:)

Armour: Brimflame (Vanity- Rags)

Weapon: Winter's Fury, Undine's Retribution, Stormfront Razor

Acc(11/11): The Bee, Celestial cuffs, Mana Flower, Sorcerer Emblem, Cryo Wings, Ankh Shield, Deific Amulet, TerraSpark Boots, Grand Gelatin, Permafrost's Concotion, Evasion Scarf. (Unlimited Buffs)

Health: (500/500)

Armour: Molten Armour (Vanity - CAU Robes)

Weapon: Uzi (High-Velocity Bullet); Molten Bow (Ichor Arrows); Arkhalis

Acc(12/12): Charm of Myths, Ankh Shield, Terraspark Boots, Luxor's Gift, Deific Amulet, Counter Scarf, Crown Jewel, MOAB, Harpy Ring, Aero Stone, Skyline Wings, Warrior Emblem, Sniper Scope

Health: (400/400)

I didn't know what it was initially. And as much as I'm deign to admit, I still have difficulty reading the thoughts and emotions of my elders. As such, it took me an embarrassing amount of time to realize just what that odd sparkle in the wizards eye was.

And... even when I discovered what it was, I hadn't the slightest clue what it meant.

Pride.

This old man, a man I could swear up and down I've never met in my entire life, was so proud of me that his face beamed like the sun. I really don't know what to make of it, and despite the token kindness he offers me - I certainly am not in any state of mind to reciprocate. Perhaps some of this is merely attributed to my stubbornly surly mood. I am angry. I am upset, and there is an odd sort of comfort in wallowing in self pity. A sort of self-righteous revulsion for the events the world has orchestrated about me.

And so, despite that I recognize I am quite literally throwing a tantrum, I continue to glare and bare my teeth and huddle up in a corner, building about myself a fort of tomes. There is a table and a chair in the center of the room, but The Old Wizard was sitting there, and right now I'd rather die than join him in his idle, pompous prattling. Instead, I've decided to construct an incantation. From the shelves, I've pilfered an empty spelltome and a bottle of magical ink (into which I've decided to dissolve several ouches of The Clone's ashes). I press the empty tome against my knees and scribble furiously into it, filling it with texts and symbols, magic circles and connective runes in my very first attempt at spellsmithing. I've nearly gotten halfway through the pages when I'm infuriatingly interrupted.

"Oh Heavens, Youngling! Your handwriting is downright atrocious!"

"..."

I slowly raise my head and frown as deeply as I can at The Wizard. He was already troubling me from the other side of the small library, but now that he'd gotten up to hover over me, I find him absolutely intolerable. I make my displeasure known with several snappy quips, but unfortunately he is not intimidated in the slightest. Instead he opts to lambast my handiwork with even greater enthusiasm.

"And those symbols! They're dreadfully penned, terribly inefficient! Do you expect to be in an active volcano whenever you use this spell? Or perhaps standing in a tongue of Dragon's Fire? This is innate sorcery, yet you are attempting to cast it as if it were the atmospheric type! Surely you haven't yet to learn the difference?"

The Old Man reaches down and points at a section of my writing, invading my personal space and also knocking over half of my book-fort. I would have swatted him away if I weren't occupied keeping my inkwell from toppling. He bows to the level where he's able to see my face clearly, and in a panic, fully prepare to kill him should he compare me to the wanted posters I see plastered all over The Capitol. Thankfully, there is no recognition in The Old Man's face, only that very odd swelling pride that nigh baffles me to the point of speechlessness.

"You need to adjust these runes, Youngling. The ones to collect mana, then the ones to refine and concentrate it. Truly, you are quite the anomoly. A person able to so naturally write a spellbook typically has the skills to match - but as it stands, you are preparing to do doing nothing but swing your natural magical seepage about like a bludgeon. It is brutish and elementary - unfitting for one of your standing."

"..."

