The Lord Who Was Called Trueman [Dark Fantasy. A rep to all constructive critisism, regardless of positive or negative. Made up to chapter three.]

[DARKPLANT RISING]

[color="#000000"][center][size="6"][b]The Lord Who Was Called Trueman[/b][/size][/center][/color]


This is something written for my hobby, a story of the Dark Fantasy-genre. I have several opening drafts, and this is one of them in which the main character is "Nex". A simular version was posted a bit before in the name of the Beast of Extrarius, but several changes have been made. As long as the review is constructive, I'll give a rep regardless of whether it's positive or negative. Thanks.
[spoiler=I]
[size="4"][i][font="Garamond"] A tyrant lives for his name. A noble lives for his men. –Trueman[/font][/i][/size]

Trueman is a legend. He is our lord, our existence, our motivation of life.

They say that once, the land of Barathrum was a wasteland where anarchy was the singular overlord. Hundreds of minuscule nations fought against each other in what the younger Trueman considered “irrationally imprudent, if not immature methods”. And several years ago, to revolutionize the corrupt and yet once sacred land, the very sorcerer initiated his plans of taking the throne of the Twin Continents. It was perhaps luck, or perhaps simply his intellect that assisted him; no one knows for sure. However, one common truth is that he is now known as the most successful sorcerer recorded in the last one thousand years, always in command of half of the boundless continent of Barathrum in the form of a nation known as the “Alliance”. Despite achieving this feat that has never been done by any other, they say our ruler is still displeased, and wishes to continue upon the east side of Barathrum, where the Knivestab Kingdom alone still stands in his way.

Though very few have ever met him face to face, those lucky enough tell the tale of his magnificent charisma that allures all men. They swing their arms and scream that he had this veil of mystical sorcery, hanging about his presence as though it was a mist. They say that the encounter was the paramount moment in their lives. That all attending were obliged to worship him as God, and if needed sacrifice their lives to help him. Trueman was everything.

Perhaps it was this dazzling charisma, or aura, which enabled the being to rule over millions without ease - the stories of that being upon the obsidian chair, high in the fortress of Zapaliti, made him seem even inhuman. It was as though he was some divinity from a higher plane that descended to earth. Anyone who lived even once under the banner of crossed scythes was struck by the determination to kneel before Trueman, their born ruler, the chosen one bound to someday gain the throne of Twin Continents.

While the “word” Trueman is nationally recognized, in some realms feared, in others respected, almost none know his real name or face. Trueman never shows himself to anyone, save for those in the high council of the Zenith. I believe it is simply for the aspect of unknown horror – without telling his proper name, proper face, Trueman can maintain a better rule over his men as a mysterious shadow. Take any age in human history, and you will see the dark is feared.

And as so, even during the gatherings, instead of showing himself at the table as others did, he let his spirit descend to his seat in a particular form he seemed to find irresistible.

He was always in the form of a reversed pentacle, drawn in blue, swirling and spinning in the air without halting at all. In its unmoving center was what could be a crimson crystal of magic, radiating rainbow light, possibly acting as Trueman’s eye.


“Vellum has taken the throne,” Trueman said. That was the first thing the spirit of the pentacle said here.

Inside the depths of the Zapaliti Fortress the High Gathering was held on days of the new moon. All of those working beneath the Alliance will assemble – each and every one under the vaulted ceiling of ebony wood within the center hall, regardless of birth or state. I was only several seats away from the grand ruler’s mirage – a seat of honor.

“Hey Nex,” Zeo, the one next to me whispered, golden eyes still fixed upon Trueman. “Who is Vellum?”

“Listen,” I slipped an egg from my pockets and snapped my fingers once, making the shell slip off without a single crack, leaving a perfect boiled egg glimmering in my hands. The eggshell plopped onto my lap. “If you go to the Archives you will see.” I yawned deeply and buried my head into the table. “Those chambers hold most information relating to worldwide matters.”

“I’ve never been there,” he grumbled. The eerie cerulean light of the chandeliers hung from the ceiling glimmered upon his oily, pallid skin. “Too lazy for that.”

Beside us, Trueman’s form was teasingly spinning, and still going on with his discussion. “Upon the next First Day, those assigned to Knivestab Army Camp Grade 3-H will…”

“It is certainly worth the watch Zeo,” I rubbed my eyes while still keeping an ear for Trueman. “If you do not know of Vellum it will certainly be a blemish in your reputation.”

“Oh?” Zeo scratched his head. “Really? Then I’ll go I guess.”

“I recommend it highly,” I took a bite of the boiled egg, eyes about to shut. Some yolk streamed out and made a stain on my white shirt. I sighed, with the egg still left in my mouth, and let out a muffled grumble. “…Oh the temerity of those eggs left in the state of half-boiled. As a personal opinion those hardboiled exceed these in terms of both taste and texture. Why did I not alter the brand of the spell?”

“Eggs? Eggs? Pah!” Zeo chuckled, eyes wide, raising a palm. In it a flame was dancing midair as though it was a tribe from the depths of the Sarkanian Forests. I found it amusing that Zeo had the same Barathrumic vocabulary skills as those tribesmen. “Nothing exceeds the beauty of the blaze.”

“Eggs,” I yawned once more, and the fireball popped into another empty eggshell.

“Hey!” Zeo yelped, about to drop the glimmering shell. “I don’t want this–”

“Then give it to me please,” I lifted a hand sleepily to his side. Complaining something about the brilliance of his pyromaniac hobbies Zeo handed it over. I placed it upon the table before myself, crushing its bottom to make it stand, and took out the other eggshell resting upon my femurs. I flicked it from my palm, and after several somersaults midair it snapped perfectly into place upon top of its brother. “Ta-da,” I rubbed my eyes with a weak smile. “Flames are plasmas. They can never hope to do this. Proof eggs, as solids, are superior.”

