“It’s a cool concept,” A’mi remarked. “I’ll be curious if they can actually pull it off. I am surprised Trova’s not back by now. He took off like everything around him didn’t exist.” “Da man has a lot goin’ on; it musta been sometin’ big,” Kosho replied casually. “He come back soona’ or lata.’”
Sahja found himself entertaining pirates, soldiers, workers, and conscripts with the tales about the men and demons he’d slain in the battle. He also told the story about the beautiful reclaimed sword with which he ended their lives. Sahja eventually felt a different kind of presence at the back of the crowd, confirmed by the eerie hush that slowly made its way forward.
“It’s so much easier now to travel at night,” Trova remarked humorously, coming face to face with the honorary guardian. “You want your job back?” Sahja asked jokingly. “No,” the darkdancer replied. “Even if I did, it sounds like I’ll be going elsewhere sooner or later.” Sahja sighed heavily with disappointment. “They won’t let me step down. Is it even legal for a guardian to be a mayor, or whatever the hell it is I’m doing for you?”
“OYE! LADS!” a pirate shouted, putting the crowd into an uproar. “WHO’D YOU THINK WOULD WIN?”
Sahja couldn’t help but smirk. “Just for the record, you know this is one-sided,” the darkdancer commented. “Doesn’t mean I can’t have some fun,” the guardian replied. “Good, we’re on the same page,” Trova sighed. “IT’S ON, LADS!” hollered the buccaneer. The crowd grew into an excitement and would begin to grow in size as the venue was made known.
They went to an area designated for a future military hangar, already lined with bright construction lights. Many in the crowds asked each other about the massive plot of land, fearing it was too large to witness anything. Some who had actually witnessed the guardian’s power firsthand were a bit nervous that it was too small.
The two stood off with yards of space in every direction. Their shadows cast from the bright white lights. Sahja wielded the reclaimed greatsword while his opponent began with a runeforge quickblade. A sound system was rigged, and an announcer came over the speakers to narrate the event. It was amusing that they weren’t even clear that this wasn’t a “bladedancer” versus a “bloodlion” fight.
“Just to be clear, a darkdancer was never meant to be at odds with a guardian,” Trova sportingly hollered to his opponent. “HAVE AT YE!” Sahja shouted back as he practically soared towards the darkdancer. The blades met in a clash of runic power, sliding the darkdancer five yards back in the dust. “Have at Ye?” Trova asked and laughed. “Who says that?” The guardian shrugged, pulling pins from three alchemical grenades on Trova’s person.
The darkdancer gasped, cut the strap, and tossed it high into the air. The bombs exploded some seconds later, sending the crowds into a cheer. The darkdancer engaged the guardian with a series of swift and powerful strikes, each trailed by the glowing red runes of the blade. The guardian was able to meet each one with equal agility.
The darkdancer partnered his thrusts and slashes with runic blasts and mine spells. The guardian countered them with equal energy signatures that proved to be quite a flashy display. Bystanders a mile away thought they were being invaded again! HAH!
The guardian cleaved the very ground, and his movements met no physical resistance. Trova’s eyes grew wide when he saw a portion of his sword fracture upon a clash, causing him to take out one of his pistols to shoot out a spotlight. The darkdancer shadowstepped away; and dozens of runic mines appeared, simultaneously around the guardian. The explosions retained a beautiful red hue while the darkdancer came into view once more among the awes and cheers of the spectators.
Brushing some rubble from his shoulder, the guardian’s aura shown through the dust. “This is becoming increasingly disheartening,” the darkdancer remarked. Then he watched as pulses of light came through the ground towards him from the guardian. He countered the first upward blast with a runic shield but had to rely on evasion for the following dozen. The darkdancer even lost a bit of his footing upon his last landing.
In casting such a spell, the guardian didn’t even have to move. Trova took a pistol in each hand and shot out the rest of the lights from their locations. The darkdancer unsheathed another runeforge blade that phased through the very darkness. The red of his eyes and brandished glyphs became brighter. The two weapons once again met in an otherworldly flurry and display of swordsmanship.
