by DB King
He leaned back against the lamppost and sighed. First, there was that woman in his vision. Shinji had been overwhelmed by the emotions she’d felt and lashed out at Murasaki Jin as soon as the vision had ended, which—in hindsight—was a terrible thing to do, considering he himself did not quite understand just what the heck he was seeing then. The second mystery was Murasaki Jin himself. Shinji might not be the greatest investigator in the Imperial Academy, but it didn’t take genius to figure out there was something very wrong with the boy—his age did not seem to match his intelligence and his power. No, his power is far beyond that of his age, Shinji thought. Even the most talented and prodigious students in the academy would pale in comparison to that monster…
Not to mention the strange, black titan Shinji saw in a vision the first time he laid eyes on Murasaki Jin.
Whatever was going on in Hirata revolved around that boy—Shinji just knew it. Where was that monster, anyway? He was the leader of this town and Shinji’s earlier display of magic should’ve alerted Jin to his presence. That was, of course, if he was in Hirata at all.
“Ah, wait,” Shinji walked off to the nearest guardsman and asked, “Do you happen to know where Murasaki Jin is? I have business with him.”
The guard shook his head and pointed toward the lord’s manor in the distance. “We’ve not heard from the lord governor in the last two days. A few of the boys say they saw Lord Jin fly out of the manor walls before the nightmares came. Apparently, the lord hasn’t returned since.”
Shinji raised an eyebrow. “He… flew out the walls? What?”
Did something attack Murasaki Jin?
Of course, it makes sense! Shinji deduced, nodding and smiling at the guardsman as he walked off and wandered around the town’s strangely spacious roads and alleyways. Murasaki Jin must’ve encountered whatever Magical Beast had wandered into Hirata and tried to fight it off, but was overpowered and thrown out. The creature must’ve been in the Lord’s Manor at some point for Jin to fight it there. I think I should pay that place a visit. Lord Arima has likely barred me from ever entering his home, but that he doesn’t have to know…
Shinji’s sense of honor mightily conflicted with his decision, but—for the greater good—he had to put it aside. There were far greater things at stake than just his honor and his rigidity toward the beliefs of his people. He had violated his guest rights and that was unforgivable, but here was an entire town of people, who were under threat by something that was definitely powerful enough to make its inhabitants kill each other at a whim. The lack of any magical signature suggests that whatever did this is sapient, capable of controlling its magic in such a way as to be undetectable and untraceable, Shinji reasoned. Which means it’s one of the very few Magical Beasts with conscious control over its magical energies.
Only the deviants were known to have such control over their magic. Like mages, the rarest and most dangerous of Magical Beasts were capable of growing through constant training and experience. They weren’t mere beasts in mind, but were capable of truly intelligent thought and reasoning. It’s what made them far more dangerous than any other Magical Beast.
Sadly, the Imperial Academy has not seen fit to disseminate such information to other mages. Only the members of the Grand Council, alongside the highest ranking of Imperial Mages were privy to such information. How they gained such information was an even bigger secret. After all, the Imperial Academy would surely lose face if every other mage knew they sent in entire squads of trained and eager mages to their deaths, just to gain a sliver of information on Deviants.
But that wasn’t any of Shinji’s business.
Here and now, what he needed to do was gain access to the lord’s manor. Shinji couldn’t detect even the slightest hint of any magical signature when he blanketed the town in his aura, but focusing on a point of conflict might give him clues. Better still, he might be able to use his ability to see just what exactly happened in there that caused all of this. But a part of him did not want to do that. The vision he’d seen back in the forest, alongside the vision he’d seen when he met Murasaki Jin, was too grim and too malefic, even for him. Shinji did not want to see that charred, barren wasteland, ever again, or that bloody marshland, filled with floating, rotting, and bloated corpses.
And yet he had a duty to uphold.
