Blood Immortal

by Paul Centeno

  By the fifth week, they were beginning to approach the next village. Here in the forest of Vomara, the leaves were a blend of ruby and amber hues. Fauns with spiral horns and brown fur dwelled here, deciding to join the swarm in order to rid their land of the Mor’vyi’dou. More high elf druids joined them too, disguised as white-furred unicorns. When the druids reached Vomara, however, they morphed back to their normal elf forms. Orcs gave them bows and quivers full of arrows, so they readied their weapons and remained alert.

  Aarian and his fellow guardians examined the village that was, similar to Gaeldein, a part of the forest. Each home had been built within a tree. Some of them even had staircases along the balconies and wooden bridges leading to other homes nestled within the trees. It was a gorgeous sight to behold, at least to Aarian. The swarm, however, preferred their hoarfrost kingdom.

  “Am I going crazy or are there no dark elves here?” asked Aarian, carefully looking around on one of the balconies.

  “I wish you were,” said Varkagorsa, grimacing.

  “Somthin’ be stirrin’ in yer mind?” asked Zavoba.

  “Mor’vyi’dou aren’t mindless,” answered Varkagorsa tersely. “They probably withdrew from the region, realizing by now that they’re no match for us unless they have a legion of their own.”

  “Chevirith?” said Aarian.

  “I suppose it’s possible that the smaller brigades have rallied with the main army at the capital,” said Falvorn. “But they may also be hiding here.”

  “Not a chance,” grumbled Shakar, sniffing the air. “I can’t smell their stench.”

  “By all that’s cursed,” said Aarian. “This means we’re going to have one hell of a battle on our hands when we reach Chevirith.”

  “So what?” said Varkagorsa, snorting. “We vastly outnumber them.”

  “True,” responded Aarian, tilting his head. “But we still need to be cautious. It’s good we gained reinforcements,” —he glanced at the fauns and Quel’de’nai druids—“though, it wouldn’t hurt to be prepared for anything. Right?”

  “I enjoy being overconfident, Dralekar,” said Varkagorsa.

  Aarian laughed, amused. “Have it your way.” He turned to the others and said, “It seems the dark elves have smartened up and may have rallied at the capital city. If that is so, then we will face a battle unlike any other since our arrival here. Now, normally I’d be scared. I mean, there could literally be thousands of Mor’vyi’dou waiting for us there. Yet for some reason when I gaze upon the legion before me I don’t feel afraid.”

  Many of the million cackled.

  “I thought you’d all get a kick out of that,” said Aarian, smiling. He took a deep breath, turned southward in the direction of the capital, and bellowed at the top of his lungs, “Onwards to Chevirith!”

  Never more ready to spill blood, the swarm roared with delight and followed Aarian and his guardians farther south. Another few weeks passed. Though the capital city wasn’t across the entire continent—literally at the heart of Lar’a’dos—it was still taking them a long time to travel their by foot. During the day, as usual, they set up an encampment and rested. Then at nighttime they continued south.

  After traveling on foot for another few days, they saw, in the distance, a vast stony wall with battlements on the top. Behind the fortifications of stone stood a majestic city of crystal spires rising higher than the trees, nearly reaching the clouds. Most noticeable and ominous, however, were the hundreds of dark elves lined up along the battlements.

  “I can’t believe it,” said Aarian, gazing at the massive wall that stretched for miles. “It’s the famed Bulwark of Rueléy.”

  “Never heard of it,” said Varkagorsa, spitting on the ground.

  “Legend has it that it’s impenetrable,” replied Aarian, raising his shield as he noticed the Mor’vyi’dou readying arrows. “Legion of Niratredam, we stand at the foot of Chevirith’s door! Time and time again, Quel’de’nai have spread tales that this fortification is as immortal as them! I say we test that fable!”

  The swarm cheered monstrously and then strode forward, at which point the Mor’vyi’dou launched arrows. Ogres charged ahead, their bodies full of arrows. Many of them died. Since the swarm didn’t have any catapults to strike the wall, they took cover behind trees. Warlocks hurled fireballs while others shot projectiles, killing several dark elves. Falvorn and his fellow gargoyles flew skyward, picking up Mor’vyi’dou and throwing them down.