As a mage cast an arcane flare over the duel, it was becoming clear that the darkdancer was on his back foot. Sahja was pushing him back a step at a time. Then the guardian hurled his greatsword beyond the darkdancer. Trova paused at the curious action, and the guardian seized on such hesitation. Sahja wrapped one arm around the darkdancer’s neck, holding his other out to the reclaimed sword that was returning like a boomerang.
Trova’s eyes widened at the rapidly approaching weapon. “Yield!” the darkdancer panted. The greatsword flew over the pair and pierced into the earth several yards behind them, and the guardian let go of his opponent. The cheers of the spectators indicated that they were pleased with the show. “Seems like you can keep things handled here,” Trova jested. “Where are you headed?” the guardian replied.
Trova informed Sahja about his happenings with Miri’el and also the very real possibility of Zuhetta and Malene being reconnected via the rainbow bridge. The crowds eventually dispersed into the misty and smoky-scented pre-dawn hours, resting easy in the relative tranquility of Dema’s stained pasture.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Cruising
Mooroos was at the wheel of the squads in a rather questionable rickety mode of transportation. Consistent days and nights among the nightmarish lands were taking their toll. The group had finally sustained some injuries. Ogg, with a stab wound in his chest, was the most recent. “Mending flesh with spells is as painful as the wound itself,” the elementalist said quietly. “The process is so much longer than the wounding. Ogg would feel that blade landing in his chest for the duration of the mending process. Thank you for putting him into such a sleep. He needed the rest anyway,” she added, looking at Azal’el.
The angel, cleaning mortal blood off of his weapon, was dangling his foot out of where a door and paneling once were. “Those people looked normal from a distance,” Diisu continued softly. “I guess I froze up long enough for it to matter.” “Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Azal’el replied reassuringly. “It’s honestly not that often that you encounter afflicted heroes.”
“Angel?” Diisu asked mournfully. “Are their souls trapped with that sickness?” Azal’el nodded. “Yes, even a good-natured soul. It’d be like being the passenger of a runaway car, but being utterly restrained in your seat,” he explained. “They’re all released sooner or later; and probably sooner, as Anri continues to move on Zuhetta and the rest of Harth, which are easy prey for the dogs of the underworld.”
“How are people supposed to get to Asheya?” Mooroos inquired. “Kush’hera has almost total “say” now that Asheya has been activated,” Azal’el replied with a stretch. “The environment there probably needs some time, anyway, to stabilize for comfortable mortal living.” “Pity. I really wanted to start planning my magical new home,” the gunslinger sarcastically muttered.
Diisu glanced at the tumbler, who was curled up and rolling around with the motion of the vehicle. “Genri’s pet has too much personality for its own good,” she sighed with exasperation. “All tumblers are like that,” Azal’el replied casually. “Ingenious critters--smarter than some children these days. Did you know their deepstone shell can actually withstand some tremendous explosions?”
“He also told you to put the orbs away,” Mooroos chimed in. “I also told you to put the orbs away,” the angel echoed. The elementalist rolled her eyes. The tumbler’s hard shell clanked and clattered on the metal floor around Diisu. The critter unknowingly taunted her with its proximity.
&nbs
p; Eventually, Diisu finished her work on the warrior and went to the rear of the vehicle to lie down. As she did, the vehicle began to come to a halt. Diisu was about to get back up, but Mooroos motioned for her to stay down. Taking a rifle in hand, the gunslinger slowly climbed farther back from the driver’s seat as he joined Diisu.
Azal’el was already stepping out of the vehicle and towards a fiery “being” to their front, which was seemingly awaiting him in the middle of the desolate highway. It was easy to see that this “being” stood at least 15 feet tall. His wicked armor breathed with fire with four horns of fire coming from his helm. “What is it, Mooroos?” Diisu whispered. “You’re asking me?” the gunslinger (looking through the rifle scope) replied with amusement. “Buuuuuuut, I’m tempted to bet it’s a guardian.”
“What?” Diisu exclaimed, stirring her two slumbering comrades. Mooroos shushed her, taking note of the lack of demonic and underworld activity around the scene. “Diisu, is it ‘too’ quiet on the other side of us?” he whispered. The elementalist peeked from behind a shattered window, looking around at their location. “There’s nothing,” she whispered back.
