Act I

Chapter I

7th Millennia of Margrave, Continent of Iria - 43rd of Blackwind

“Ari! Ari!” a deep raspy voice, distant and muffled by yells of triumph outside the tent. “Aurelios!” The heavy flaps of the entryway into the high-lords’ tent flutter hot into my face. “The Margrave banners fly for yet another victory, nephew.” A mischievous smile appears on my cheek, firmly pressed against my fist.

“Uncle, I’ve told you not to disturb my sleep.” “This victory is rather important, Nephew. Over a century of war and the last crown of Iria has been conquered. How can I contain my excitement?” Khaz Loya Margrave. My late father’s oldest brother and the last of his family’s generation. He had always been my favorite uncle.

Khaz is a mighty champion. He led a great many conquests in my name. Razing cities, taking on armies of soldiers alone, and returning with the crowns of rulers. His feats earned him many names. Yet, today he would give me a title.

“King Aurelios Sovira Margrave. It has a rather delicate ring to it, does it not?” Standing across the tent, Khaz tosses two halves of a bejeweled crown caked with dried blood towards my feet. “Oh, Traitorous King.”

“Do you know why I have always sent you to each conquest, Uncle?” Seated on feathery pillows, I lay my head on the opposite palm with disinterest.

“Such questions before I cut you in two? The binding vow no longer protects you. My Wyrmnir thirsts for your blood.” Khaz grips his sword tighter with a vehement gaze, staring down at me. “Your golden eyes disgust me.”

A low and rather sad chuckle echoes between Khaz and I. I know full well the deeper meaning behind his words. So well that I couldn’t help but provoke his resentment. “Well Uncle, since I was little, you had always told me that I had my father’s eyes.”

As the warm air stands still, my uncle stood there, scowling. All recognize Khaz Loya Margrave as the greatest warrior under the Margrave banner. Being the commander of the forward guard, he is the first to enter battle. Standing at over six and a half feet, with a rather muscular build his size alone, would crush me. I’m a foot shorter and half his weight. To make it interesting, non-magical weapons can not scratch his armor.

Khaz had precisely donned the Suit of Crowns, a dark and resplendent masterpiece. This armor provided more than mere protection; One hundred and thirty-two crowns, each representing a soul that strengthens the durability of the armor. He had led all but one of those chilling and gruesome conquests.

He wielded a Mithrodin greatsword. Wyrmnir. Craftsmen used the demon dragon’s tooth to forge the Mithrodin great sword, Wyrmnir, and imbued it with the dragon’s golden flames. A formidable weapon for a formidable warrior.

He deserved the title as the greatest.

“I will add yet another crown to my collection.” Red spreads throughout his snow-white skin as a murderous aura emits from his body. Gripping the two-handed blade, his muscles swell as his armor adapts to his newfound size. The ground cracks into a boom as he uses his first step to close the gap between us in a flash. The overhead strike is clear as day.

With an echoing clang, the shockwaves of his forceful strike lift the tent above us and blow back the affixed furniture. “I suppose we can take this outside then, Uncle.” The scorching sun blazes, intimidating the clouds. A valley unveils filled with red banners and tents surrounded by an array of tree stumps at the base of the hill. The distant city of Lorothon stood grandly, enveloped by a vibrant forest. Now war-torn by the Margrave Army’s assault.

As my eyes adjust to the bright rays of light, I glimpse the soldiers loitering around their tents at the base of the hill. A moment later, they scurry away like rats stripped of their hiding.

As the dust settles, High-Lord Khaz shows a perplexed look as he scans what has caught his sword. A black gauntlet had appeared through a shadowy miasma. “What is that?” Khaz pulls back and puts distance between us. “What tricks do you play?”

“Not tricks. It’s my Ego. Something only a pure-blooded Margrave can do. A filthy Loya wouldn’t have been privy to it, Uncle.” The shadow dissipates as I stand to my feet. Despite blocking the strike that would have surely ended me, my tunic had still caught fire from Wyrmnir’s flames. Ripping my tunic off, I reveal a series of sophisticated tattoos of letters and symbols that spread along my muscular torso. “You should feel honored. You fight a Sovira Margrave. I will show you how I destroyed the kingdom you couldn’t touch.”

The ground shakes with intensity, as if in overwhelming despair. The air thickens, heavy with an ominous presence, as a shadowy miasma swirls and coalesces into a dark, foreboding portal. From the depths of this churning vortex, a form emerges, cloaked in an aura of malevolent power.

