by Paul Centeno
The guardians concurred with their leader and then dispersed, tending to the wounded. With the exception of trolls who self-healed, druids restored numerous orcs, ogres, werewolves, and elves to health. Aarian used the white magic he gained from Xen to heal them too.
“That should do it,” he said, feeling a bit relieved.
Shortly after, the alliance worked together to create a small but meaningful memorial for Falvorn, his clan of gargoyles, and so many more who’d lost their lives in battle. The survivors lifted every weapon on the ground and dug the blades into the soil, using them as graves for the fallen. In the meantime, Aarian used magic to etch the name “Falvorn” along his blade and then placed it in the center of the graves.
A moment of quietness fell. No one made a sound. The legion of savages and army of elves stood before the thousands of graves in absolute silence while Aarian kneeled before his talon-hilted sword, gently touching it.
“You will forever be remembered, my brave friend,” said Aarian, finally breaking the silence. He then stood up and gazed at all the weapons, “All of you will be remembered. May you all rest in peace and know that we shall not stop here. We will persevere. We will fight on. We will restore Vlydyn and all of Yunedar.”
“Beautifully said,” muttered Scar.
“Thank you,” replied Aarian, faintly smiling at him. “I hope you don’t mind, but we need you now more than ever. You’re the only one who can be our eyes from afar.”
“You don’t even have to ask,” he said, spreading his wings. “I’ll start now.”
Aarian nodded appreciatively, rubbed his best friend’s feathers, and then watched him fly off in the distance.
“What now?” asked Parla’vasa.
“I suggest we rest,” said Aarian. “Varka, can you inform the legion to set up camp? We’ll need a great deal of respite in order to fight diligently again; and believe me, there will be battles worse than this.”
“Agreed,” said Varkagorsa. “Witnessing the accursed Spirit of Gar’kon is a testament to that. I’ll let them know right away.”
Over the next few hours, the alliance set up another makeshift encampment with only a few bonfires to give them some light since nighttime had arrived. The only efficient scout they had left was Scar, so they relied heavily on him. Despite the pressure, Scar didn’t mind flying around to see if another army of death was approaching. After twenty minutes of reconnoitering the region, he returned to Aarian who lay outside attempting to stargaze.
“It seems we’ll be fine tonight, Prince Aarian,” said Scar.
“That’s a relief,” said Aarian with a sigh. “By the way, please don’t call me by that title anymore.”
“Why not?” asked Scar, startled.
“Vlydyn is gone,” he said. “I’m not the prince anymore. I’m simply a man named Aarian who fights for the survival of this world like everyone else. Even when the legion of Niratredam refer to me as the Dralekar, I can’t help feeling strange. Yet if I told them to stop, they would be insulted. They mostly fight because they believe me to be their prophet, so to say. But you are more reasonable. Just call me Aarian, all right?”
“Boy, that was a mouthful,” said Scar, chuckling. “Aarian it is.”
Aarian shook his head, chuckling too. “Thanks,” he said. “I know it may seem strange, but I just prefer it this way, that’s all.”
“I understand,” said Scar. “You were never fond of being a prince even before this nightmare began. Back then, you wanted a more simple and peaceful life—one that excluded politics.”
“Indeed.”
“It’s just unfortunate that so many people had to die for your wish to come true,” said Scar, his tawny-hued eyes gazing down.
“Trust me,” began Aarian, no longer trying to locate a star in the hazy sky, “if I knew that this was going to happen, there are so many things I would have done differently. In fact, if I just knew what Saldovin’s intention was, I would have run off with Belisa in a heartbeat.”
“You still remember her?” asked Scar.
“Are you insane?” snapped Aarian.
“Hey, no need to get feisty,” said Scar apologetically. “It’s just that I’ve noticed you’re a lot closer to the princess.”
“Don’t get me wrong; I find her to be an amazing elf,” said Aarian. “Parla’vasa is exotic and comes from a mystical continent that has a rich history of magic. She’s intelligent, insightful, caring toward those who need support, and she also fights well and rarely lets fear control her. Yet despite how incredible she is, it cannot overrule the natural love I had for Belisa. When you love someone—truly love someone—you never let go.”
