Chapter took so longggg ahhh
brain empty, sadge.
Armour: Brimflame
Weapon: Winter's Fury, Undine Retribution, Stormfront Razor
Acc(11/11): The Bee, Celestial cuffs, Mana Flower, Sorcerer Emblem, Cryo Wings, Ankh Shield, Deific Amulet, FrostSpark Boots, Grand Gelatin, Permafrost's Concotion, Evasion Scarf. (Unlimited Buffs)
Health: (500/500)
The air smells of violence.
Like the stench of an old beast.
It rankles my nostrils with the odour of coppery blood and gunpowder; it seeps up into my brain and tingles my eyeballs from behind. I shiver as it crawls through my clothes and begins to stain my bones. The sensation triggers something in me. A fight or flight response? It makes my eyes sharp and brutal. It shakes my nerves and drives them to attention. My fingers tingle inside their metal shells. I can feel every muscle fibre straining with each step I take; I can feel each of my bones heavy inside my flesh. There's a dull red excitement buzzing in the roots of my teeth.
Fear. Excitement. Dread. I bare my gums and stare at the Archmage's icy castle.
It flickers and trembles in my vision. I can feel it in my bones.
Something is coming.
Something is coming.
I listen as I run. Straining my ears in anticipation of this massive existential threat which invokes in me equal parts fear and excitement. Yharim is coming. We know it. I know it. My Teacher knows it. The Fleeing mob knows it and The Archmage probably knows it too. I can feel it in the dry, dead air. Everything is cold and silent and tense. So tense, it feels as if a single noise could snap apart this faux peace and pitch everything into pandemonium.
*boom...crackle*
I hear the explosions as if underwater. Low, rumbling noises that shake the floor and resound down my spine. Great crossbows launch massive bolts at The Fortress's structure. Each projectile is two men tall and tipped with a head of dynamite. They pierce the towers and burst - collapsing the structures and scattering the centuries old brick into heaps of debris. Many of the towers have already fallen, crushing whomsoever they fell upon. Some still live and cry pitifully for help. Others have been smashed beyond recognition, looking more like mangled meat than anything human. I avert my eyes.
The Steampunker and The Bandit... did they escape?
Perhaps. Perhaps not. I... I shouldn't really care. After all, they are scarcely acquaintances, much less friends. The Steampunker had the audacity to report me as a CC Agent (offensive, really. How dare she compare me to somebody so weak), yet I cannot bring myself to be angry with her. Each time my mind flickers back to the brief time we wandered about together, I cannot help but relish those memories. The beautiful lush jungle, the birds of paradise that sparkle like gemstones, delicate flowers that burst forth from crystalline creeks and streams. There, I've seen more creatures than I've seen in my life. Animals, insects, bats, birds... Flowers, vines, ferns and roots.
I have never beheld such beauty before. And to share it with another? What joy was mine. We talked and gazed in wonder, exploring and bantering... ah. The Steampunker had been wrong to accuse me and force me into hiding, but I cannot find any vitriol within myself to pin upon her. I miss that brief time of freedom and joy.
The Bandit too! She... well, she didn't do anything specific, I suppose. She did teach me to throw and she spoke kindly to me. Encouraging me whilst I needed no encouraging, and - despite knowing I was nothing like her and her comrades - treated me just like anyone else. I tasted the odd feeling of comraderie while in The Bandit's Brigade. It was odd being part of a team, as if each member gave up a bit of their individuality and became one. To share yourself so openly was odd, even intimidating - but something about it appealed to me greatly whilst I experienced it.
And so... I do sincerely hope the two of them are safe.
Because I have no time to search for them.
For as we walk towards the front of the courtyard - the bodies are becoming far more frequent. Spilling out of collapsed buildings, splayed over each other like heaps of flesh at the butchers. Some are victims of being trampled by their peers, having been crushed to pulp and jagged bones by a thousand pounding footfalls. Others must have fallen to bullets, or to a blade, garotte wires or blunt beatings. Still others are burst asunder - painting the walls upon which they lean with large lumpy splatters. There are many... more and more until I feel that everywhere I look, heads of hair and broken wrists stare back at me. I'm not squeamish by any means - but to imagine those two women are amongst the dead?
...It sends a horrid feeling to my gut.
I listen to try to pick their voices from the foggy din... but I cannot hear.
The silence is overwhelming. It holds everything in mist and statis. Foggy noises ring out from all around me. Screams and cries of distress, the low sobbing of the hopeless and the quiet moans of the injured. I listen, but they are all muted by the tension in the air. The sun looks down with a sneer and hides its face with a veil of clouds. Two massive moons stare down as they approach from the horizon, one with a great crimson pupil, the other glowing green. The sky is gray. The earth is red. Everything is silent and hazy and waiting.
