"Ruins... that is all that remains of my sacred soil. Chaos and blood sprawl in a titanic, red whirlwind. Heavy footsteps rupture the atmosphere and the very climate, bearing the weight of sins that sear in crimson — and smoldering with those same infernal transgressions. Two of the four destinies, for the first time in eons, occupied the same space, even if not at the same time. A black-haired man watched, contemplating the havoc that the nostalgic Green Flame had conspired to cause."
There, where the freshest hell had burned: from the stark thunders of a scorching, destructive lapse of the dormant Purple Flames; from the maddened delusions of grandeur of a complete soul, rising with its SanctBlood for the sake of its own satisfaction; from the ruins and chaos of the glass-crimson. Where the glory of the cult that ascended through power and politics — now shattered into filthy, splintered shards upon the earth where their greatest research should have transpired — the weight of failure and misery hung heavy. Infernal, dethroned, cast into disgrace. Victory had been yielded to the dregs.
The EdelGear was taken. The greatest researcher of that place, Camelius Lothin, was reduced to naught; not even a husk remained for a farewell. Disintegrated by the very weapon he had dedicated his life to unravelling. A defeat. Absolute humiliation. And entombed amidst those ruins, crushed by the thunders he so feared in Kameliel Reixys' vision, with charred skin and smoke leaking from the violent, explosive shock, he lay subjugated by the purple thunder — a mere testament to the destructiveness that the EdelGear Heavens Xplorer held in the hands of Mana Reixys.
There lay Khaelis Kaiwen, buried and crushed under the debris, completely unconscious, defeated to the core, cast to the ground like a rag. Feeling the weight of failing once more. His crusade, again severed by those same terrorists. His mind was heavy; he saw the burden of their crusade. But now, beyond the crusade, the honor and the name of his House were stained... beyond atonement.
In the ruins, flames spread like a dancing pyre. Something massive approached, crushing the soil; glass shards splintered under an overwhelming pressure.
CRACK! CRACK!
The fissures revealed something shifting, leaving a trail of agony wherever it trod.
TAP! CRACK! — TAP! CRACK! — TAP! CRACK!
Every time that thing crushed the ground, one could hear those cracks overflowing with pain. A horrific, agonizing lament; it trembled, as unsteady as the flames that refused to die. The heavy steps exhaled increasing suffering. It was as if the being treading that soil screamed in despair without uttering a sound. That thing emanated a hellish pain. It had a heart, and it was tragic. Sad.
Those steps grew louder, radiating more pain. A metallic rasp became clearer — armor creaking with every movement, snapping, heavy; like a machine overflowing with agony. A body trapped in steel, living and suffering metal. As if someone had died inside, rotted away. Forgotten by themselves in sobs and a low, yet terrifying, weeping.
Silent. It looked like walking torture... accompanied by a shimmering Arcane hum amidst the chaos.
Bzzzzzz.....
The noise intensified along with the crushing steps. It came from a vibrant Arcane core attached to the chest of that armor of suffering. Artificial runes burned, revealing the nature of that aberration. The symbol of the Scarlet made itself present, and soon, the vision of the thing became clear: a giant colossus, clad in armor like blood. Lean and titanic, like a demon crying out for redemption. Its entire body was encased in that plate which, though red, was flooded by a pulsing Arcane trail burning in cold hues; a flowing cape danced alongside the destruction. From its helm, two horns projected, revealing that this was its curse.
The one once called the Shield of Wrath, the Spear of Redemption. A warrior in Scarlet armor, forged of technology and Arcane runes that condemned him to a hell of pure pain and servitude — his tragic, dark fate. Yet, that was not his greatest pain. There he stood: the Master of the Massacre.
— Oh... see what a pity... our precious and principal temple reduced to ashes of infernal chaos and unprecedented destruction...
A female voice, trembling and sweet, welcoming and delicate... like a flower, the most fragrant and beautiful. It was laden with a suffering that spread throughout the site.
Everyone felt her wrath, her urge to weep; as if her desire to cry was projected onto all in a terrifying telepathic wave, her voice invading their minds.
— Do you see... do you not see, Vidraes? The hell they have brought upon us... you see... tell me... what must the crimson do?
