Blood Immortal

by Paul Centeno

  Knocked off his feet, Aarian landed a mile away from the battlefield. Faster than light, it seemed to the prince, the demon lord teleported in front of him. Gasping in pain, Aarian got to his feet and, with all of his might, extended his fist upward to Cyrael’s chin. The sound of his uppercut resonated like the thunder of Cyrael’s lightning, sending him into the clouds. Aarian expanded his wings and took off, flying straight toward Cyrael. As soon as Aarian reached the demon lord, he produced a heinous smirk.

  “Did you enjoy the flight?” he asked, gritting his teeth.

  Without waiting for a response, Aarian bashed Cyrael so hard in the face that he literally flew into the firmament. Aarian then hurled his colossal sword of light through the heavens, its blade piercing through the Spirit who, without even having had the chance to introduce himself, dispersed into lifeless sparks, never to be seen again.

  Aarian descended from the heavens, landing on the corpse-infested battlefield to assist his companions. At this point only hundreds of savages and high elves remained alive from the tens of thousands who had first come with him—they were being slaughtered by two immortal Spirits. The first demon lord, whose icy visage grew hoarfrost, had razor-sharp icicles for fingers and a glaciered body enveloped in bluish hellfire. The other being, on the contrary, had a skeletal face with horns along its cranium, a fiery-red body, and wielded a multi-tailed whip. Right away Aarian assumed the arctic being was Lólindir and that the scorching one must be Zartos.

  Trying to summon holy magic to eradicate them, Zartos lashed Aarian with his whip and flung him across the battlefield. Before he could get up, Lólindir blasted him with a beam so cold that it started to freeze his legs in place. She then conjured a razor-sharp icicle, hurling it at his legs to crack them. Enraged by these attacks, Aarian burst into flames, melting the ice. Yet the icicle still jabbed into his thigh, blood leaking down his leg. Yelping in pain, even more furious with flame searing around him like an aura, the icicle thawed. He then used the power of light to heal his thigh. Within seconds the deep wound sealed.

  “What blasphemy is this?” snarled Lólindir.

  “You took the words right out of my mouth,” retorted Aarian, waving his claw-like hand at both Spirits in a taunting manner, not caring that he was facing two immortals at once. “I want the two of you to try that again.”

  “Consume his pitiful Spirit!” scoffed Zartos, lifting his whip of many thongs.

  Aarian gritted his teeth and instantaneously reached Lólindir, grabbing and throwing her directly onto Zartos who turned into a block of ice before having the chance to lash Aarian with his fiery whip. Clomping toward them, Aarian thrust his enflamed fist into Lólindir’s stomach, liquefying her. He then turned to Zartos who remained frozen and stomped on him, splintering his body into dozens of icy particles.

  Without waiting another moment, Aarian used his holy magic to conjure an axe almost as immense as the cyclops he’d confronted in the arena and swirled it, tearing Lólindir’s soul apart. He then turned around and hurled the enormous weapon at the Spirit of Zartos, and that was the last time anyone prayed to him.

  “Your souls are pathetic!” exclaimed Aarian.

  By the time he had finished dealing with them, the other demons lay dead thanks to the remaining alliance. Though, only a few hundred of them were alive. Warlord Varkagorsa lifted Zavoba’s scorched body and roared in a lamenting tone, as did every other orc and troll. Aarian refused to be emotional lest he lose his demon form. He let Zavoba’s death be another reason for him to be angry, strengthening him evermore so that he could return to his decrepit capital, find the remaining Spirits, destroy them, and seal the link between Yunedar and the demonic nether once and for all.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  SEALING THE PORTAL

  Aarian breathed heavily and ferociously, staring at his ruined kingdom. Before flying toward it, however, he turned sidelong and gazed upon Varkagorsa who continued to mourn the death of Zavoba.

  “Varka,” called out Aarian. “Bury him if you must. The rest of you, follow me into the ruins of Jerelaith. Today we seal the portal.”

  Despite being drained from battle, the survivors followed their leader to the crumbled entrance of Jerelaith. Aarian wanted to roar when he saw what had become of his home. There was nothing left. Not a single building stood intact. Before him lay miles and miles of rubble. The only reason why he knew that this was in fact Jerelaith was because he could see pieces of the marble castle and its roof on the ground.

