“I do not know much of Luxmi’s origins. Although she was a rash, boastful woman, never once did she confide in her confidants the troubles of her past. There was always a distance between us––a deep chasm with no bridge to cross. And though she tried to hide it between a feigned smile, it was evident something weighed heavily on her heart.

“I never pried any further than Luxmi was willing; why would I? We all had a history best forgotten. All that mattered was the future yet to be built. Whether she was a wench of the slums or a sheltered lady of wealth, I cared not.

“However, one day I saw a glimpse. It was the day her husband died, and the young Luxanne was left without a father. I saw it then––a power far beyond the likes I thought her capable of.

“Luxmi had hidden it all these years, but in her grief it was revealed: the entity that lurked in her soul.”

- Grand General Xeros, Ruler of Nox Caelum

––––––

Xeros

Thump… Thump…

The heartbeat ceases, and the world returns to its placid rhythm once more. Now, only Xeros remains.

He hunches over and wheezes, breath sputtering for air as his heart threatens to collapse at any moment. His age has never been more apparent, yet it matters little. He needs only last until Ascalon perishes within the Corvid’s maw.

Everything relies on this last, crucial bout. The Grand General has no more strength left to expend on the other Polus forces; he must slay the King here, even if it must mean enduring a torrent of ceaseless, agonizing pain. His blood boils, his lungs fill with ice, and his face turns pale from exhaustion. Every part of his body screams for release, but he cannot allow it to rest. Not now.

Alas, his desperate struggle results in nothing but misery. A ray of amber light springs forth from the King’s prison. The beam gradually grows stronger, clearer, until an all-encompassing light wreaths the Corvid’s skull in a glaring halo.

Ascalon is still alive, still resisting after all that has been beset upon him. Invulnerability… there truly is no more vile a power.

It is no use. The boy will break free soon. The feathers, the talon, the heart and maw––all of it is useless.

There is only one last manifestation left, but if he brings that thing back into this world, can he shoulder the consequences?

Can he bear to repeat that tragedy again?

“... Xeros.”

He stops. It has been an age since the Grand General’s last heard that voice. It is thick and gruff, tone coarse with an itch only those beset by a smog-coated throat can croak, yet it is not grating. No, the roughness only serves to give depth to the tender compassion lying underneath.

Fate is ever foul in its cruelties. After so long of being free of her chains, why must she haunt him now?

A calloused hand touches his shoulder, its fingers coarse and nails dirty from endless nights toiling away in the forge. And yet, though he knows the sight before him to be but a phantom of his own consciousness, Xeros cannot help but soften under the touch.

“Must it truly come to this, Xeros?” the voice whispers. “You saw what that thing did to this land, yet after all the lives it took, that I… you would see it return for such a selfish reason?”

“Ever with your sophistries,” he grunts in reply. “I have no other choice.”

“There is always a choice.”

“And yet, none lead to the ideal outcome save for this. I have attempted every scheme, extinguished the last embers of my power. If I am to bring about the future you failed to seize, then so be it: I will abandon my very humanity.”

“Oh, Xeros… for hells sake, you’re better than this!” it shouts with a fury. “You’ve always been a stiff brat, but you were kind.”

“I have never been kind.”

It snorts. “That’s a lie and you know it. Who was the one that fought the hardest in our little ragtag of a group?

“I merely wanted revenge on those who would treat us as filth.”

“Then why are you so fixated on conquering everything?” it snaps back, and to that he has no response. “Everyone’s dead, Xeros. The people who wronged us, our friends, and even me… we’re all dead. You got what you wanted, and you always thought my goals were unrealistic, so why are you still here?”

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Xeros closes his eyes, and he hangs his head back. Why? It is a fair question. He could make an excuse, lie through his teeth and claim that he still believes in that vapid, foolish desire for equality, but the truth is much more childish.

“Spite,” he says. “You were naive, Luxmi. That is why you failed, and that is why you died. The reason I still endeavor after all this time? It is to prove your methods wrong. I will succeed in creating your perfect world, but I will do so my way. Only then may I confidently stand before you upon my deathbed, and laugh.”