The man titled the Master of the Massacre, as if hypnotized by the voice, locked his feet to the ground, abruptly halting all movement. He stared in a fixed direction and clenched his fists, the metal grinding with a deafening screech.
— I know... what the crimson must do...
The words escaped his helmet. His voice was also trembling, but fueled by fury.
— Splendid... then tell me, Vidraes... what must the crimson do?... In the name of our knowledge... our faith... what we believe in... redemption... tell me...
The shadow of a woman emerged behind Vidraes, floating in the air. She wore robes red as blood... no, red as hell itself. An unnatural wind lashed toward the Master of the Massacre; the woman's clothes danced demonically. Vidraes' heart was consumed by it, plunged into a terrifying despair. The woman's face was covered by jewel-encrusted fabric, but the lower half — from nose to chin — remained hidden. It revealed skin pale as a corpse and lips black as the void. The Master of the Massacre, swallowed by the terror she exuded, trembled at her question.
— Do not fear, Vidraes... you know well... what must be done...
She wrapped him in her arms, cradling him in his affliction. Embracing him amidst the terror, she touched her pale palm to Vidraes' chest and slid it up to his helm. She brought her face close, embracing him completely. Vidraes finally stopped shaking. With her lips near where the Master of the Massacre's ears should be, she whispered:
— Tell me... what must you do?
Vidraes squared his posture, once again facing the same spot amidst the rubble.
— What I must do... The Massacre...
His voice did not falter, and this pleased the woman. She stared at him with a sort of pride and pleasure; she was difficult to read, for her eyes were not visible, but her lips assumed a smile laden with malice.
— Excellent... I am proud, my son...
Vidraes bowed before her, still staring at that same fixed point, which she now began to eye as well.
— Well... in any case, we must begin to act soon, must we not? The Grand Councilor's commands were clear... and for that... we need you... boy...
Now the woman's voice took another tone, heavy with contempt, scorn... loathing. It sounded arrogant, and as she stared at that same point, it was clear her words were no longer directed at Vidraes.
— Awaken... from your horrible nightmare... it is the only way for you to honor your words. Weak Kaiwen... filled with resentment and guilt... if you wish to continue chasing your ghost... AWAKEN!!!
A tragic story of a tragic life that met a tragic end: what would be left?
— "Brother... I have been very ill lately... and I've only been getting worse... argh... I don't think I'll last much longer... you... argh... it's clear to you now, isn't it? I know... please... just...!!!!!!!! AWAKEN!!!!"
If referring to Khaelis Kaiwen, the only thing that remains is a tragic crusade. And without it, only an empty life.
From that fixed, immobile spot, there was a reaction to the woman's words. As if, once again, a demon whispered into the ears of Khaelis Kaiwen, now swallowed by his most intimate and profound nightmares. Engulfed by terrifying impotence and fear. The woman's words invaded his mind and devoured him.
BLUSH!!!! CRACK!!!!!
Track... track...
The debris at that fixed point exploded with a terrifying impact from beneath, crushed from within, hurling shards across the ground. From the explosion of that rubble, a figure with wide, terrified eyes trembled amidst the dust and the smoke of the flames. He shook uncontrollably, his legs weak, consumed by a horrific image that haunted his mind at that very moment.
— Argh... argh... cough... cough...
His lungs were full of smoke, a suffocating sensation making it nearly impossible to breathe. His eyes were still lost in the chaos, searching for a direction. The woman watched the figure that had leapt from that dead pile of rubble, fascinated. What that being carried was the purest Dark Determination.
— My, my... I am glad you have awakened... young Kaiwen. It seems battle was not kind to you... hohoh... but look at you: even with your skin charred and in tatters, your grip is firm... I see you are still holding tightly to the ShadowStorm.
There, before them, the observed point. Now with his honor destroyed and serious doubts about whether he could continue his crusade: the recently defeated, the Young Noble Khaelis Kaiwen. Even in a deplorable state, his eyes shone with something black in their depths, burning infernally. This attracted the woman, who noted that, even in such a state, the young man had not let go of the ShadowStorm's hilt for a single moment. A fascinating sight. Admirable, Dark Determination.
— ...argh... argh... it's... argh... you...
Despite his eyes burning with that hellish black glow, his body was in pieces, pushed to the limit after being brutally crushed by a force as terrifying as the EdelGear. Even standing, the difficulty he had in forming simple words was glaring.
