The sun's blinding rays pierced the young man's room effortlessly. Its bright lights beamed atop his face, sending a slow warmth through his cheeks. His light green eyes revealed themselves to his room’s only window, peering over the communal district of the second biggest kingdom in the continent: Yoland, the city of Dragons.
Though there were no dragons to truly speak of. Many of the divine creatures that shared this kingdom’s history had all but died, and their kin left for better land decades ago. The sacred namesake was built on its history, and on history it seemed to stay.
The people were as proud about their kingdom’s past as an old general, trapped within his own memories. They lorded their supposed “ancient blood” over anyone that so much as suggested they weren’t born in the kingdom. Claimed their oh-so-obvious superiority over beastmen—demi humans that reside in the far north—as if they’d die a horrible death if such words weren’t spoken. The young man’s emerald eyes scanned over the dozens of citizens below him, even from his room on the higher floors of the inn, his ears instinctively picked up on the whispers that traveled through the district.
Not a word could be heard from his spot, but their moving lips told him all he needed to know; they were discussing the fall of Retta, the top rated military base that was Yoland’s only line of defense, and his home until recently.
A well of sluggardly disgust bubbled deep within his stomach. Those emerald eyes that stared out of his open window unconsciously fixed themselves into a genuine glare. Every inch of his skin crawled with the burning desire to-
Knock Knock
The young man snapped his head back in surprise; he expected people from the Investigation Squad to once again inquire about what he knew about Retta’s fall, but this was earlier than he expected.
“It’s open.” He responded, sliding himself back into a seated position on his bed as a single man opened the door to his room. He was about 5’9” with dirty brown hair and dark brown eyes, and sported a grey long-sleeve shirt with beige pants. The scars on his face told the story of a battle-hardened man, but his carefree—and rather goofy—expression took away any tension the emerald eyed young man felt in his presence. The brown haired man gave a wide smile as he pulled a wooden chair from its table and sat down on it, his arms rested softly on the top rail.
“How ya been?” The man asked, letting his wide grin show even more.
“I feel like shit, Ezekiel. And those Yolans aren’t too helpful.” The young man sighed, glad that his old friend was the one to visit him so early in the morning. “Even the commoners here have this… strange sense of self-righteousness that blinds them from the trouble they’re in.”
Ezekiel shared an expression of agreement with the young man, staring off out of the same open window his friend gazed out of mere moments before. “A caged bird is clueless to the world beyond it.” He remarked with a slight chuckle.
The young man jumped out of his bed and swung his dresser doors wide open, snatching a pair of folded clothes and throwing them on with swiftness. Ezekiel picked up the item that sat on the side of his friend’s bed, with feelings of elation and regret melded together into something best described as uncomfortable. The item in question reached to about 110cm long, its grip wrapped in brown wrap while its guard and pommel shared a bright golden sheen. The blade was freshly made, shown by its coruscating shine in the sun’s rays. He couldn’t help but marvel at the piece of fine weaponry he held in his hands.
“For someone who swears he’s not a blacksmith, you make some damn fine weapons.” Ezekiel whistled, holding the broadsword high above his head.
“Because I’m not.” The young man responded nonchalantly. He felt that if he didn’t do something with as much commitment as he treated cooking or training, it couldn’t be considered more than a pastime or necessity.
“Quite different from the ‘Lord of the Pillows’ I heard so much about during our academy days.” Ezekiel laughed.
The young man clicked his tongue as he snatched the blade from his friend’s hand and slipped it into its scabbard. The similarly brown and gold protectant easily fit around his shoulder and waist over the black fur jacket he wore. He tied the straps over his body and leather gauntlets tightly, waiting for the light click sound that let him know they were in place. He left his spot without so much bothering to close his dresser, giving Ezekiel a look of expectance before leaving his room.
“Sheesh, if this keeps up they may consider him a missing person too.” Ezekiel sighed, leaning farther into the chair until it creaked loudly onto the bed it faced. He could hear the loud footsteps of what seemed to be two people and could only laugh at the comedic timing. They both came to a veering halt at the open room, two armored individuals with sweat practically flowing down their faces accompanied with heavy panting. Though they stared at the lone man in the designated room, he continued to speak to himself, as if they didn’t exist to begin with.
“I wonder if you actually found something on her, Juste.” Ezekial said, with his gaze fixed above him.
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Juste took off his hood as what he assumed to be the last pair from the investigation team passed him by. He’d been avoiding them for week by then, not because he feared their questions, but because he feared they would put an end to his plans if he told them the crucial piece of information he discovered mere days ago.
The investigation team specialized in using Adenum – what could be called a fancy name for ‘truth serum’—and a set series of questions to acquire as much info as they could from suspects. They were trained to assume that the entire truth is never explained the first interrogation, and will ruthlessly question their suspects until they feel satisfied with their gatherings, which is almost never. If Juste were to let slip his newfound information to them, it’s simplest to say he would have a slow, mundane hell to endure. Avoiding the team was surprisingly taxing, a thought instantly remedied by the crumpled slip of paper that hid in a small opening on his gauntlet.
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Days ago Juste met with an information broker, the only one that would meet with him actually. Fear ran through the districts at the sight of Retta survivors, along with the notion that death followed those same people like their very shadows. Yolans felt they, as the ‘chosen people’, shouldn’t associate with those so hated by the demons, ignorant to the idea that their hatred stems from humans as a whole. Their unbearable attitude left a bad taste lingering in his mouth; He quickly lost the desire to try his luck with Yolan brokers, that is, until he met a man by the name of Ren Parker.
