Draconic Testament (34 page)

The door opened, and a man walked through. He was wearing robes, blue robes and decorated differently. The decorations meant nothing, from the looks of it, the robes were just gilded. The man said something to the old woman in her tongue, and she turned back around to look at Bastion. She placed her hand on his forehead again, and replied to the man. The man said something to the woman, and she backed away, making room for the man. He approached Bastion, and looked at him closely. Bastion could see the man’s face clearly, and it was familiar. Too much familiarity was bothering Bastion, but he tried to pinpoint where he saw this man’s face before... then he realised. Back in the coliseum, when Bastion remembered Yula practicing Tartarus, she saw a face. Is this... Sheol? No. It’s not. He looks very similar, but not the same. He has a golden insignia welded into his skin, above his left eye. He could see what was on it... a diagram of a wretched, sharp clawed hand. On his right cheek was a faint smudge. Like all Cazrians, he was elegant, beautiful, and not very manly. He could be classed as a ‘pretty boy’, like Torrig. He could only assume all Cazrians looked like this. He looked like he had smooth skin, young, and he looked very serious, like he didn’t know how to smile. Not like Ivorian, who looked disturbed and evil, no, this man looked non-chalant, like nothing you could say could bother him, like nothing could faze him from him goal, like he had seen far worse than anything you could possibly throw at him. He had black hair, which was swept back, with one braid down the middle. He sounded very mature when he spoke, but still looked young. He placed his hand on his head, and Bastion felt Magic mingle with his brain. There was no feeling of discomfort or pain, but his mind felt numb. “Do you understand what I’m saying?” The man said, in his odd accent. He spoke English!
“Yes.” Bastion said.
“This spell allows us to communicate. You hear the sounds my voice makes, and discern it in a way that you can understand. It is not English, nor is it Cazrian. It’s simply your mind choosing a preference. It’s called Dragontongue, you can understand any language with this spell, even those of animals.” The man said. Bastion raised an eyebrow at the idea. That’s awesome! “I'm going to let go of your head, and you’ll need to sustain this spell on your own. Your mind will get used to it. Don't worry, it uses very little magic.” He takes his hand away from Bastion’s forehead, and moves back. The old woman smiles, watching. Bastion sits up in his bed, and tries the spell again. It’s tricky to pull off, but he ends up getting it, after the two Cazrian’s waited patiently for a couple of minutes. The spell was tricky, but it’s rather easy to sustain, like chaining up a bike. It’s tricky to chain, but once the lock has been set, you’d need to actually try to get it undone. Bastion looks at the two Cazrians, and asks, “Who are you?”
The two glance at one another, then back at Bastion. “I am Abaddon Valkari, Paragon of the late Overlord Sancterus, and this is Matriarch Tyria, of the Covenant of Dawn. She’s the most powerful healer in the known universe, and was able to remove that phantom implanted in you.” The man, Abaddon, said.
“Where am I? Why am I here?” Bastion asked.
“Why?” Abaddon asked. “Well. It’s because this is your home... Prince Zaxxarius.” 
Chapter Thirteen – Birth of Zaxxarius
Abaddon Valkari
16 Years Ago
A dead city. Not a sound to be heard above the burning buildings and sparks of electricity… and of course, the wyvern that Abaddon was riding. The wyvern jumps over the fallen rubble and over the corpses of the dead citizens of Cienka, crushing litter underneath, passing over the grounds of an area that was filled with screams of fear just minutes ago, onward through the smoke-filled ruins, which Abaddon holds his breath through. The city had been reduced to this by a mere number of 1000 or so Domini, against a city with tens of thousands of Citizens. That is the threat that the rest of the world faces, the threat that will end up crushing Cazria under heel, the threat that nobody knows is present yet. “I should run back to Trinity and warn the council of Draynar’s betrayal, warn them to send warnings to Zolka, that our Overlord is likely to die and that the Domini are going to wage war again.” Abaddon sighed. However, as patriotic and dutiful as Abaddon Valkari was, his only thoughts were to escape the wrath of the Domini, and find the betrayed Overlord of Metholi. His biggest fear was his Overlord’s death, for he knew all too well within his heart that if Sancterus dies, there are no heirs to succeed him, which would mean an end to the Elric legacy. The best bet is that the responsibility for ruling the kingdom will fall upon him. As Sancterus’ apprentice, he must find and bring back the wounded Overlord. He and Sancterus were lured to Cienka to find the Basilisk, the former Azel of Adda’Gorath, and they were nearly destroyed by what they found. The Azel were weapons of magic created by the sorcerer Ultimali, and the Basilisk, the king of serpents, was one of these weapons. Sancterus had limped away from the approaching army of the Domini, with his wife, Katrina, within his arms. Cold, still, and dead, murdered by the one of the few that he trusted. Usually calm and collective, Abaddon’s heart beats faster now than before, during the heat of the battle that he was stuck within. Becoming an overlord is a great honour, and it bestows great power from the fallen monarchs of the kingdom… but Abaddon was no leader. He lived and died for the sake of his kingdom, and for Justice, but to lead it? He couldn’t.