At first, only a silhouette of dark armor that seems to absorb the surrounding light is visible. As the portal's shadows dissipate, the full figure of the demonic knight reveals itself. His black armor glints with a sinister sheen, adorned with intricate, infernal engravings that seem to pulse with an inner darkness. The helmet, with its closed visor and multiple slits, gives no hint of humanity, only the promise of cold, calculating malice.

Step by step, he emerges from the portal, each movement fluid yet heavy with the weight of his presence. The sumptuously decorated armor, covered in elaborate, ominous designs, becomes fully visible, showcasing the meticulous craftsmanship and dark opulence of his infernal heritage. Around his waist, a decorated belt with a prominent buckle secures his armor, while a piece of tattered, blood-red cloth bearing a twisted lion emblem sags in front of his legs, signaling his malevolent rank.

As he stands revealed, the air around him crackles with dark energy, and the ground beneath his feet feels as though it would buckle under the weight of his malevolence. The weapon he wields is a colossal and imposing broadsword engraved with the same patterns on his armor. Clearly, his spirit represents unrelenting dread.

The same portal rapidly shifts to bright gold and white, emanating a strong sense of peace and safety. The coalesced miasma radiates, resembling a gateway to the heavens. Then a figure steps through. Unlike the previous knight, this one was standing as a beacon of strength and grace. Her long, fiery red hair flows in a loose braid over her shoulder, contrasting with the intricate, tattoo-like patterns on her serene face. Clad in armor that is both functional and a masterpiece of craftsmanship, she exudes an aura of unshakable calm and confidence.

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The combination of her ethereal hair, mystical tattoos, and ornate armor creates a figure as intimidating as she is beautiful. Her presence embodies the spirit of an angel knight destined to protect and inspire.

As the portal disappears, Khaz could not help but smile. He shakes in his clad armor as I know that he only knew one other person to manifest their Ego. My father. Every individual has two sides to their soul; light and dark. Only a few knew the secrets to actualize them into two separate entities bound to their master.

“Yaldaboath. At. Your. Service.” The demonic knight thundered in a deep voice. One would expect the heavy armor he wears to make some sort of noise with movement, yet he kneels in dead silence.

“And what do you need the great Aela for, Ari? Surely you can handle this fight.” Drifting above the ground, the heroic angel scoffed in amusement as she bowed her head elegantly.

Then, both figures raise their heads and fix their gaze upon Khaz, while his eyes are still widened in awe. Seeing the two knights locked in on him, Khaz merely looks up to the sky where the sun bears witness a face of defeat. He wears a distraught smile, his laugh reverberating with disbelief.

“I suppose fighting would be wasteful of me. How tragic. The greatest warrior in your command reduced to a mere ant. You make your authority dishonorable. A disgrace to the name of Margrave!” Khaz steps back even further as he pulls an object out from under his breastplate.

Upon closer inspection, I determine he holds a port stone. It displeases me that Khaz is trying to escape. However, it makes sense, as it would be his only chance of survival. Port stones were rare. Rightfully so. Engraved with ancient magic, it enables the user to teleport instantly to any location the user has been to.

“It’s useless to hide from me. Iria is a vast continent, yes, but it would only be a matter of time before I find you, Uncle. So, why don’t you make this easier and you tell me where you’re heading?”

With a smirk on his face and his chin lifts high, “Pera Dunamis.” In an instant, Khaz vanishes into a dark vortex, leaving nothing but the tussled grass disturbed by the occurrence.

“What a fool. This game of hide and seek will end sooner than you expect, Uncle.” A few of my tattoos glow as I conjure a new tunic. Looking around, the soldiers stand in question of what the outcome of the battle was. Seeing their great commander escape from the claws of their God-King, they kneel. Not to signify their loyalty and unyielding faith. They kneel out of fear.

As many who kneel, many also hold rebellion in their hearts, baring weapons against me as they emerge from their tents. “Right, I still have a rebellion to squash. Oh, Uncle, what will I do with you? After a hundred and fifty years, you have left me with a mess to deal with.” Ranking from mere recruits to high-commanders of battalions, the rebels surround the base of the hill. They bear their swords like wolves baring their teeth.

“Yalda, Aela. Devour.” Without missing a beat, the two formidable inner-beings proceed down the hill towards new prey. The rebels charge to their demise.