I open my mouth reflexively, but quickly close it again as I shrink backwards into my spot between the bookcases. I cannot bring myself to engage The Old Man. Something about him reminds me of The Archmage, who would go on and on ad nauseum about internal magic, external magic. The Magic that flows from within, and the magic that is diffuse without. He had always questioned me about my magic 'seepage' - how I seemed to leak magic all the time, wherever I went, like an overstuffed beanbag losing its stuffing. I, of course, didn't have an answer to that, and instead spent the time making him explain what a 'beanbag' was.

"Good Heavens, you aren't even leveraging your internal magic at all, it seems! Or, at the very least, you are not prepared to. Hohoho~"

The Old Wizard's face goes from beaming to blinding.

"Should I help you, so you don't need to read all the ancient books you've seen fit to fashion into this poor excuse for a barricade?"

"...You talk too much. Leave."

I glare at him and try to sound as monotonous and dispassionate as possible. There is a undercurrent of anger in my voice, but The Wizard only seems to find this amusing. He chortles.

"Quite the personality you've got, Youngling. You talk as if you were the owner of this place... And perhaps you might have become a candidate to curate this ancient library had your scripts not been so abysmal, but as it stands you are soundly out of your league. Look, you are intending to cast... what is that?" He leans over me once more, and I seriously consider kicking The Old Man's legs from beneath him.

"You wish to cast Brimstone Fireblasts not with the flow of atmospheric power, which is how they occur naturally, nor with some immense supply of inborn mana - which is how The Great Witch uses them... but instead with pure magical seepage. I understand you have only learned magic for a short time, but even so this is utterly unacceptable. Sloppy work."

I've had quite enough. I'm tired. I'm upset. I'm annoyed, and I really don't have the capacity to be further lectured by this stranger about my own lackings. I know my magical theory well enough to understand my own shortcomings and have no intention if delving into the details now. I cast away all pretense of politeness and just start yelling.

"Leave me alone! Just leave! Why are you bothering me?! Do you want to fight? Are you trying to-"

Suddenly, my words make no sound. I can feel my breath rushing through my lungs. I can feel the air vibrating against my vocal chords. I can feel the words on my lips and on my tongue... but there is no sound. The Wizard's eyes twinkle at me. He smirks in an infuriating way as he watches my head begin to absolutely boil from within the silencing field. I am able to perform basic disspellations, but this is far outside of my scope of learning. I sit here, silent and fuming and wondering if I should just kill this old man and be done with it.

No... I don't want anyone to come here looking for him.

The Wizard begins to speak again. I turn back to my book and continue scribbling all the more furiously.

"You haven't learned much at all, haven't you? Perhaps you have perfected several complex magicks for the sole purpose of destruction, but you have yet to establish your foundation! You have great knowledge of magical theory, but clearly you haven't a clue how to put it into practice. What use is that? You need training, Youngling, and badly."

I'm nearly done writing my incantations, the spell which will launch brimstone blasts wheresoever I direct them. I'm unsure exactly why I've decided to write a spell mimicking the abilities of The Clone, but I felt compelled to do so. Not out of some lingering respect or affection for the brimstone abomination, nor out of pity, for there is no use in pitying the dead. This is for myself. A reminder perhaps. An attempt to harness the fear which had taken hold of my heart ever since I was slain by Braelor and fed to the worms. I don't have a clear reason for it, only that I'm convinced it will provide me a certain level of catharsis.

But my melancholy is being continually ruined by The Wizard's loud corrections. I raise my head and snarl at him - fully expecting the silencing field to still be in effect, and surprising myself when my words are audible.

"Do you expect me to remember all your blabbering?!"

The Wizard is silent for a few precious moments as he ponders me. I take a breath and drink the silence, vainly hoping it lasts and eternity.

But, of course, it doesn't.

"I do not. But even a fraction remembered can be useful."

