The floor of an ancient castle in a remote land creaked and shook. Floorboards splintered, walls crumbling, mice scurried along the shadows.
Twelve men, draped in white robes and wielding black claymores, entered a dimly lit room. Inside the room was a portrait of a man whose face was cut off by the shadow.
The men walked up to the portrait, as they stared into the portrait's eyes, an immense aura filled the room. They were forced on one knee, in a prostration position. The robed man in the front, wearing a broken crown, struggling to open his mouth. Blood splattered on the ground, he had bit his tongue and was now finally able to speak. He began his invocation.
"Oh great master, the most powerful being in the universe, the Archon of Authority. Forgive us, for we have let the wretched hunters kill more of your blessed children" He spoke in a tone riddled with fear and guilt.
Tears streamed down the rest of the men's faces, however, they could not wipe them. It was like their bodies were frozen in place, like the portrait itself rendered them immobile.
The man who spoke before bit his tongue again, spewing blood on the ground. Slowly, he got up. The rest of the men followed, the sound of blood splattering filled the room.
The men gripped their obsidian-colored claymores, faces dark with anguish. Slowly, the swords began to get unsheathed. A coil of dark purple aura wrapped around each one.
No one spoke, all that was heard was the buzzing of their swords. The broken crowned man gritted his teeth and declared, "Men! By the Archon's powerful will, we shall scour the enemies! Achieve what he so wishes! Avenge the dead, cement the glory of the prominent Day Dynasty!"
The men, who held their claymores in a ready stances, affirmed in unison. "Let us avenge our fallen brethre-" Before they could finish, a thunderous shockwave came from outside. The walls around them shook violently. In the blink of an eye, the entire castle turned to rubble and collapsed.
In the distance there was a figure, shrouded in dark purple fog.
He was waving.
They couldn't make what he looked like, they could only see his hand waving side to side. The castle around them turned to dust, the men quickly went on alert. As the broken crowned man looked towards the figure, the blood from his face was drained. His pupils constricted and the air around him felt freezing. Cold sweat covered his back, this was a look of pure fear.
"..Icas" The robed man hissed, his claymore buzzing fervently. He swung the blade vertically, creating a powerful current of dark purple wind. The ground beneath was cut deep, leaving behind a powerful tear in the earth.
Icas, with a wave of his hand, dismissed the attack. The broken crowned man shuddered, the grip on his claymore faltering. "Did 'He' send you here?". Icas did not respond, he flicked his hand, and in one motion, the broken crowned mans head slowly slid off his body.
The decapitated head plopped on the ground. The remaining men behind him staggered, some dropping their claymores, others plummeted, cowering in fear. Their determination from before seems to have disappeared in the face of a powerful enemy.
Slowly, each man was decapitated. Their screams were to no avail, Icas had not moved one step, and was still a faint shadow. After the final man died, Icas snapped his fingers, the ground beneath him fragmented, before dissipating completely. What was left was a field of air all around him.
It was now as if Icas was floating in the air. He raised his foot before lightly tapping the ground. Beneath him, many dark purple lines, like pathways to a maze, emerged.
While his face still covered, he spoke in a cruel, sinister tone. "Finally, the massacre's will start. The Eradication of that vile beast. Oh great master, ruler of the Unseen Fragment, your wish, like always, has become life."
Icas took one step forward before vanishing to thin air.
. . .
Trila, Theales. Year 2601.
In a bustling hospital, a man wearing worn out jeans and a button up t-shirt was maneuvering through a crowd of eager visitors. He's almost here! My son! The man was Darian Vaughan, a 40 year old civil servant. Darian and his wife, Elara, arrived at the hospital during Sunday evening. Unfortunately Elara's forgetfulness was made clear by the fact she forgot their documents. Darian had to rush home to retrieve them.
Monday morning, the line to Trila Municipal Hospital was the biggest it's been this year. After the assassination of emperor Magnus Van Selwyn IV's wife and kids, it caused a chain reaction. 1830 murder attempts have taken place in the last 3 days. 2 of Trila's 6 major hospitals have shut down, and it seems like TMH is about to as well.
His grip on the documents turned sweaty, the ink gradually fading. After ages, he pushed through and made his way to Elara's room. The worn oak door seemed to stare back at Darian, Alright, moment of truth. His shaking hand reached for the brass knob and slowly turned it.
The room was silent, the doctor sat with her arms above her head. W-what.. W-why are they like this? Emory was born.. They should be happy.. right? The doctor, who was an older woman with short black hair, raised her head when she noticed someone entering.
"Mr. Vaughan..?" Her tone was quiet, and somber. "Y-yes," Darian couldn't help but quiver. He was generally an airhead, but even he had enough intelligence to understand what was going on.
His wife was dead.
The papers hit the ground, Darian's large shadow covered them as he slowly walked towards the bed. Elara's face was covered with a cloth, but the rest of her body was open. He took his wife's cold, pale hands and covered them with his trembling hands. "Why..?" It was all he could manage.
"It was.. unexpected. Her vitals and health were fine right before and during the birth. But the moment he left her womb, she died of a heart attack. We tried to resuscitate her but it was to no avail." The doctor couldn't look the trembling man in the eyes.
"I'm going to give you some space, to deal with.. all this. Your son was born healthy, and is in the nursery at the moment. He will be brought in shortly." She quietly left the room.
Darian stayed in silence for a while, he removed the cloth that was covering her face. His eyes red, his mouth shaking, slowly kissed her forehead.
He began to remember each moment he had with her. Whether it was a fight they had, their marriage party, or the moment they knew she was pregnant, she was always with him. She always had a firm grasp on his hand. Her smile lit up the room, and it lit his gloomy, unappealing face.
"I'll raise him right, my love. I'll raise him just the way you wanted, the way you dreamed to raise him. I just know he's going to be the spitting image of you. If he looked like me, he have so much trouble finding a gorgeous wife, haha." Darian always had a problem with putting himself down. It wasn't until he met Elara that she told him to love himself for who he was. That's what she fell in love with.
He rested his face on her palm and tried to smiled. The bedsheets stained with his non stop tears. "Why couldn't it be me? Why wasn't it me? I-it should've been me." He couldn't help crying into her hand.
Darian! What did I tell you about putting yourself down? It was her, he could hear here in his mind. She was holding baby Emory in her hands and looked at Darian in disappointment.
He couldn't help but cry harder. Elara's expression softened as she sat beside him, she placed Emory in Darian's lap. You're going to be such a good father, I know it. Don't worry, I'll be here. Whenever you need me, I'll be looking at you. Just don't forget about me, okay?
"Mr. Vaughan." A nurse's cold tone woke Darian up, he quickly tried to rub his eyes and hide the tears. "Y-yes?"
She was holding a cooing child, it was Emory. "Here is your child. You will be able to take him home today. Please have everything prepared before exiting the hospital. We shall take care of the woman's body. Please select a date for the funeral on the way out."
"O-okay.." He took Emory into his arms, his face surprised at the fact babies weighed almost nothing. He felt something grab his finger, looking down, he saw a the baby's expression. The baby stared at Darian with a strangely still expression — as if analyzing his face
"Emory.." Doing everything possible not to cry at that moment, Darian grabbed everything he needed and exited the hospital that day.
Elara's funeral was going to be in two weeks.