He lunges for the phantom's throat before it can say another word. No more nonsense. No more hesitation. He has no need for this mockery of memory any longer. “Disappear. See to my success with your own eyes, and lament knowing your kindness to be an impossible dream.”

With a clench, he squashes the phantom. It shatters into bright, colorful sparkles and trails off into the distant skies. That is where she belongs, and for Xeros, he has unfinished matters to attend to.

The Grand General closes his eyes and summons forth a wave of darkness to creep upon the land: to the farthest corners. To the hidden-most crags. Everything is awash in an endless sea of twilight, and soon, he brings his hands together and draws out all the discharge he can muster.

With a final grunt, he sets the energy loose and lets it spread through his veins, his bones, his flesh and blood until not a chunk is spared from the ravenous bolt. Something is forming deep inside him. It squirms, and writhes. It yearns to break free.

Xeros’s skin bloats; his jaw goes slack. There’s no light in his eyes now. He can feel his consciousness fade as a greedy force salivates from within.

Stronger.

More powerful.

More malevolent.

Until finally… it no longer needs to hide in this prison of flesh.

With a guttural croak, a beak bursts forth from Xeros’s chest, and the Corvid begins to speak.

“Once upon a time, in a faraway land,

There lived a Corvid, with feathers oh so grand.

The Corvid’s voice cries out in anguish. It wails to the Stars above as it tears out of Xeros’s body, and its maw froths with hunger––a putrid black bile spewing from its jagged fangs.

One day, while the bird was tinkering away with a pebble,

It was approached by a peddler, vowing to make no trouble.

A blood-soaked eye emerges into the open, its pupil twitching and jittering from the sudden light. The Corvid grows larger, and larger, and larger still, until the entire city is lain before its baleful gaze.

The peddler saw potential in the bird, and with it, the scent of profit,

For who could have ever imagined a crow with such pristine talent?

A talon claws free. Then two. Then three, until its malformed hook pulls out for all to see.

‘Aren’t you tired of that plain old pebble?’ the man said. ‘With your skills, I’m sure, anything will sparkle.’

And so the bird joined the peddlers journey, its bosom full of boundless cheer.

The shifting of formless flesh. The heartbeat of a withered heart. Together, they merge to form a sinister, rhythmic cage. All are subjected to its spell; all must follow along the melody of ruination. And for those who cannot resist its call, madness burrows until nothing is left but a delirious, broken shell.

But in the end, all it met was the bitter touch of despair.

The Corvid lets out a final screech, and it fully wrenches free from what remains of Xeros’s shredded vessel. The Grand General of Nox Caelum is gone. From his corpse, an amalgamation of man and creature descends onto the earth.

There it lay, feathers plucked and body crushed, waiting for the tender embrace of death to claim its weary husk,

But as its body began to ascend to the heavens above, it cried out in rage, begging for anyone to answer its grudge.

The twilight dissipates, and the clouds part way until a halo of pale moonlight blankets the newborn creature. The Corvid no longer dons a coat of black; now, feathers of pristine white cover its surface, untarnished by neither filth nor vice.

‘Let none ever fool me again with their venomous tongues!’ And thus it was granted eyes, so that it may see the world in all its depravity.

‘Let my wrath swallow all those who would dare wrong me!’ And thus it was granted a mouth, so that its desire would forever fester in the depths of its bottomless maw.

‘Let this accursed land be forever plagued in a mire of blood!’ And thus it was granted talons, so that it may savor the screams of the wicked.

‘Let my will never waver before the words of fools!’ And thus it was granted a heart, so that it could forever march to the rhythm of its own beat.

And thus came the end, the crow was granted all its succor,

But before it left, it begged for one last final favor.

The Corvid raises its beak, and sets its sights towards the city. Creation gathers at its maw, gathering. Condensing. Soon, it shall rush forth: a pure white beam of destruction.

‘I am nothing, a bird without a soul, so please grant me an identity. A name to call my own!’

And thus it was given a name, a name to welcome the ever twinkling dawn,

You are the Corvid,

You are the Lord,

From henceforth, your name shall be Luxmi

And may you prosper forevermore.”

And thus it is released, a flash, a shine, a luster of the end. But just as the ray nears the city, and the shadow of death hangs high above all, a streak of amber soars forward and collides into the bottomless light.