“I have no idea what you’re saying, mind you.”

I sniggered drowsily. “You always interest me Zeo.”

“I’m the Bullet, right?” Zeo rested his chin upon his hands. “A Bullet doesn’t need to think does it?”

The conference was still going on, with some screams of horror from the weaklings, and sighs of despair from some others, but it was mainly a matter between the Generals nevertheless, and we were Ga’reths – thus, neither of us cared. Finally the great horn sounded from above, signaling the end of tedious matters, much to my relief.

First Trueman, at his seat, upon its end, faded away as though he was a mirage. One of two Marshals who were sitting beside him, a tall, muscular man wearing formal necromancer clothing with bulging veins just below his wrinkled, tanned skin, and white, short hair that grew around his ears, departed his seat, bloodshot eyes glaring. Lumbering towards the door of hardened wood and steel, he placed a gigantic hand upon the knob; with a low rumble, it groaned open. The man slowly trudged into the corridor, disappearing into the inky blackness.

It seemed the other Marshal was away – in what was once his seat sat a young girl, burying her mouth in hands, sobbing. Wearing a white gown of silk several sizes too large, she slumped there. On the top of her little, cute head sat a white, squished beret. And inside her left eye flickered something like flame. She looked normal, nothing but a crying girl, but I sensed something inhuman about her.
As soon as the other Marshal left, the soldiers started to depart the room. All were wearing dark expressions, some even close to crying, and others in a state I could consider quite possibly lifeless. The deathly silence seemed to suck in all bright feelings. Zeo did not seem to know or care why, wearing the same confused mask, but I did.

Vellum Vi’zilva. That name…possibly –

“Zeo,” I turned to my old friend, throwing the rest of the boiled egg in my mouth, gulping down a yawn. “As a matter of fact maybe you should not go to the Archives today.”

Zeo looked up with a puzzled expression. “Why?”

“I expect its space pertaining the Vi’zilvas to be full,” I said. “I am sure you do not want to be in a crammed room full of others.”

“Well yeah I see,” Zeo nodded. “I’d most likely do whatever it takes to get my free space. I’m that type, you know. But hey, can you give me a bit of that info?”

“As you say,” I rubbed my eyes. “Where should I start…hmm, let me put it this way: I assume you at least know Kibraj.”

“The former king of the Knivestabs who we killed a Moon ago?” Zeo sniggered. “Of course I know! I’m not that stupid.”

“Yes,” I said, and flicked the third eggshell onto the tower, yawning. “This war between our Alliance and the Knivestabs those Vi’zilvas rule over – has not been going in any progress, neither positive nor negative, for the last several weeks. Did you realize?”

“What do you mean?” Zeo scratched his head, raising a befuddled eyebrow.

“This Moon we have never participated in any major battle,” I gave a fleeting look at the egg tower, now complete, and then turned to Zeo once more, uttering groggily. “That is because the Knivestabs had an inner conflict on who will be the Heir of the Vi’zilvas.”

“Inner conflict?” Zeo chuckled. “Those idiots.”

“It would have been according to plan if they took another Moon,” I stretched a hand to the tip of the tower. “And if so we would have took those Knivestabs by surprise, and this continent of Barathrum would have been ours. However a side won with effortlessness several days ago. I assumed it would be Vellum’s – he was always the more cunning of two brothers. At the same time I hoped it was wrong. Much to my, and the whole Alliance’s disappointment–” I softly stroked the eggshell, then flinging my fist down, crushed it all into a heap of white – “it was Vellum who turned out victorious.”

“He’s that smart at war?” Zeo cocked his head. “I don’t think anyone can beat Trueman anyways. He’s taken over a hundred countries with his own tactics.”

“Perhaps. But in addition, how should I put it…” I cut off, rubbed my eyes again. “Vellum is the type better as a criminal over a king.”

“What?”

“His first convicted murder was when he was thirteen,” I traced through my memory. “Against a man he found in the roads who begged for money. And the reason was quite simple. He did not like his face.”

“But I’ve never seen a Knivestab guard handsome.”

“I assume the beggar must have resembled the Third Ga’reth.” Zeo gritted his teeth at these words of mine. “Well, one thing is sure – the war would never go on as easily as before.”

I whistled once and a mirror appeared in my hands. I glanced inside – reflected was, instead of my face, the primordial sun, far beyond the jagged peaks of the Barathrumic Mountains. Sunlight poured from between the Twins and flooded through the Plains.

“It’s as though the world’s burning,” Zeo peeked in my mirror.

“It is nothing besides a stream of yolk,” I suggested. “And quite near sundown. That was what I wanted to verify anyways. We should probably go back to our rooms.”


It was now midnight. We were both settled in our room, within one of the central towers of the Zapaliti Fortress. Zeo was snoring loudly by my side, completely asleep upon the floor, his pillow sprawled besides the bed. In the chamber’s center hunched a table of ebony wood, crafted in the shape of four kneeling men holding together the above board. Upon it a deck of cards was sprawled, the last thing we had been playing together before Zeo had fallen asleep. I took a Black Joker off the table, glanced at the laughing clown, and walked over to the windowsill. Rubbing my eyes, I cast it over the blinking lights of the nighttime city of Zapaliti. My home. My birthplace. And yet I have never got to love it. Sighing deeply, I let the Joker drop to the floor. The clown circled several times in the air, flickering in and out, and landed face-down upon the freezing marble. I looked up at the gray clouds shuffling in the indigo sky.

