Part 1 - Abnegation and Cowardice

When one watches a man run from his problems, they might be inclined to believe that such is the easy way out. It is an easy assumption, after all, only a coward would flee. However, I believe that reality is often more nuanced than that; what good is pride when possessed by the deceased? - The eighteen codes, Luther Harmon, 756 PF.

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CHAPTER 1 - RUN!

Ever since their utterance, three simple letters echoed through Cassiel’s mind. They were never-ending. They dominated his every thought, his every action; it was the credence in which—for the past month—he had lived every second of his life. He had been told, “Run!”

Running was something he had recently found himself very good at. In a sense, he had always been running, though often not quite as literally as he was right now.

His responsibilities, his past, his dreams, and his desires—these were all things he’d been sprinting from in the opposite direction. But when the universe had finally encouraged him, when it finally begged him to escape, he’d hesitated. That hesitation had nearly gotten him killed.

Cassiel tucked and rolled as a sizzling ball flew over his head. The pale green sphere of flame crashed into a tree and exploded, sending him sprawling to the ground once he’d risen from his dive. In no time, he was already scrambling away, heaving and panting with as much haste as his legs carried him with.

A creature—likely not the one that had launched the fireball—appeared to his left and dove at him. With a quick flash of his knife, aided by a little mana, the undead life-form fell to the ground. It would reform soon, but he’d bought time. Time was all he needed.

Why are these things so persistent!? He vaulted a densely packed area of brush and grabbed for a sturdy branch above him. Swinging his feet that were aided by his forward momentum, Cassiel launched himself forward more than a few yards whilst simultaneously reinforcing his legs. He hit the ground running.

“Run,” he had been told. “Run,” she had said.

At the very least, he was pretty sure they had been a she. In all honesty, he wasn’t even sure the voice he’d heard was real. For all he knew, his broken brain had fabricated the situation. Could it have been his own mind telling him to escape?

No, that’s stupid, he thought, sliding under a sea of thorns and branches. The leaves of autumn crunched under him and he sprung out the other end, dashing at full speed. His mana was dwindling. My subconscious couldn’t have known about the attack four months ago, it was definitely a real person. But then, who in the world can speak directly into my mind? That’s seriously an invasion of—

Cassiel’s train of thought came to a screeching halt as a wraith corporealized next to his head. The creature made a mid-air lunge for him, but a pulse of blinding, formless light erupted from him as he ran. The ring of divinity burned the wraith’s spectral form and the scent of charred flesh soon filled the air.

So wraiths do have physical bodies?

He didn’t let that revelation stop him, he needed to run. Though the zombies and skeletons trailing him were rather sluggish first-circle creatures, he didn’t dare underestimate their swarming tactics. Cassiel was confident that he could take numerous at once, but entire hoards weren’t something he could contest. He couldn’t let himself get boxed in.

I can’t just focus on the first circle creatures, He thought, gotta watch out for the wraiths and draugrs as well. Although he hadn’t actually seen any of these draugrs that he figured were tailing him, that green flame from before could have only been the work of one. Draugrs were especially gifted in the field of the arcane.

Cassiel’s hand throbbed as he used it to clear a comically large root blocking his path. The wound was a stark reminder of the burden that came with these abilities he carried. He didn’t deserve them. Only nobles and those in high society could claim the blessings of mana—he wasn’t even a peasant; he was less than that. He was a runaway. He didn’t deserve them.

A grating groan sounded in front of him as he ran. Cassiel could smell the creature before he sensed it. Its decrepit arm reached out for him with strength easily greater than that of two grown men. Strength alone was nothing in the face of an equipped mage.

A mana-enhanced fist drove right into the broken and mismatched nose of the undead creature in front of him. A loud squelch resounded, but he kept moving. Moving was all he could do right now.

The draugr should be a good way behind me by now, Cassiel reasoned. The forest was beginning to thin and he was encroaching on a nearby city. Assuming that the warband that followed him didn’t exceed more than twenty or so, in theory, they should retreat once he reached that town. However, getting there was another issue. Clearly, the enemy controlling these creatures had sent a certain number of obstacles ahead. They had predicted his path.