Everything is waiting for The Tyrant.
I know my footfalls crunch and squelch sickeningly, but my head is full of cotton.
Beside me, My Teacher mutters something and I nod in response, but I'm not listening.
I've been overcome with something... not something like doppelganger, no, but something else. Some deep set instinct that draws my eyes to the sky and sends electricity through my veins. Somebody leaps at me from above with his blade raised, and I cut him down without looking at him. A small group of agents clad in black shoot at us from behind, and with a flash of lightning, my left eardrum bursts. The Cultist had launched thunder at the offenders, disintegrating them and wounding me. Although I'm bleeding and my balance has been destroyed - I raise no complaint. I will heal momentarily. My focus is sharp. I don't notice the inconsequential things at all.
The Archmage is my priority.
I wouldn't care about Yharim at all if not for him. In fact, Yharim could come here and blast this place to nothing, and I wouldn't care at all. Although The Resistance had raised me as it's hope, it's dream is not mine. I don't care about this long standing struggle between The King and Braelor. Indeed, I couldn't say I'd be upset if I found The Tyrant had killed The Titan Commander and left his head on a pike.
I'd like to spit on his grave...
After all, whilst Yharim had spooked me quite badly, he hadn't actually done anything to harm me. He had shown his superiority in strength, and instead of provoking my competitive spirit, it invoked avoidance. Was that his intention? Probably, but I don't care either way. If Yharim leaves me alone, I am more than happy to leave him alone... so long as I can get The Archmage out first.
Because during the entirety of my short life, the only reason anyone wished to associate with me at all was for my strength. 'What could I do for them'? How could they exploit me and my abilities? How could they use my naivety against me to accomplish their goals? There wasn't a single person I've yet encountered that looked at me for anything other than my strength and usefulness...
And having known nothing else, I accepted it as normal. My worth was my strength, and if my strength was gone, I was worth nothing. I have neither seen nor felt compassion before. I've never even considered such a thing. I would never have imagined compassion to be shown to me by one that was very recently my enemy.
So as I lay half dead in the snow, my innards rotting inside me and my fingers so numb, I thought they'd fall off, The Archmage lifted me up.
He tended to me. He looked after me. He employed himself to nurse me to health with no clear benefit to himself. And instead of demanding work from me, I was expected to do nothing but stay alive and enjoy life. The Archmage always sent me to various places with a peculiar glint in his eye - as if he were excited for my reaction when I returned. He shooed me off to the jungle to collect things, run about and stare at flowers. He gave me wings to explore the lowlands and the coasts. He reprimanded me when I put myself in danger, and radiated joy when I excitedly explained to him things he must have known for a thousand years.
He taught me magic too. He isn't called 'The Archmage' for nothing. Although I refused to practice in front of him (for fear Doppelganger would come out) I still learned a great deal just from studying beneath his tutelage. Whilst The Lunatic Cultists valued brute power over everything, The Archmage taught me the delicate flow of mana. To bend it efficiently to my will; to smoothly direct it until it created what I envisioned. He made snowflakes... those infinitely intricate crystalline shards that could hold a great deal of power within them for their surprising surface area.
After Doppelganger was sealed away, I immediately tried to make snowflakes - but discovered the process with much more difficult that I could have anticipated. Whilst The Archmage conjured a snowstorm from a bowl of water, I only managed lumps of hail. Still... although I had failed, I wasn't necessarily unhappy. It only meant I had much more to learn from My Benefactor.
But, perhaps most importantly, he carefully tutored me not in magic, but in wisdom as well. He gave me advice I would find nowhere else. He gave me the tools to be independent. These were things the others would never do for me, for they benefitted from my ignorance and dependence. I was given all manner of proverbs and advices. How to read a person, how to make myself genteel and agreeable, how to accurately convey my feelings, how to hide my intentions...
Of course, I cannot say I've mastered any of these lessons - but regardless...
I knew there was somebody looking out for my best interests.
I felt a security I've never tasted before.
The Archmage offered me a benevolence that was unconditional.
So I will pay him back with unconditional loyalty.
I won't let anything happen to him... I swear it on everything I have.
