Draconic Testament (61 page)

The Overseer stood, and slowly, the music died away again. “Then, it is time of the ritual.” He said, and he raised his hand into the air. A strong gust of wind swirled up his arm from the eyes, nose, and mouth of his mask, as well as water, earth, and fire. They all combined with each other, forming a blade. He held the blade up to Zaxxarius, down on one knee, as if he were presenting it to him as a gift. But he wasn’t. Zaxxarius knew what to do. We was to show the blade his affinity. Zaxxarius summoned lightning to his hand, to infuse into the blade. To his surprise, the magic he conjured with actually more than electricity. It was black electricity, the electricity he summoned during his fight with Sheol. The crowd gasped at this display, and clapped with approval. Zaxxarius moved his hand forward, and infused the lightning into the blade, creating his full name, and the Elric seal. He almost spelt Bastion by mistake. When he was done, the Overseer stood with the blade, then he held the sword by it’s blade within the middle, and raised it high above his head. Zaxxarius could hear the Overseer grunt as he infused his own magic around the blade, forging it into an item. He watched as the black blade melted and forged into some sort of crown, colour going from black to gold. When the Overseer was done, he presented Zaxxarius with the finished crown. It was golden, decorated with electricity along the sides, and also had the Elric seal in the middle of it. It looked more like a Tiara than a crown. “In the name of the dragons, who’s souls’ burn within us, more intensely than the flames of a thousand suns! I pronounce you...” The Overseer said, as he fixed the crown onto his forehead, like it was a headband. “...Overlord of Metholi.” The crowd clapped again, and among these claps, he saw Vander and Veronica clapping too, smiling happily. The Overseer moved from the front of the throne, and the throne itself began to move through the power of magic, Abaddon walking alongside it. They moved slowly down the aisle, and the nobles that were once sitting stood, bowing as the throne past them. Slowly, the doors to the palace opened, and daylight met him. The courtyard gates were open, and many of Trinity’s residents had poured into the yard, awaiting to see their new Overlord. When they saw him, a wash of silence hit them at first. In these moments, flashbacks to the nightmares rushed back to him. Laughter. Laughter everywhere. But this is not what happened. Instead, he received roars of approval, claps, jeers, cheers, and more. The noise was deafening, like standing next to an aeroplane propeller. “Would you like to depart?”Abaddon asked.
“No.” Zaxxarius said. “Not yet.” He stood up and moved towards the podium, where the crowd was. He stood there, looking at them, soaking in the love and devotion from them. He didn’t know what to say to them. It was overwhelming. “I promise.” He said, voice raised by magic so they all could hear. They quietened down a bit. “I promise to be the best Overlord I possibly can. I promise to do all I do not only for me, but for all of you.” He said. “Because, that is who I am. I am Zaxxarius Elric!” The crowd resumed cheering once again. Tears nearly escaped Zaxxarius’ eyes. He couldn’t explain this feeling. He turned and looked up at the windows, and saw Veronica peering out, smiling. He stood there, looking at her, returning the smile... then, for reasons he could not explain, he pushed himself backwards and fell into the crowd. Abaddon’s eyes widened at this, and he almost darted forward to catch him, but then he realised he wasn’t going to be the one to catch him. It would be the crowd itself. The crowd caught  Zaxxarius, and he ended up travelling along the courtyard, laughing maniacally, obviously inebriated by the intense feelings he felt on the podium. He could see Veronica’s face slowly fading as he got farther away, stricken with the same look as Abaddon’s. She was obviously concerned for his safety, but Zaxxarius wasn’t. He didn’t feel the need to. He didn’t think that the crowd, bursting with love, would ever harm him. And he was right. For he was Zaxxarius Elric, the new Overlord of Metholi.
Epilogue
A month in the past – Shortly after Sanctum’s portal was closed
“Worthless trash.” Draynar huffed, sitting on the base of a statue decorating the halls of the ancient temple. 
“How dare you!” Sheol roared. “How dare you call me trash, you Domini scum!”
“Please.” Draynar laughed, hopping off the statue. “You got your ass handed to you by a boy of 16! 16!”
“That was no ordinary boy.” Sheol coughed, seething with rage. “I don’t expect a heathen like you to understand. That boy is the son of Sancterus, an Overlord! A divine child of the dragons!”
“He’s a boy.” Draynar said. “He barely started magic a month ago. So Juvenile.”
“There’s more to him than that.” Sheol said, rage simmering down. “Im sure you’ll see in time.”
“Oh, joys.” Draynar huffed. “I can’t wait.”
“Draynar...” Hime pouted, in a huff. “Why are you being so mean?”
