A Crimson Tale

by K. L. O Johnson

  The cold shower of water touches my skin, Zylaria, may have indoor plumbing but it lacks the technology to heat up that very same water, something which the Chief said in due time will come. Explaining why some people prefer to have their baths drawn at least the water’s warmer than from the shower head. The wooden basin is later filled with warmer water where; I fix and brush my hair, cleaning my face I dab it dry pulling out a white cloth the water drained. “Today’s going to be a long day.” I mutter under my dry white towel planted against my face. It isn’t perfect like the ones on earth but similar in thickness just with untended and unstitched scruffs at the end. I remove the towel and sigh.

  I had no idea what to do, Altair’s back, I wasn’t dreaming and he’s here on Zylaria. I glance at the mirror. A set of mismatched ocean blue and deep black eyes stare back at me like a belligerent. I almost didn’t recognize myself it is strange isn’t it? How a person can look different one moment but the same the next. Years of covering my features obviously had played some sort of trick on my mind. My scales crawl upon my skin where they initiate from my chin down to the soles of my feet, up to the nape of my neck covering everything else in between.

  I remember when I first arrived here, Tessa, would often ask me what would happen if I tried to cut my scales and I told her “nothing” they were as strong as steel or stronger and as stubborn as I am to not expose my skin for too long even though it was kind of my skin. There is something about our scales removing themselves every year for a whole week for the necessity of reproduction. However, they weren’t always black, my uniform was blue as my eyes lined in silver and black around my three layered armor which is engraved in an ancient language for protection against the battle of demons.

  The ironic thing about that is when you are half one, your expected to kill what practically made you. Still not even the angels and gods are saints. That is something I have to remind myself, after all, the majority of demons are now, fallen angels. The amount of times they lied and deceived their own kind so they can wonder on random worlds, I and many of my people, would have to turn a blind eye at their actions because our father Neragarden helped created us even if it wasn’t intentional. As such we had and have to respect his wishes. There’s no wonder why she, Hella is the wife of Satan and the sister of Lilith. I guess she’s still our mother even though she’s not exactly my mother. That woman I vowed I would never be like and yet there are things that I would do the things she would do, I subconsciously mimic.

  I had to pull myself up on that a few times since she seems to have some small grain of power over me that if I don’t mind will grow like a cancer. She may have given birth to me but she’s friends with the demon queens, therefore, if given the opportunity to I will have to kill her. Not that I’ll hesitate. My sister and father are the ones I truly treasure even though they are no longer with me. I knew the day I found out what she did, I vowed I would never make the same mistake.

  That opportunity to prove I’m not like my mother just may happen, since, Altair is the person I’m expected to marry. We aren’t betrothed since my parents had nothing to do with it. However, a form of gene therapy on our world is known as ‘Tylif’. It is what determines Nephelian citizens of nobility, politics, business, science and military the best-potential mate based on their genetic blueprints creating a possible ideal child between them. So naturally, women of my class had to marry men based on if they are our other half, if they can carry the duties we may have in equivalence that goes both ways though. Sadly, we have no say in it and I’m not going to go against the ‘Royal Court’.

  It’s still a stupid idea but people who are too busy to settle down have Tylif to do all the things they don’t have time for. In a way it’s good and bad but just like anything it’s not perfect. So there’s no excuse when trying to increase our populous size since we are an advanced warrior race who have been around for a very long time and I mean before Earth. My people have battled other worlds, demons, plagues, famine and poverty countless times proving we never had time to really battle ourselves but as such, many lives were lost over the centuries. Now, there’s only a handful of Nephalem. Since our race, aren’t barbarians the idea of sharing men and women around didn’t seem healthy. So therefore, Tylif was created.

  I leave my room with my cloak covering my scales that lines the majority of my body’s contours. With people around, we as Nephalem were required to be modest especially in front of other students when on our worlds our clothes are our scales. I wind my way down various halls and find myself in a courtyard; the sound of clashing metal can be heard close—by as Instructors teach their students. This wasn’t just any Academy but a University. “There you are, I’ve been looking for you.” says a familiar voice, I turn to see Tessa smiling at me and I quirk a brow.

