Destroyer of Legends

by Clayton Wood

  “I’ll give you this,” Vi piped up. “You’re a smooth talker.” Tykus chuckled.

  “I assure you there is no artifice in my speech,” he replied. “I speak the truth because I have no need for lies. I suspect you’re the same,” he added. Vi nodded grudgingly.

  “Guilty as charged.”

  “Hunter, I respect your mother,” Tykus stated. “She’s a fine woman, and I’ve enjoyed our many conversations over the years. You have a great deal to learn from her.” He turned to Xerxes. “Dominus and the guild ordered you to be beheaded,” he stated. “My apologies,” he added. “This would not have happened under my watch.”

  Xerxes said nothing.

  “Yet you recovered from this injury,” Tykus noted. “Are your memories intact?”

  “YES.”

  “Remarkable!” the king exclaimed. “I should like to ask you more questions about this later, if you’re agreeable.” He turned to Dominus then. “Dominus, it appears that, while I was dead, you created a few unnecessary enemies. I regret that I was not there to counsel you.”

  Dominus lowered his gaze, clearly ashamed.

  “That’s it?” Hunter blurted out. “We’re just going to forgive him?” Tykus nodded.

  “Well of course.”

  “Hell no,” Hunter retorted. “He doesn’t get off that easy.”

  “Easy?” Tykus inquired. “Oh no. I suspect it’s going to be quite difficult for him. In any case, we have a great deal more to worry about than each other,” Tykus warned. “It seems that the Svartálfar have returned.”

  “The dark elves?” Vi replied, her eyebrows going up.

  “Yes,” Tykus confirmed.

  “How?” Vi pressed.

  “Because Zagamar has returned,” Dominus answered. Everyone turned to him.

  “What?” Hunter blurted out.

  “High Seeker Zeno entered the Crypt of Zagamar,” Dominus explained. “And brought your head with him,” he added, gesturing at Xerxes. “A few days later, I was attacked by a horde of dark elves.”

  “You’re saying Zagamar was the source of the Svartálfar?” Vi asked. Tykus nodded.

  “He was the Legend that created them,” he explained. “They are incomplete and inferior copies of him. And now, everywhere he goes, he will be creating an army of clones that will do his bidding.”

  “Shit,” Hunter swore.

  “You can say that again,” Vi muttered.

  “We can only guess as to Zagamar’s intentions,” Tykus continued, “…but if history is any indication of the future – which it usually is – then we are in dire trouble.”

  “I don’t need to guess at his intentions,” Hunter retorted. “I know his intentions.” Tykus frowned at him.

  “Explain.”

  “Zeno may have gotten to Zagamar, but I got to him first,” Hunter revealed. “I drank some of his brains. He’s inside of me now.”

  “Then I’m afraid you are doomed,” Tykus replied apologetically. “He will take over your body slowly – you are an Original, after all – but he will dominate you. We cannot have one Zagamar to contend with, much less two. The only solution would be…”

  “To go to the Deep?” Vi interjected. “Yeah, already done. Zagamar can’t dominate him anymore.”

  “Ah,” Tykus murmured, his eyes brightening. “Excellent!”

  “Not so excellent,” Hunter shot back. “This guy is a megalomaniac. He’s scary smart, and he thinks and moves like everything and everyone else around him is in slow-motion. And he wants to rule the world…to change everything into a version of himself. He thinks he’s the pinnacle of human evolution.”

  “Then we are in trouble,” Tykus observed. “For not only is Zagamar reborn, but he was reborn with a hint of your power,” he explained, gesturing at Xerxes.”

  “Wait,” Hunter blurted out. “You’re saying he can regenerate?”

  “Yes, as can his copies, to a lesser extent.”

  “Well, we’re dead,” Hunter declared.

  “We’re not dead yet,” Vi countered. She turned to Tykus. “I assume you have a plan?”

  “Of course,” Tykus replied with a smile. “I’ve planned for this contingency for millennia. As I’ve planned for every potential catastrophic event…including your siege today.”