Perhaps my secret hate towards Zapaliti was because my feelings were not human, but those of a Ga’reth. Or perhaps it was simply that I did not want to admit I loved it, because I was trying to hate it. Either way I did not know. And I did not care either. The truth will never change as long as I live, and Trueman rules over the Alliance with his supreme authority. I will never get freed from my state. How I would love to be like Zeo, so both unknowing and bloodless to the point of not even knowing remorse to himself at all. But no. I was born this way, just like Zeo was, as a man-made beast of mass destruction. I will be frequently assigned to missions out in the Battlefields, and be shocked myself at how easily men fall to my hands. And when I feel so worn out with sin, praying to Barathrum to save my soul, I realize I am standing in a mountain of bodies under the same gray heavens. A Ga’reth was miserable.

How many times I have thought of a rebellion. But somewhere I always knew I can never. The world was going towards a better future. If Trueman dies the Knivestabs will rule all of this blessed land – and that was what I least wanted. Truly, that was the only reason I fought at all.

But Vellum Vi’zilva. He rising was far from good. In fact it was reasonably what we least wanted of all possibilities. From now on the conflict will never be unilateral. Somewhere, I was starting to consider the chances of Vellum gaining the throne of Barathrum.

The matters were overwhelming. I flung myself onto my bed, atop the pillows, squishing it under myself. I stared at the ceiling, trying to sleep – and found the sun already rising.

And so I stay sleepy forever.[/spoiler][spoiler=II]
[size="4"][i][font="Garamond"] I am the shelter of this world, the only safe sanctuary left. Those seeking peace may hide here and respite. -Trueman[/font][/i][/size]

“Lord Amziel is back!” One of the soldiers roared as he stormed into the room, panting, with silvery armor glinting. Obviously he had forgotten to take it off.

“Oh my god that’s awesome!” Zeo exclaimed. “Woo-hoo! Hip, hip, hurray for another week of pain and suffering from unbearable seriousness!”

I blinked. “Um…wait, what? Please, can you repeat again?”

“Woo-hoo!”

“No, not you. I was half-asleep and could not hear who it was back. …Um, what is your name?”

“My name is Bryce, sir.”

“Whatever – Bryce. Could you repeat?”

“Yes, sir! Lord Amziel is back! He has demolished all of the Knivestab Army Camp 1-D singlehandedly and has returned to Zapaliti!” He saluted in the Alliance fashion.

“Wonderful news. Not sufficient to distract me from these eggs, though.” I yawned and took another bite of the egg before blinking again and taking a look at the soldier Bryce, who seemed new here. “Oh, even so I thank you. No intentions.”

It was breakfast. The curious thing is, I have never seen Zeo wake up on time for it. He must not care, for numerous times he was warned by the chefs to come faster, otherwise his dishes will cool, but he has not changed his routine in the morning for the past two years since we have met despite the constant feet-thumping and barking of the plump masses of blubber.

First he will, after several yawns and a good morning at me, cast a Barrier of the Hectospec level inside his mouth. Then he throws a fireball inside, instantly burning up all of the grime. He highly recommends it, but I will never do it unless forced so. (Hectospec – one of several ranks in Barriers. Spellcasters invented many levels to increase usability. Exaspec is the highest with Peta, Tera, Giga, Mega, Kilo, Hecto, and Deca ranging under. While Exaspec can barricade a whole city from harm, the poor Decaspec can only stop a mere fly – in my opinion, easily exceeded by a flyswatter.)

After that he reads a book composed mostly of pictures, with only little chunks of words here and there, according to Zeo dialogue – it is a newly invented type of books – and this is exactly where he becomes late. I hurry out our room when he starts reading, for it is already only ten minutes till breakfast, but Zeo always arrives a dozen or so minutes late after everyone else began eating, waving a dreamy hand to those chefs who stomp on their beefy feet and bark him to arrive faster tomorrow. He frequently talks about those books he are reading at the table – though I would not consider them exactly books – and how their characters are bizarre from our eyes. I understand. Their eyes and heads of abnormal size remind me of a hideous Sarkanian Lurcher.

“Amziel Rynne,” I muttered, glancing at Zeo munching upon Fritch fries next to me. “The Core. What do you think of the Second Ga’reth?”

“I hate her!” Zeo bit off the head of another Fritch fry as though it was Amziel’s. “That wee! Just because she–”

“Wait, she?” I blinked. “You cannot distinguish males and females? Such a charming personality…” With a chuckle, I reached over to the far end of the table and placed an eggshell upon it, crushing its bottom.

“She is female, that demon!” Zeo banged the table, and then jumped up in alarm. “Ow! Ow! Aww I feel so plainly [i]stupid[/i]!”

“I wish to see your expression when you see him,” I snapped my fingers, and the eggshell cracked open. Out hatched a chick with white dry feathers gleaming in the dim light, constructed from crushed eggshells. It hopped onto my outstretched fingertips and crawled up my arm.

“Hey! Isn’t that where you’re supposed to like, say something among the lines of ‘not so’?”

“The battles in the Na’jin plains that occurred yesterday are not going well,” I hummed as the chick pounced upon my shoulder.

“Hey!” Zeo called.

“The Na’jin is terrible.” I softly patted the chick on its head, and it flapped its wings, elevating slowly. It flew up far to the ceiling, and then popped into a puff of smoke and a brand-new hollow eggshell that I caught midair.

“Nex! Hey!”

“Here I go guys!”

