Chapter 62

A Bleak Future

Adom stood still, the revelation hitting him like a wave: A demon? He's a demon? The very concept seemed ludicrous, yet the evidence was before him, undeniable and chilling. Mephistopheles, the entity before him, claimed an identity belonging to myths, races thought to have vanished before the dawn of recorded history.

Adom watched silently as Mephistopheles, with an air of ancient dignity, sat down upon the cold ground, commanding softly, "Approach." Despite every instinct screaming for him to flee, Adom managed to master his fear, stepping closer to the figure that represented a bridge to a forgotten era.

The thought of demons had always been abstract to Adom, creatures of lore and whispered tales, not flesh and blood—or whatever substance now sat before him. He recalled his studies, the scant mentions of demons in the most ancient of texts, beings of power that predated even the eldest of dragons and phoenixes. Their disappearance was one of the great mysteries of the magical world, a puzzle piece lost in the vast history he had so fervently studied.

Adom understood that yielding to fear or confusion would serve him no purpose. Instead, he turned inward, seeking the calm center of his being, he remembered the techniques of meditation his past life had introduced him to. Slowly, he regulated his breathing, each inhale and exhale a deliberate action to center his mind. He visualized his fear as a dark cloud, his breaths as gusts of wind dispelling the storm, clearing the skies of his mind.

Adom's newfound steadiness faced its first test as Mephistopheles continued, "I did not think Death would choose a new person so soon after that necromancer." The words struck Adom. A necromancer? he pondered internally before his confusion found its way into words, "A necromancer?"

"Your people may know him as the Lich King," Mephistopheles clarified, watching Adom closely. The revelation hit Adom like a bolt of lightning. The Lich King, a being whose very name was synonymous with fear and devastation across the living world, had been chosen by Death? It was almost inconceivable.

His surprise must have been evident, for Mephistopheles, with a hint of amusement, elaborated, "His name was Elkiran, an elf from the continent of Amiris. He renounced his immortality after losing to your so-called hero and his party. A shame, really; he would have made a fine ally."

Adom, processing this information, found himself at the crossroads of revelation and inquiry. The Lich King, or Ekirlan, as Mephistopheles named him, was a chosen one of Death? This piece of history was unknown, a secret buried beneath the layers of fear and legends surrounding the Lich King's reign of terror.

The knowledge that someone as malevolent as the Lich King was also selected by Death raised questions about Adom's own path. Was there a deeper connection among those chosen by Death? What criteria did Death use to select its champions? And most importantly, what did this imply for Adom's own destiny?

Adom's thoughts raced, but he managed to maintain the composure he had fought so hard to achieve. "Why tell me this?" Adom asked, his voice steady despite the whirlwind of thoughts. "What purpose does sharing the tale of Ekirlan serve?"

Mephistopheles' words echoed a truth Adom had felt but not fully acknowledged: "You are now part of something much larger, boy. The moment you took the deal with Death, your life has changed, and it would have been better for you if you had not awakened the phoenix. You caused a stir in the whole world, and made yourself an easy target."

It wasn't surprise that coursed through Adom's veins at these words but a deep, resonating realization. So, that was when it changed. It was Bennu, he thought, the pieces of the complex puzzle that was his life starting to align with a semblance of sense. Mephistopheles' keen gaze caught the absence of surprise, prompting him to remark, "No surprise I see. Perhaps you had your doubts. But first, tell me, how far in the future do you come from?"

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Adom hesitated, acutely aware of the weight of his next words. Mephistopheles' presence was overwhelming, not threatening exactly, but undeniably potent, as if the air around him teetered on the brink of tempestuous storms, ready to be unleashed at the slightest provocation. Honesty seemed the only viable path, risky though it might be. "I came 52 years back from the future," Adom confessed, each word measured, bracing for the demon's reaction.

"Only 52 years?" Mephistopheles seemed genuinely taken aback, his composure slightly faltering for the first time in their interaction. "And what events took place at that time?"