I pick up the pace and spread my icy wings, hovering over the ground to increase my lateral speed. The Lunatic Cultist shouts something at me, but I'm far too focused on my target to hear him. I recall he had requested we move at a slower pace in order not to draw the attention of the many pockets of CC Cells littered across the mountaintops. Its not as if we can't take them on (I'm certain we can) but causing a ruckus will hinder our stealth operation. The goal is to fetch The Archmage and slip away quietly. It wouldn't be good if we fled with a hundred agents tracking us.
Still... I'm getting antsy. I lift a bit higher off the ground before somebody seizes my cloak and drags me down with a thump. My heels splash upon the bleeding streets and I tear my eyes off the castle to scowl at My Teacher, who is striding beside me. I open my mouth to snap at him, but he interrupts before I can voice my thoughts.
"Your recklessness will be our downfall, Child."
I point at The Castle and hiss a response.
"What if Yharim's already here! What good will caution do us then?! We need to go quickly! If we fly it'll be faster! Come on!"
I spread my wings again, and The Cultist slaps them down with the palm of his hand. He grabs me by the earlobe and I nearly tumble to the ground from the sudden and painful halt. My vision shakes in rage and I twist to bare my teeth at My Teacher. Is he merely trying to delay? I know he hates The Archmage. Maybe he's intentionally preventing the rescue? I'm quite ready to start shouting, but The Cultist simply mutes me with a spell before I can.
"Silence, brat. If The Tyrant were here, all hope would already be lost. He is not here yet, but if you attract the attention of the Agents, they will tag you by your magic. Then, I won't matter how far or fast you run. The Tyrant has his mechanical eyes in the sky. He will find you. Are you so eager to be captured by The King? I have seen his laboratories and his torture chambers. I can assure you - the experience will make you wish I left you to The Crimson!"
...what?!
What does The Cultist mean by 'Tagged by my magic?' what are the 'eyes in the sky?' and what sort of man is The King? Is My Teacher simply exaggerating? No. He is not one to exaggerate. I...simply cannot imagine what sort of things would make me wish I were being slain continually in that scarlet hellscape. The very thought is enough to flush out my headstrong bravery. The Cultist glares at me until he sees the glint of sobering fear in my eyes. He continues in a fierce whisper.
"If you think you're strong enough to save The Archmage, then you're far more delusional than I thought. As much as I hate that bastard, even I must admit he is one of the most powerful sorcerers of this age. He is more than capable of handling himself, and frankly, you wandering into the thick of things is going to cause him more issues than anything else. We're not here to rescue anyone. Understand? We are here because you are a headstrong brat who doesn't listen to his elders. Now, for heavens sake, Walk!"
I flare my nostrils and bite my lip until a trickle of blood runs down my chin. The wound heals immediately, but I'm still so wound up that I'm shaking. Would it be better if I just fled? The temptation is there... but at the same time, something deep within me says I must go see The Archmage. Perhaps it's pompous of me to think I will be of any help (especially considering my sorry performance the last time I encountered The Tyrant) but regardless, I'm filled with the sense that if I don't strike forward now, I will regret it the rest of my days.
I steel my eyes. My Teacher rolls his and curses me beneath his breath.
"Stupid brat... tch."
He walks ahead of me and I force myself to follow at his pace. The closer we are to the castle, the more carefully we move. I attempt to say something, but find that my vocal chords are still arrested. I briefly consider breaking the spell - but refrain. I don't want to invoke My Teacher's wrath any more than I already have. Besides... with Yharim on the horizon, I feel much safer with him than without.
Just focus...
We move slowly as we sneak between the buildings, picking across the debris strewn courtyard at a miserable pace. We stick to the walls, oftentimes employing invisibility to hide ourselves from the siege equipment, or illusion magic to blend in with the few remaining resistance members that are either mourning their dead or too injured to flee. The path beneath my feet runs with cold blood. It appears some of the evacuation tunnels beneath The Fortress have collapsed and the stench of fresh corpses rises pungent from beneath the cobblestones. I hold no particular emotions towards The Resistance rabble, but the sight and smell of their dead bodies is unpleasant in the extreme. I clench my teeth and obediently follow My Teacher, stepping over corpses and staining my armoured boots with a dark red sheen until - at his signal - we dart from cover and clamber up the icy drawbridge.
"What the hell..."
The Cultist curses as we approach. I would have too had my voice been working. The state of the place is miserable. The doorstep I've graced so many times now lays shattered. The beautiful icy doors have been kicked in and those intricate patterns I loved to stare at were crushed to dust. Inside, I can see the staircase crumbled to nothing. The bookcases and furniture are demolished, the always-pristine floors rent and smashed with a great blade. Even the chandeliers and walls have massive holes punched through them. There is blood on the floor. I freeze and as I fixate on those dark stains.