  “You expected this?” Hunter asked incredulously. Tykus smirked.

  “Did I seem surprised?” he inquired. Hunter grimaced. The man hadn’t, of course. “I find planning for tragedy to be the most effective antidote for fear,” Tykus mused. “Anxiety is nothing more than the fear of being helpless in the face of the future.”

  Vi crossed her arms in front of her chest.

  “Gotta say what everyone else is thinking,” she stated. “What the hell?”

  “Pardon?” Tykus inquired.

  “What’s a guy like you doing leading a kingdom like this?” she stated. “You’re nothing like these assholes,” she added, gesturing at Dominus.

  “He’s playing us,” Hunter guessed. Vi shook her head.

  “No. I know when I’m being played,” she countered. “This guy’s for real.”

  “A kingdom takes men of all kinds to operate,” Tykus answered. “Personality is destiny, and there are many types. Each has a place within the whole, much like the parts that make up our bodies. And even I daresay that none of our bodies would function very well without our…” he added, gesturing at Dominus, “…assholes.”

  Dominus grimaced at that.

  “I…” he began, but Tykus waved him off.

  “Suffice it to say that my kingdom – and the world – is in grave danger,” the king declared. “The Svartálfar are a much greater threat to me than all of you are,” he added. “Most human Legends have the good sense to limit their influence on the world as much as possible. Zagamar does not.”

  “You’re one to talk,” Hunter grumbled. Tykus raised an eyebrow.

  “Explain.”

  “You run a kingdom that forces everyone that isn’t blonde-haired and blue-eyed to either sling shit in the Outskirts for the rest of their lives or change themselves until they do fit in,” Hunter complained. “And I was one of them.”

  “True,” Tykus admitted. “But my influence is limited. Or did you believe that this great wall I had built around the kingdom was to keep things out?”

  Hunter stared at him mutely.

  “If I chose to, I could have expanded this kingdom across the world,” Tykus continued. “I could have used my Ossae to transform the world into my likeness, reigning over a vast empire. But I have not done so. My kingdom is limited, self-contained. Even my people do not have access to my Ossae; they are to be used only to reincarnate me, and to create my guards and scouts.” He smiled. “I have no more desire to rule the world than you do.”

  “He’s got a point kiddo,” Vi conceded.

  “I still don’t trust him,” Hunter countered. He paused, then took off his helmet, stepping up to the king. “If you’re telling the truth, you won’t mind me absorbing some of your memories.”

  Tykus gave him a surprised look.

  “You have the gift?” he inquired.

  “Yes.”

  “A rare gift indeed, to be able to see things from another’s perspective,” Tykus murmured. “By all means.”

  Hunter held the king’s temples in his hands, then touched his forehead to Tykus’s.

  * * *

  He found himself standing on a large ship docked at port, a bitter cold wind whipping through the air. Sailors went about their tasks preparing for the upcoming voyage, bringing the last of the rations aboard. A tall man stood on the deck before him, rugged but handsome, a bit of gray in his beard. His father…the greatest man he’d ever met, and would likely ever meet.

  Father smiled, putting a hand on Tykus’s shoulder.

  “Good luck Tykus,” he said. Tykus glanced back at a burly, brutish man on the other end of the ship, shouting at one of the crew. It was his uncle Thorvald. Tykus grimaced.
<
br />   “I’ll need it, father.”

  His father chuckled, patting Tykus’s shoulder.

  “A wolf and a dog never play,” he quoted. “But remember: if you fight with a pig, you’ll get his stink on you.”

  Tykus smiled, and his father ruffled his hair affectionately.

  “There’s a great man inside of you,” his father insisted. “It’s your job to find him and bring him out.”

  “Yes father.”

  “I look forward to meeting the man you’ll become,” he continued, squeezing Tykus’s shoulder. “You’re an Erickson,” he added. “Make me proud.”

  * * *

  Hunter gasped, stumbling back from Tykus, his eyes snapping open.