Abaddon’s heart sinks as he picks up Sancterus’ trail at the beginning of the bridge to Blight’s claim. Blight’s claim was once a small kingdom, located in Eastern Metholi, close to the Pontaron Sea, built within the very early years of Cazrian existence, when the dragons still watched over us, but it befell a terrible fate. The fair kingdom was wiped out by one overlord. One dreaded overlord, who dabbled the furthest one could possible go in the forbidden arts of Necromancy. Dhym. Dhym’s goal in life was to master the art of total reincarnation, mastered by Ultimali, the lord of all Magic, arguably one of the most powerful being’s to ever exist in the known Universe. Ultimali was a friend of Xelphan Elric, the founding family of the Elric legacy, whom Sancterus, the Overlord of Metholi, belongs to. The two trained and practiced the arts of magic together, and believe it or not, the stronger of the two was Ultimali, even though he was not an Overlord. Ultimali’s ambitions grew great, as he built a small kingdom and attracted subjects to live within. Over the years, it grew, and became a small independent kingdom that answered to nobody. The kingdom was levitated above an extremely large moat, filled with water, and waterfalls were formed to keep that moat sustained. The only way into Ultima was across a large, long, bridge. Ultimali had taken four apprentices in the past, who grew strong, and are known today as Blight’s children. Around this time, he created the ‘Azel’, weapons of pure magic that held powers beyond belief by absorbing a sorcerers souls into the weapon, like a monolith. He bestowed four upon his apprentices, and then proceeded to create more. Nobody knows just how many there are to this day, as others have managed to create Azel of their own. After a while, Ultimali took two new apprentices. The first was a woman named Kattori, a rather promising yet low ranking member of society. The second, and the most important, was a man named Dhym, brother to Mortis, the icy overlord of Cradle, a kingdom to the south. Eventually, Xelphan, the first Overlord of Metholi made the decision to defy the Dragons and attempt to bring salvation to the dying world of Dominion, the homeworld of the Domini. Ultimali spent a lot of time studying Warlock Magic, despite the warnings from the rest of the world, and surpassed the Domini in terms of Necromancy. He found out how to restore a soul to one’s body, the process known as ‘Total Reincarnation’. However, Ultimali soon saw how Total Reincarnation could work both ways, how it could take the souls of others into yourself, boosting your powers beyond, perhaps, even the dragons! Such a discovery was tempting, but he never gave into it. The discovery was huge, but also extremely dangerous. He soon realized why exactly the dragons deemed this form of magic forbidden. He loved his subjects, and he feared that his discovery would lead to a disruption in balance to the world of Magi. Ultimali died, suddenly. He did not store his soul within a Monolith, which was customary for Overlords, for he did not want to share the secrets and horrors of magic. Dhym was irate with this decision, and preserved Ultimali’s body, studying in his footsteps. He happily handed over the Kingdom to Kattori on the promise that all of Ultimali’s journals and studies would be handed over to him. A fatal mistake due to Kattori being foolish and power hungry. She happily gave in to the commands, and while she governed the kingdom, Dhym studied the magic of Necromancy. His knowledge and skill with magic did not come close to Total Reincarnation, but Dhym found how to insert life into the brain and re-animate the memories. He imparted the memories on himself, and all of Ultima paid the price. In one spell, Ultima’s citizens and their lives were sacrificed in order to dissolve Dhym’s body and turn him into spirit. Cities crumbled from the force of the ritual, from the intensity of the magic. No-one withstood it. Curiously, the magic went no further than the borders of Ultima. The destruction stopped there. All that remains is sand, rubble, Ultima’s bridge, and an ancient temple, where Dhym resides. Nobody knows how Dhym thinks anymore. But, he’s obviously at peace in a dead kingdom, for he has made no attempt to leave Ultima. If he could. Mortis, who was a relative of Dhym, believed the idea of Dhym being able to leave, but not wanting to, was far too dangerous. He sacrificed his life in order to create a massive hurricane to shield the outside world from Dhym’s reach, although nobody knows if it would actually work, should Dhym feel the need to test it.  Ultima was renamed “Blight’s claim”. It is no longer the land Cazria once knew, just a Kingdom claimed by blight. In a world of magic such as Cazria, tragedies happen, but Ultima was the most costly. Would the world benefit if it was stripped of all magic? To completely erase it from Cazria? Would that stop the amount of death and destruction inflicted on this world?