As long as they don’t send any of those exploding fleshy guys, I should be fine.

Of course, as soon as the thought crossed his mind, a meaty fist snuck out from the darkness and hit him square in the side of his ribs. Needless to say, he was sent flying.

His impact with the unfortunate tree that he’d collided with, splintered bark and created a pre-teen-sized indent into its facade. Cassiel groaned in pain as he pulled himself to his feet. Countless small pieces of wood poked into him, and leaves and dirt littered his once-white hair. He hadn’t bathed in months.

As his eyes blinked open, with a fright, he saw a towering mass of flesh and bone lumbering in his direction. These ‘abominations,’ as he had coined them, were massively huge and massively dangerous. Standing a full two or three feet above a normal man, they were almost as thick as they were tall.

Its face, which couldn’t be discerned as more than a bulging ball of lumpy skin and other undead-like features, sat atop burly shoulders. It couldn’t have weighed any less than 500 pounds. It was a being in which he knew could contend and even kill third-circle mages, and to top it all off—even if he did kill it, the bastard would probably explode for his efforts. Of course, it would still blow up at him regardless of whether or not he killed it.

Cassiel’s luck today was piss-poor.

As he shook off the pain in his side, the abomination before him did something he hadn’t been expecting. Now, Cassiel was no expert on abominations himself—he’d only ever killed one, and that had been an exceptionally lucky ambush on his part. But he at least figured he wouldn’t be caught off guard by anything this beast could do.

Well, he was wrong. He hesitated as the abomination tore off its own disfigured arm. The limb—which was about the size of a small battering ram—came unexpectedly sailing toward him, and just as it hit the ground only a few inches in front of his feet, it exploded.

Corrosive blood and bits of flesh showered Cassiel who wasn’t thinking clearly enough to dodge. How was he supposed to know this thing could detonate projectiles?

A once-white shirt hit the ground in an instant. Cassiel had torn it off without thinking. Fizzing holes littered it and his pants. Most of the blood had thankfully missed him, but the burning sensation coming from his shoulders and various spots on his chest and stomach told him he hadn’t entirely avoided damage either.

Thankfully, his opponent's arm didn’t suddenly regrow. If it had, he might’ve outright cursed the dead gods which may or may not have wound him up in more trouble than he currently was in. He didn’t quite know, but he wasn’t eager to test the mystery. He needed to run.

A single step should have taken Cassiel farther away from the monstrosity. There was no way he was about to fight this thing with a small army of undead crawling over themselves to get to him. They’d reach him in minutes if he stuck around. But, as he tried to flee, his knee buckled and he hit the ground once more.

A blinding pain erupted from his nose upon contact. His eyes watered and a slight trickle of liquid down his lip told him that it was probably bleeding. He pushed himself face up.

Shit!

Without thinking, he rolled to the side as a fist the size of a tree trunk atomized what could have just been his very-much-needed face. Cassiel's frantic hands clawed at the ground so he could pull himself to his feet but his vision was blurry and thus he failed to recognize that he was about to get backhanded.

His consciousness nearly failed him on impact. Again, he was thrown haplessly through the forest and if his mind wasn’t clouded with thoughts of pain and fatigue—gods the fatigue—he might have found humor in the thought of himself being tossed around like a ragdoll. Might, being the keyword.

Enough wherewithal from his brain to bring him to his feet once more was deeply appreciated by his body that very much wanted to keep living. Though it was not without protest. Frankly, everything hurt.

Cassiel’s eyes tracked the towering figure bounding its way toward him. Just one break would be nice, he thought, a deep sigh escaping his chest. That too, hurt. Just one break.

Slipping the initial strike, a gale of force followed behind it and threw off his counterattack. He couldn’t understand how such a simple movement would stir up enough energy to do such a thing, but the abomination’s punches were just that powerful.