It is a point I'm unable to counter. Still, I have a great deal of belligerence towards The Wizard, and am not willing to give him the satisfaction of being right. I make my tone as venomous as possible, and I guess its effective because The Old Man has lost his infuriating grin.

"Useful? You want to help me? If so, then please leave. I've just finished losing everything I ever cared about, and making enemies of men far more powerful than I. I fought a battle today. I fought a battle the day before, and the day before that as well. I want to rest, and I want to mourn and I really don't want to entertain your continual insults. If you have any sympathy in that shriveled old head of yours, then leave!"

"..."

Once more, The Wizard stands silent. His expression changes, from the beaming look of swelling pride to one of great pity. With the motion of his hand, a chair appears behind him and he takes a seat. He speaks to me very gently.

"Youngling, my words were not to insult you."

"..."

I blink at him, surprised he did not lash me with more stinging words.

"Your path is a difficult one, full of jagged stones and awash in many tears. You must gird yourself with strength, Youngling, lest you be crushed by the weight of your burdens. Your current strength is scarcely enough. You must become far stronger if you are to survive in this cruel world. You are of tender age, yet you have suffered great loss. Even so, you must not allow yourself to drown in your sorrow."

The Old Wizard sighs and watches me carefully.

"The decisions you have made, the road you have thus trod - do not regret anything you have done. It is the right path so long as you are moving forward. In the end, by violence and by bloodshed, you will have your hard-won peace... I'm so very sorry it has to be that way."

"..."

I stand up. My heart is bitter and my words scathe off my tongue.

"Wherever I go, death and destruction follow. They say I'm a curse, a machine for war. A weapon which will soak the ground in the blood of it's people. Everyone I have met, from my birth until this moment, has suffered because of me - yet you dare tell me to 'have no regrets'!? Enough, Old Man. I tire of your platitudes!"

I clap my book shut and stand to my feet, brushing past The Old Man as I make a beeline for the vault door. I snarl at him over my shoulder.

"May we never have the displeasure of meeting again. Farewell."

"See? There's nothing here. What did you expect?"

"..."

This.

Actually, he expected exactly this.

From the very beginning, he knew he'd be outsmarted. No matter how he wracked his brain, no matter how he strained his feeble mind - he always, always lost. That's how it's always been for him. Concerning his mentality, he was an infant, an amoeba, and he hated nothing more than to be reminded of it. Whatever arguments he crafted were trampled. Whatever intellectual roadblocks he raised were brushed aside. It was futile, but he did it anyways in some token effort not to be completely helpless to the whims of others. But that's just what it was. Token. Nominal. It was an exercise in vanity and the exercise never changed anything.

All it did was make him feel foolish.

And now, he was standing here in the center of a tremendous room - so dark that the halo of torchlight seemed to be muffled by the darkness - as dumb and as speechless as a stone. Perhaps one hopeful half of him really did think he'd managed to outsmart The Guide. That they'd walk into an arena and his suspicions would be proven right. Then The Guide would apologize and everything would go back to normal and...

Well, whatever. It was foolishness.

Of course he was wrong. He was always wrong. And whenever he was right, he'd be made to believe he was wrong until it was too late. It didn't matter what he wanted. It didn't matter what he thought. One way or another, he would end up doing whatever The Guide told him to. That's how The Guide operated.

Because The Guide was smart.

No matter which iteration he took, he was extremely intelligent. Whilst The Terrarian cleaved to him, while he fell under his protection and trusted him body and soul - he took great comfort in the idea everything that happened was part of The Guide's plan. How relieving it was to watch things unfold so neatly in alignment with his goals! Even when he did not understand why he was doing one thing or another, he knew The Guide was behind it all. He had faith in his parent, and that faith was the rock upon which he built himself.

But now, he was upended.