— My... I see you won't even thank us for the rescue, young Kaiwen? Truly, a lack of ethics on your part.
The loathing in the woman's voice returned. A discrepant, dark sensation screamed in Khaelis' ears and, in response, his heart filled with fury.
FASHH!!!
Khaelis swung the ShadowStorm with lightning speed. His eyes locked on the woman, a silver flash formed and dissipated instantly with the movement.
Tink...
A drop of blood hit the floor.
Tink...
Then another. Khaelis' eyes remained fixed on the woman. Vidraes had seen the strike. Looking at the woman's face, he saw the true crimson blood trickling down her skin. Drop after drop. Khaelis' eyes burned with pure rage, fixed on the two of them.
— Argh... make no mistake, argh...your cursed witch... do not think that being under the Grand Councilor's wing will save you from my fury...
Khaelis' voice was trembling, and not just from physical pain. Something screamed in the depths of his soul: pain, so immense. His eyes filled with tears, but none fell.
— The warning is given once more... if you dare invade my mind again... if you ever touch my memories and my being again, I will...
Khaelis' grip on the ShadowStorm's hilt was no longer firm; it was shaking, like someone whose most intimate self had been desecrated. Touched. That which he kept in the back of his mind for comfort had been used by those he considered cursed hypocrites, and once again, it destroyed who he was and everything he believed in. The tears refused to fall, and even with his trembling grip, he was still Khaelis Kaiwen. A noble, a mortal. The bearer of the ShadowStorm. He who guided himself by the Dark Tempest. Yet, the woman stared at him with such calm that it flooded the area with a sort of fear and rage.
Vidraes stepped in front of her, also trembling with an overwhelming hatred for Khaelis' action.
— You... how dare you spit upon the Graces of the Crimson... you cursed, filthy heritage... your high noble status will not save you from your purification!!!
Vidraes grabbed an object at his waist.
— How dare you... cursed Kaiwen...
The air grew thick once more... the feeling that, truly, everything was going according to plan.
VUSHH!!! VOOHM!!!!
A sharp sound leaked from the object; a radiant light the color of blood emanated, blinding Khaelis. The glow slowly dissipated, revealing in Vidraes' hands his spear: the Punishment of Blood. The Guide of the Massacre. Redemption. Death in peace.
NEEDLE OF REDEMPTION. BLOOD IN PEACE: THE GUIDE OF FLESH AND BONE.
A sensation as if a needle were piercing through him. A horrific feeling. Even with weapons drawn and a cut on her face, the woman laughed at the situation. She looked into the distance, observing, and then nodded. Everything is going according to plan.
— You will pay!!!! Spitting on the honor of our sacred ground??? Because of you... my redemption was interrupted, Kaiwen. And now this??? You wretch... know your... argh... place...
Vidraes pointed the weapon at Khaelis, who was staggering in pain. Yet, he held his stance. No opening was visible. The air became harder to breathe as time passed, dense as a rock. The woman showed no concern regarding a potential conflict. Only a cynical smile.
— Get out of my way now, Master of the Massacre... or I—
— Hohoh...
— Ahn? What?
A simple laugh escaped her blood-stained lips, followed by a smile as macabre as the desire for a premature death. She swallowed hard.
— Gulp...
And soon returned to her smile.
— Now, boys... hoho... please, don't make such a fuss over me...
Khaelis watched her, trembling with hate, as she mocked the entire situation. Floating, she touched her feet to the ground. Then, she placed her palm on Vidraes' torso.
— Please, Vidraes... put away the Needle of Redemption... this is not the right moment... you understand?
She remained fixed on Khaelis, never averting her eyes for a second.
— Oh... of course... Priestess... I beg forgiveness for my actions and my sins committed today...
Vidraes bowed his head without question.
His weapon glowed strangely once more, as if sucking back the previously released light, returning to its former state. His obedience was absolute. Before that woman, the Master of the Massacre was nothing more than a hound.
— Very good, Vidraes... bow...
And so it was done. The Master of the Massacre, without a word, knelt. His face toward the ground, showing no shame. Only suffering and obedience.
— Very well... as for you... Kaiwen... young Kaiwen... your failure is visible and tragic. Truly... very tragic...