A terrifying height of 7’5” inches, he sported a rare pure blonde hair color with deep blue eyes. He wore a tattered military vest and brown pants, with black knee high boots to boot (no pun intended). Ren’s signature stubble and dead eyes screamed ex-soldier, and ex-soldier he was. No, more than that, he was a survivor; not just a survivor of Retta, but of what he called ‘The War Pillar’s playtime’. Hearing Juste’s questions about the events of the invasion and potential kidnappers likely lit a long dead spark in the soldier, who was more than happy to share his story as a prisoner of war.
“During the invasion…” Ren started, setting down his third glass of rum bought by an elated Juste, “I was forced to lead both my squad and squad 3, since their leader kicked the bucket, quick. We were doing well in fending off the demons, no matter how strong they are, a good formation’s hard to beat… that is, until he showed up.” Though his facial expression didn’t so much as flinch, Juste could immediately see the waves of anger and fear that encompassed his body. “I still remember that freakish smile of his when he spotted us. His body was massive, just as tall as me, with deep black marking that covered his left arm and neck. His horns told me he was a demon, but something about him felt so… human. Oh, but that’s not it, his underlings didn’t so much as inch toward us, they only watched as their leader pointed his jagged fingernail at me.”
“’Are you the leader?’ he asked, his voice was so guttural, so malicious. I couldn’t trust him if he cut his own limbs off for me and he said at most four words.” The glass shook softly in his hand, but it didn’t stop him from continuing his story. “Next thing I know, I wake up in what looks like an arena. I’m told I was completely beat down before I had time to blink. And that demon, that beast that makes me shutter even now, was a Pillar.”
“Pillar!?” Juste bit down on his lip to keep his voice low, if word got out about a Pillar, it would send the entire kingdom into disarray. He could feel the hairs on his body jump up, as if they wanted to escape and never return.
Demons didn’t care for ranking like humans did, the farthest they went with it was giving titles to powerful demons, yet it did its job more than well. Pillars were the group of demons that stood at arms with the leader of demons itself, and the reason the mere name sent fear into even the most seasoned veterans. They were indestructible, to say the least, each one was capable of taking down a small army unscathed, and a large one with little more than a few injuries. Their power was no exaggeration by any means, each one was an incorrigible force of nature, and why they haven’t rid the world of humans yet truthfully puzzled Juste.
Ren scanned the area around the two, wary of loose ears that zoned in on them. “He called himself Perseas, the Pillar of War and Combat, and his title wasn’t for show. He made us fight to the death, one by one, and we had no choice but to comply…” His tone dropped like a stone, even without his elaboration, simply being alive and free spelled out what he did to get there. “…until there were only five of us left. Then he joined the fray, we never stood a chance. Our haphazard formation was ruined and three were dead before you could fully say ‘wait’. By then I gave up, threw myself on the ground and accepted my death, but he didn’t, he just… let us go.”
Ren and Juste looked at one another in silent agreement. There was no way a demon would let humans go without some motive; either the Pillar assumed Ren would die regardless, or he let them go because he was simply bored. Hearing about the War Pillar second-hand, Juste felt an inkling that both were viable.
“Well… you know the rest.” He said, the glance he sent Juste irritated the young man somewhat, like he knew exactly what he was thinking, “If you’re planning on doing what I think you’re going to do with this information, I won’t stop you, but…”
Ren took brush and lightly wrote on a sheet of paper, using his long arms to cover the paper from peeing eyes. He quickly folded the sheet and handed it to Juste. “When you think you’re ready, read it. I heard many things while there, and if they really went through with it, there’s a single person I believe can kill a Pillar.”
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“Kill a Pillar…” Juste thought as he stepped through the district gates. He felt bad for not telling Ezekiel where he was going, but knowing that the strong headed fool would follow him regardless turned him off to the idea. He pulled the paper out of his leather gauntlet when he was sure no one was near him; each part of the paper that unfolded dropped his stomach an extra layer. It read:
A male, relatively small with jet black hair and eyes, likely has a curved blade in his possession. They’re eastern, so they might not speak English, but trust me when I say they’re the best chance you have at killing that demon. –Ren
The note also contained a small map for the location of the arena, an addition that surprised Juste somewhat. Though his appearance was far from one, Juste failed to remember that Ren once was a captain of his own squadron. He slid the paper back in its place and gazed at the large world in front of him. Environments created through a force best considered magic meant one could spot a snow mountain in the distance over fields of lush trees. The admittedly pristine view of the land before him made it hard to believe that there was a Pillar mere miles from where he stood.
“D-damn…!” Juste’s body shook, unable to cope with the fact that he was truly gearing up to fight a being capable of killing him with a thought. Fear wasn’t even a good term to use for how he felt, it was more like his body was warning him from throwing his life away so easily. What if Ren was lying? What if this person never shows up? What if I die before I even get there? Maybe she wasn’t even kidnapped by the War Pillar. The questions became an incomprehensible mesh in his head, but despite his worries, his body refused to go backwards. Instead of tears or a show of concern, a slight smile formed on his face, much to his surprise.
“Don’t worry, Trisha, your big brother’s coming to save you.” Juste said to himself. The sun shone brightly over the deep forest as his feet once again carried him, through the trees until even his shadow disappeared.