The question was deceptively simple, yet it carried the weight of countless unspoken implications. Adom knew that what he shared next could very well shape the nature of his relationship with this ancient being before him. His voice took on a detached quality as he recounted the events leading to the dystopian future from which he had fled. "The invasion of Tygris under King Aleksandre marked the beginning of a series of dominos that would eventually lead to global catastrophe," Adom began, his eyes reflecting the distant chaos of his memories. "Aleksandre's conquest of Atlas, followed by an alliance with the Babylon Empire, set a new precedent in global politics. Together, they embarked on a campaign of colonization that reshaped the world map, subjugating nation after nation under their expansive banner."

He paused, collecting his thoughts before delving deeper into the narrative. "But it was the appearance of the black dragon that truly kickstarted the era of despair. It emerged out of nowhere, a true force of nature, leaving a trail of annihilation in its wake. Its sheer power and ferocity drew the last of the giants from their hidden location, hoping to stop the dragon. Their failure led to their complete extinction."

Adom's recounting took on a grim tone as he described the aftermath of the dragon's fall. "The dragon's heart became the center of a vicious struggle among the surviving nations. It wasn't just a matter of power—it was a symbol, a means to assert dominance in a rapidly destabilizing world. This conflict ignited the flames of the Great War, a conflict so vast and devastating that it reshaped the geopolitics of our world entirely."

He detailed the strategic maneuvers and alliances that defined the early stages of the war. "Nations divided into factions, each seeking to either claim the dragon's heart for themselves or to prevent it from falling into the hands of their enemies. Espionage, sabotage, and political assassinations became as common as open warfare, eroding the trust between states and within them."

"The war escalated quickly, with no region left untouched by its ravages. However, Cair Icarus and Albion remained outliers, choosing a path of isolation in hopes of preserving their realms from the war's destruction. Despite their neutrality, they too suffered from the war's indirect consequences—economic collapse, refugee crises, and the spread of a deadly plague that some whispered was a bio-weapon gone awry."

Adom's voice was steady, but the horrors he described painted a vivid and brutal picture of a world teetering on the brink of complete annihilation. "The great war culminated in the Battle of the Ashen Fields, a conflict so large that it involved millions of soldiers from multiple nations. It was there that the world saw the true cost of its ambitions. The fields were soaked with the blood of countless souls, and the air was thick with the cries of the dying."

He continued, "The war ended not because one side claimed victory but because there was no longer anything to win. The world was left in ruins, with the survivors clinging to the remnants of civilization. It was a dystopian reality, marked by the collapse of nations, the breakdown of societal order, and the constant threat of annihilation from the remnants of war's machines and the dark magic unleashed upon the world."

Adom's recounting of the cataclysmic events leading to his interaction with Death left the air heavy with a sense of foreboding and loss. Cair Icarus stood as a beacon of resilience amid the chaos, a final stronghold in a world ravaged by war and destruction. It was here, amidst the aftermath, that Death had approached him.

Mephistopheles, reflective and seemingly lost in thought, broke the silence with a question that veered into realms Adom hadn't anticipated. "Hmm, I see," he murmured, stroking his white beard thoughtfully. "So the Overlord did not appear then. Do you know something about the Quintessence?"

The words 'Overlord' and 'Quintessence' struck Adom with the weight of unknown significance. Confusion clouded his thoughts, his ignorance on these matters apparent to both himself and the ancient being before him. Mephistopheles, reading Adom's bewildered expression, nodded in understanding. "How strange," he mused, "perhaps you came back before their time."

As Adom attempted to voice the myriad of questions swirling in his mind, Mephistopheles silenced him with a gesture, an index finger raised in a sign for silence. "It seems you have not much knowledge of the things I seek. You have questions, and I have answers, but you do not need to know everything right away. You are not ready yet." The demon's words, while cryptic, carried an air of solemnity, hinting at depths of knowledge and secrets that lay beyond Adom's current grasp.

"And frankly, I find it hard to see why Death chose you," Mephistopheles continued, his gaze piercing through Adom's confusion. "But you remain an immortal, and as such, this is what I came to you for: join me."