The woman, with that same cynical smile, turned her eyes back to Khaelis, who was still gasping from his wounds. Khaelis remained steadfast, but the pressure... that woman exuded something horrific. An agonizing feeling. And more: something was hiding in the shadows of that place. Khaelis felt the shadows piercing the back of his neck, as if a specter were watching him.
— Argh... you bastards... what did you come here for? Argh... it's too late now... they, the terrorists... they already took it... they already... they already took the... argh... we failed...
That horrific sensation only grew. Before him was that being emanating such anguish; and yet, a worse feeling rose in Khaelis' chest. He knew: there was something else there, hiding in the shadows. Something he could not see.
— The EdelGear? Ah, yes, you're talking about that, aren't you? How cute...
To his surprise, the woman, in a nonchalant tone, seemed to mock his mission and his worry.
— Do not worry, young Kaiwen... everything went accordingly... according to the Grand Councilor's plans. At no point did anything slip from our control... no... from his control... everything was exactly as planned.
Khaelis' throat tightened. He couldn't believe what he was hearing, spoken so calmly by that woman.
— I believe you aren't at all aware of what's happening, are you? He didn't tell you why you were truly sent here... am I right? The mission to "protect the EdelGear" was nothing more than a stupid farce. A premeditated bait to lure those terrorists and, along with them... to bring the Cursed One here... Igyris. Hoh... the Grand Councilor currently only has eyes for him... and having the EdelGear in our hands was the perfect bonus. Who would have thought? Everything seems to play in his favor, doesn't it? The Cursed One joining the deserter Mana Reixys was perfect... as if it were all rehearsed... truly perfect.
— So you... used my crusade... my brother's memories... to manipulate me in your damn political games? The Grand Councilor's interest in the Cursed One means nothing to me... and yet... today you sacrificed Camelius Lothin... and me... for games I don't even know...
Khaelis tightened his grip on the ShadowStorm again, but this time, as firm as before. His voice no longer emitted pain; it was steady as a rock. Dense silver energy traveled throughout his body. The danger alert was clear. Yet, the Priestess stared at him, unconcerned.
— Ah, Young Khaelis... do not be mistaken, at no point did your death cross the Grand Councilor's mind. You are strong... it was clear you would survive, he had no doubt. Now, I... yes, I did... but he believed you would stay on your feet until the very end... and he was right. And look at you, holding the ShadowStorm firmly... even so wounded and shaken, you are ready to decapitate me in a single motion... it is truly fascinating. I am impressed.
Khaelis looked at her with only one intent: a clear and fluid movement. The intent was to kill. He would not tolerate such humiliation. To be used as a pawn in a game he didn't even understand was unacceptable. And so, the strike was dealt.
VUSHH-!!! TLICK!!!!
— Look at that... a hothead, aren't you? Come on... don't tell me you're this much of a nuisance just because of a single trauma? No... I remember: even before Vilos Kaiwen's death, you were always like this, weren't you?
A flame so black, darker than the abyss, darker than the void... swallowed the ShadowStorm completely. Engulfing its shine, its power, its abyss. Totally dissipating that Dark Tempest.
TLENCK!!!
The extinguished and lifeless ShadowStorm struck the ground.
— A-ha... look at that... it seems the Black Flame, even extinguished in our false form, snuffs out the Purple Flame so easily...
Khaelis' eyes widened. Every hair on his body stood up. He locked eyes with that figure; he couldn't believe it, it couldn't be real.
"Another dream... a man with... black hair..."
Instinctive fear.
— No... it can't be... you are... gulp... Anexzander Rodalight... no... the Prince...
He threw himself back abruptly. His body was sweating; before that man, his body had almost completely forgotten the pain.
— Hello, Khaelis Kaiwen... it's been a while, hasn't it? How have you been, old friend?
Khaelis stared at the state of the ShadowStorm; he was in disbelief.
— No... Prince Anexzander Rodalight... the middle son of the three heirs to the royal family... legitimate son of the King of Rodalight, the only family above the five great noble families. Thus completing the Six Great Families, titled the Six Children of Chaos and Order... but...
Anexzander smiled at Khaelis. He saw no fear in the Noble; it was as if his existence there were an error. And then there was that... the thing that had swallowed the ShadowStorm and snuffed out its Purple Flame. It was unnatural.