  Although many elves fell to their deaths, the vast majority of them along the battlements were releasing arrows at the flying gargoyles. Their numbers quickly dwindled, forcing Falvorn to temporarily withdraw. Warlord Varkagorsa and his fellow warlocks continued to cast fireballs at the wall; yet it remained unharmed, protected by magic.

  When this occurred, Aarian signaled his army to fall back. There were simply too many dark elves along the ramparts, and since the Bulwark of Rueléy was immune to magic, it left the legion vulnerable. Even the gargoyles found it difficult attacking.

  “We need battering rams,” said Aarian.

  “If that barricade is as impenetrable as you claim,” began Varkagorsa, “then we will be slaughtered while attempting to use them. What we need are catapults.”

  Grumbling in agreement, Zavoba replied, “We take ‘em out from a dis’tance.”

  Aarian cursed under his breath, realizing that they would probably have to spend another few weeks building siege engines such as trebuchets or ballistae by cutting down trees. Even the renowned bow-powered stone-thrower would take time to construct. They’d need other materials too, which meant they might have to return to Vomara in order to gather them. This was a living nightmare, he conceded.

  Just then, the forest grew eerily dark. This would have normally been a strange darkness thought to be related to black magic. Yet when Aarian noticed the forest grow dark, he looked at the moving shadow of a titan and smiled. He then looked overhead, seeing the emperor passing him.

  “Now it’s my turn to spill blood,” said Earamathras, gritting his teeth.

  Flying fast toward the Bulwark of Rueléy, the dark elves panicked and attempted to shoot arrows at him. Earamathras laughed as the flimsy projectiles snapped when impacting his crusty body of scales. He then flew passed the fortification, landing on the other side of it. That instant, he diced dozens of Mor’vyi’dou with his claws and spewed noxious breathes of green fire upon others.

  Not a second later, Earamathras twirled his enormous tail, bashing it against the wall. He repeated this again and again with fury, like a torturer fatally whipping his victim. In due time, the fortification chipped and cracked. Numerous brigades of dark elves approached to stop him. Many of them were struck down by his claws, stomped upon, and incinerated within seconds by his poisonous, fiery breath.

  The Mor’vyi’dou knew that if they didn’t stop Earamathras, the almighty bulwark would surely crumble. Hundreds of dark elves rushed out of Chevirith’s skyscraping spires. Together they assembled at the heart of the capital city with every weapon imaginable—scimitars, two-handed claymores, halberds, hammers, axes, bows and arrows, morning stars, javelins, daggers, scythes, and enchanted scepters. Many even rolled out steel catapults, loading them with giant stones.

  Earamathras snorted at them. Shortly after, he performed an abnormal inhale and then produced the most intensifying, ear-shattering roar that not only shook the very foundations of Chevirith but also blew the army of dark elves on the ground as though they were all as light as feathers. Even one of the nearby catapults tumbled over due to the earthen bellow, its boulder falling over and crushing a dark elf. With no one standing to entertain him, Earamathras swirled his tail again, shattering a part of the bulwark. Dozens of Mor’vyi’dou fell, screaming until they splattered on the concrete.

  “Attack!” exclaimed Aarian.

  He charged forth with his guardians, including the thousands of orcs and trolls who were still alive. Earamathras swiftly returned to the sky to attack
the remaining Mor’vyi’dou along the ramparts while his vicious legion raided Chevirith, slaughtering the dark elves who’d gotten back on their feet, as well as other regiments who strode out of the many crystal buildings throughout the capital.

  The beautiful city with gardens, fountains, temples dedicated to the Nine, marble statues of Quel’de’nai heroes, and homes built around gargantuan trees was now swathed with blood. Corpses of both factions littered the walkways, and the clanking of weapons became relentless until midnight when every Mor’vyi’dou outside lay dead.

  Aarian stood in the heart of the capital city of Lar’a’dos, his face contorted as he gazed at the High Rulers’ palace ahead with a deadly glare. Even though many had died in order to breach the enchanted metropolis, the legion was victorious. Standing stock-still, Aarian wondered how he should kill the Mor’vyi’dou leader. There were so many ways he could slaughter the dark elf, he thought to himself, a maniacal smirk on his face. Successfully invading Chevirith, it was only a matter of time before he’d confront Lord Keldoran and obliterate him.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  THE VAMPIRE’S SPIRE

  Before the prince took a step forward, he heard a few high elves shouting behind him. He wasn’t sure what was going on but wanted to make sure everything was all right. Returning to his army, he finally heard the commotion.