Another wyvern was up ahead, the largest Abaddon had ever seen. The wyvern had golden plate armour on it’s reptilian joints and across it’s forehead. The wyvern was waiting loyally on the bridge, awaiting it’s master. Wyverns, although they come from the Wilderness, are not the most dangerous creatures found there. But they are the fastest mount that a Cazrian can ride, and can run extremely fast, as well as bite and claw their enemies. Abaddon dismounts his wyvern and leaves it by the side of Sancterus’. From here, he is to walk to the hurricane. The hurricane was strong, and the only ones who could ever pass the hurricane are those who have a strong Magic Pool. Blight’s claim is notorious for those who have lost loved ones, since Dhym is not dead and can still grant Total Reincarnation. However, very few have left Blight’s claim, and the majority of the brave souls have fell victim to the hurricane rather than the maniacal spirit. Nobody knows what Dhym actually wants, those who have left Blight’s claim are usually interrogated by Cradle Special Forces, but nothing useful actually comes from them… or, more believable, like the Metholi council believes, Cradle’s council would rather keep it to themselves. Abaddon stands before the great hurricane, preparing himself to enter and travel to the other end. The pull was strong enough as it is from where he is standing, but not strong enough to bother with using magic to sustain his balance. Abaddon wondered if his Overlord actually managed to get through with the wounds that he had sustained at the hand of his apprentice, and the traitor to all of Cazria, Draynar. “Of course he’s alive…” Abaddon thinks to himself. “Such a foolish notion, he’s an Overlord.”
Abaddon takes a deep breath, and steps forward, proceeding through the Hurricane. The hurricane whips at him, dirt hitting and scratching at his face and clothes, and across the golden jewellery above his right eye, extremely noticeable in complexion to his light red Cazrian skin, although nothing could scratch a metal so hard. The golden jewellery was welded into his skin, to mark his nobility within the Kingdom. Faking nobility was a severe crime, so nobody would dare to mimic someone of such high standard unless they had nothing to lose. The ends of his black, braided hair began to become loose, and tug at the roots. The stress and pressure began to wear at him, and he began to take magic from his Magic Pool and sustain his balance using magic. He pushes on, hissing and cursing, clenching his long canine teeth, as the magic shielding his face and eyes begins to wane, and has to be reinforced. He believes deep down he can make the journey, but the hurricane was going to strip him of his dignity and honour, as his clothes are ripped at and torn. The hurricane’s sand and dirt were growing to ear-drum bursting levels, and each step he took the journey got harder and more pressured. Eventually, after much pain and suffering, he realizes that if he doesn’t abandon his dignity, he’s going to be whipped off the bridge. He brings himself to his hands and knees, and crawls, curses and huffs turning to moans of agony. Twenty minutes of pure agony ensue before he reaches the middle of the hurricane. Here is where most of the struggle is thrown at you. Many have been whipped off this bridge due to magic loss or exhaustion. He wheezes and presses on, hissing to himself. “Focus, Damnit!” He wheezes and sighs, fingers trembling. Honour dictates that he must push on, for Cazria.
Eventually, he reaches the end of the hurricane, and collapses from the exhaustion. His Magic Pool has nearly completely been drained. If he had been any weaker from the fight that he had to escape from in Cienka, he would have joined the sand and rubble within the moat. The gates to Blight’s claim were open slightly, enough to walk through without having to squeeze past much. As Abaddon approached, his eyes widened at the destruction that lay before him. It seems that the impact from within the temple of Dusk, dragon of magic, and spread outwards towards the buildings, destroying everything, leaving only sand and rubble in its destructive wake. There is dead machinery and ancient stonemasonry all around the Kingdom, and Ultima was huge. As far as the eye can see within the walls of Ultima, was rubble, all around. The only landmark that was still intact was the Temple. Abaddon closed his eyes. Through hollow sight, there was practically no signs of life. Except one. A rather large, ominous one. He knew who it was, right away. Dhym. The aura was large, and obviously powerful, but it was being modest by hiding most of it, likely to show it’s guests that it meant no harm. There was another life form, through closer inspection, trekking towards the larger one. This was also powerful, but it was broken. “Sancterus...” Abaddon whispered. The sheer thought of Sancterus actually wanting to make a deal with Dhym that could cost him his life is, quite frankly, infuriating to Abaddon. He seethed with rage at the fact that he had no chance to stop him, and by the time he reached Sancterus he would likely already be dead… but if that is how it is to be, then Abaddon will follow him to his death, and face Dhym before the end. He begins his trek across Blight’s claim, under the watchful gaze of Dhym. Abaddon could feel his power being contained within the Temple, watching out over the fallen kingdom, although his gaze was mainly on Sancterus. This is likely the first time an Overlord has brought himself before Dhym for a chance at Total Reincarnation…