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Planet Sphereopa
The Earth’s second rebirth
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—Circa, 2235 A.S (After Sor)
The dead, they walk. The living, they die. The old world too is dead, and magic is here. Magic is here forever, and that is something that the blind shall one day see. But in these days, blindness is simply willful ignorance. Magic is alive.
—King Sabastian Bastille Saffranine the first.
King Sabastian Bastille Saffranine the Fourth, had been soul snatched by poachers the night of the Starlight Star Storm, otherwise known as Triple S. It was a festival celebrating the beauty of the cotton candy, colored skies of Sphereopa. Hues of pink and red swirled together like sherbet ice cream, shades of blue and white, like diamond encrusted dragon’s tears. Wishes were granted when the twinkling specks of asteroid dust hit the ground, and people believed that god’s favor was upon them and their king. That he, and his people had been blessed with many years.
Boy were they wrong, and ever.
On the eve that he died, a pair of Tokelians had infiltrated the royal castle, killing any eyewitnesses that dared get in their way.
Their plan was simple, get revenge and get even. Or so that’s what most were assuming was their game.
The assassins that were sent, specialized in the ability of stealing life force, a bizarre talent of theirs which the Wraiths had also possessed. These fiends, after sucking a soul dry, would take the energy that was produce, and supply themselves with it, not giving a single damn.
Ah, Tokelians, such dastards those ones! They were of a forgotten nation of White Lotus Ogres, located at the bottom of a place now, known as pit Sphereopa. A legendary bottomless cavern, found at the center of the world sphere. You see, a while ago their god, Sor handed his power over to Sabastian, and three other kings of the world sphere, to punish the city kingdom of Toloquia. Sinners ran rampant there, and the place was filled with violence. Using their might, Bastille and his brothers in arms fell Toloquia, and sunk it to the ground, and that, is how it became known as pit Sphereopa to this day.
But sometimes, dark things crawled out of the pit, and from time to time, the devilish little scavengers came sniffing around, above ground. The four kingdoms that surrounded the deep chasm had seen peace for the past two years, and most had considered the Tokelians all but wiped out. So, no one had saw them as a threat, until a couple months ago when they started showing up again, more powerful than ever. To be precise, news of their return started three months ago this night, the night of the last Triple S.
Multiple Tokelian thieves were getting caught left and right, running off with souls of victims, the souls of the blameless. When they were coming, or where they were going, nobody knew. When found, they were captured and killed for their crimes, but they seemed to be harboring more than just souls. Maybe… a secret of some kind? For, some reason, none of the White Ogres consumed the souls that they stole. They were travelling long distances, taking them to the edge of the pit. Hordes of them swarmed that dank hole, and now defense forces had to be stationed outside of the fallen Toloquia to make sure nothing was getting in or out. But unfortunately for the members of the other four sectors of Sphereopa, a few renegades made their way back and forth without so much as a peep.
How did they do it?
Well unlike the plain old Green Ogres which haunted swamps, and stayed far away from the war going on in the cities, White Ogres were slick. They weren’t big and burly beast like those savages that parents talked about in the old wives tales, they were lean and stalky, and had bloodshot eyes. They were like a man’s worst nightmares, and they were horrifically nightmarish and mean. But no one knew why they were so aggressive. They weren’t like the humans or the Wraiths at all, these were almost of another world entirely.
Some speculated that they were a race of demons, possibly aliens from another planet. Their origins were widely unknown, just like most magical creatures. But most assumed they weren’t magic menaces at all, but rather Hellions…which…was basically another way of saying demons anyway. How those things managed to operate, managed to run businesses, commerce and trade, no one knew. They were more just bloodthirsty, than money hungry. But whatever they were, they somehow functioned, even being underground now.
Those who policed the outer edges of the four kingdoms, never allowed people to go down there. So, no one really knew what had happened to the state of Toloquia, or what it was looking like nowadays, but it could be presumed, that there was no way it could have been any good. Food had to have been getting scarce down there, and their stuff had most likely gotten old and rotten by now. Conditions like there’s were unbearable, unlivable. They all should have been dead a long time ago, but just like the living dead, they never stopped returning.
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Someone needed to clean them up, and this was the final straw for Yalandres, Bastille’s kingdom of subjects.
The Knights Starbright, and the lordlings and ladies of his court were a twitter, but no one knew what to do about their problem. Without a king, they were lost. And without the king of kings, they were without hope. Sabastian had shown them a way through the darkness, and now they were in the midst of utter and total, darkness. The light had been snuffed out…and they were blind as bats.
They were chickens with their heads cut off.
They needed someone who could revive their king, find his soul, and bring him back to life.
Some Yalandrians had died and come back, but very few, so saving the king could have been a lost cause.
Right now, the Starbright Brigade was watching the border for the culprits, but none had shown themselves in the last six hours, And no White Lotus Ogres had appeared in town either.
They were stumped, stunned, and stupefied, without a clue as of what to do.