And the gates were swung open with the force of a hundred raging beasts. For a second the wind was nothing but a breeze; the next second it was gushing out in a wave of pure fury that swept across everything in a flash. Curiously, everyone was safe and sound – despite all the chaos it should have caused if it were real.

And as so we both turned around in the most spectacular and breathtaking way possible, involving heads turning at the magnificently rapid velocity of slugs, and mouths gaping wide with surprise even though we already knew who was going to be there.

As thought. Amziel Rynne, the Second Ga’reth, the Core. On first glance he is a charming young man with black silky hair and twinkly eyes and the dangerous things that make girls explode. Once you start to know him better he reveals himself as the Second Ga’reth with the dangerous habit of making everything a bit too overdramatic.

The wind died down. Sparks flew across from his extended fingertips and soared into the air, before raining upon us two. Then a carpet of inferno sprinted across the rug. We were both absolutely unharmed. The same was able to be said with all others.

“Well,” Amziel shrugged with a wink. “Didn’t kill anyone. Rather I’d be flattered if anyone did since it’s just a mere Delusion, not anything more.”

He walked over to us and snapped his fingers, materializing a chair of gold in front of him. He sighed heavily and sat down next to us. The soldiers around which were once dumbstruck started their conversations again, nothing but waves of hubbubs.

“Hey!” Zeo gasped. “[i]You’re[/i] Amziel! The Core!”

…And as so here, frankly I must edit my wording. I assume you remember where I said “even though we already knew who was going to be there”. Delete the “we”. In its place add an “I”. Done.

Amziel raised an eyebrow. “What, Zeo? Did you finally realize spiders have eight legs?”

“Not that! …Wait, wasn’t it six? Well, that’s a different thing overall, I was mistaking you with someone else. You were that [i]lemodramatic[/i] guy.”

“Melodramatic.”

“Whatever. Well, I think you know the guy I messed up with. Names are similar. Umm…you know, cold girl with snappy attitude…yeah, the Ga’reth and stuff…”

“That’ll be Syphona. The First Ga’reth, the Mind. Yeah, the little girl is rather somber, you can say that – but you mistook me with her? I mean come on! Amziel! Syphona! Totally different!”

“I mean, like, both have an ‘a’ in the name.”

“Hell like, at least one in three people have a in his or her name! Can’t you like, deal with vowels!? They’re the easiest form of letter!”

“Oh is it so?” Zeo snapped a Fritch between his teeth. “Well yeah, but they considered it a miracle when, just after creation. I held abilities to even slightly learn the Barathrumic tongue. Don’t count on me for language lessons.”

“I was born programmed with Barathrumic,” I blinked. “I do understand I am a newer Ga’reth, but even so…”

“Syphona’s probably with better Barathrumic than you Zeo,” Amziel cocked his head. “But then again, she is the Mind.”

“What were you again?” Zeo asked.

“The Core. Duh. You said it yourself!” Amziel sighed as though it was impossible. Truthfully enough, it was so.

“The Syphona stuff distracted me.”

“You love her.”

“Wh…what!?” Zeo’s face turned bright red, which was by his dictionary the same thing as saying “Yeah, duh”.

“But it’s so heartrending,” Amziel stretched his arms outward and shook his head in exceedingly thespian fashion. I could insert any tragic song here. “We Ga’reths can never reproduce. The Ancient Laws since Barathrum’s times forbid it.”

“Obviously, yeah. Since we can’t–”

“Can’t you like, sense for once why I didn’t go that far!?”

“Hey! I understood something. It’s a good thing, right?” Zeo looked hopefully at me.

“Speaking of which, Amziel, do you know the girl who was crying at one of the two Field Marshal seats yesterday at the High Gathering? I assumed that post should have been Zoe F. Crux.”

“Nex! Hey Nex!”

“Lord Zoe? He was recently killed in a fierce battle.” Amziel sighed. “Everybody was urging him to not go on his own, but yeah…you know him. He wasn’t the type who exactly listens when he starts on something.”

“May Barathrum bless his soul,” I muttered, glancing at the floor. “He was a great man.”

Then, I looked up. “…Wait, but then… is that girl…the new Field Marshal?”

“Quite so,” Amziel shrugged. “Alice is her name. I suppose that since Lord Trueman designated her personally, she must be a mastermind. As for myself, while some others feel rather upset about such an early promotion, I don’t mind as long as she’s cute.”

“You love her!” Zeo exclaimed.

“You look stupid,” Amziel raised a finger. “Only stupid people say such lame jokes.”

“But you–”

“I don’t remember it. Um, Nex, I want an egg too. Please?”

“Sure…” I tried to reach forward to an egg, and found there were none left. “Oh shame. I apologize.” Looking around, there was nearly no one left in the room as well. Our extremely intelligent chat of overwhelming intellect had taken much time.

“Well then,” Amziel nodded. “Tomorrow, maybe.” He snapped his fingers, and a clock materialized in his hands. It had literally oozed out of the skin. “Whoa, already?” he yelped. “Got to go misters.” He stood up from his seat, and grabbing the seat, shot his hand up. The seat was swirling upon his right index fingertip. Then he flicked it high into the air, where it exploded into dazzling fireworks. “See you guys!” Lord Dramatic slashed out with the sword upon his left with a grin and hacked an arc with the blade; from it the air rippled and opened into a Portal that sucked Amziel in within a second.

I looked at Zeo. “I should probably learn how to do that charming sequence.”

And then, without warning, the walls exploded. It was as though a mine blast went off; the next second smoke rushed forward at sonic speed, engulfing our sight; coughing, hands to our mouths, we slowly opened our eyes and saw the silhouettes of several of these tall crimson things darting forward, multiple legs scuttling, pinchers raised high in the air snapping. For a split second I hoped it was just Amziel’s evil twin, but that piece of infinitesimal hope evaporated as I got a better view.