Scar’s countenance lit up, hardly believing the words he heard from Aarian. It was as if he was speaking to someone completely different, he thought. Upon hearing such words, Scar gave out a joyful squawk and rubbed Aarian.
“Stop that!” chuckled the prince, being tickled.
“I am so proud of you,” said Scar, happily squawking again. “Your parents would not understand. But you’ve surpassed them and have become the man Master Dargain and Magi Frostwarm had always hoped you’d become.”
“Your words mean a lot to me,” he said, petting Scar along his white-feathered chest. “I miss them so much.” Aarian felt the urge to weep. He tried not to but couldn’t hold back his tears as he shuddered. “If only Belisa could see what I have been trying to do.” He dug his trembling fingers into the dirt as he stammered, “She died thinking I was a pathetic prince.”
“Please don’t say such things, Aarian,” said Scar sympathetically. He gently caressed the prince’s face with his beak, wiping a tear away. “Soul or not, Belisa will always have you in her heart.”
“I doubt it.”
Scar shook his head, not knowing what to say or do. Then his eyes widened. “Hey, I have an idea.”
“What?” asked Aarian, sniffing.
“When this is all over, how about we go on an expedition together?” proposed Scar in an anxious tone.
“An expedition?”
“Yeah,” said Scar excitedly. “I’ll fly while you enjoy the sights. It will be the journey of a lifetime.”
“Maybe,” said Aarian, shrugging. “I suppose.” He wiped his tears away and tried to stop sniffing. “I think it’s getting late. We should both get some sleep. Tomorrow may be our worst battle yet.”
“I’ll scout again for a little while and then join you here,” said Scar.
“Sounds good,” said Aarian, getting to his feet. “Just be careful.” He waved at Scar and watched him fly off. Shortly after, he entered his makeshift tent and lay on the ground. “Belisa, I hope you have forgiven me.”
Aarian started to cry again. Yet this time, being alone in his tent, he didn’t mind. He did not try to stop himself from sobbing and shuddering. Not showing such weakness to any of the savages who idolized him, he welcomed and embraced the tears and sudden hysteria of regret, misery, and recognition that he was the only humyn left. And so he released all the tears he had within his frail body, shriveled and alone in the world.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
THE IMMORTAL SPIRITS
On the following morning, Aarian awoke feeling at peace with himself. Perhaps this was because he finally released his bottled-up emotions last night. Regardless of the reason, he reequipped his damaged armor, grabbed his partially melted shield, and exited his tent.
“Good morning, Aarian,” said Scar.
“Hail,” he said, smiling.
“I must say, you look very well rested,” said Scar, squawking. “I recently scouted the area again and found no signs of impending doom. So, I guess we get to live for another few hours.”
“You still have your sense of humor after all these years,” said Aarian, shaking his head while observing the cloudy sky that was still red and hazy.
Scar laughed and replied, “I pride myself with humor.”
“I know,” said Aarian amusingly, walking across the encampment
and joining the other guardians who were eating fruits. “How’s everyone holding up?”
“They’re alive,” answered Xel’vakora, tossing a loaf of bread to the prince.
“Thanks,” said Aarian, catching the bread and taking a bite. “I suppose that will have to do for now.” He briefly looked around and saw that the majority of the savages and elves were having a meal too. “Well, I think we should take down the tents and leave as soon as everybody is finished eating.”
“Are we going to breach Jerelaith?” asked Varkagorsa.
“That’s the plan,” replied Aarian reluctantly. “I expect there to be heavy resistance. If we faced Gar’kon here, then I have no doubt we’ll be confronting more immortals. We can’t let our guard down.”
“You know, considering that Gar’kon was an ‘immortal’ I think you managed to dispose of his Spirit easily,” said Parla’vasa.
“That’s only because Xen sacrificed her Spirit to me,” said Aarian sternly. “And keep in mind that Falvorn and his clan perished in seconds with one swift spell. If we fight other demon lords, especially two or more at the same time, we will have more causalities unless we’re fully prepared and vigilant.”