But the king’s illegitimate daughter—the one he treated as his own—Renice Rockefeller did.
She would see her sister, the one who had no royal blood or lineage whatsoever—Rose Rockefeller, and rectify the wrong that had been done to her father.
Rose might not have been a royal, but she was a wild at heart Wraith, with no proper upbringing. She hung out in bars all the time and would drink and eat herself sick. She was what they called a Hunter, a vigilante who did the dirty deed of killing creatures and crooks for the sake of a month’s rent. She was sort of like a Witcher, but way cooler than that one guy they talked about in those novels. Although, she did find the white wolf relatable, after all he was just like her.
Renice was the total opposite. She had received the better things in life, and had escaped the scorn of the public. Being noble and desired had its advantages, but so did being unimportant. See, a lot of people viewed Rose as a scoundrel, and the higher ups looked down on her, as though she were a lowly dog. Even the regular rabble rousers and city goers saw her as a nuisance, but there were quite a few that didn’t as well.
There were many who needed the help of a Hunter, of someone with her particular skillset, and had no qualm about enlisting her aid. The peerage and the like never wanted anything to do with her however. Most Yalandrians disliked Wraiths, sure they were citizens too, but most of them were assholes. And Rose Rockefeller was the queen of assholes.
That girl was unstoppable when she got going, and when a monster or a big bad came around, she did more damage to the surrounding scene than the things she was trying to fight, which was the reason she didn’t have much money. She got paid, sure. But the problem was that she had to spend most of her earnings reimbursing the kingdom for the damages. And by the time she was done, she had next to nothing, but a paltry, few hundreds. The usual, 7, or $600 went towards keeping her shabby apartment, the last 2, or $300 went toward leisure.
Snacks, books, and alcohol.
Jobs were infrequent, and could range anywhere from two to three days apart, or sometimes even two to three months apart. And usually, the waits were at least a month. Just living was a fight for survival, so being a Hunter only added to the misery. She had fun occasionally, but getting to the bag had its ups and downs. It was tough killing monsters, and what she got for all her efforts, just wasn’t enough. She had been looking for her big break, and unbeknownst to her, it would be coming sooner than she expected.
Her and her sister, despite living very different lives, loved each other. And they made attempts to see each other all the time. Renice wasn’t one of the people that was embarrassed to be seen with Rose. While they had not grown up together, they literally couldn’t be separated, each of them were huge names, titans in their own right, and everyone in town knew their relationship. They weren’t twins, farthest thing from, but they were both carefree. One, maybe a little more so than the other. Guess which.
News had reached Rose about her sister’s dad dying that night. Screams of pain filled the streets, and word had quickly gotten out.
Rose had thought nothing of it, she figured that it was about time someone did the old fogie in. Besides, she never really cared about him. She wasn’t his child, just a sibling to his daughter, and he never really liked her either. Law enforcement was told to keep a watchful eye over her, to step in if she ever got too out of hand. And not only did that not work, she constantly broke the rules just out of spite. Bastille wasn’t her father after all, so why the Hades was he trying to act like it.
Well, didn’t matter.
As long as her sister didn’t come crying to her as usual.
If you were unaware, and you just might be, Renice was the big baby of the two. She was a blubberer and had a long list of issues, longer than the list of items on Rose’s, Cuzoh’s bill.
But girls often found comfort in each other, and they were each other’s greatest comfort. They needed each other, like peanut butter needed jelly. One without the other didn’t taste nearly as good, and they were damn good together.
Tonight, Rose wanted to be on her own, far away from the hustle and bustle of the busy bees that were buzzing about the dead man. But she wasn’t alone. Sitting across the rank and smelly bar with her, was Leslie Lemont. Another Wraith, and a good buddy of hers. He had just come from boxing practice—he was a professional you see—and he was telling her all about how he whooped this guy’s ass clean. She was all chins and grins about it, just like a good friend should be. But it sounded like the fight had turned genuinely heated, and the guy was looking to challenge him again.
Imagine that? Being a sore loser, when boxing is a sport of honor.
Anyway, their night of laughs wouldn’t last long, and would soon become a night of groans.
Not too long after Les showed up, Renice showed up too.
Rose knew what was up, and why she was there. The old codger of course. But she really didn’t want to feel anything for the dude, or care about his passing. He meant nothing to her. But her sister meant the world, and she’d give anything to see her happy. Tonight, her dear sib wouldn’t be in good spirits like she was, but filled with the worst anxiety. Haunted by the worst terrors.
Rose expected that much, that’s not what surprised her.
What raised her eyebrows, was what the first words out of Reniece’s mouth were.
“We have to kill those damnable Tokelians, Rose,” Ren bared her fangs, her vicious eyes going red and becoming drunk with power. “Every. Last. One.”
Despite the fact that her sister was a hunter, this was the first time that Renice had ever mentioned doing a hit. But she wasn’t requesting, she was demanding.
Her innocence. If she had, had any left to start, was dead.