— The three children, descendants of the main royal family, died successively due to the Curse of the Cult of the Rotting Flesh... a sect that kept the Plague of the Abyssal God of Darkness sealed. The cult that took the primary daughter of House RyzisX... Lyza Simiram RyzisX... you died in the purification ritual. The members of the sect betrayed House RyzisX... and then everything went wrong from there. The primary daughter of the RyzisX was killed and consumed by the Plague; the "Only Son", the bearer of the Plague, ended up consumed by the curse and destroyed the entire place. You were there that day... just another victim of that hell. And there, the Grand Councilor, who was already an ill man, transformed into that abomination. After the fall of the royal family, the Grand Councilor took over a position leading several Noble Houses. Even if not absolute, it is as if he compensated for the total loss of the royal family...
Anexzander still held his smile. His posture was not hostile, but pragmatic.
— Hah... well... that's not exactly how it happened...
That sentence chilled Khaelis to the bone. For that was how he had been taught, as one of the high noble elite. Was the greatest tragedy involving sects and noble families in centuries just another lie?
— Well... on that day...
"LYZA!!! IT'S OVER!!! HE'S NOT COMING BACK!!! HOLD MY HAND!!!"
— Lyza Simiriam RyzisX truly died... but, unlike what was passed down, the members of the royal family stood firm... until...
"I understand... but why... why did it have to be Lyza?..."
— It doesn't matter now... but after those events, I was kept safe and protected until my father's collapse...
"I... I'm sorry..."
— And my brothers'...
"Please... I'm so sorry..."
— The Grand Councilor keeps me safe and sound. With the help of the Great Arcane Noble Families, he managed to maintain order and keep the last heir of the royal family alive...
Khaelis regulated his breathing; his calm was returning, and he saw everything with clarity.
— I understand... but why? It makes no sense to keep the last heir of the royal family alive in secret... it doesn't add up... Answer me: what made the Grand Councilor hide this from the Great Noble Families? He has no authority for that...
Khaelis clenched his fist; rage was taking over once more. All of them, deceived for years, living thinking that the ancient men who ruled the world were extinct. Yet one of them was right in front of him.
— The Grand Councilor's motives aren't at play right now... the situation will be explained to you soon, Khaelis Kaiwen. But for now, the most important information you must know is that the Only Son, the heir and bearer of the Plague of the Sect of Rotting Flesh — the same one who destroyed everything, disfigured the Grand Councilor, killing Lyza Simiriam RyzisX, destroyed the world as we know it, crushed everything we believe in, and destroyed our lives — that man is still alive. He is the cursed one known as Igyris.
Khaelis felt his body burn once more. It made sense: the conspiracies, the lies. A demon on earth... no, two demons on earth.
— Then that means...
The two held eye contact. The Priestess watched them from afar. The Prince's black hair hid Khaelis' face, and this frustrated her; she would have loved to see his expression. Vidraes remained bowed. Immobile.
— Well... we have declared enemies, Khaelis Kaiwen. I know your crusade: the Toy of the Demon of Healing, the object that took the soul of Vilos Kaiwen... your older brother. A good man. You hunt this evil, and I have always respected that. So, before an equal evil, we shall make these curses attract one another. Join our crusade and we will make this infinite evil fade away...
Anexzander held out his hand toward Khaelis, offering an alliance. Hunting the evils that destroyed this world made sense. It was the key to finding what took his brother. But even so, he hesitated.
— I do not trust you. Nor the Grand Councilor, nor the glass crimson or the LiGodght. Your crusades are stained with blood, dishonor... I will not surrender my soul to this...
Khaelis did not shake his hand. With firm steps, he walked to the extinguished ShadowStorm, picked it up and sheathed it. Turning his back, he prepared to depart.
— The Black Flame...
Before Khaelis could go, Anexzander spoke of it. That dense, dark thing that had just snuffed out the ShadowStorm.
— Well... there are the two forms of energy as we know them: the Purple Flame and the Green Flames of the curses...
The Prince's arm began to burn; the dark fire did not consume his skin or his body. But it wasn't an extension of his life like the Arcane, nor something coming from within his flesh like the curses. It was as if he were equipping something on his skin. Something that clothed him, bathing his being.