  “What’s up? Shouldn’t you be in class?”

  “I am and we, kind of, have a bit of a situation…” she confesses and I frown at her words and wait for her to go on before she reluctantly, continues. “Sir Amandale has bound himself with a Wiccan spell.” I stare at her wondering if I heard her right or not, her face tints a light pink and I turn my gaze to the clouds as if it would write out my answers. I follow Tessa and after several long minutes. I soon find myself in a clearing of a forest that boarders the large city of Muland.

  The awning is not as dense so, it was just your regular forest, per say. By the time I arrive, I see a bunch of frantic students around their early twenties gaping at the sight of what I believe to be their Instructor, immediately my hand finds my head as I shake it in both utter disbelief and humiliation.

  “Do I want to know?” I ask the man who’s wrapped around his own limps. His legs wound up around his head, his arms locked through the gaps and I know, it must be utterly painful because he’s not that flexible.

  “Maybe not.” he says and I hear gentle laughs around me, it is an amusing sight. Maybe he should have been a circus performer. Since, he’s always going beyond what is required of the curriculum and this is a perfect example, no doubt trying to show the students how dangerous Wiccan Magic is. I move over to him and kneel, I examine the painful position his in and wonder how I could unwind him. I glance around. Was I the first person they thought of?

  “Ha! Serves you right Harond.” says the voice, which I know all too well. I turn to see a man with red hair and blue eyes. He holds his stomach as he continues to laugh gasping every now and again for air afore he manages to calm down wiping a tear from his far eye.

  “Can you be anymore rude Sir Vingreth?” I demand. He stands up straight.

  “Sorry ma’am I didn’t see you there.” he apologizes and walks over, his face grim as we try to figure out how to pull him from the shape he’s in. “I’m not good in Wiccan magic. Is there anyone else?” I ask knowing that I can help but I just may risk turning him into a toad and I really didn’t want that. He shakes his head than the words of Hazlitt enters my mind “if you require aid you won’t have it” I frown at the memory. That man always seems to know when to plant things in my mind. I stand. “Looks like I have no choice.” I say hiding the hint of fear I feel.

  “Have no choice in what…?” begins Vingreth. I place my hands before me and a green expel of energy is released from my hands and surrounds Amandale’s form. His body slowly begins to unwind, in fear of losing concentration, I try and disregard the small things that would normally draw my mind from my task. With the last amount of energy he manages to detangle himself and I slowly remove my energy, looking at him questionably. The crowd collectively inhales waiting for my spell to unwind. When nothing happens I relax. He stands and rubs his sore muscles.

  Later that day as I wonder the well-kept garden of the Order and sense a presence nearby. I place my small pocket book on a bench beside me, where I can return to it with a book mark. I step to the right, small curled fists are launched towards me and I catch both. “Maybe next time you boys shouldn’t cause so much noise.” I say eyeing Zannan and Theo. The two te
n year old boys, Orphans they are, taken in by the Order with the potential to become accommodators of a Gazric similar to ours. There’s however is only bonded through energy and can be detached. The people of Zylaria were taught about biological weapons from the Nephalem.

  Yet over the centuries just like Earth they manage to abuse what knowledge or power they’ve gained and use it on their own. So our monarch declared at that point for all ‘Gazric Spouters’ are to be programmed to not harm that of their own world, depending on their brain waves. Resulting in the Zylarians having more control over themselves with intense discipline and certain gene groups which are expressed readily within certain individuals. “No fair!” complains Zannan as he yanks his slender arm from my grasp and crosses his arms. “You always get the best of us.” he mutters, his lips pulled into an evident pout as if he’s had a piece of chocolate taken from him.

  “I agree with Zannan. Why don’t you go easy on us?” cries Theo. I shake my head. They have a lot to learn. I smile down at them for some reason children seem to bring out a more maternal side, I never thought I had, especially these two and Tessa who seem to be the very few young cadets in the university.