  “Jesus,” he breathed. He felt other memories flash in his mind’s eye, and knew without a shadow of a doubt that the king was genuine. He stared at the king, feeling a chill run down his spine. The mere sliver of Tykus’s soul he’d experienced had been…indescribable.

  “Are you convinced?” Tykus inquired. Hunter nodded.

  “He’s for real,” Hunter declared. As much as he disagreed with the man’s methods, he could no longer disagree that Tykus lived up to the reverence his people had for him.

  “Alright,” Vi decided. “You said you had a plan for every contingency. What’s your plan for Zagamar?”

  “To defeat him, we have to work together,” Tykus answered. “All of us. We must band together as people and as kingdoms, uniting our people against a common threat. And we must strike early. The longer Zagamar has to build his army, the more difficult our task will become.”

  “Wait, you’re asking us to work with him?” Hunter blurted out, pointing at Dominus.

  “Yes,” Tykus confirmed. “That is your penance, Dominus…and your opportunity for forgiveness, Hunter. It is far too easy to commit violence against someone you don’t know. That is why nations dehumanize their enemies before attacking them.”

  “Like you did to the Ironclad,” Hunter pointed out.

  “To justify building the wall that limits our influence, yes,” Tykus replied.

  “Ah.”

  “You will work together, fight together, and protect each other. You will get to know each other’s perspectives. And that,” he added with a smile, “…is the only way an enemy can become a friend.”

  “Your Highness,” Dominus protested.

  “Call me Tykus,” Tykus reminded him. “Do you trust me?”

  “Implicitly,” Dominus answered.

  “Then consider this the end of our conversation,” Tykus concluded. “Thank you for your consideration,” he added, walking up to Hunter, Vi, and Xerxes and shaking their hands. “We will be in touch.”

  “Uh…how?” Hunter asked.

  “I am everywhere,” he answered. “Rest assured that one of me will come to you.”

  Chapter 30

  “Zac,” a man’s voice greeted.

  Zac glanced up from the paperwork spread out on the table before him. His faithful general, General Roden, had entered his tent. Old and bent now, but still strong, the man’s blue eyes had long since darkened with exposure to Zac’s will. They were so similar now that at first glance it would be hard to tell them apart. Still, Zac had never allowed anyone to become as much…him as Zooey had. The general kept his distance as was required, standing at the entrance of the tent.

  “Yes?” Zac prompted.

  “The men and I have been talking,” Roden admitted. “We…don’t think this is a good idea.”

  “I know,” Zac replied.

  “It’s just…” Roden paused, and Zac waited for him to continue. “We’re doing so well. We’re strong. I’m not sure it’s wise to do this right now.”

  “I know,” Zac repeated.

  “There’s no way to be sure of what will happen,” Roden pressed. Zac sighed.

  “General,” he stated. “I know. I know everything you’re going to say. I know every argument you’ll make. All of them.”

  Roden grimaced, lowering his gaze.

  “I know,” he mumbled. “I just…”

  “You care about me,” Zac interjected. General Roden nodded.

  “We all do, sir.”

  “And I care about you,” Zac replied. “You’ve been at my side for thirty years, Roden. You’ve stayed when others betrayed me. When the armies of the three kingdoms threatened to annihilate us.”

  “Of course sir,” Roden replied. “I would do it again. And not just because a part of me is you.”

  Zac smiled.

  “If this fails, take my body to the crypt,” Zac stated. “You have my will, Roden. It’s all there.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Carry on without me then.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Is that all, Roden?” Zac inquired. Roden hesitated.

  “Be careful, sir,” he insisted.

  “I will.”

  Roden bowed, then left, and Zac sighed, lowering his gaze to the papers on his desk. Logistics of running his army. Larger now than it’d ever been, but still much smaller than the armies they’d faced in the past…and those they’d fight in the future. But what Zac lacked in numbers, he more than made up for with his mind.

  His inventions…and strategy…had won them every battle.

  The kingdoms had risen against him, one after the other. Each with a ruler that was, or had been, a Legend like Zac. Each dead-set on stopping Zac from forming his own kingdom. It was always the same.