The Academy sent him in here to investigate the anomaly—or, as he’d found out, anomalies—and Shinji was no closer to an actual answer than he previously thought he was. The mysteries were piling up with no end in sight. The only thing that seemed to tie them all together was the presence of one Murasaki Jin. Whatever was going was related to him one way or another, and Shinji was willing to bet all his savings that the latest mystery was also related to that monster.
Shinji sighed, chuckled, and shook his head. It’s just one anomaly after another…
* * *
It didn’t take any effort to sneak into the lord’s manor, undetected. Sure, there were plenty of guards and patrols, all over the place, but they were mere mortals and their senses were so easily fooled. Shinji easily bypassed the manor’s security and made his way into the courtyard—or what remained of it—and found the giant hole on the walls, where Murasaki Jin had supposedly flown out of.
There were no servants anywhere. The manor was strangely empty, save for the guards on patrol outside. They vacated the premises—why?
Shinji reached out with his magical senses. He felt through every crack and crevice, surrounding the numerous holes on the walls, searching for even the tiniest hint of magic. When he couldn’t stretch his senses anymore, Shinji pulled back his energies, frowning. Nothing…
Still, he hadn’t yet reached the actual epicenter of whatever had unfolded here. Focusing his magical senses to search for the tiniest of magical signatures greatly limited his range. Thus, Shinji needed to actually be standing where Murasaki Jin had once stood.
Confident that he was alone, Shinji strode into the manor. There were signs of minor struggles—dents on the walls, bloodstains and scratches on the floor, a few torn clothes here and there, but nothing truly gruesome to indicate a massacre of any kind. It was very likely that the servants here had torn into each other in the ‘nightmare’, hence why the manor was empty.
The hearth was cold and filled with sleeping ashes. It hasn’t been used for more than a day, indicating that people haven’t been in this place since the nightmare event. What happened to Lord Arima? Shinji wondered. He couldn’t possibly have attacked his son, though—even if he did—Ebisu is a powerful mage and an attack by that frail man wouldn’t probably scratch him, but lord Arima seemed like a man of strong will and mental fortitude.
There were many denizens who were able to resist the whispers of the nightmare. Shinji wasn’t quite sure what allowed them to do so, but he had inklings it had something to do with a strong mind. Whatever the case, he’d find out soon enough—maybe.
Shinji walked up the stairs, keeping his steps light and silent, despite the obvious emptiness in the manor. Scratches and stains marred the walls, and Shinji was certain he’d seen a blood fingernail dug into a wooden beam as he passed. The holes on the wall were all on the highest floor, where the guest rooms were located, which means that whatever had caused Murasaki Jin to fly out of the manor was up there at some point.
If it is a Magical Beast, then it wouldn’t be one with a large stature. There are no dents on the wooden floorboards and neither were their signs of forced entry. Shinji noted. It’s either a very small creature or it’s hovering. Regardless, that should narrow down my search.
The moment Shinji reached the third floor, an unearthly pressure washed over him. The colors blurred and the shapes bent. The lines wobbled and the floor seemed to coil and churn, like a writhing serpent. And yet it wasn’t magical in nature. Shinji realized that the moment it overcame his senses. It was simple malice, beyond anything he’d ever felt before—beyond anything he’d ever known—an evil so great and towering it threatene
d to swallow him whole. It was… titanic. The presence was so physically powerful that it seemed to bend space itself, making the hallways appear smaller one moment and larger the next. Shinji couldn’t stop his hands from shaking, nor the sweat from pooling over his forehead.
What… is this?
Shinji’s bones froze and his muscles refused to move. Every fiber of his being was telling him to run. And he wanted to. But he was a deer, frozen in fear as a massive predator lumbered toward him. No matter how much he tried, Shinji could not bring himself to move.
“Your presence offends me, Varnu.”
A reverberating voice rang in his mind—no, it was many voices. There were so many of them, but they spoke in perfect synchronization, creating a deep and unsettling chorus with each word. Shinji shuddered. He still couldn’t feel any magical spike around him—not even the slightest bit. There was nothing here.