Azal’el could see a large red stone, giving off a radiance in and of itself, that had been fused with the fallen guardian’s chest. “Yojun, this is quite a surprise,” the angel greeted. “You’re wise to remember your place, angel,” Yojun said in a distorted and burning voice. “I would’ve suggested you simply leave your weapon behind.” “Well, old habits, I guess,” the angel replied. “I hear you haven’t broken any of yours either.” Yojun’Sha laid the tip of his claw on Phoenicia’s heart. “Quite a handy trinket. I’m sure it’s turning into quite a reunion up there,” he remarked slyly.
“What is it you’re after?” the angel asked stoically. “Your other eye,” Yojun chuckled. “You said it yourself; I’m still quite the collector.” The angel simply couldn’t believe it. “It’s a rather unfortunate circumstance of yours, Azal’el,” Yojun continued, now stepping towards the angel. “The only mortal-formed angel to speak of on Harth, making you much easier prey than your sister. Don’t think to test me, boy. If we meet again, I’ll have ascended to the power of a Celestial. Defy me now, and I will personally see to the destruction of those you’ve come to hold dear.”
Yojun’Sha was accurate enough in his words, and Azal’el knew it. Yojun was avoiding direct war with Eternity, but the fallen guardian was threat enough so that Bol’rel had to handle the situation with begrudging delicacy.
Azal’el didn’t have a choice. He plunged the blade of his staff into the ground and knelt. Yojun’Sha motioned with his claw-like gauntlets, conjuring three small, concentrated beams an inch from the angel’s eye. The guardian made a twisting motion with his fingers and then opened his palm for the eye to come to him, seamlessly cut from its socket. Yojun conjured a diamond prism around the eye; then it vanished.
Yojun had in fact made the extraction as painless as possible, but Azal’el was obviously in growing discomfort. “What’re you getting at?” he grunted. “Part of a formula,” the fallen guardian replied casually. “Why create new life when I can simply modify the rather impressive forms already available? My armies already exist. I’ve just yet to seize them.” “You strike me as a very dull world ruler,” Azal’el managed to joke.
“Keep that humor of yours, angel. You’ll need it,” the pyrelord grinned; and with that, a fiery portal appeared behind the fallen guardian. “The world will return to its primordial state, and the Light will be forced to rectify His mistake.” In a blast of heat and seared earth, the fallen guardian was gone.
Mooroos and Diisu rushed over to help Azal’el. “Does anyone have a cool-looking mask or helmet to spare?” the angel asked. They returned to the vehicle where Diisu wrapped an azure and white cloth around the angel’s head. “Who was that?” Mooroos inquired. “Yojun’Sha, husband to the recently deceased Josun,” the angel grunted as he lay down. “Psychopath extraordinaire.”
War came to everything with Dom’rel’s rebellion. It is an inevitability in our fallen realm. When sides began to be chosen by the Celestials, the chaos it bred was little different than humanity’s own pattern. The family fractured and split, leading to power struggles, separation, confusion, manipulation, and so on.
Entire moons and worlds remain decimated from Celestial battles. But, THIS world’s creation and the introduction of humanity changed everything. The world was perfect; it had everything.
Celestials like Anri-Vex saw humanity like an infestation, while Onyx gave his physical body to bless the land for said humanity. Yojun has had bad blood with the serpent for thousands of years, but he is now coming into the sort of power he needed to physically make a move against Anri. They shared similar concepts, but far different executions.
If you recall, Yojun is the sort of “tactician” that releases his wife to certain destruction by her brother. This is a means of distracting said brother, so that Yojun could kill the brother’s wife and extract her very unique elemental heart--betting on that same brother to be dealt with by HIS brother while hoping for as much collateral damage as possible in THAT process and MANAGING TO DO SO WITH SEAMLESS SUCCESS.
BUT! Yojun’Sha did in fact need additional components for the actual endgame of his little scheme. His movements were warranting attention from every other involved party.