“You’re right,” she said. “I’ll try to be as vigilant as possible.”
Aarian nodded at her. He then finished eating and waited until the alliance was ready to leave. By midday they had taken down the makeshift tents and advanced north toward Jerelaith, or at least what used to be the capital of Vlydyn. The farther they traveled, the more the desolate land worsened. Fissures littered the cracked land, molten lava spewing out. The sweltering heat increased. The sky grew darker. Many of the alliance felt distraught by what they saw. Yet they had little choice but to push forward.
After several hours of traveling through the ruptured wasteland, they were finally able to see the remnants of Jerelaith; it was a city littered with dozens of collapsed buildings and hills made of rubble.
“There it is,” said Aarian, pointing north. “I can hardly believe we’ve come this far. The hell rift is somewhere in the ruins. Hurry!”
The alliance obeyed and made haste. Soon the sky couldn’t be seen by anyone. The four moons were blocked by the clouds that were so red they looked as if they’d release blood instead of rain. Then a fiery dot appeared from high above, falling. Upon seeing this, numerous savages growled and hissed at it. Elves winced, thinking it was some sort of meteor. When it drew closer to them, however, they realized that it wasn’t a meteor; it was a demon descending.
Not a minute later, the being smashed into the terrain, creating a crater and producing a tremor that sent numerous regiments to the ground. Rising up was a demon made of mud and flames. Just then, hundreds of tentacle and horned demons appeared by Jerelaith’s crumbled entrance. Thousands of savages and elves gasped, wondering if they should retreat.
“Your army is admirable, Dralekar,” said the sludge demon. “But it is futile against the might of Thay’tal.”
Aarian gulped heavily, realizing that the demon lord before him was the spirit he had prayed to the most. How could this be? He still found it hard to believe that all but one of the divine Nine were actually demons. Shaking his head, he focused on the present and stared at Thay’tal with revulsion.
“Pretending to be a benevolent being was a waste of time,” said Aarian. “In the end, we were still able to discover the truth of your malice. Fortunately for you, I won’t fool you. I’ll gladly show you how malevolent I can be.”
Without a moment’s notice, Aarian leapt off Scar and transformed into his demon form. He changed so quick that his armor fractured and sizzled off him. Ignoring the crazed reaction Scar had of seeing him in a demonic form, he flew directly toward Thay’tal who produced an uppercut so powerful that Aarian flew over his army, smashing against the ruptured ground. He struggled but finally got up, only to be greeted by a sludgy fist.
“You should have prayed to me more,” said Thay’tal, clobbering him.
After getting his face bashed into the ground dozens of times, Aarian, his demonic body blazing with fury, grabbed the demon lord’s muddy fists and overpowered him. Within seconds of wrestling with Thay’tal, he managed to switch places with him and pounded Thay’tal in the face until thirty feet under the ground.
“I’m not a believer anymore,” said Aarian, producing a haymaker.
At that point, Aarian clobbered Thay’tal with a barrage of punches so powerful and hard that the terrain shook. After dozens of blows, the demon lord’s body burst, sending Aarian up to the surface. Afterwards, the Spirit of Thay’tal ascended from the chasm and hovered toward the prince to consume his soul. Though wounded from the abrupt blast, Aarian promptly rose to his feet and conjured a javelin of pure light. Roaring louder than Earamathras, he hurled the javelin with all his might into the Spirit, vanquishing him.
In the meantime, the demon army stomped toward the alliance who dashed over to them with their weapons ready. Varkagorsa used his enchanted katana, swiping at his enemies while Zavoba hurled his axe into one. Shakar assisted the troll, pouncing on the demon and mauling its face until its features were no longer discernible. Parla’vasa used a magical bow with icy arrows from a distance, assisting the savages who were at the frontlines. When members of the alliance were killed in battle, Xel’vakora raised them from the dead, fighting again.