Wait this malice… it’s… It was the same as the malice in the blood-ridden swamps of his vision. It was anger and indignation. It was the hatred and the shame of a million souls, screaming out for vengeance. They called out to him. Shinji felt their pain and knew their sorrow. The spirits wanted him to be here.
But why?
“This is our rage, Varnu—the rage of those who fell after we were betrayed by the one who wields the light.”
Shinji tried to speak, but his lips wouldn’t move.
“Who are you?” he spoke in his mind. “What are you?”
“I am vengeance, I am hatred, and I will return.” The reverberating chorus of dark voices answered. The pressure in the hallway seemed to intensify. The whole manor appeared to shake. When the voice spoke again, it spoke with cold rage. “I am the Asura, little Varnu, and I will make this world pay.”
Chapter 19
Fear.
Shinji had never been accustomed to the feeling—no matter how natural or human it was to feel such a thing. Fear was a constant thing that ensured the survival of the weak. It allowed them to make decisions for their safety—run or fight? When prey creatures met their predators, it was the fear of death that gave them the strength to run or to fight. It was the fear of failure that pushed men to achieve greatness and glory. It was the fear of loss that pushed mothers to heights of strength undreamed of, just to save their children.
Fear was the final element—the catalyst to humanity.
And yet it was also fear that prevented men from moving. It was fear that made men question themselves and their actions. It was fear that drove kings to slaughter babies and innocents.
However, Shinji could only count with one hand the number of times he’d felt true fear. The first time was when his little brother was nearly mauled to death by a brown bear. And the last time had been that vision in the charred, blackened lands, where he met that strange, foreign woman, Yavira. He had felt her pain and her doubts and her sorrows. Everything she had felt became his to feel and the fear that soiled her soul was greater than any fear he’d ever known. She wasn’t afraid for her life—no, Yavira had already accepted her death the moment she chose to betray the one she loved.
She was afraid of being wrong. She was afraid that she might’ve been doing the wrong thing—that betraying this ‘Emperor’ was not necessary.
Shinji did not quite understand that part. The vision did not exactly give him all the answers. Instead, giving him more questions. But such was the nature of the visions of the spirits.
Now, however, Shinji was confronted by a fear he did not quite understand.
He didn’t feel the urge to run. His body instinctively knew running was pointless. And yet he did not feel the urge to fight, either—fighting was just as pointless as running.
Shinji was backed into a corner, from which he could neither flee nor defend himself. It was utter hopelessness, he realized. He had never felt so powerless before anything in his entire life. He had faced down champions and Magical Beasts in the Imperial Academy’s arena. Shinji had only felt a tinge of excitement and maybe even a hint of boredom and homesickness—never fear or hopelessness, not even when he was up against a mage of such great power that Shinji’s own versatility just didn’t matter anymore.
He hadn’t felt fear then.
And yet…
“I can smell your fear, Varnu,” the dark, whispering voice mocked. “But there is no need for you to be afraid—not yet. The stars have not aligned. The time is not right for my return. My vessel is incomplete… he is not ready.”
Shinji’s eyes widened and a sudden moment of clarity washed over him. That’s right, this disembodied voice is a spirit, he realized. Spirits can’t interact with the physical realm, no matter how powerful they are. This… Asura is no less harmful than a strong gust of wind.
No! Shinji shook his head. This malevolent spirit had nearly caused an entire village to kill each other in a nightmarish fit. Who knows what it’s truly capable of? Underestimating it wouldn’t do him any good. Its sheer presence was driving him to his knees. Not even the great Fire Spirit could do such a thing, and that was one of the most powerful spirits known to his people.
And still, he could not believe it. The Asura was actually real? The dark entity that was said to have reshaped the face of the world in its rage truly had once existed?
No, it can’t be real. This spirit is trying to deceive me! His logical mind reasoned, finding no other respite. And yet, it made sense in his mind. Many spirits in his homeland were fond of trickery and deceit, making themselves appear stronger and more powerful than what they really were.