  “I’m sorry you have to see Jerelaith like this,” said Scar.

  Clenching his fists, Aarian bellowed at the top of his lungs, “I will destroy every last one of them!”

  “Aarian,” called out Parla’vasa gently. “You’re far too angry. You must not let your rage consume you. Izabaldo lingers within you, remember? The more you let such wrath control you, the higher the chance that Izabaldo could possess you again.”

  “He is nothing!” snapped Aarian. “If he dares attack my soul then I shall destroy him as I did with the other pathetic Spirits!”

  “I trust you know what you’re doing,” she said, alarmed.

  “Come, brothers and sisters of the eternal light!” bellowed Aarian. “Let us find the hell rift and finish this!”

  The alliance gave out one last shout of optimism and followed their leader into the ruins of a once glorious capital. Now it was infested with fiery hellhounds and demonic knights using humyn bones for armor. The werewolves tackled the hellhounds while the others focused on the fiendish knights from hell.

  Infuriated by the demons who used humyn bones for protection, Aarian’s eyes glazed with fire. He advanced toward the legion blinded with hate and struck down dozens of them. When he cleared a path ahead he was able to see an illuminating flame hovering just above the crumbled temple once dedicated to Daela’han. Gazing at what must be the rift, he wondered if that was the main reason why the sky was so red. Regardless of the cause, he stomped onward and made his way to the portal.

  “This is it,” said Aarian. “We have arrived at the doorstep of hell. And now I ask you to stand your ground one last time.”

  “What are you going to do?” asked Scar.

  “I can’t seal this portal the same way as before,” said Aarian. “Etching that nine-pointed star on my neck was actually a curse. I must use the light of Xen to seal the portal. This may take time, so I need all of you to defend me and maintain your positions.”

  The remaining guardians and members of the alliance obeyed him, gathering together in strategic battle formations. Archers stood close to Aarian while warriors with swords and axes lined up in a circle, guarding every direction. Only a couple of hundred savages and elves were left but nevertheless stood firm.

  As expected, hellfire knights approached from all corners of the ruined city. These fiends were led by a feminine demon lord whose breasts and other bodily features were more fair than any breathing fairy in the world. Yet her face was burnt off, replaced by a monstrous skull, an eternal blaze engulfing her eyes, mouth, and cranium. Without a doubt, the remaining defenders of Yunedar assumed that she must be Daela’han.

  “This can’t be happening,” said Parla’vasa, flustered.

  While the alliance fought valiantly, Daela’han spewed flame on a brigade, burning them to crisps. Her army was being decimated, but the prince’s was also withering away. With only a hundred warriors left, they backed away and stayed close to Aarian who was levitating within the rift. His body glowed brighter and brighter while Daela’han approached with another menacing wave of demonic knights and hellhounds. Scar swooped down and attacked the demons with his talons frequently but didn’t do much damage.

  “We can’t hold them back forever,” squawked Scar, ascending.

  “Hold your position!” barked Shakar, mauling a hellhound.

  At this point, Shakar was the only werewolf left. She howled, trying her best to battle against the fiendish beasts. Wounded by the fiery claws of hellhounds,
she yelped in pain and withdrew. Upon backing away, Varkagorsa returned with a legion of trolls and orcs who had finished burying Zavoba.

  “Tear them apart,” grunted Varkagorsa ferociously, slicing a demon in half with his enchanted katana.

  “Thank goodness,” said Parla’vasa, shooting arrows at hellhounds.

  Flanking the demons, Varkagorsa and his legion were able to slash the fiends with ease. Daela’han, on the other hand, gazed at them with a look of death and hurled immense spheres of fire at them. Doing so, she created an inferno by the rift. Aarian continued to glow, illuminating as if he were Xen herself. Then a holy blast ignited from him, vaporizing Daela’han—body and Spirit—who screeched until dissipating into nonexistence.

  “Aarian!” cried out Parla’vasa.

  Though he had obliterated Daela’han, he vanished. The alliance looked mystified by what had just happened, especially since the portal remained open. Although they had gained another hundred warriors with the return of Warlord Varkagorsa, they were wary. More so, they couldn’t help but feel uneasy as the ground started to shake.

