Draconic Testament (25 page)

”What are you saying? What good will this talk do, at this point and time!?” Bastion asks.
“How did he know your name?” The ghost asks. “Think, damn you. You are fooling yourself, child…” The voice says, then it fades, along with the waves.
”No, don’t go! Not yet, I…” Bastion says, but the laughter is too loud. Crix comes into view behind Enlin. “E…Enlin!?” Crix shouts. “What… What have you done!?” The lights in the room began to flicker behind Crix, as he looks on in shock. Behind Crix, out of the flickering darkness, another figure formed, looming over Crix, only larger, more inhuman… Bastion recognized this figure, though he could not believe his eyes. A bone face, a shadowy cloak, flailing as if being blown by the wind, bony hands holding a large scythe. Every cell in his body screamed in protest. Everything was just happening, far too fast. “Crix! No!” Bastion screams, and charges towards him. “Get down!”
”Wh… wh…” Crix stutters. Bastion charges through Enlin’s body, towards Crix, to save him from the vile grim reaper! Then… nothing. The lights went out, but not before hearing Veronica’s words one last time. “I’m sure you’ll find your damn need down there in the depths.”
Bastion stirred back into the world, as if from a long, well needed rest. He woke up groggy, as if he had travelled across the world and lost all his energy the day before… he was about to get up, perhaps make his mother some nice breakfast, perhaps butter her up for some pocket money… but there was no such luck for him. Not because his mother was hardened, no, but because he wasn’t in his house, even though he wished to be… that was quite obvious from the horrendous smell, shaking him from his stupor… He was still groggy, trying to crawl his way to his feet, pulling himself towards the rubble. He looks around him, recalling the events of what happened before he… passed out, he assumed. The ghosts, Enlin laughing as Bastion stabbed a survivor out of fear, the voice telling him he was ‘fooling himself’, the grim reaper… He looks around in hollow sight… No Aura’s to be seen… not even Crix’s. That’s when he looked at the floor, realizing what had happened. Crix was dead. His vision was groggy, but he saw the white hair, and shades of red. He felt sick again, like before, but there was nothing to bring up. “God...I'm sorry… Crix… I'm so sorry…” Bastion said.
”You are a foolish boy, are you not?” The voice asked again. He could discern it now, because of it’s odd accent and the waves that came with it. “The reaper killed him… I couldn’t... I tried...” Bastions mumbled, fighting back tears thinking of the horror that he just went through. ”The reaper does not exist. Your sense of fairy tales has dissipated with the discovery of magic.” The voice says.
“I saw him…” Bastion argued.
”Yes… You did. Hurry now, you must leave this place. Take your Arcana, and head to the golden door to your left, I sense your goal is beyond it.” The voice says.
”W…Why are you helping me?.. You’re not natural…” Bastion asked.
”Neither are you. That is why this is necessary. Now, go…” The voice says, and the waves disappear. Bastion was too weak to bother to try and figure out what the voice meant, and decided to heed it’s advice. He goes towards the door, feeling as if he could trip at any time. The world didn’t seem real, through his blurred vision. He felt light, as if he himself were dead, but he doubted the dead felt pain like he did in his rib. He reaches the golden door, and pushes it open, almost stumbling through.
Through the door was a room that looked like a coliseum, with rows of seats overlooking the arena the gladiators would fight in, however it was not that simple. This was definitely a grounds for entertainment, barbaric entertainment, but it had a more creative feel to it. Bastion walked over the arena of the coliseum, looking at the floor. It wasn’t sand, like what they used to use as the floor, but it was actually stone. Out of nowhere, another barrage of vomit shot up Bastion's throat, forcing him back down to his knees. He vomits like crazy, almost passing out again. When he opens his eyes, he sees blood within the vomit, slowly seeping through the cracks of the arena floor. "Wh...what's happening to me? What did they do to me?" Bastion asks, hoping the voice would answer. Nothing. It felt as if the voice was giving Bastion the cold shoulder, not listening to a word the foolish boy said. His attention turned back to the blood seeping through the cracks. He heard dripping from beneath the floor. Through hollow sight, he saw there were pillars of mana beneath the floor, which was likely to be used to draw from during fighting. He also looked back around him, trying to see if there were ghosts watching him from the shadows, tormenting him, ready to strike... but nothing. Except, a faint Aura. Through the coliseum, and far behind it. The aura seems to be... digging. "Tunnels..." He muttered, hoping never to return to the monstrosities. Yet, his goal was before him. He could not ignore it. He picked himself up, holding Arcana steady in hand, and headed to the gates into the coliseum. Inside, he saw the barracks, likely where the combatants would dress and prepare. Three doors within the coliseum were also present. Curiosity got the better of him, even though he had more important things to deal with at the time. He opens the door to the left, peering inside. Cells. They had an awful smell inside them, like animals were being kept here. It was too inhuman to be people. Through the bars, he saw hair, food, waste. Human waste, at that. Disgusting. Veronica’s words shot into his head again. “I’m sure you’ll find your damn need down there in the depths.” The door on the right, however, was far worse. He opened the door to see an empty room, with a hook hanging from the ceiling and caked blood on the floor. At first, he thought this is where they slaughter animals... until he saw malevolent tools to his right, indicating that this was, in fact, a torture room. He shuddered to think what kind of torment sorcerers could do, since he had heard of some sickening tactics in the past. Veronica's words rung in his head. “You don’t really know what you're talking about. We’ll see how you feel about the Blue Magi when we’re done here”. Was this what she meant? He had seen mostly bad since setting off to look for Enlin. Rhetorical questions went off in Bastion's head. 'They can't all be bad, can they? Stark doesn’t seem too bad... Crix doesn’t seem... Didn’t seem bad...'. Guilt and confusion stirred within Bastion. Was the two Magi factions really a division between good and evil?