  “Free the prisoners!” cried out one of the druids, pointing at one of the crystal buildings embellished with malachite.

  Aarian heard him and obeyed, running toward the structure. Only one group of five dark elves got in his way. He effortlessly dodged and parried their attacks, riposting and slaying them with ease. Upon reaching the penitentiary’s doors, he cut its lock with his sword and kicked open the doors. Entering the building, Aarian ignored its many spires and instead turned his attention to a staircase before him that led to an underground prison. Without hesitation, he went down the steps.

  “Invader!” shouted one of the wardens.

  Blocking with his glazed shield, Aarian pushed him back and pirouetted, decapitating the dark elf. He then pulled a lever at a corner, unlocking several cells. Many high elves were freed, praising Aarian who appeared, at least to most of them, like a divine being encased in humynoid armor that resembled a gryphon.

  “Xen bless you with light,” said one of the high elves, gazing at Aarian’s golden armor in awe.

  “Daela’han be upon you, savior,” said another.

  Aarian only smiled when he heard Xen’s name, walking forward to find more prisoners and free them. At the end of the chamber he saw another stairway that brought him farther down. This section was even bigger with dozens upon dozens of cells in which stood many Quel’de’nai and, strangely, one dark elf. Before he could discern who they were or find the switch to release them, a warden came out from a corner and thrust his scimitar at him.

  “Surrender and I’ll spare your life, humyn,” said the elf.

  Deflecting the warden’s attack with his sword, Aarian responded, “It is you who should surrender and flee before I execute you.”

  “Humph,” uttered the warden, resisting and striking again.

  Aarian evaded the attack by withdrawing for a moment and then flipped over the dark elf, swiping his sword in midair and vertically splitting his enemy’s face in half. As soon as Aarian landed, he unsheathed his sword and shield and pushed down a lever controlling the cells’ gates. Lifting his beak-shaped visor, Aarian turned to gaze upon the Quel’de’nai prisoners and dark elf who’d been imprisoned. When he did so, his eyes involuntarily widened.

  “Spirits,” gasped Parla’vasa. “Aarian, is that you?”

  “It can’t be,” said Xel’vakora, approaching his savior. “Are you truly Prince Aarian of Vlydyn?”

  “Vlydyn doesn’t exist anymore,” said Aarian bitterly. “But yes, I am he.”

  The elven princess rushed over to him, tears in her eyes, and embraced him. She cried hysterically, shuddering in his arms.

  “We thought you had died when the demon attacked,” she said, stammering between her sobs.

  “Demon?” he said, not wanting to tell them that he and the fiend were one and the same.

  “By the Nine,” stammered Parla’vasa between her sobs, “it was awful. I mean, the hydra was terrible enough. Then, out of nowhere, a horrible demon rose from the depths of the ocean. I don’t know why, but the demon ignored us. Instead it fought the hydra. We simply watched them fight in despair until Xel’vakora managed to steer us away. But by the time things settled down, we realized you were missing.” She kept crying as she went on, “Oh, thank the eternal Spirits. I thought you were dead.”

  “I thought the same of you and Xel’vakora,” said Aarian, holding her tight. “I’m relieved that you’ve been safe all this time.”

  “Being imprisoned isn’t exactly safe,” scowled Xel’vakora. “How did you survive?”

  “The tide carried me to Niratredam,” said Aarian. “There I found refuge with the emperor of Warenyth. Together with his legion we have come here to retake Lar’a’dos.”

  “Huh?” said Xel’vakora, slack-jawed. “That’s not possible.”

  “I don’t lie.”

  “Aarian,” began Parla’vasa, sobbing less, “I’m so proud of you.” She pulled back and stared at his armor. “You look like a king.”

  “I am merely a ghostly avenger,” said Aarian, his voice with a hint of indifference. “My people are gone...all of them. Even my kingdom has been taken away, controlled by the demons of the accursed Spirits.”