Ducking and weaving, he mostly avoided the brunt of his opponent's blows. Though his body was too battered for him to escape, somehow he found himself able to fight back. Seemingly, only adrenaline and internal mana fueled him as he rolled behind the abomination. Leaves crunched. Springing up, Cassiel was delighted to find his opponent’s back unprotected. He struck.

A noise that made his spine shiver sounded when the punch landed. His fist had appeared to be sucked into the creature's form, sapping it of any strength and trapping his hand. He yanked to no avail.

To his luck—something he found himself lacking recently—the abomination couldn’t seem to find him. It was likely that this thing couldn’t feel pain, nor could it smell or hear without ears or a nose, and since it couldn’t see him right now, it couldn’t find him. Though it probably felt something lodged into the fat of its back.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

This is fine, he told himself. This is fine. Despite a surface-level sense of calm, deeper down inside his mind, Cassiel was panicking. He couldn’t pull his hand free, and the only option that he could seem to think of was just about the last thing he wanted to do in a situation like this. Not only would this draw attention to himself, but it would also hurt like hell.

He tried everything. He thought of everything. His brain ultimately failed him as his mind kept calling back to the one simple solution—the simple solution that would probably get him killed only moments later.

It’s not like there’s much of a future anyways. And at the onset of that single thought, light erupted from his imprisoned hand. Searing pain followed. Cassiel gnashed his teeth in order to keep himself from howling in response. He twisted his hand and pulled.

Corrosive blood sprayed him all over. That was nothing to the pain in his hand. From it, a triangular blade of yellow-tinged energy that began from his four knuckles and extended just past his fingers shone a beacon in the dead of night. Cassiel’s mind shut off as he let his instincts take over. Pain faded. Rationale faded. He lunged.

The blade effortlessly cut through the abomination’s flesh. He ripped it to shreds. Its strikes were too slow, too predictable for him as he danced around. With mana seeping from every pore in his body, and particles of energy frolicking around—telling him the location of everything in his immediate vicinity—there was no way this thing could catch him. There was no way he’d let such a mindless beast beat him.

And so, as Cassiel stood over the bloodied mass of lumped-together flesh, a slight smile tugged at his lips as he knew he’d won. He had, however, forgotten one key detail. A major key detail. Was that redundant? As soon as he poised his glowing hand to finish his opponent off, it exploded. Violently.

Cassiel’s mana construct failed instantly. For the umpteenth time today, he was flying through the air helplessly. He hadn’t even realized when he’d reached the ground. The pained roars within his own mind seemed distant and dulled as his vision blurred around the edges. His hand didn’t hurt anymore. His nose, his ribs, the sizzling flesh on the rest of him…it all felt fine. He would be fine. His pain was gone.