They were hideous creatures at least three meters tall, swinging their oversized heads, shooting green saliva from their gaping mouths. Zeo yelped. The legion sprinted forward.

Their whole bodies were covered in the crimson shells of Sarkanian king crabs, basically nothing but spine. Heads resembled those of dragons, with rows of white teeth gleaming in the sunlight. Two tiny green eyes shone out malevolently. Long necks connected directly to the bodies, similar to a centaur, except with eight hind legs resembling a crab’s so that it stood on eight. Curved claws similar to that of a mantis shot up from the part where the neck and body bonded, and chattered eagerly as though awaiting prey.

“It’s a Dragelion!” I yelped, scrambling backwards. “Why does Amziel always leave at the perfect timing?! He did the nearly same thing at least twice in the past as well!”

“A Dragelion!?” Zeo roared, arms flailing. “Oh holy Barathrum it’s a Dragelion! And what the bloody hell is a Dragelion!?”

“Idiot!” I screamed at the ceiling. “We battled this a month ago in Argentum!”

“But I don’t remember fighting these!”

“Idiot!”

I started on the Emergency Signal. But as thought, it did not even go off. Dragelions disabled all defense related spells – Signals, Barriers, such. The Knivestabs quite excelled at the genetic arts.

One of the Dragelions, with a macabre screech, shot forward on its hind legs and raising its beastly body, thrust thrashing arms down upon the table we were upon. We jumped back: a second later the table exploded into debris of ancient wood. As we slowly stepped towards the door, the other Dragelions rushed forward from all the other directions in the hall. Cursing, Zeo hurled a Teraflame at one of those beasts; for a second, after the crimson beam stuck, the Dragelion staggered weakly; the next second it was enveloped in roaring flames that spread quickly from where the beam’s force was unleashed upon. Screeching, whirling arms, it sprayed green spit and rammed itself into the nearby wall. Much to my horror, the flames were spreading.

“My bad,” Zeo shrugged. “No, I’m not doing this because I like it. I’m deadly serious, this time I didn’t do that because I want to torch Zapaliti.”

“You excel at choosing what to cast upon, Zeo,” I said. The flames were starting on the far end.

Dragelions are nearly impossible to beat in fair physical combat; their size and sheer strength are too much. Then in terms of magic, our main arsenal? Of course it is an easy task if you do not mind wasting the energy to hurtle a Teraflame or two. Only spells of that level can affect them at all, despondently. They have a built-in Barrier stronger than most beasts.

I never expected a Dragelion to come here in these numbers. As man-made beasts they were completely loyal to the Knivestabs, to be more specific Velum; but how can they possibly send many of them here without being noticed? A Portal? But surely it will take many Spellcasters to transport a complete Squad. One or two, it has happened numerous times; but a whole Squad…?
The rest of the Dragelions – I quickly counted seven – were in short length. Of course they were a problem, but one was more severe.

I, casting a hand over one of the beasts, roared a spell of the Procellion Wave; water rushed from my fingertips, blasting into the creature. Shrieking it was flung back; at the same time I directed the rest of the Wave towards the flame.

And suddenly, one of the Dragelions stepped forward with a hiss of joy. Its stomach opened into a hatch, veins pulsing within, and the attack was sucked inside, spinning like a whirlpool for a second before disappearing. With a malevolent hiss it raised its pinchers. Something was happening. Was it just my imagination, or was the armor of the Dragelion turning slightly bluer, slightly rippling? It even seemed as though it was becoming slimier, then liquid-like…

Then, with a sound like water gushing down a hole, the Dragelion seemed to shoot its head up for a second, and exploded down into nothing as though it lost ability to hold itself. Water gushed forward across the floor in all directions from where the Dragelion once stood, yet still keeping away from the spreading flame dancing upon the walls; then I saw, to my horror, a Dragelion’s head made of liquid slowly rising from its center. Had previous Dragelions shown a feature like this? No. There were several types to them, I knew, and these all seemed like Crushers, the most dominant category. Even so, this showed properties that did not match. In fact I had never seen a beast, either man-made or natural, hold this amazing attribute.

The Dragelion had turned into animated water.

“…Hey Nex, you saw that?” Zeo mumbled, staggered forward. “Never heard or saw.”

“A new breed?” I questioned to myself.

The Dragelion, with a hiss like vapor, raised its head and sucked in the air. The other Dragelions had stopped advancing; they were looking too at their deformed brother, who was still not lowering its head. For a second I was wondering what was happening; then, as the body of the liquefied Dragelion started to ripple and grow, until it became over twice its original size, I realized what was happening.

“The Dragelion is not simply breathing,” I gasped. “Zeo, run. It is sucking in the moisture of this room.” And I stepped once towards the door.

“Moisture?” Zeo cocked his head, advancing towards me, eyes still fixed upon the Dragelion Squad. “…Um, what the hell is moisture?”

Flame burst from the ground. First it hung in midair as an arching pillar, churning within; then, after a sickening second of silence, it exploded itself outward, splitting, twirling midair, racing ahead, raining upon the ground. Where they had fell blaze lit, then flooded across the wood floor; in seconds the whole room was hellfire. The liquefied Dragelion hissed and rose back into its original form. The water dripping from its body vaporized instantly, but did not harm the flames at all.

“The door!” I cried, and started to run. Just as I did, the doors creaked open.

“Others realized?” Zeo asked hopefully.