A low chuckle echoed from everywhere. The spirit was amused—greatly. When it spoke, the tone of its voice was that of a disappointed parent. “Is that how you plan on tricking yourself, Varnu?”
Shinji’s vision faded and hazed. The shadows grew around him and seemed to converge over his form. It was still early in the morning, and already he saw nothing but darkness. Footsteps echoed, like drums in the deep, lumbering over the wooden floor. His world shook, and a black silhouette of something vaguely humanoid stood several feet away from him. Its body was made entirely of shadows, but for the hazy outlines of arrows and weapons sticking out of it. Twin, curved horns jutted out of its head, curling backward. Its eyes were twin rubies, blazing with hellfire and wrath. When it spoke, the world paused to listen.
A wave of fear and dread passed through the air. Cracks appeared on the floor. The wooden boards and beams yawned and groaned at the pressure that was suddenly pressing down on them. Shinji shuddered. There was no magic in any of this, and it definitely wasn’t some sort of deception. This thing—its power—was real.
“Hear me now, child of the Varnu. Fate has brought you to me and you shall deliver a message to the one who wields the light.” Its voice was whole. It no longer reverberated with the choral tones of a million souls, speaking as one. No, it was one being, a single avatar of malice and hatred, given physical form. It took a single step forward and the world heaved at its presence. Though it was without magic, its very aura was corrupting everything around it—brown wood turned black and paper turned to ashes. The floor it walked on seemed to age a thousand years with each passing second. “Go to the one who wields the light and tell it: the hour is near and, this time, I will no longer be swayed by petty words and honeyed promises. This wretched land will burn.”
The one who wields the light? There were about a hundred spirits, who could carry such a title and none of them were even remotely involved with the concept of malevolence. No, Shinji shook his head, if the Asura was real, then it meant its eternal rival was also real.
But he just couldn’t accept it. To accept it meant the acceptance of the divine and the supernatural, of the things that lie beyond the realms of mortality, beyond the realms of human comprehension. If the myths were indeed real, then the Asura could only mean the Kensei…
And Shinji just could not accept such a possibility.
He couldn’t.
“Who are you talking about—”
The specter held out a single, blackened hand, its fingers ending in sharp talons, blazing with black flames. “Now, begone from my sight, little Varnu. I await only the return of my vessel. You are not welcome here.”
Shinji’s eyes widened as a torrent of unseen energies washed over his body, like a great and terrible flood. The explosion rocked the manor, cracking the walls and breaking the floor in an instant. It tore his clothes and broke his bones, and blasted him through the walls of the manor.
Every inch of him burned with invisible flames. His muscles seemingly roasting before his very eyes and yet he saw no fire or acid, or anything that might explain what he felt and saw. His senses grew cloudy and hazy, and so did his agony wane as his mind slowly took leave of his body. The Asura’s burning eyes blazed in Shinji’s memory.
The Varnu mage soared across Hirata, its townsfolk frozen in place as the Asura’s malevolent energies seeped into the town once more, though lacking the nightmarish whispers it’d once inflicted.
It wasn’t magical in nature. The slightest hint of magic should’ve alerted him immediately. No, this power wasn’t magic. It was the purest manifestation of malice and rage. It was beyond magic.
The last thing Shinji perceived before his world turned black was the echo of the Asura’s dark laughter, reverberating within the depths of his mind, taunting him, belittling him, whispering its inconceivable malice into his thoughts and twisting his aura, like a living corruption. It tore away at his soul, but the spirits that guided him fought back against the darkness. The malevolence was not yet as strong as it could truly become, given time. No, it was growing in strength, but it was still weak. Its power was not even a shadow of its former glory.
The spirits fought back and won, barely driving back the tide of corruption.
No, they didn’t win—the malevolence simply chose to stop.
“That was adorable, little Varnu,” the Asura whispered into his mind. Its voice was like the grinding of metal and the cracking of ice, horrible to behold. “Sleep.”