Oh no...
A hand lands between my shoulder blades and roughly shoves me forwards. I stumble inside with a silent shout, shocked out of my stupor. The Lunatic Cultist snaps at me and continues to push me into the building.
"Quickly, get in. Don't just stand there, you dolt! Hurry!"
My head spins as I'm seized by the breastplate and dragged inside. What happened here? Who could have done this? Yharim is the only one capable of this, right? Was My Teacher wrong? Could he be here already? What if he captures me and-
"Hero, if you don't move your feet I'm apt to cut them off!"
The Lunatic Cultist is tense but doesn't falter - navigating the building as if he's walked these paths a thousand times before. He makes his way directly to The Archmage's Library without a hint of fear in his demeanor despite that all around us, the intricate crystal is bashed to bloody bits. I feel my heart rate accelerating. I break the spell on my throat and bombard My Teacher with panicked questions - my voice coming out far more shrill than I would like. Each of them seems to annoy him even more, but at this point, I'm too nervous to care. The air is stretched so tight, it feels like it's going to rip in two.
"Teacher, there's blood! Whose blood is it? Could he be here? What if Yharim's arriv-"
"Hero, if you don't shut your mouth, I'll make you regret it."
There's a strange quality in My Teacher's voice, one I should have heeded more closely. Alas, my imagination is running away with me and I scarcely hear him at all. I'm frozen with indecision and being literally dragged down the hallway by my very annoyed instructor. Is Yharim here already? If he is, should I turn and run? I certainly don't want to be tortured or otherwise captured by him... such a thing is clearly worse than death (if The Cultist is to be believed). But what of The Archmage? If myself, The Archmage and My Teacher band together, could we defeat Yharim? Probably not - but the signs of violence in the building tell of a great struggle. Together, would we be powerful enough to escape his clutches? What are my chances?
I twist around and grab The Cultist's sleeve.
"Teacher," I see the dangerous glint on those slitted eyes, but don't heed the warning. "What if Yharim-"
*BOOM*
The floor leaps up to strike me in the forehead with a tremendous force. My vision bursts into stars, going white with such an impact I cannot even cry out in shock. I smell burning. My scalp tingles with electric pins and needles. Somebody grabs a fistful of my hair and yanks my head up as I scrabble around on the floor - searching for my bearings.
"Hero."
I blink to see The Cultist's porcelain mask mere inches from my face. Had we been in any other situation, I would have (rightfully) assumed The Cultist had struck me with lightning and lashed out at him for it. But being as frazzled as I was, I managed little more than a gaping stare. He pointed a gloved hand at one of the gashes in the walls.
"It's not melted. Yharim's blade burns and spews poison. This was done by Braelor's scythe. Now, stop being such a pathetic whelp and walk!"
"Y-yes sir!"
From The Office of His Majesty, The King,
Enclosed are orders of the highest purview to be promptly enacted by Draedon's Laboratories.
Draedon,
You've taken too long to create a weapon that can contend with A Terrarian.
I will not wait any longer. I must strike the iron while it's hot. I will destroy The Resistance shortly, for their numbers swell. I can smell the stench of their rebellion even within my Capitol.
This action will surely set The Terrarian against me. If I cannot capture it, it will build up its strength and rise against my reign.
This is no time for failure.
Within the month, present to me a weapon capable of deadlocking The Terrarian.
This is an order.
- Sealed by His Majesty, The King.
The night was dark and wide. The chill of the cold air whistled through creaking branches and rustling leaves to fall over The Compound's many lights. It swayed the grass; it murmured through the trimmed hedges. It gusted through The Witch Doctor's open window to ventilate the stinging fumes that rose from his sinisterly bubbling pot.
If the wind could wonder, it would have questioned what purpose such a potent concoction would be used for. To poison a dragon, perhaps? To melt men where they stand? To make the land barren, or to make a river toxic?
No.
Rather, this subsuming potion was merely a paralytic agent. A hallucinogen, if you would. So dreadfully strong, it could freeze an Elephant where it stood, but not lethal in its intent. Its primary ingredients were precious, The Witch Doctor had expended them from his own stock. Glowing mushrooms, worm teeth, Ichor... and vials of venom. The Imperial Agent and that emaciated woman had requested this of him... promising he would be freed to return home.
Of course, The Witch Doctor complied.
If it meant going back home to his brood, even he would participate in the scheme to capture The Monster Knight.
LC: *zaps the hair*
Faze: wtf
Arch, laughing: Nice afro kiddo!
I got writer block :0