  “Hold the line, brethren,” commanded Varkagorsa.

  Again, the ruined city shook. The tremors were consistent, worsening by the minute. As the savages and elves stood their ground, they looked around, wondering what was causing such strange earthquakes. Then, gazing north, they saw the source of the increasing tremors—a demon the size of a mountain was stomping toward them. This demon’s entire body was made of granite and dripping lava, and its seething eyes blazed with fire.

  “Another wave of demons approach from the north,” said Varkagorsa. “This may be the last of them. In the name of the Dralekar, fight to the bitter end with honor!”

  The remaining defenders of Yunedar charged forth and collided with what seemed to be the final wave of demons. Yet there were at least a thousand of them. More so, the warlocks felt useless because the fiends were immune to their magic. Only those with swords and axes were able to kill them. Though, even they were being slaughtered. As the mountain demon advanced, the remnants of the alliance felt they needed to retreat.

  Just then, cannonballs blasted clusters of demons. Afterwards, the mountainous lord of lava and granite was attacked, giving out an ear-shattering roar. Dozens of savages and elves who were still alive turned and looked overhead, seeing a fleet of blimp-like airships approach from the west.

  “It’s about damn time,” grumbled Varkagorsa.

  The remnants of the alliance cheered, seeing the army of dwarves arrive in the sky. This motivated them to stand their ground and keep fighting despite the odds being against them. The dwarves continued to fire lethal ammunition from the weighty cannons on their wooden decks at the hellish fiends, especially the mountainous demon lord who approached the flotilla of airships and struck down two of them with one strike.

  “Moun’tains of Khordalam!” said Thiegen Coragi, the dwarven king. “Loo’k at the si’ze of tha’t bloody demon!”

  Little did he know, that was actually Khordalam himself whom he and his militia were fighting against. They relentlessly fired their cannons at the last immortal. Parts of his granite body burst, a landslide forming. Rocks fell, smashing against both demons and savages. Lava spewed from his wounds like blood, incinerating an entire group of elven archers. Many of the dwarves witnessed what had happened to the elves, their bearded faces aghast due to the awful occurrence.

  Not one second later, Khordalam struck down two more airships and spewed fire on another from his molten mouth, causing its ropes to sizzle and snap. The wooden deck detached from the balloon, dozens of dwarves falling and screaming to their deaths. Sweltering magma dripped again from Khordalam; it was on the verge of dispersing over Parla’vasa who shrieked and winced at the approaching lava. Seconds before being devoured by it, Scar descended and grabbed her by his beak.

  “Thank you, Scar,” she said, wheezing. “What could have possibly happened to Aarian? Do you think his anger consumed him?”

  “We must believe in him and have faith that the rift will be sealed soon,” said Scar, flying toward the airships. “There’s no way we’ll be able to succeed against this demon without Aarian. That is why we must trust in his abilities despite the anger he has.”

  “I will try,” she said weakly.

  The dwarves, meanwhile, kept trying to destroy the mountain demon. Even though they’d just joined the fight, they were already panicking. Khordalam struck down another few airships. The demon lord was also just a few steps away from crushing the remaining legion beneath him with his gargantuan feet.

  When he set foot upon the ruins of Jerelaith, however, his granite body started cracking and crumbling apart. He gave out a coarse groan, rocks falling and magma gushing down. The remnants of savages and elves retreated, trying to avoid the falling boulders and spewing lava. Just then, his Spirit emerged from the rubble.

  Yet when the Spirit of Khordalam rose out, ready to haunt countless victims, primarily the dwarves, he began to get sucked into the searing portal that was suspended in the air a few feet away from him. The demon lord gave out earsplitting screeches until he vanished into the hell rift. That instant, when his Spirit disappeared, a powerful shockwave erupted from within the collapsing portal, which sent every running warrior to the ground. Even some of the nearby airships were affected, pushed away and colliding into one another by the heavy winds caused by the shockwave.

  “Wha’t in the na’me of Khordalam jus’t hap’pened?” asked Thiegen Coragi, gazing down with a pale face.

  The dwarves looked at him with blank expressions, speechless and shrugging.