  “What do you mean, accursed?” asked Parla’vasa, confused.

  Forgetting she had a different belief, Aarian shook his head. “Never mind,” he said. “The point is that Saldovin’s scheme is at an end. And this time there’s nowhere he can hide.”

  Parla’vasa started, “Actually—”

  “Where is he?” interjected Aarian, walking away to leave.

  “Keldoran is probably sitting in the sacred throne chamber with his defiled rogues,” said Parla’vasa, sulking. “In case you don’t know, it’s located on the top floor of the palace here in Chevirith.”

  “Is that so?” responded Aarian, clenching his fists. “Soon he’ll be sitting in hell.”

  “Prince Aarian,” began Xel’vakora worriedly, “there is something important you need to know about my brother.”

  “Well, don’t keep me in suspense,” replied Aarian, trotting up the stairs.

  Xel’vakora grimaced while following him and said, “My brother sacrificed my sister, as well as his immortality to unleash the demons upon us. Yet he wanted to gain back the immortal gift that he so willingly gave up.” He breathed heavily, frustrated that Aarian was in such a rush to leave, and went on as he stepped outside, “Desperate to regain his immortality, he summoned vampires whom he exchanged black magic spells with in order to become one of them.”

  “What?” exclaimed the prince, taken aback.

  “Aarian, I can’t bear the thought of losing you again,” said Parla’vasa. “You are the only humyn left in this world. No matter how much you may have changed or improved as a warrior, you cannot fight a vampire.”

  That instant, Earamathras landed beside them. “Did I hear the word vampire?” he asked, snarling.

  Xel’vakora and the elven princess fell backwards, frightened by the dragon.

  “Relax,” said Aarian, extending his hand to Parla’vasa. “Earamathras is on our side; he is the emperor of Niratredam.”

  He promptly introduced Xel’vakora and the princess of Lar’a’dos to Earamathras, as well as his fellow guardians. Aarian wasn’t sure who was more startled to speak with such beasts, the princess or Xel’vakora. Either way, Aarian had no doubt the dark elf was relieved that the swarm had decided to trust him and spare his life.

  Gazing at the legion, Xel’vakora said, “I can’t even begin to fathom how you were able to gain allegiances with these savages. If I were you I’d let them take care of my brother.”

&n
bsp; Aarian violently seized Xel’vakora. “Now you listen to me. I will only say this one time: Saldovin is mine.” He pushed the dark elf back and turned to the legion as he bellowed at the top of his lungs, “Do you hear me, swarm? Saldovin Keldoran is mine!”

  “Calm yourself, Dralekar,” said Earamathras. “If it is true that he has become a vampire then it means he is immortal again.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “You should care,” boomed the emperor, the city shaking. “Remember, you’re vulnerable against others who are immortal. More so, he is a master of the dark arts. And if he is by chance possessed by a demon, then you may very well risk losing your soul.”

  “Xen protects my soul,” said Aarian.

  “Soul?” said Parla’vasa, raising an eyebrow. “What blasphemy is occurring? Aarian, you are a noble prince and a courageous man, but only the most pure are blessed by the Nine with the gift of a soul.”

  “I don’t have time to debate with you,” said Aarian dismissively. He turned to the legion, his eyebrows furrowed, and added, “Keldoran is mine and mine alone. If anyone dares get in the way of the Dralekar, it will be the last day they breathe.”

  Aarian stormed off, Earamathras and his legion of savages staring at him in disarray. He looked ahead, gazing up at the crystal palace where Lord Keldoran resided. With most of the Mor’vyi’dou defeated, all that remained here was dealing with those lurking inside. Aarian, filled with a rage he hadn’t felt since the Challenge of Titans, approached the building alone, ready to cause mayhem.

  Upon reaching the sealed entrance, Aarian kicked the crystal doors, shattering them. He then entered the palace with a look of death on his face. Inside was dimly lit. Aarian could barely see anything. Yet he didn’t care. Hatred burning within him, he strode forward, sword and shield raised. When he reached a chamber that resembled a ballroom, six dark elves appeared before him. They were clad in obsidian armor, their blood-red eyes gaping into his. Aarian didn’t stop walking, ignoring their presence.