Aarian eventually approached and joined the battle, clawing demons apart and spewing holy fire on them. He then rammed into another demon, impaling it with his horns and throwing it three miles away. A few more hellish fiends approached the battlefield, one of them hurling a fireball at Zavoba who developed fourth-degree burns and died. Witnessing this, Varkagorsa produced an outcry so earsplitting that it caused the demons to stagger and beheaded the fiend that killed his comrade-in-arms.
Hundreds of savages and elves were being brutally killed. Demons ripped them apart with their deformed claws, feasted on them, and conjured spells of fire to obliterate them. Yet they did not give up; the remaining members of the alliance fought back with all their heart, driving back the demon army. Xel’vakora continued to raise the dead, at least until a serpent demon slithered behind him. It swiftly coiled its body around him and sank its poisonous fangs into his neck. He gasped in excruciating pain before being swallowed whole.
“Xel’vakora!” shrieked Parla’vasa, shooting arrows at the serpent demon.
“Thay’tal was arrogant and foolish,” hissed the demon lord. “I, however, am the Spirit of endurance. I shall persist for eternity.”
“U’cleria?” gasped Parla’vasa, taking a step back.
Dozens of orcs and trolls tried to attack her, but she spewed acid on most of them and whacked others with her rattling tail. U’cleria then reached out to swallow Parla’vasa when she was abruptly pulled back.
“What is this?” said U’cleria in disarray.
Turning her elongated body, she realized Aarian had lifted her. U’cleria hastily wrapped her slithery tail around his neck in a knot, trying to choke him. Coughing out flame and gasping in pain, he had no choice but to release her and undo the knot. She then lunged at him, trying to bite his throat with her fangs. Aarian promptly used a hand to hold her snout back.
“You’ll have to try harder to swallow me, devil,” said Aarian, keeping U’cleria at bay with one hand while using his other to lessen her tail’s grip on his neck. “In fact, you should surrender before I do the same to you.”
“Silence!” hissed U’cleria, her tail rattling.
Overwhelmed with hatred, she drew closer to Aarian’s throat despite his strength. Just then, Scar swooped down and clawed her face. She immediately released Aarian, striking him with her tail while withdrawing. Acid and blood gushed from her slit face, hissing wildly. Not five seconds later, her skin shed. When this happened, she produced a hideous laugh, restored. She slithered forward, her scaly hood expanding, and glared at Aarian as her snout formed the most grotesque grin.
“Your fate is sea
led!” exclaimed U’cleria, her forked tongue slithering out, smelling his flesh. “As I said before, protégée of Xen, I am the immortal Spirit of endurance. I will linger for all eternity.”
That instant, she lunged at Aarian who swiftly evaded her poisonous fangs several times. U’cleria attacked him quicker each time. He knew her speed would eventually exceed his, so he spread his enflamed wings and leaped into the air. Landing opposite her, he seized her rattling tail, yanking her over to him. Doing so, he switched his grip to the center of her serpentine body with a wicked grin of his own.
“Endure this,” said Aarian, ripping her slithery body in half.
U’cleria gave out an ear-piercing screech as green blood gushed out of her torn body. She then ignited into flames and dissolved. At that point, Aarian held his hand out and released a ray of holy light into her Spirit, causing it to explode and disperse into nothingness. Aarian searched to find Xel’vakora but only found bones; it was too late.
“Light of Xen,” said Parla’vasa, her face pale.
“Don’t lose focus,” said Aarian monstrously. “He fought bravely and died a noble death for a dark elf. Fight on!”
Parla’vasa gave a faint nod and rejoined the battle with Aarian who continuously clawed demons’ contorted faces until completely mauled. He eventually conjured a gargantuan sword of light, lacerating other hellish fiends whose fiery spines and craniums were adorned with serrated spikes. After slaying dozens of demons, the sky darkened as if nightfall had arrived when in fact it was still hours away.
An outrageous tempest abruptly formed before Aarian, crack-shaped bolts of lightning gathering together until a demon formed out of them, its body filled with electrical currents so deadly that the voltage of his power sporadically let out discharges without him even trying to attack. Aarian didn’t have to wait for the hellish fiend to speak in order to guess that it was none other than Cyrael who launched a bolt of lightning at him.