  “If I went easy on you all the time you wouldn’t try hard.” This catches their attention, I turn from them and take a seat on a nearby stone bench that is nestled before a tranquil waterfall the atmosphere of the place made me relax a little more it made me feel at ease even if it is just for a small amount of time before I’m placed another mission. The boys look at me confused and I fight back a grin.

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “I mean…you won’t try if it’s easy, am I right?” They reluctantly nod their heads. “Good, now get out of here.” I demand.

  “Why? We want to spar!” they plea. I shake my head.

  “Not now, this is my RNR time.” The boys give me a blank stare and I sigh. “I’ll tell you some other time, now go and run along with kids your own age.” I say and turn back to my book thankfully they leave and I return to the world of my imagination. I don’t know how many hours had passed that I spent captivated by the words on the countless pages. I only had just noticed the sudden dim in lights. I look up, the tall garden lanterns are lit and I can’t believe I didn’t even notice who lit them. Time sure does fly when you’re busy. The thought of it made me turn to the time, the large circular clock sits high on the end wall overlooking the garden and displaying the time. Realizing it is late, I end my book there and return to my room knowing that my day off was well spent.

  The next day arrives like a blur, I sit on a large boulder, snow at my feet, my uniform remains the same since I wasn’t affected by the cold. Even though the majority of Zylarian stories were written in Zylarian characters, over a period of time it practically becomes like English. Still the Chief hasn’t told me about what the package was or if Varden is the true heir or not. I didn’t press and whenever I saw him I tried not to think about the tasks. I just wanted some time alone, some time to gather myself.

  That’s when it occurred.

  The city bells echo in the distance. The same very bells used to warn the city of a demon attack, a raid or an invasion. My gaze turns to the sound and smoke meets the blue sky, it’s black—too black. I hear screams and cries and racing hearts that only I can hear from five kilometers away and I sprint through the peaceful meadow and towards the city, leaving my book behind in the forest not that it mattered. If people died because I wasted time trying to find a way to preserve the well—written scripture, I couldn’t live with myself. Their screams of pain and fear fill my ears. Their hearts hammer against their chest as their lungs desperately fight to breathe. If they don’t burn, the smoke will kill them.

  I glide down the streets my cloak whipping in the wind behind me, as I pass people, their faces masked with sorrow and pain, masked with loss and defeat. Several buildings were set alight and the heat it radiated could be smelt miles away by a wild boar or deer. I haul myself over wooden fences, abandoned crates and carriages, under excited horses where at one point I was sure I would be killed. To be stomped alive will be a mockery on my death certificate. Still I made sure my life was insured since I don’t know when I will die but just because I can die doesn’t mean I was going to give up to easy. I’m stubborn like that, always moving forward—never looking back.

  I manage to roll out of the way in time when I slid under a horse mounted by a man who is desperate to leave rather than help. But even from under the horse, I saw it, the fear in its large black eyes, its brown muscles twitching with desperation to survive. Many people were hurt by me and now that I’m no longer in that darkness of sorrow and emptiness, now that I better than before, I’m more strict with myself now knowing I have no excuse should I lose control. Men, skin scorched with ash and soaked with sweat scamper towards houses where several were trapped, their well-tailored suits, now destroyed. As some throw snow onto the blaze to burn it out while others throw pills of water at the blazing horror.

  It was peaceful yesterday, how can flames incinerate a whole city? Were arsonists involved? I had no idea, all I knew is that I need to see if everyone back at the Order were alright, not that they were my responsibility but because I have to a degree an attachment to the place and to the people. I may not show it at times but I do care—they were my comrades at arms, it just became difficult to show it and at times like this when lives are threatened I realize that regardless of how empty and lost I feel, I still care. As I run towards the Order I am stopped by a watch tower, the two that were positioned between the busy Market Streets of this city, the Central Business District, the stone tower collapses before me and catches fire, I cough as ash suffocates me.