“No! A Dragelion!” I blast a Vorragian Abyss into the Dragelion that threatened to slice me to bits, arms clawing from the other side of the door. The beast was sucked into the void that opened up around its body. I slammed the door shut, locked it with magic.

“What is it?” Zeo yelped.

“I see another Squad heading this way,” I stammered. “D…Dragelions were never this good at planning. They must have been enhanced. And in these several days–”

And I was returned to the veracity of this room. The Dragelions were enclosing upon us. On the other side of the door, others were scraping the metal with sounds piercing our ears.

I hate most concerning fights. Against Dragelions I feel no pain in killing; but at the same time, to be killed by them will be certain dishonor.

I was never going to allow that, would I?

The Dragelion that struck had certainly been obtrusive at the act. It had already realized its mistake when I raised an arm; with a sound like a balloon blowing up, the mouth of the creature exploded, spraying green blood upon the flames, which sizzled. Some of them splattered onto the ground, where the wood burned away with acid. With an unearthly screech, the beast retreated on stumbling legs, flinging its head around with agony.

Another Dragelion scuttled over and dropped some of its saliva upon its brother. Slowly the wound started to reform – I have never been sure why this acidic venom can be positive against the Dragelions themselves, but it simply was so.

While it was healing Zeo hurled a Recturian Frost at the drooling creature. I too thought it will do the job, and I was about to praise Zeo for actually caring about elements for once, but the Dragelion opened up its own hatch on its stomach and the beam of ice was sucked in. The Dragelion, with a sound like ice cracking, became covered in a thin layer of rime; then it hissed once, and its power diminished down to nothing, the crust vanished into its hide. The attack was negated once more.

“…How are you supposed to beat these?” Zeo gasped as flames slowly erupted around his feet. He jumped up and flailed his legs, then after I gave him a fleeting look of disapproval, hopped onto midair with a quick Svitiel Carpet. I did the same; the wood beneath our feet was already burning. The Dragelions emerged from the flames without a single burn, hissing, eyes glinting with triumph, teeth clashing together. We stood midair, considering the next act. Smoke erupted from all around, surrounding our sight. Any normal Spellcaster would have surrendered here. But not us Ga’reths, gifted with specialties. Perhaps, do I have to activate the Gravity?

…It seemed so, with the Bullet impossible to trigger here.

“Zeo!” I screamed. “I need to use the Gravity. Get ready!”

For a second, Zeo seemed puzzled. Then his face lit up. “Now that’s what you call awesome!” he whooped, face lit with anticipation, flames reflected in his eyes. “Go for it Nex!”

The Dragelions were now in close range, in fact so close any second they could jump upon us and strike us down. I cleared my throat with a cough, exhaling the smoke rising from all around me. And I started.

[i] “Here shall I take for myself our great mother’s deepest secrets,” I declared, “The force that holds together those plains, forests, the flames churning below all we stand upon from death to rebirth. The Gravity, with its magical wonders and rule, shall be gathered within my fists, to aid me in battle and crush enemies of the just!”[/i]

I felt the Gravity’s great power pop inside me.

As I ended, the Dragelions, realizing what their foe was up to, screeching madly, thrashed down with their arms. It was too late. I felt my true power surging within my veins, all over my body, from every hair to my fingertips. I was god. I was unstoppable. The whoops from Zeo were a vague haze in my ears. The only thing I heard was the great roar of the heavens, channeling their power into myself –

And as I thrust a hand at the nearest Dragelion, already the mere distance of an arm from me. For a second it hung in midair; then, it was thrown by an invisible inexorable force across the room with an unearthly scream. After exploding into the far end, skidding past curtains of flame, it was flung again at my direction, blasting into the other Dragelions one by one. As they hit they snapped onto each other like magnets, splitting legs and spraying blood that was instantly sucked in once more. And after all were in a crumpled heap hovering above me, I snapped my fingers once; the flames were absorbed into the mass of Dragelions. Swinging the door open, I activated once more. The beasts waiting on the other side did not have a time to even shriek. They were sucked into the throng, a sphere of green and crimson. One last time I activated the Gravity. The cluster imploded into itself with a crunch. The shape had lost ability to hold itself. It was gone.

Silence. I crumpled down to my knees, panting, sweating. Numbness of vanishing power was sour in my body.

It had ended.

I felt as though I had just run all the way to Argentum on foot.

I felt as sleepy as ever.

Zeo turned his body to me, raised an eyebrow. He sent out a hand. I grabbed it, giving thanks. Slowly I staggered, and stepped off our Svitiel Carpet, which shimmered and disappeared.

“Awesome stuff,” Zeo glanced at the smoking timber. “You okay?”

“Yes,” I breathed heavily, slumping over. Activating it had sapped most of my energy. “They are gone. Let me rest.” I sat down.

“Kay,” Zeo hummed, and raised a hand above. Whispering an Emergency Signal (now it was fine,) he sent the bobbing light into the air. It floated towards the direction of the medics.

[/spoiler][spoiler=III]
[size="4"][i][font="Garamond"] Fight with pride, my warrior. You are the mirror, the blood, and the bone of the next decade of Barathrum’s children. -Trueman[/font][/i][/size]

“Haven’t got wounds, right?” Zeo glanced at me. “You know, I don’t see any, but anyways.”

“Thankfully no. The Dragelions were certainly strong, but not enough for that. Only exhausted.” I yawned.

“Back to normal huh?” Zeo cackled. “That’s good.” He seemed to think for a second. “Well yeah, sorry for that mistake. I mean, the Teraflame.”

“It is fine,” I smiled weakly. “Though you may be required fee for the damage.”