The last thing he remembered was a fleeting muse that everything would somehow be okay. Who had instilled him with this?

~~~

A pained grunt escaped Cassiel’s lips as his eyes flitted open. The rough embrace of the earth around did more to remind him of his circumstances than the sight above. It really is pretty though, he thought, wholly drinking in the night sky of the Ceskaran countryside.

Purples and oranges and blues meshed together to create complex arrays that all stored twinkling dots within them. Cassiel never tired of the sight. It was something peaceful—an anchor to remind him that not everything in life sucked.

He blinked hard as an aggressive cough broke his day—or rather, night—dreaming. Incessant waves of sharp pain flashed through. He was pretty sure none of it was fatal, but something was definitely broken. Broken was bad. It meant he couldn’t run properly. And it hurt. Pain had returned to him like a vengeful mistress. Gods did he hate his mistress.

Cassiel clenched his hands, ripping fistfuls of grass free as he tried to push himself up. Surprisingly, he was successful in his attempt, but it hadn’t come without its punishment. As soon as he’d risen, the pain wracking him increased severalfold. He nearly fell back.

A few moments following, now somewhat comfortably upright, Cassiel squinted, able to see a trickled trail of blood and ruined dirt that led up to where he was before he’d blacked out. His memory was still functional at the very least.

Gotta take the wins as they come I guess, he thought, tracking the blood trail back to himself. His chest and stomach were stained crimson and his shirt was nowhere to be found. That lady—the one who’d gifted it to him—whom he’d probably never see again, would have had a fit if she’d known the shirt wouldn’t have lasted him more than a couple of days. Clothes weren’t cheap. Not at all.

Hearing a low growl in the distance, Cassiel tried to stand, but he stumbled as his knees bowed inward. Surely his thin frame wasn’t that hard to hold, was it?

“Any chance you’ll leave me alone?” He said to the newcomer as it limped toward him. The human-shaped creature of rotting flesh and bone said nothing as it continued its slothful path toward him. A first circle being. A zombie he had heard the villagers call them.

It did not react to his quip. It kept limping toward him.

Coughing once more, accosted by even more pain, Cassiel hobbled over to the creature and delivered a swift strike to its torso. The blow sent it sailing and he put his hands on his knees, bending over slightly as he panted for breath.

He didn’t know how long he’d been out, it couldn’t have been any more than a minute, but he did know that more undead would come if any more time was wasted.

His walk gradually hastened to a shaky jog. His steps were lopsided as his right leg had been drenched in heaps of that abomination’s strange blood. It was a burning sensation, even now. His whole body burned and it certainly didn’t help that he’d be running out of mana soon.

He hobbled forward. Just as he figured, only about thirty steps later, his mana failed him. The backlash almost sent him to the ground again. He fought to keep control of his dwindling mind as his own lack of mana tried its best to destroy him from the inside out.

The thing is, all beings had mana. At least a little. Whether they could control it or not was hereditary, but every man, woman, child, and animal contained mana. When those that could control it began to run low, the backlash induced was never pretty, and for Cassiel who had been running for hours even before he fought the abomination, was dangerously close to running out completely. And that would kill him.

Being able to tell how much mana you have left within you was one of the earliest signs that someone had potential as a mage. Cassiel—being uneducated—of course, had no idea of this, but even he intuitively understood that a mage should rarely ever drop below right around ten percent storage. Deemed the emergency tenth, even in life or death situations, mages would be reluctant to draw from them. As of now, though he couldn’t pinpoint how much, Cassiel was below five.

A faint flickering light ahead caught Cassiel’s attention as he staggered forward. His pupils dilated and his pace quickened with every step. A city?

“Hello!” He called out, his voice strained. “Hello!”

No response came. This wasn't anything unusual. He was far, and even if they could see him, he probably looked like the incarnation of homelessness itself. It was natural that any wall scouts wouldn’t take too kindly to him appearing. Though he was thankful his voice hadn’t yet dropped. It would no doubt make him appear less threatening.

He stepped out into an opening, leaving the forest behind him. His neck craned up at the massive wall. Strangely, no archers sat atop the watch towers. Huh?

“Hello!” He called again. “Is there anyone—”

His voice was drowned out completely. It was subjugated. Dominated. An oppressive roar ripped through the skies, seemingly shaking the towering structure some 50 yards ahead. The pressure of the creature that had created such a noise suddenly pressed forth; it was utterly baleful.

Cassiel found it hard to stand in this new environment. Hope in him died. The pressure was a weight pressing him down from every direction simultaneously. His instincts begged him to run, but he couldn’t. He was tired…he couldn’t run anymore. All he’d been doing was running. He couldn’t.