— But besides that, there is the Black Flame... something beyond those two wonders in my conception. A secret of the Royal Family, passed only to the Grand Councilor. I do not understand how it works, but I possess it: the Dependency of the Black Angel. I think you've heard that tale, passed among the noble families. If the Purple Flame is life and the Green Flame is what consumes life, what would the Black Flame be? That is an answer only the Grand Councilor has. But as the legend goes, the Black Angel is pure chaos that will destroy the world. A being that claims to be blessed by justice, but that at the end of times, in the name of that justice, will strive to destroy everything it sees as impure — or perhaps, too pure. In the Black Flame, there is the power to even approach the Arcann-El...
Khaelis listened: ancient legends, chants. But it made no sense, not now. In fact, nothing made sense at that moment.
— What does my crusade have to do with any of this nonsense?
Anexzander laughed once more; his welcoming gaze trying to win Khaelis over. Attempt after attempt. But at that moment, he held the absolute certainty of the truth he had to speak.
— The Black Flame is the key... to the Toy of the Demon of Healing, to Igyris... the purification of those filthy souls... you understand... you will only get close to it if you follow us, Khaelis Kaiwen. Join our crusade. Embrace the chance to recover your brother...
Khaelis turned slowly, staring into his eyes. He took firm steps toward him until they were face to face. Eyes locked.
— I accept...
Khaelis finally shook his hand, sealing his contract. And so, silence fell...
— My, my... look at that, boy. You actually did it, didn't you?
The woman titled the Priestess turned toward the two, breaking the silence of their contract.
— He's going to be proud of you, isn't he? You're really good.
Anexzander looked away from Khaelis, staring directly at her, that same smile returning to his face. He ran his hands through his black hair in a shy, awkward manner.
— Hahah! It was nothing, Anneala! It's just about knowing how to talk, okay? Seriously, Khaelis is a cool guy... he's just a hothead.
The Priestess, her name newly revealed as Anneala, couldn't contain her laughter. Not at Anexzander's reaction, but at the way Khaelis carried himself. It was intriguing.
— Enough... let us get to the point. Present the plans and the Grand Councilor himself to me as soon as possible.
Khaelis quickly let go of Anexzander's hand and turned his back on him.
— Hah, okay, okay... as soon as possible, right? Let's go... Anneala, it's time.
The smiles on the faces of Anneala and Anexzander faded. They looked at each other.
— Vidraes... rise...
A command. The Master of the Massacre obeyed.
— Of course... Priestess...
He rose and moved toward Khaelis and Anexzander.
— Well... you know... even referring to her as a "cursed witch", Anneala is the supreme leader of the Cult of the glass crimson. A woman seen as a goddess on earth, allied with the high Arcane echelons, of great power and influence. Worshipped, a renowned Arcane scientist and alchemist. Her Cult is second only to the LiGodght — but only to them. I've given you the summary, but in this territory she is the ultimate authority... a very important ally.
Anexzander spoke with Khaelis as Vidraes drew closer.
— With your union to our crusade, we climb even higher in terms of alliances. The Master of the Massacre... a former member of the Four Blades of Blood. Vidraes is his name.
And now you... we could very well send the Grand Councilor's High Guard or entire armies, but the Grand Councilor has other plans. Thankfully! Because we're going to get along great!
Khaelis remained silent now, dusting off his robes, removing the last of the debris. Vidraes positioned himself beside them.
Anneala watched them, her smile returning. Truly, exactly as the Grand Councilor had planned.
— Well... the protected Anexzander Rodalight will be the Grand Councilor's voice for you; he shall lead you. Soon the matters will become clear. Until then, just stay together...
Her tongue slid over her black lips as she spoke those words. It was like feasting, her vision capturing the three of them. It was beautiful.
— That game is going to be incredible... the Grand Councilor has finally found a rival of his caliber... Naxel, isn't it? Naxel Heavens Xplorer. The mind behind these pawns: Reixys and the Cursed One, Igyris. Truly, this will be magnificent. Who could have imagined that a genius of such stature remained for so long in the shadows of the Powermagi...
Khaelis listened to her in silence, shaking his garments to remove the remaining dust from the debris. With the fire spreading from the destruction, only one thing was confirmed there: war.
"It doesn't matter... I move only for my crusade... only for it..."