He waved his questions away, trying not to think too much about it, in case he came to the conclusion that these people are threats to the world. He already knew what their agenda's were, but they're vassals of Rhenium. Surely, they wouldn’t dare to try and carry out any plans. He chalked it up to there being a few bad apples wherever there is good. A great country who believes they are good will always have evil people within their armies. He left the torture room and opened the last door. Behind it, was a tunnel. It looks damaged and very old, obviously it wasn’t cared for, which is why the Warlock is obviously digging for a way out. She must have been there a long time, probably starving. Could have been dead if not for the springs. Her luck has run out though, as Bastion climbs into the tunnel and casts Cerastes, turning himself to dirt. It took about what felt like an age to reach the Warlock, and she was startled by Bastion's sudden appearance. She had long black hair, young and beautiful, fit to be an emperor's wife, but nonetheless, she was dangerous and needed to be captured. Behind her was a mound of dirt, and she had almost made it to the surface... If he had woken up even an hour earlier, he’d have lost her. “What’s this then?...” The woman asks, eyeing Bastion. “The Blue Magi sends... a child?” The woman chuckles, mockingly, but it doesn’t get under Bastion’s skin. Bastion ignites his Arcana. His head begins to pound again, but he continues as if he wasn’t bothered by it. “Surrender. You’ve lost.” He says. The woman’s face lights up along with the Arcana. “A... Arcana? Now, where did you get that? Sanctum must be slipping... Or... Are you with them?”
“’Them’?” Bastion asks.
“You are no Magi. Who are you!? Your Aura is going wild, you lack the discipline of a Tutor! And that Arcana!” The woman shrieks, beginning to lose control.
“Calm down. I don’t know what you’re talking about...” He explains “Why did you do this? You’ve caused so much death. What for?”
“The ulterior motive of our actions is beyond a mere child’s comprehension.” The woman said “You don’t fool me. I can see you for who you are. You’re special... you’re like us. Come with us...” The woman says.
“Why would I join you without knowing why you’re doing all this?” Bastion asks.
“Its for the greater good... Killing off the Archmagi and those who know about Sanctum, those who could stop us when the time comes. The Magi are a mere shadow of what they once were, thanks to us.” The woman says.
“Who are you?” Bastion asks
“Hmm...” The woman ponders. “I am Yula, Paragon of Sheol. I have come here to kill get close to the emperor and kill him, in the name of our lord. I am prepared to die for the cause.”
“...Sheol...” Bastion ponders. “I’ve heard that name before... I think that Cazrian mentioned it...”
“Cazrian?” Yula asks.
“Torrig, I think he said his name was... Can’t remember” Bastion asked.
“...” Yula stared at Bastion, intently “You... You killed him, didn’t you? You must be...”
“No, no, I didn’t k-“ Bastion began.