A figure severed the clouds above. Like a harbinger of the afterlife, every beat of its wings the knell of death—a beast descended from the tear. Even from where Cassiel stood in submission, he could tell what it was. The true king of the skies. Tyrant of all creatures living. A real dragon.

As the dreadful creature raced on his position, tucking, and diving, Cassiel made out certain features as he remained frozen in fear. Its head was bone white. Wings translucent. Green smoke billowed out from both sides of its mouth as it cut through the air, trailing behind. The thing had no skin—it was all bone and illusory green smoke. The creature was…

It was undead.

Which meant that it was heading straight for Cassiel. This beast of desolation and destruction had come to personally smite him. What luck. Bereft of conscious thought, a low chuckle escaped his lips. He was a dead man. The end of his life dove straight at him, and it glew a pale green.

“Run!”

The sudden voice in Cassiel’s head startled him. At the moment, he wanted nothing to sit there and admire, not the dragon above, but the ethereal chime of the woman’s voice. It was beautiful. The word sounded as if it had been uttered by an angel. Through the urgency in her voice, he could feel the divinity, the regality of her very being—no! Stop…I need to run!

He had hesitated the last time she’d spoken to him. That couldn’t happen again. He turned, despite himself, despite the weight that seemed to siphon his very strength away. Despite the presence of death itself, he ran.

A shimmering oval burst into being just a few steps in front of Cassiel. The distortion of space couldn’t be misconstrued for anything other than a portal, but at the time, Cassiel had zero idea of what he was about to jump through. He didn’t know who or what had summoned this foreign object. He didn’t care. If he stayed, he would die.

Mana exploded through Cassiel’s body. His muscles shouted in agony, but he shoved down the pain and the bile as they both simultaneously threatened to overtake him. I need to run!

The presence neared. With every passing second its pressure increased, it became more real, more palpable. Death neared. The force this creature exerted by simply existing was easily more dangerous than the abomination Cassiel had almost died to defeat. He couldn’t fathom what this thing could do in battle.

Three steps into Cassiel’s escape and the ground almost reclaimed him. The tip of his uncovered foot hit a rock, and yet, pain didn’t follow. His mind was done with pain. The pressure was too great. Pressure was all that existed.

Seven steps. Cassiel counted each and every one. If he lost track, he felt that he would lose himself as well. And if that happened, he would lose his life.

Twelve steps. The shimmering distortion was tinged a pale shade of green. The smoke that followed the dragon had reached him before the actual creature had—it was close behind.

Thirteen steps and Cassiel felt his pain return. It was as if his eyes were about to burst from their sockets. His stomach experienced a similar sensation. Whatever had ruptured inside from the abomination’s sucker punch now held a knife to his throat. He wanted to lay over and relinquish control, he wanted to relinquish the pain, the agony, but he kept moving. Why had he kept moving?

Fourteen steps and the world turned upside down. Cassiel had no way of knowing that behind him, the ground had fractured and shaken from the dragon’s landing. He was no longer there. He was no longer just outside of a towering city wall. There was no longer an undead dragon chasing him…there was no undead army hunting him down.

Cassiel blinked carefully as his new environment invaded his eyes. It was so bright!

Wasn’t…I…just…

Even his own thoughts felt sluggish as his blinking slowed. Around him, the bustle of people going about their everyday lives enhanced the busy atmosphere. Hardly anyone spared a glance at Cassiel. Didn’t they care that he was bloody and dying?

No, they just haven’t noticed me…would they care if they had?

He wasn’t running anymore. Cassiel stood still on a bright sidewalk, feeling…cold? He’d never been so cold before. Ceskara didn’t get cold. Wasn’t it just night?

As Cassiel lost himself in his dwindling thoughts and rising pain, someone noticed him. Then another. Soon, there was a small crowd of morbidly curious people looking at him.

Blue eyes and blonde hair, while not dominant, were great enough in numbers for him to be weirded out. He’d never seen so many blonde people. Where in the world was he? And why was it so damned cold?

As his gaze moved past the crowd of gawking strangers, Cassiel acutely noticed the unfamiliar architecture that made up the streets around him. The buildings were densely packed together. He was in a city, and yet it didn’t feel like any city he’d ever been to. Everything was too organized, too orderly, and proper. Where were the dilapidated roofs and the mossy stone?

“Is that…blood?” one man mumbled, almost imperceptible to Cassiel.

“He’s just a kid…”

“Stay away,” another said. They were all hard to understand.

It wasn’t that the strange people were too quiet to hear. They’d been perfectly audible. It was merely the language they were speaking. Is that Keirydian? He questioned, trying to remember the last time he’d spoken a foreign tongue. He shook his head. That wasn’t important. Cassiel glanced down, remembering that he had no shirt and that he was in fact covered in corrosive blood and welts and dirt and a myriad of other unsavory things.

Oh…

Then, he collapsed.