He had placed himself in opposition to that great and terrifying mind. He knew it was pointless to fight against it. He had no chance. No chance at all, but what could he do? The Guide sought his life!... maybe. His gut was saying The Guide wanted him dead. His heart sobbed and wrenched and begged, chanting it itself that surely he didn't. His head? Well... The Guide had spent the last thirty minutes chattering in his ear and scrambling his brains, so he wasn't even sure what he was doing anymore. His mind was so drained by the mental gymnastics, it had checked out almost entirely - to the point where The Terrarian felt bodily exhausted. What were the facts? What should he be focusing on? What sort of decisions did he have to make now? Everything was cloaked in a deep haze of uncertainty. He couldn't think carefully about anything with all the distractions and the noise. The Guide wasn't helping with his endless chatter, but still... the words dropping from that silver tongue... they did make sense... right?

Yes.

No.

Maybe?

The Terrarian shut his eyes and groaned internally, his poor mind spinning with all manner of half baked, nonsensical theories. What was he supposed to do now? He didn't even know his options, much less which option would lead to which result! He felt like a dog taking an exam. He felt like a pigeon trying to negotiate with bankers. Right now, he was completely clueless, lost and groping in the dark - like the very first day when he woke up in the grassy field, staring about himself in wonder without the slightest inkling of the dangers that surrounded him.

But back then, The Guide was his friend. A companion he could entrust himself to.

Today?

...

Today, he had no friends.

Today he was living what he feared the most. The reality that he'd been abandoned to fend for himself, all alone in this big, wide world - whirling in a sea of confusion, blind and treading water. He was being tossed back and forth helplessly amongst the wind and the waves - forces far greater than he, not knowing where he was or from whence he came. How dearly he missed his anchor... but his anchor had long sunken into the fiery sea.

I wish... somebody would just tell me what to do. Guide I need you back...

The Terrarian sighed and raised his eyes. This Guide was standing before a large glowing altar, his arms crossed over his chest and his face warped and wrathful. The altar emitted a harsh glow from various jewels indented in its stony surface and the light accentuated the lines in his face. In the past, that scowl alone was enough to make him fall in line, but today he was truly unsure who was standing before him. Was it The Guide? An Imitation? An iteration? A Clone? Perhaps The Guides were two different people... but if they were similar enough, would this one finish the task his predecessor failed to complete? The First Guide failed to kill him, so surely the second one would try to finish the job, right? If he failed and died, would another Guide miraculously appear in his life and try again? And perhaps there would be another Guide after that? And another and another...

Stop it... that's too awful a thought...

"Look around. Go on!"

The Guide was shouting again. This time, The Terrarian willfilly turned his attention to listen, if only to avoid the depressive spiral he once more felt himself being sucked down. Truly he was tired of it. So tired of the grief. So tired of the wayward emotion that squeezed his heart until tears dripped from his eyes. Could he just... kill it? Kill his heart and be done with it all-

"There's no monster! Just walls. An Altar. Some spikes over there. Why are you suddenly so paranoid? And when did I ever try to kill you!? What even made you -think- I was trying to kill you? That's such a ridiculous notion that I can't help but be offended! Heavens!"

*stomp-stomp-stomp*

The Jungle Temple was damp and dilapidated, with vines crawling throughout the walls and odd reptilian faces staring at him from their places in the orange brick. The silence was oppressive, only broken by the sound of irregular droplets of water which echoed about the chamber and wormed holes into his brain. The Guide ranted as he walked ahead of him, confidently weaving between the many ritualistic urns and pews to reach the tall altar at the head of the chamber. He clambered halfway up the massive statue and sat on large flat portion of The Altar to look down at him like a scornful monarch. He made his words scathing.

"Well? Go find your monster then! You seemed so insistent that one exists, and that I'm using it to kill you - so go do some searching. I'll wait. Just don't take too long because I really would prefer to be back in my office by lunch. I hate this place."

"..."

