barely move. But his brother and sister, known as Crimson Fatalis and Black Fatalis, came to his rescue and finished the evil ones.
Then, the White Fatalis regained his strength and dealt the final blow. He used his divine powers to imprison the evil ones in Hell, and scattered their bodies far and wide so that no one could find them.
"But it wasn't over," murmured the Guild-Master. He abandoned his tea and went to look out the window again, fixing his gaze on the starry sky above. "Only a year afterward, there was the Frenzy outbreak… the Shagaru Magala… then the thefts from the Battlequarters… No one had ever seen monsters quite like them before, and it's said to this day that the Shagaru Magala and the Gogmazios were somehow connected to the Day of Destruction."
No sooner than the final word escaped his mouth, something happened.
Pain seized the Guild-Master's mind, a headache that felt bad enough to split his mind in two. A wave of dizziness brought the old Wyverian to the floor. A gasp escaped his lungs and his heart pounded furiously, spurred into action at the unexpected dizzy spell. With blurry eyes, the Guild-Master saw the room darken until there was almost no light at all. Evil laughter echoed faintly in his ears as the darkness started to swirl around him, turning into tendrils of shadow each with glowing purple eyes.
"Who is it that just got free?" the voices demanded. "Who is it that just got free?"
This was no mere nightmare. Feebly, the Guild-Master tried to rise, but he only got as far as his knees before the dizziness forced him back onto the ground. The shadows closed in around him, cackling madly as they swirled and circled even faster, taking delight in tormenting him.
"N-No more…!" gasped the Guild-Master. "No more of this… p-please…"
Pleading did nothing to stop the vision that plagued him. Darkness threatened to suffocate him as the malevolent fog continued its assault on his mind. Multiple voices chanted torturously in his ears, the lyrics promising doom and death and the end to civilization as he knew it. More than anything, he wished for the vision to end.
The Guild-Master could feel himself growing cold as fear clutched his bones and froze his muscles in place. He was too scared to do anything but lie there and stare at the horrific entities that flew around him, torturing him with their singing and laughter.
He didn't know exactly when he fell unconscious, but when he did, it was a mercy.
-.-.-.-.-.
It was a long time before someone else walked into the kitchen and discovered the Guild-Master.
Two Guild officials, wearing their regular burgundy uniforms, burst into the room and immediately saw the Wyverian crumpled on the floor. The sight of him lying there in such a helpless state made their blood run cold, as if they knew that something wasn't right. One of the officials whispered something to her companion, and he nodded before running off.
He wasn't gone long. He returned with a much younger Wyverian in tow, her nightgown slightly wrinkled and her smooth face a mask of worry and despair. She knelt down to feel the Guild-Master's forehead, and she went pale down to the roots of her bright pink hair when she realized that his skin was as cold as ice.
"He's not dead," Caela whispered. She glanced up at the Guild officials with wide, worried eyes. "Mircon, you carry my grandfather back to his chamber where he'll be safe. Bring his tea with him in case he wakes up."
Mircon bowed to her and gathered the old Wyverian in his arms, also accepting the cup that Caela handed to him. He left the kitchen without any delay, heading directly for the Guild-Master's chamber as he had been ordered.
The female Guild official stayed by Caela's side as she glanced around at the otherwise empty room. With the moonlight shining through the window and providing a silvery glow over the floor and furniture, it was the very picture of tranquility. But Caela and her companion were far too worried to admire it.
"You knew he wasn't dead," the official said to Caela, the tone of her voice almost accusatory. "What happened to bring him in such a state?"
For the longest time, Caela was silent as she fought to speak aloud the words she wanted to keep to herself. "A vision, Zald. That's the only explanation. He hasn't had one in so long… not since he sent his Halk with the message to His Immenseness in Dundorma."
Two pairs of eyes suddenly noticed the slip of paper on the kitchen table, where the Guild-Master had dropped it. When Caela picked it up, Zald peered over her shoulder and read it alongside her. They finished at the same time, and then the human and Wyverian exchanged worried glances.
"Things are changing," Caela said with utmost certainty.
Zald blinked. "Wh-What does this mean?" she quavered. "This ominous news, coupled with the vision you say he had… what's going to happen? The last time he saw the future…"
"It was a disaster," Caela finished for her. The dark shadows under her eyes contrasted with the moonlit whiteness of her face, making Zald feel like she was staring at a gaunt skull. "Algor hadn't even been gone for a day before that elder dragon attacked…"
"So soon after the war ended, too," Zald almost whimpered, hugging herself as if she wished her uniform would grow to hide her entirely. "The Large Exploration Ship was lost. Now we'll never get to the Sky Corridor."
Caela reflected on the memory. It had only been a couple of weeks ago when the news was brought back – the Frontier's Guild's new airship, simply titled the 'Large Exploration Ship', had disappeared on its way to a new island that had recently been discovered by the Dragonwatch. Unfortunately, they hadn't known that there was a new species of elder dragon guarding the place, and because of that, the Guild's finest technological marvel was nothing but scrap beneath the sea.
"We'll build another Large Exploration Ship," Caela said quietly, "but that isn't what's worrying me. My grandfather saw a devastating attack only a day before it happened… so what has he seen now?"
The young Wyverian decided that she'd rather not think about it. And even with another six hours left before sunrise, she didn't sleep a wink that night.
-.-.-.-.-.
Snug in his bedchamber once more, the Guild-Master tossed and turned in his slumber. His wrinkled face was stretched into a mask of discomfort as images danced inside his head, none of them showing anything he recognized, and all of them foreboding…
A bedraggled teenager bedecked in armor made from Great Jaggi hide, limping toward the gates of Mezeporta before collapsing with exhaustion.
A dark cave, and a shadowy figure sliding through the thick mist with a bone-chilling hiss.
The roar of the infamous Gogmazios, like the tolling of a gong as it smashed its way through a city.
Earthquakes, and mountains crumbling to dust as an ancient beast woke up in a bad mood.
And behind it all… seven shadows that twirled almost gleefully as they chanted their song in menacing voices…
"We're just useless spellcasters that aren't whole.
But the Eye will restore our glory.
You'll be dead, we'll be rulers so promptly.
We'll kill all of you,
That's very true,
Who is it that just got free?
Sins Deadly!"
-.-.-.-.-.
So, writing the last chapter gave me sinful cravings. I ate, I slept, I stood in the rain and let my worries be washed away… but still no limitless power. Damn it.
Anyway, this chapter is kind of a "prologue", where I explain the whole backstory of the Monster Hunter universe (or at least my version of it). None of this is canon, but a lot of it has been inspired by canon stuff.
If you still have questions, readers, feel free to ask if you are confused about anything.
One more thing… this story will be a musical. That is, the characters will occasionally sing to express themselves. I hope you look forward to it!
Review, please!