  If they don’t belong, subjugate them. If they’re strong, destroy them.

  And these rulers, these Legends and false Legends, and copies of former Legends…they fooled their people into scrambling to be just like them. And that anyone who wasn’t was…unacceptable. Tyranny in its subtlest form.

  I will free them all.

  He reached out for one of the papers on his desk, a message from the Kingdom of the Deep. One of the few kingdoms that had not tried to stop him…and the self-appointed guardians of the Deep.

  We appreciate your request to visit the Deep, but we must deny it. Our allies are your enemies, and while we have no desire to move against you, we will not aid you.

  Zac stared at the page, then crumpled it up. He’d already sent a reply, of course. And by the time the Elders of the Kingdom of the Deep received it, it would be too late.

  He glanced over at the cage in the middle of his tent, at the creature within. It’d taken him years to find it. A creature with jet-black skin and long, thin arms and legs. It was vaguely humanoid, and moved with incredible speed.

  A Makadewa.

  They were rare, and difficult to capture on account of their vicious tempers and sheer speed. And this one was rare indeed; a Makadewa with a near-Legendary will, at least for its appearance. Time had taught Zac that while his own mind was indeed Legendary, his appearance was only nearly so. If the Deep truly did merge creatures, he could keep his mind yet gain the Makadewa’s speed. And more importantly, its other incredible trait.

  It never aged.

  The only way for a Makadewa to die was to be killed. And if Zac could find another creature, one with the ability to heal rapidly, or even regenerate, he would become unstoppable. He would never die…all at the expense of a voracious appetite.

  Zac stared at the creature even as it stared at him. Then he walked up to it, grimacing at a pain in his right hip as he did so. He’d spent a great deal of time close to the creature, but his body hadn’t really changed much. A disappointment. Only the Deep had a chance of merging them, while keeping his body humanoid.

  At sixty years old, Zac’s time was running out. And he still had so much to do. So much he needed to accomplish.

  He’d gone through every contingency, of course. If the melding worked, and he gained the Makadewa’s immortality, all would be well. If not, his heightened metabolism would likely accelerate the aging process.

  And General Roden would have to take him to the mountain.

  Zac hesitated, then grabbed the cage, pick
ing it up and walking it out of the tent. Sunlight streamed down on his face as he stepped outside, and he squinted, waiting for his eyes to adjust.

  Standing before them in the distance was a huge mountain, a narrow dirt path leading up to the foot of it. A path littered with bones. There had been a great asylum built here long ago, one that had fallen into ruin. But the bones of the insane remained, their wills as powerful as they’d been in life.

  The perfect location for Zac’s crypt.

  He watched as men wearing large wooden helmets trudged up the path toward the entrance to his crypt, dragging prisoners of war behind them. The able-bodied would be forced to build the crypt’s many defenses, and the great tomb itself. And the few insane men and women that Zac had collected over the years, some with wills nearly as powerful as his own…they would serve a different purpose. To protect his tomb from the unworthy.

  A tomb that, with the benefit of his great intellect, would withstand the ages, preserving his flesh for eternity.

  He glanced down at the cage he held, studying the Makadewa for the umpteenth time. How fast it breathed. How quickly it moved. How it studied him. It’d undoubtedly gained the power of his mind, being so close to him for so long, but its body had not changed.

  “We’ll be together soon,” he promised, smiling at the creature. “You and I. You’ll make me better,” he added. “And together, we’ll make the world better.”

  * * *

  It was already early afternoon by the time Hunter, Xerxes, Vi, and Dominus passed beyond the Deadlands to the Fringe, reaching the deep forest beyond. The army of Ironclad had left the city, what remained of the City Guard under orders from the king himself not to intervene. Being accustomed to flying everywhere – at a fraction of the time it took to travel on foot – Hunter found himself impatient and irritated. Which could’ve very well been because of his trek through the Fringe, absorbing the emotion there. He found that he absorbed less with his helmet on however, just as he rarely absorbed memories when he wore it.