The Terrarian remained silent. He knew nothing good would come from him opening his mouth. Instead, he simply lifted his torch ahead of him and wandered from one end of The Chamber to the other, looking for the source of that monstrous scent. He was sure it was here. He was sure of it. It made his blood boil and it wound him up like a spring. He was drooling and frothing at the mouth and twitching and fidgeting - the whole works... but where was it? Were even his senses failing him? Had he really gone crazy after all?

No. No It's here.

Right there, at the head of the room - the tremendous statue made of the very same stone which composed The Temple. It was enormous and vaguely shaped like a rudimentary human, with long sagging ears and a stern, stony face. It was carved rock, yet it was somehow alive! It breathed. It seethed and The Guide was quite casually leaning up against it, passing the time by observing his nails in the torchlight.

The Terrarian furrowed his brow. He called out tentatively into the darkness.

"Guide, it's the statue."

The Man looked up, his face was utterly exasperated.

"What? What's The Statue?"

"..."

"Hey, what's The Statue? This Statue?" He pounded a fist against The Golem's stony face. His eyes blazed in equal parts annoyance and indignance. "This Statue is The Monster you think I'm going to attack you with?!"

If The Guide already thought he was a fool, there was no use in being bashful about it. The Terrarian stared flatly at the man glaring at him from atop The Altar, meeting that blazing glare with one of cold steel. He stated his thoughts emphatically and readied himself for the deluge of mockery which would surely follow.

"Yes. It's The Statue."

"... you're fucking ridiculous! Do you realize that!?"

"...It's The Statue."

"Fine."

The Guide was wroth. His hair was mussed and his breathing rough. His eyes blazed and he bared his teeth as he hopped off The Altar and made to stand several paces from The Golem. He jabbed a finger at The Terrarian, then another at The Statue. He hissed, his voice trembling in absolute rage.

"Fine. If the fucking statue is your monster, then pull out your sword and kill it!"

*Clank-clank-clank-clank*

A cacophony. Explosions, dynamite, the beating of a pickaxe against the stone, the roar of bullets ricocheting off The Golem's stony skin. The Monster Knight was really putting his heart into destroying his monster, yet despite all he tried, he - thankfully - was entirely unable to dismantle the ancient idol. It was probably well past noon by now, and The Knight had been going at it for an hour - and the entire hour had been fireworks. Until this moment, The Guide hadn't seen The Knight really struggle, and thereby had yet to see his entire arsenal... but now that he had - he truly was wondering what sort of creature The Monster Knight was.

Because this singular man had produced enough explosives to level a city block. He had slashed at the stone until his blades broke. He bludgeoned The Dormant Golem with the earth shattering blows of a hammer, and shot so many bullets at it, its surface was peppered with nicks and metallic slough. Worse yet, The Monster Knight appeared to fall into some kind of frenzy as he fought. His eyes were wild, flashing madly behind his visor. His teeth ground against each other, and there was a strange noise that The Guide now knew was froth bubbling at the corner of his lips.

He didn't tire.

He didn't slow.

He seemed quite content to go on like this the entire day, and maybe tomorrow as well.

And if The Guide didn't convince The Monster Knight to let him leave, he was going to end up sitting in the corner of The Golem's chamber all night long. This, of course, wasn't an option. Although it was true most of The University staff had gone home for the autumn festival, it was only a matter of time before the janitor or the Night Guard discovered somebody had broken down all the doors into The Jungle Temple and called CC agents to the scene.

The last thing I want is to be imprisoned for activating The Golem...

"Knight! hurry up! Please ca-"

*Clank-clank-clank-clank*

The Guide sighed as he looked down at the bundle of teleporting sigils folded over his elbow. It really was a pity The Knight managed to discover his plot. Things would have proceeded so much more smoothly if he hadn't.

Well... nothing couldn't be salvaged.

I can still make this work.

Monster Knight: "What do you have to say for yourself?"

Faze: "You should try, to avoid dying. You somehow came back uglier, than last time I saw you."

THanks for reading, This time My Co-Author actually wrote most of this :)