  “King Aarian of Vlydyn has succeeded!” cheered Scar, landing on Thiegen’s airship with Parla’vasa on his back. “I knew he could do it.”

  “But at what cost?” moped Parla’vasa, dismounting him.

  Slightly worried, Scar looked down and tried to find Aarian. “He couldn’t have sacrificed himself in order to seal the portal. I mean, did you see what His Majesty did to the other Spirits? The strength he has is nearly limitless. There’s no way he could be gone.”

  Parla’vasa, tears in her eyes, thought differently. Though the demons and their immortal leaders had finally been purged from Yunedar once and for all, she couldn’t help feel that this historical victory had come at a terrible cost. And as she wept miserably, the same despair and sadness within her spread like a contagion to the dwarves. They had hoped to meet Aarian, the last humyn who fought bravely to save their world.

  Because of Aarian’s heroic sacrifice, Thiegen Coragi ordered his flotilla to land and help the wounded legion below to create a memorial for the savior of the world. This was a day of both victory and defeat—a day that would be remembered by elven scholars and those alike for the rest of their lives.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  DWELLING IN HELL

  When the portal sealed, Aarian found himself standing in the depths of the demonic nether. He looked ahead, observing the panorama of endless volcanoes erupting and a peninsula of blazing fire. Then, in the distance, he could see the Spirit of Khordalam who’d been sucked back into the accursed realm. Khordalam shouted, a boom like thunder, causing the plains of hellfire to shake. Moments later, Aarian spotted a legion of demons and the last immortal Spirit approaching him in a frenzy.

  Still in his demonic form, gritting his teeth, Aarian flew into the fiery heavens and glided toward the legion of fiends. Drawing closer to them, he conjured a scythe of pure light, fixing his enraged eyes upon the army. Aarian descended, his blazing wings flapping until he landed a mile away from the demons.

  “Come forward, whelps,” said Aarian monstrously. “You will only make it easier for me to put an end to you.”

  The forces of hell didn’t care about what he said. They simply wanted to annihilate him for what he’d done, especially Khordalam, their last lord. When the accursed legion approached him, however, Aarian lifted his scythe and vehemently swiped it in countless arcs, tearing apart doze
ns of galloping hellhounds and slithering tentacle demons.

  Not one of them had a chance to even scratch him. He was so swift and precise that he did not miss a single enemy. He then leaped into the air and spewed holy fire on them. Upon landing, he continued to strike and tear them apart with his radiant scythe. They didn’t stand a chance against him. Within minutes the entire legion had been decimated. The only demon left was the Spirit of Khordalam.

  “Shall we finish this?” said Aarian rhetorically.

  “You shall pay dearly for such impudence!” boomed the demon lord. “No feeble mortal will be the death of me!”

  “I am blood immortal!” bellowed Aarian. “I am the Dralekar!”

  Aarian leapt into the air and swooped toward Khordalam who used the mountains and fires of hell to reform his body within the nether. By the time Aarian reached the demon lord, he’d regained his original form. Khordalam, standing thousands of feet high, attempted to swat Aarian like one would do to an insect.

  Swiftly evading the gargantuan hand of granite, Aarian raised his scythe and sliced off a finger. He then conjured a sphere of holy power and hurled it at Khordalam who groaned, taking a step back. The demon lord tried spewing fire on the prince. Though avoiding the flame, he was whacked by Khordalam’s other hand. He fell down a mile away, crashing into the jagged ground that occasionally emitted steam and lava. Aarian, wounded by the attack, used his magic to heal himself. Using extensive amounts of magic weakened him but allowed him to stand. By the time he got to his feet, Khordalam was already upon him.

  “And now you die,” said Khordalam, stomping on the prince. When he did so, however, he felt his granite foot involuntarily rise. “What?”

  “A cyclops tried this on me once,” said Aarian, lifting the foot. “He failed miserably.”

  Just then, Aarian picked up Khordalam and flung him across the mountains as though his colossal body was as light as a pebble. He then ascended to the inferno sky and rapidly flew over to the giant demon who was still falling. Upon reaching Khordalam in midflight, Aarian punched his rocky chest so hard that it splintered. Without wasting time, Aarian hurled his radiant scythe through the fissure within Khordalam, puncturing his Spirit.