“Really? Thanks. Money I always have.”

Several men in white came running over from outside with frantic expressions. The Signal was successful. Zeo explained what had happened while flinging in several completely useless “Well, yeah” s and “I mean” s, along with a side helping of “bloody awesome” s. After he finished, he men told us to rest in our chamber, for some reason not warning Zeo at all for his actions. One of them took an orb from his pockets. They seemed to be contacting someone else of higher ranks. As told, we slipped out the chamber and started climbing the spiraling staircase that literally melted out of the nearest walls.

“The beasts were different,” I said glumly, rubbing eyes. “They…they…how should I put it…”

“Evolved?”

“Possibly, and within these several days. I frequently visit the Archives and try to collect enemy information, but I have never heard of those Dragelions that can absorb magic and take that element for themselves.” I munched upon a boiled egg I took from one of my pockets. It always relaxes me for some reason. We passed the painting of a storming Zapaliti, hung upon those twisting stone walls.

“They looked like Crushers,” Zeo cocked his head. Then, after bearing an expression as though he remembered something, he let a hand slip into his pocket and crunched upon the Fritch Potato that appeared from inside. “Well, at least [i]looked like[/i]. Not sure what they really are.”

“This could be the Alliance’s first encounter with those new species,” I swallowed the egg and thought for a second, glancing at the curved dark walls. “Vellum is certainly trying. He is different from Kibraj, who was always so conservative. In this world only the modifiers can survive. Trueman, Vellum…now that Barathrum’s Lands are now ruled by two of those, I suspect Vi Dales, Prime Minster of Sarkania across the sea, can never hope to live for another decade.”

“You know,” Zeo grumbled, “at times I wonder if our assassination did any good at all except helping us gaining force in the last month.”

“Kibraj was nothing but utterly inept,” I yawned. “Perhaps if he remained upon his throne it could have been better. Perhaps. But even so, if it were Vellum, chances of his ambitious heart exploding and murdering his own father were high. I suppose it was deemed to someday be a battle between Vellum and Trueman.”

“Vellum and Trueman, huh?” Zeo stopped as we came to the corridor finally. “The war’s coming to an end. You know, this is just my rough guess so you can’t trust it, but I think chances of either empire taking all of Barathrum within this year are really, really high.” He took another bite of a Fritch. We turned towards our room.

“Let me see Zeo,” I narrowed my eyes with a faint smile, “I have never known why, however even so, you have always excelled at fortunetelling. Even though what you say of the past and present are most likely wrong, I believe you just now.”

“Oh, that thing about how I predicted they’ll send me to kill Kibraj?” Zeo scratched his head. “Of course. I’m [i]so[/i] bloody awesome.”

And once again we came to our personal room. I took the handle and twisted.

Our chamber. The good smell of home. The most relaxing place for me. And possibly the only place I love in this world.

My eyes darted over to the two beds on the far side – one half-broken on its hinges with its pillow sprawled around the ground like a mutilated cow, another neat and tidy, save for the egg stains here and there. Then the table where in spare time we play gambling with cards and fake money. And on one of those chairs,

…Wait.

On one of those chairs the girl I had previously seen at the Field Marshal’s seat was sitting, arms crossed, legs dangling and rocking back and forward, looking at the windows, from where sunlight shone. Both eyes were wide open as though she was controlled. And inside, something green flickered. The same oversized white gown, the same squished beret. She seemed oblivious to what was happening around her.

It was not exactly what we expected. In fact quite far from it.

Zeo coughed loudly. I thought it was on purpose, and realized it was not when he choked out a Fritch potato into his hands.

“Lady Alice?” I said.

Silence.

Then, the girl turned her head slowly and looked this way. “Zeo. Nex. Nice to meet you two.”

We stood there unmoving. Zeo slowly raised a finger. “Alright, alright, alright. Let’s ask you who you are. If I can’t kill you after I get the answer, I wouldn’t. Otherwise, the opposite.”

“I apologize,” I turned to the girl, “for my extremely academic companion’s behavior.”

“Nex,” Zeo blinked. “You almost never give a ‘Miss’ or ‘Mister’ to anyone. Obviously Lady is downright stupid. Why?”

“I am the newly appointed Field Marshal,” the girl called Alice wore the same expression. “If I were I would not do as much as kill me. Perhaps nudge.”

Zeo jolted violently like he was electrocuted out his skin. “Oh.” Then, he scratched his head. “Oh. Sorry.”

“Amziel already told you too,” I grumbled, and then turned to Alice again. “I apologize for my roommate’s actions,” I raised a hand weakly to my head, something meant to be a salute, rubbing eyes. “My name is Nex Glinski. The Gravity.”

“Me, Zeo Draxter.”

For a second we two waited for the next thing he should say.

“Huh? …Oh, yeah, the Bullet.”

“As if I did not know,” Alice sighed. “I came to inform you of the aforementioned fact. And another, too.”

“Why come yourself?” Zeo asked.

“A Delusion,” I chuckled sleepily, rubbing my eyes.

“A member of the Zenith would never come himself – or herself,” the Delusion of Alice stood up from her chair and walked over. “At least, in most cases. Please take this.” In her hands was a scroll. I took it and slowly lowered my head. Zeo looked around, unsure what to do, so I reached out with an arm and shoved his head down for several long seconds. Flailing his arms, he rose up again, and gave me a fleeting look at me. I winked back.

“The Knivestabs have, as you know more than any other, already started their attacks,” Alice said. Her tone was simply emotionless. “In response, seven days from now we Zenith have decided to take to the fields.”

“Another prediction right,” Zeo clapped. “Say hi to the new fortuneteller of the millennium.”