A young soldier steels himself in the face of an unholy lord. Shouting with all his breath, sword gripped in his hands, he charges at Yalda. Inspired by Khaz’s battle style, the young rebel raises his sword to prepare for an overhead strike. Yalda cuts diagonally up from right in one effortless swing. The upper torso of the boy sails above everyones’ heads, showering soldiers in red droplets. The lower portion falls back only to spill the stomach, guts, and half a lung for the rest to see. Blood flowed like a raging river down the grassy slope. The nearby soldiers shook in their useless suits of armor. It is quite amusing.

Unaffected by the chaos of battle around her, Aela walks towards the enemy line with her hands clasped prayerfully. Her fiery red hair begins to float and glow. Cautiously, one of the rebel high-commander observes and orders his soldiers to surround her. All at once they charge. All at once they burst into a pale golden flame. Even their armor into dust. The flames then encircle above her, converging into a golem of fire.

The area erupts into a bloody inferno. Both mighty spearheads work their respective sides of the battle-field as seamless as one could imagine, only leaving the ones still kneeling unscathed.

I turn to the opposite side of us, only to see another set of soldiers gradually making their way up the hill. Behind them I couldn’t help but take a gander at the conquered city of Lorothon. It stretched for miles with beautiful architecture filling its streets. A notable structure was a clock-tower in the distance. From that tower, a tiny bright blue light that had shines in my direction.

The air shatters with a stentorian roar as the blue light becomes now a blinding flash that dissipates only inches away from my face. Shocked and staggered, I feel blood trickle down my cheek. These golden eyes generated a screen to block the concentrated blast shot at me. I chuckle. “It’s always you father. You’re always there to protect me.”

I look to see if the blue light was still there. It had vanished.

The blast was powerful and instant. I had no time to react. With a modicum of amusement, I raise an open palm towards the city gate and generate a large scale explosion that crushes the gate and levels everything on its way to the distant clock-tower. Hearing a chatter of greaves closing in, I look towards the soldiers, who were now shuddering in even greater fear. Some of them even take steps back as if they were thinking of running away.

“You lack follow-through.” A glow across my chest appears as I conjure a straight sword that was cold to the touch. So cold that the blade itself looked frozen. I wanted to murder every one of these rebels. A wave of calm washes through my being. The bleeding persists while my eyes glow even more intensely. Mercy, it is struggling to convey a message to me.

Sighing to myself, I dismiss the sword as I stand still for a moment. A tattoo along my neck glows. “To all those seeking their deaths, I invite you to delay your pursuit.” My voice amplified throughout the forest, loud enough to shake the trees. “For I no longer yearn to spill blood this very moment. It would be wise to await your great champion’s return.”

In the distance, towards where the city gates once stood, a blue light appears with an even more vibrant shine. My eyes flicker in pain. Unyielding, I lock my sight onto the light to eliminate my lack of preparation from before. A gold force-field generates around me.

A stream of blue light shoots up into the clouds, then explodes into a purple blast of energy. The surrounding rebels chatter among themselves for a moment. Sheathing their swords, they take one last look at their God-King before retreating toward the light.

“Wise. To keep. Secret. Yalda. Thought. Not.” Words enter through my mind telepathically. A unique ability between Egos and their master. “May I. Hunt?”

Considering the ease of setting Yaldaboath on the retreating rebels, it would be too easy to kill them now. “For now, I would like to see where this goes. We shall let them go.”

“Yes. Master. I shall. Return. To your. Shadow.”

Looking down at a kneeling soldier, I order him to fetch me a chair. The upcoming task was to find where Pera Dunamis was. I have never heard of it, nor have a clue to start. Khaz unquestionably picked a tedious puzzle.

Looking towards my heavenly warrior, I look upon her in the distance as she observes retreating soldiers running from her. “Aela, gather the army. We are going home.”

“And what shall we do when we get there, Ari?”

“You’re going to find this Pera Dunamis. Khaz seems to be confident that we cannot find it.” Aela had a talent for solving mysteries. She also had more patience than I.

“Oh? What would you do without me? I will find the Pera-Duna-Whata. Should be a menial task.” She summons arcane wings that span several feet. She had a semblance of a divine eagle launching into the sky. True angels were the only beings that could conjure the wings of heaven. It baffles me to no end that such beings existed in souls.

The soldier, along with a few helpers, lug the chair that was blown away from the scene. I grew fond of the throne and transformed it into a seat I could take with me while traveling. The soldiers even found the feathery pillows that flew. Seated, I close my eyes as the strain of the flickering gold light was taxing. Blood slowly stopped trickling down my cheeks as a familiar voice ask, “Will you finally rest?”

Soon I will sleep in peace. Soon.