“You’re him! The Paladin! So... The Bastard son is here! Where is he!? Back in the village! Take me to him, I’ll tear him apart for our lord!” Yula shrieked, losing control again. “The only place I’m taking you is Jail, crazy woman” Bastion retorted “Surrender!” Yula laughed, and then unexpectedly, she began to draw mana. Bastion’s eyes widened. His head pounded with pain again, and before he knew it, he had attacked. He struck her in her stomach, full force in the middle of her spell, and she flew backwards into the wall behind her. She screamed from pain and shock, and fell to her stomach. “Damnit.” Bastion groaned. “What’s wrong with me?” Yula said nothing, and got to her hands and knees. Her hair fell over her face, so Bastion couldn’t tell what face she was making. For a moment, she was still. Then, slowly, weeping noises came from her, which then transformed into chuckles. Then into a crazy, bizarre laugh. “You... I know you... You’re... You’re him!... YOU’RE HIM! Oh my, this is interesting indeed! There’s no way! It must be a lie! AHAHAHAHAHA!” She shrieked, laughing loud. Bastion was confused, and taken aback at first. Him? Who was she talking about? How did she know Bastion? Questions ran through Bastion’s head at what she was saying. “W...Wha...Why ar...” Bastion muttered. He frowns, wondering why he can’t talk properly all of a sudden. What’s wrong with him? He begins to notice he’s dribbling, laugh echoing in his ear, becoming obscure and disoriented. Is she doing this? He grips his Arcana, and tries to command her to stop, but a pain flares in his stomach again. “Argh!” He moans, falling to his knees. Vomit shoots up his throat again, mixed with the blood, like last time, and Bastion spills it into the spring. He looks at himself in the reflection, all while the crazy woman was still laughing. His face... isn’t there. He touches his face, to confirm what he’s seeing, thinking it’s all a illusion within the reflection...but no... He can’t feel his eyes, his nose, his mouth. What’s going on!? He slaps at his face, beginning to hyperventilate! Panic erupts within Bastion, falling backwards. The woman is still laughing, it must be her! Must be her doing! He picks up his Arcana, and swings it at her. “SHUT UP!” He screams, and her laughter is replaced by a swift scream. Her body slumps to the ground, and his Arcana flies off into the darkness. He grabs his head, his face, but there’s no change! The laughing is still there, echoing now, throughout the caverns, so loud that he can’t hear his own screaming... But now, now there’s no light. He looks up. The lights are dimming. He looks around, looking for what’s going on, what’s drawing the light’s power... then he sees it. Like in the caverns. A shadowy twilight cloak, whipping against the non-existent wind. A bony face, with no eyes, yet it sees you more perfectly than anything else, for what you truly are. A large scythe, gripping by bony hands. The grim reaper. Bastion yelled with terror, turning and scrambling towards the dirt mound. He climbs it, and claws his way out, screams still echoing in his ears. He reinforced his nails with magic, using far too much of it, wasting it unnecessarily in a panic. He digs and digs, until finally, he feels air on his fingers. “YES, YES!” He screams, laughing. He lunges up, out of the caverns, cheering with happiness. He stumbles as he gets out, then gets up, looking all around him. He’s in the woods. It’s dark out here too. The laughing and screaming still exists. Nothing has changed. He runs, and runs. The laughter followed him wherever he went, and eventually, he escaped the woods. But still, it was not enough. The laughter was still there. He was about to just let go, and let his instincts just take him, to say goodbye to his consciousness. Give in, and let madness take him. The grim reaper would take his soul, and he’s be lost to the world, and his torment would end. Then... Then it all stopped. All at once. Nothing to hear, but the wind against the natural trees. He didn’t know what to think at first, or how he felt about it... But... Soon he knew. He felt pain. In his chest. He touched where the pain was... something sharp. And wet. He looked down... An arrow? Through his chest? He didn’t panic... he had no energy left. The silence was bliss to him, and the pain was far less than what he was feeling in the caverns. No emotions, no thoughts. He just... fell. The ground came to meet him. His body went numb. “Veronica...” He moaned. “Please, don’t be mad with me.”
Chapter Ten – The Aquatic Islands.
Draynar the first of Clan Yumerga.
Draynar had moved positions. A couple of weeks after he had successfully taken Northern Cross, the Domini in his ranks had gotten restless. He had been trying to find entertainment and action for his soldiers other than the captives and townsfolk they had taken over, as he had strictly forbidden harming them. Luckily, there were a few attacks on the Northern Cross that could keep them occupied, but for some, it was not enough. A couple thousand of the lost broke off after a disagreement and headed for the Aquatic Islands to kill and hunt down innocents there for their own pleasure, and he had set out to stop this. There were two reasons for this, the first was that the Domini would see him as weak if he let them go, and their overall strength would wane from attrition, and the second was that random rampant slaughter was not his goal. They had split leadership up into three groups, and surrounded the island named Hollow Crest to trap the deserters and bring them back. Unfortunately, some had escaped in boats and airships, which had brought the deserters army down to 600 men from a thousand. The deserters had stolen anti aircraft guns at a nearby military airbase, which had fallen rather quickly with wraiths to take the main fire, so Draynar couldn’t get them by the air. Glackan and her loyal men and attacked the base on foot. The airbase was huge, and had high Adamant-link fences that were electrified, and the actual gates to the base had magic sensors that would only open for personnel that were authorised. The Domini had gotten in through genius deception, and they had killed everybody around the airbase when they had successfully taken it over, when they had realised that Draynar was hot on their heels. All sorts of aliens had died on Hollow Crest soil, and the bodies of the dead were arisen through necromancy to create Wraiths, horrid beasts that were the Domini’s primary weapon. The wraiths would get up, their eyes blackening and snarling with jagged teeth, and race at their foes, clawing them limb from limb. The battle at the Airbase was long and hard, but after hours of smashing dead bodies into dead bodies, Draynar had joined the battle. He attacked from the other side of the base, and had taken a large supply of bodies with him. Draynar was extremely good at creating wraiths, and his wraiths were higher in number, faster, and fiercer, but they were also much louder. He had clawed down their defences and slaughtered all who had opposed him and tried to wriggle free from the Legion with their weapons and manpower, clashing blades with some of the Domini who had reached him, and prevailing. When the battle was over, he was left with around 200 captives from the battle, and he had lost 130 of his own men. He walked up and down the line, airing his disapproval at their actions. “It’s your fault!” One Domini said. “You’re no son of Adda’Gorath! You’re too soft!”