“Coincidence,” Alice giggled. “Coincidence. Shoot a hundred attacks, one will hit.” It was quite the first time she showed any real sentiment here. And back in the High Gathering she was crying. I wondered which her real face was – the emotionless, artificial Zenith member, or the normal girl with nothing truly special.

“Really?” Zeo yelped. “But–”

“That is all I have to say,” Alice waved a hand, walking back towards where she was first sitting at. “Bye.” Then, she walked into nothing. By this I mean that there was a Portal visible to only her that directed her soul sealed inside her Delusion to herself again, thus making the empty Delusion disappear.

And we were left.

“Oh holy Barathrum,” Zeo shook his head. “But if I don’t have special powers like fortunetelling, that means I’m generally inferior to you! Impossible!”

“Oh of course,” I chuckled, rubbing my eyes. “Here, Zeo, solve one plus one.”

Zeo seemed to raise his voice to say something. But, maybe for once he realized it was pointless, and grumbling, he flung himself onto his bed. [/spoiler]

[Infinitus]

Your descriptive abilities are astounding.

I feel that the character tab is entirely unnecessary, and that this story is perfectly capable of explaining who the characters are on its own. The depth of the two main characters is decent; I like the realistic idea of a war hero ashamed of the amount of people he's killed. Quite interesting. There's room for a lot of character development for him and Zeo.

I can see a lot of deep character development generated from Nex interacting with different people. His perspective seems one sided, since he lives in a giant kingdom where everything appears to be okay.

Decent concept, great execution.

[DARKPLANT RISING]

Kay, thanks.

Anything to edit?

[Infinitus]

No grammatical or spelling errors, at least that I saw. Double checked.

[DARKPLANT RISING]

Kay, thanks.

Bumped.

[DARKPLANT RISING]

Another. Miniscule changes.

[Twig]

Some things to edit:

[spoiler=I]
[i][font="Garamond"] A tyrant lives for his name. A noble lives for his men. –Trueman[/font][/i]

[b]^That was quite hard to read. Can you make it larger?[/b]


They swing their arms and scream that he had [color="#0000FF"]this veil of mystical sorcery[/color], hanging about his presence as though [color="#0000FF"]it[/color] [color="#FF0000"]were[/color] a mist.

[b]In blue is the subject. In the red is the simple predicate. Notice that "were" is plural, but "it" and "veil" are singular. Change it to "was".[/b]



It was as though [color="#0000FF"]he[/color] [color="#FF0000"]were[/color] some divinity from a higher plane that descended to earth.

[b]Same problem as last time. "Were" should be "was".[/b]

Anyone who lived even [color="green"]for once[/color] [color="blue"]under banner[/color] of crossed scythes was struck by the determination to kneel before Trueman, their born ruler, the chosen one bound to someday gain the throne of Twin Continents.

[b]In green is a prepositional phrase. You're trying to use "once" as the subject of the preposition. You have two choices. You can change it "for one time" or remove for and just put it as "Anyone who live even once..."

In blue is a prepositional phrase in need of a modifier. You have three choices: "under a banner", "under the banner", or "under banners". [/b]

Take any age in human history, and the dark is feared.

[b]I took me a couple seconds to understand this. It seemed that the two sentences were not relevant to each other, but I quickly understood. Maybe to make it clearer, you could say "...and you'll see that the dark is feared." [/b]

Inside the depths of the Zapaliti Fortress the High Gathering was held on days [color="#0000FF"]of new moon. [/color]

[b]Same problem as before. "...of new moons","of a new moon", or "of the new moon".[/b]

Every being working under the Alliance [color="#0000FF"]will, regardless of birth or state, assemble[/color] in the center hall, each and every one under the vaulted ceiling of ebony wood.

[b]Odd place to put that dependent clause. It seems more suitable for "will" to be with "assemble". Also, the "each and every one" in the second dependent clause seems unnecessary.[/b]

“I[color="#0000FF"]’ve never went there[/color],” he grumbled.

[b]We use the present perfect for things that refer to a period of time which started somewhere in the past and are still true at the moment of speaking. It should be "I've never been there."[/b]

“It is certainly worth the watch Zeo,” I rubbed my eyes while still keeping an ear for Trueman.

[b]If he had known Zeo before, why did he describe him as "the blond man next to me" earlier in the conversation? We are in first person. Therefore, you should describe things as Nex would.[/b]


*insert conversation here*

[b]I counted nine times that you hinted that Nex was sleepy, and I feel that it's nine times too many. I think there was about three times that he rubbed his eyes. It must be red by now.[/b]

And so I stay sleepy forever.

[b]Well that's unfortunate. Hopefully, I don't see five more eye rubbing times in the next chapters.[/b][/spoiler]

Ehh, that was more of a grammar review. I'll talk about the plot, the characters, etc. once I read chapter two and three. But for now, I need to go to sleep. Nex's constant eye rubbing and yawning might have made me sleepy.

[DARKPLANT RISING]

Well, the thing about Nex being sleepy was meant to be on purpose. Should I still water it down a bit?

As for the other stuff, I really appriciate it. Thanks. Being Japanese, I'm not really good with the grammar.

[Twig]

[quote name='Darkplant' timestamp='1306301085' post='5230384']
Well, the thing about Nex being sleepy was meant to be on purpose. Should I still water it down a bit?
[/quote]

I actually don't know. I'm iffy about it. You should probably wait for more opinions before editing. It may be just me. Dx

[DARKPLANT RISING]

Kay, bumped.

[DARKPLANT RISING]

Bumped.

[DARKPLANT RISING]

Bump.