  I stand on my feet once more. My path is completely blocked when I turn to the sound of tumbling stone, and heavy stomping. It takes me longer to register what is happening by the time I do, I’m sent with the pole of a metal street light over houses where I unfortunately land on the hard, warm tiles. My body feels hefty and locked into place. The sight of everything around me is blurry and my head rings an unbearable high note. With my head heavy, I’m unsure what just happened. As I go to move my support collapses and I fall into a room, now engulfed in fire. The snow surrounding this building doesn’t even help.

  The crackling flames pop in my ears, so loud I feel my drums are about to burst. My ears soon adapt to the flickering flames around me. I sit up, in a scorched floor where the flames are no more but are instead around me, the walls, the ceilings, smoke pours out of the hole in the roof where I just fell through. The wall adjacent to me is knocked down, the stones are sent towards me and I impulsively shield my eyes even though my face plate is strong as my helmet and armor. There I see it; it is a large man in size, its skin a blood red with veins that pop, raggedly out. He doesn’t wear any clothes as his waist, feet, hair and arms were all set on fire yet he remained unharmed. “Spawn of Krylancello.” it growls, Krylancello? Did he know my father?

  I want to say something but my mouth didn’t seem to respond, the world still spins around me nevertheless, it slowly, bit by bit returns until I find myself standing on my feet. His yellow glowing eyes stare back into mine, obvious resent is present and I glare. Whoever he was or whatever it was, it had just attacked the wrong person! Sure I may be a doormat at times but I won’t hesitate to defend or kill if necessary. I don’t do threatened, I am a threat. Wretchedly, this thing didn’t understand that. It turns to completely face me, stones tumble down around his form as his eyes burn with range. Its mouth opens and flames are sent my way. My arm covers my face which regenerates, the pain is evident but I brush it off, my scales soon form around my lower jaw and head.

  I’m completely covered and indestructible.

  7:Destruction

  © 2014—All rights reserved by author

  “Wrong move!” I growl under my veneer and walk against the flames. I clench my fist and send it towards him, the flames stop as his jaw is sent to the side. I punch his opposit
e jaw with my contrary fist. My hands radiate pain but I don’t stop, if it meant I lived another day, I would break more of my bones just to see him immobile. While in momentum, I clench my firsts together and send them across his opposite face, where my first impact was. He stumbles back enough, his back is against the flaming walls that streak to the heavens. Not taking the chance for him to recover I leap feet first into his face, forcing him through the weak walls. I land hard on my back and roll away from him. The sound of people’s shrilling screams reaches my ears and I know only then, they have witnessed the cause of this whole disaster.

  The monster stands on its feet and glares at me. I may not have my full strength but I’m not completely weak and I refuse to be defeated. I hear the sound of distant hooves and turn towards it, I just notice the fuzz of silver on white. The growl of the flaming man before me brings me out of my trance as he runs towards me, his heavy stomps echoing under each step and I stand feet apart, bracing myself for the painful impact when he’s forced from me, he slides along the ground. With Altair above him.

  His fists battling the beast before his forearm blade gleams under the light, he brings it down. I cannot see where he stabbed him but I can see the beast—the monster doesn’t move. He stands from where he is, his silver cloak falling around him as his blue eyes are trained on me. Marks are also on his face, four blue stripes on his high cheekbones two on either side of his tanned skin.

  It’s our identity. It’s our war paint.

  He makes his way towards me, his long silver hair down to his waist like mine falls behind him, his armor gleaming like mine only more so as his blue scales are drunken by the sun. His toned physique makes most women swoon but I don’t bother going there since he’s been my friend for as long as I can remember or a friend in a way. I don’t know how but when people tell you he’ll be the person you’ll settle down with it’s kind of hard to believe. His uniform the same design as mine, his armor engraved in an ancient language but he’s just broad shouldered and well built, his scales cling to his sculpted his form subsequent to years of training. “You all right?” he asks.