“Shh.” Draynar said, putting his hand on Hime’s head. “Just get us out of here. If Dhym wanted him dead for his failure, he’d have shut the portal on him himself.” Hime took out her staff, and slammed it into the ground, pommel first. The head of the staff lit up, and they evaporated. They appeared outside Ivorian’s lab. “I’ve a bone to pick with Ivorian.” Draynar said. “First, let’s get Sheol patched up.”
“Don’t let that madman anywhere near me, heretic!” Sheol gasped in dismay.
“Fine.” Draynar sighed, walking into the lab with Hime. “Stay there and bleed to death.” Draynar entered Ivorian’s lab. The lab had all sorts of odd equipment inside. There were tanks filled with water for holding people in, tables with wires that stick inside people’s skin, all sorts of tools that wouldn’t be out of place in a torture chamber, and the lab stunk of iron. In other words, blood. “What’s that?” Hime asked, pointing at an odd, large table that looked similar to a coffin, attached to one of the tanks. “That’s the replicator.” Draynar said. “Ivorian’s greatest creation. This is the only one left in existence. He wiped out the others, for whatever reason. It’s not so simple as putting someone in it and pressing a button though... It’s more about digging deep into the genetic structure, and altering it. It’s far too complicated for me to explain to you, child.”
“Not that.” Hime said, somewhat scared. “That.” She said, pointing at the tank it was connected to.
“That’s just a ta-“ Draynar was about to say, until he saw what Hime saw. Something was in it. “What the void is that?”
“Yes... Yes...” A familiar voice said, causing Hime to hide underneath Draynar’s tail. “His brain will be overloaded with emotions when he sees her face... Seeing, and scanning her features he knows so well, as she sinks a dagger into his heart... A rusty dagger. The rustiest I can find, to make his heart pump filth before it ceases!”
“Ivorian.” Draynar said. He was dismayed by what he saw.
“I must capture the moment! The moment when he realises what is happening! What shall I make her say? What shall I make my pretty, little, assassin say to the Overlord o-“
“Ivorian!” Draynar snapped. Ivorian swirled in Draynar’s direction, eyes filled with a mixture of rage and shock. Then, he calmed when he realised who it was. “Dreadlord...” Ivorian sighed.
“What is that?” Draynar asked, pointing his sharp finger at the regeneration tank. “What is that?”
“Dreadlord... I apologise. I predicted Sheol would lose his battle, and with that battle I would lose my chance to dissect a subject, so I took one of the prisoners that stumbled across Sanctum’s portal upon learning of her affiliation to the Overlord!” Ivorian said.
“I am sorely disappointed.” Draynar said.
“I thought you would be.” Ivorian said, kneeling. “So... I prepared a gift for you.”
“A gift?” Draynar asked, bemused.
“Yes...” Ivorian said. “She’s ready.” He approached the regeneration tank and inputs a code. Slowly, the tank’s waters are sucked away, and the subject is lowered the ground, on her knees. Her hair falls over her face, concealing her eyes. Hime doesn’t like this. “A human.” Draynar said.
“No, it’s an abomination.” Ivorian said, bitterly. “Like Sesorai. Like all the imperfect beings that have had their place upon my table. But she’s useful...”
“How so?” Draynar asked.
“Her original body...” Ivorian said, tapping on the coffin-like apparatus. “Is dead. I tortured and dissected her until she bled from every orifice, even the new ones I created... but I found that by altering her DNA only slightly, and releasing her magic potential, she could be the perfect candidate for the Ashtoreth.”
“The Azel?” Draynar asked, eyes widened.
“Yes. I put her soul through enough pain.” Ivorian said, as he pulled out a whip-like weapon.
“My mother’s weapon, huh?” Draynar asked, laughing.
“The last of the three weapons kept in the Yumerga family.” Ivorian sneered. “Ashtoreth... the whip of pain and mutilation. It flays it’s enemies skin and reveals the ugly reality beneath.”
“Perfect!” Draynar laughed, almost manically. Hime hated when he became like this.
“Here.” Ivorian said, handing the whip to the girl on the floor. Without looking up, she took the whip, which reacted to her touch, revealing it’s power with a glow. “Stand up.” Ivorian said, and she stood, revealing her body in full to Draynar, not that he had a taste for humans. “Her first name was painfully dull.” Ivorian said. “but her second name was... intriguing. It’s likely to be a testament to her brutality. Therefore, that is what she’ll go by.”
“What is your name, assassin?” Draynar asked the girl.
“My name...” The blue haired girl stuttered. “My name... Is Killjoy.”
To be Continued...
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