The laser-like precision of the extraction left little needing to be tended. The angel insisted that their elementalist sleep. Mooroos used one of the gas containers to top off their tank, tossing it aside before climbing back into the battered vehicle. “Do we have any strong alcohol, Mooroos?” Azal’el inquired. “There’s some in my green pack,” the gunslinger replied. There was a pause as the vehicle slowly pulled away.
“Where? Exactly? Absolutely hate to be a bother,” the angel remarked sarcastically. “Oh, shit,” Mooroos uttered, putting the vehicle in park once more. He went to the back and slid the mentioned green pack to the angel and then returned to the driver seat. “Much obliged, old friend,” Azal’el thanked.
The distance they still needed to travel was not small nor void of danger. Their next destination was a bridge, miles above and across the seawaters that fed into the land, which connected Uhr’Erra to Kussuum. The portions of the two states where the bridge connected were highly traveled, presenting the notion that it could still be very populated--but not in a good way.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
What Lies in Such Depths?
Kush’hera laid upon a lone pillar among the vast ocean, humming to herself as her feathers bathed in the sun. Then bubbles began to rise to the surface of the water. One could see the shadow below span for miles in every direction. Two antenna-like eyes breached the water’s surface. The end of each stalk alone was four times the length of Kush’hera’s wingspan. The black, pearly eyes were larger than she was.
“Tal’Traxxi!” Kush’hera said happily. “It’s been so long; how have you been?” The large crustacean eyes came closer to the feathered dragon so that Kush’hera could practically see her reflection in one of the black spheres. “So, listen,” Kush’hera continued in a friendly manner, “I would absolutely love for you to raise the sunken pylons for me. It would be such a help.”
“I will grant the request of Zuhetta’s pylon, but no others have been sanctioned,” Tal’Traxxi replied in a deep and watery voice. “That’s fair as far as I’m concerned,” Kush’hera answered, smiling as much as a dragon can smile. “And, perhaps, allow humanity to cross the seas?” she added.
“Humanity has always been allowed to travel by sea,” Tal’Traxxi said. Kush’hera sighed. “How many? Even in the last 300 years? How many?” she asked with a laugh. The massive eyes leered at the feathered dragon. “That’s none of your concern,” he replied. “It’s not like you and your dragons haven’t stopped Zuhetta from achieving airpower.” Kush’hera feigned offense. “I didn’t. I only killed like 100 pe
ople to that end,” she rebuked.
“I’d come to forget how much you can talk,” Tal’Traxxi grumbled. “Our little red birdy told me you’ve seen to protecting the Lighthouse in Mol’do,” Kush’hera remarked with approval. “Did she have to blackmail you? Or did you just sort of have an ‘ah-hah’ moment?” Again, the large black eyes leered at the feathered dragon.
Refreshed by the sunlight, Kush’hera stretched out on the top of the stone pillar.“None of my concern,” she sighed. “I am Tal’Traxxi! I can raise the very ruins of the first kingdom with my claws. The tides obey me,” he declared proudly. “We’re on the same side. What good are such questions of motives?” “You’re still the same grouch,” Kush’hera remarked. “It’s actually refreshing to see that some of us folk really don’t change,” Tal’Traxxi grumbled. Then the eye stalks began to sink into the sea.
“YOU’RE GOING TO DO THE PYLON THING, RIGHT?” Kush’hera shouted as she sprung to her feet. Tal’Traxxi gave no response. The Celestial of the Tides was a monstrous mass but could soar through the very molecules of water. It simply looked like a brief, translucent anomaly in the water itself if he passed by.
Kush’hera had taken off towards where the Zuhettan pylon had been taken into the sea some time ago--among the far northwestern isles of the continent. Tal’Traxxi was already there, digging his massive claws into the seabed beneath crumbled ruins. Then, with insurmountable strength, he lifted tons upon tons of sunken earth.
The sediments and stones swirled beneath the ruins being held by the Celestial, soon forming a new foundation for the land. Eventually, Tal’Traxxi could release his hold on the small island and allow the world to do the rest.
The Anoshi isles and mainland watched as a massive obelisk arose from the sea in the distance, towering nearly 1,500 feet in the air. Kush’hera sighed with relief that her comrade saw to the matter with such haste. Then, humming dandily, she continued on toward Asheya.
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