Episode One: The Diablo Oath

“There was a quote from an unknown god of ancient times, who once said, that the Lotus crystals bless every new beginning in the land of Eurafalia. Throughout every stage of history, the crystal light hanging from the heavens would have something for its children below.”

A world of optimism and hope is what is most sought after. Running throughout the land of prophet and glory. Eurafalia became a realm where only the chosen would be born and primed for a life greater than one's own. At least that was once what many saw from a distance in the old days. Freedom was a tale never put into reality.

On the frontlines of a battlefront, two colliding sides continued to hang their banners high into the heavens. The battle commenced with the gory and red painting of the floors of Eurafalia’s Graceland. The testament of time has changed once more, as creatures fought against one another. From the mountain tops watching like an old sage below, the ones who stood against the ambitious times watched the downfall.

“It was this said blessing that rose the crystals Shardbearers out of the shadows and into the forefront of war in the frontlines. Carrying forth the might of the Lotus Blades.” Blades of power that were meant to usurp the gods that ruled among them. The blades of chaos. Blades that warped the darkness deep in the hearts of every man and woman who wielded them. “What they became on the frontlines were creatures of insanity.”

“Insanity…” Soon enough those creatures became the very dark essence the Lotus crystals promised to protect the world from.

“Insanity which lures out the darkness of every soul. Forcing ambition in our world for power.”

The Sage echoed. “A new era now dawns after the Legend King had fallen. Thus did the world’s journey for power finally begin. A journey to either rise to power or eliminate it all for good…”

“This is the Chronicles of Eurafalia.” He said looking into the falling Lotus crystal sun. A new era truly dawned upon the world. One where the ambition of man would be the deciding factor in said future.

The Lotus Wars.

…

“One of the famed icons I always loved, Shadow Hex once said… darkness is the greater evil that conceals the greater good inside of it. Peace will always be in the enclave of the eternal darkness which only wishes to seize any prosperity throughout the land of prophets. So let the light out that is encamped inside you and set yourself free.”

…

In a secluded campfire, inside the wilderness of a never-ending forest, a single man sits alone. His breath lay hollow and frozen through every waking breath beneath his hooded scrubs. He crouched down with the fire from the sticks and coals reflecting from his eyes.

“Through the fires of suffrage, we remember all that seems to be forgotten.”

A faint voice beckoned through the narrow plains of the frostbitten mountains. A siege fire grew brim by the frowning second. The painful roars shook the mountains sturdier than a titan passing by the plain white lands. The clouds hummed over and engulfed the crystal sun into nothingness. Nothing more passed by the lands than another bitter winter. A person could scream for miles, and no one would respond. The creatures of the mountains would swarm the poor lad and tear them apart, before anyone blinked an eye in that direction. This country is a place of nothingness, where dreams are reborn here to die once more. A country fallen to the ambition of man, disowned by the Lotus crystals' blessings.

The Pale Continent. A continent just on the border of the Prime Lands of Eurafalia that knew nothing but the harshest realities possible. Everything inside of it felt the same. Nothing ever changed and that was alright for the continent and its people. The Pale was a place where being content was okay. Being average and unresponsive to reaching one’s potential was okay. For a continent in the supreme realm of Eurafalia, also known as the World of Legends, it is something to frown upon. This realm is a place where people are destined for greatness. Yet, the people and contents in this continent settle for mediocrity.

The fire brimmed further into the dead forest. The fire continued to play like a film right on the campfire as the lonely soul looked about the fire with such intent. He examined it like it was a piece of a puzzle he needed to figure out. A gloom and doom-looking man holding his hands tightly together until they bled.

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The mountains continued to scream for him to leave this forgotten continent. The cries became louder with each step marching to the campfire. The eyes of the wanderer did not move. They shuttered out everything without playing by the fire.

“Hmph. How far left am I…?” He wondered—his voice brim and scratchy. The wanderer sounded like a sellsword who had seen his fair share of tragedy or happy times.

He stared at the fire still. All he could see in the flames were the images of a crying infant just brought into this world. What fate awaits the fair child; the mercenary lingered on the thought. Every person is destined for something. Only it is up to them to reach it. He wondered on in his black robes if he even reached such lengths in his own life.

The fire began to speak to the man, “Milady! It’s a boy. It’s a boy!”

Two fair ladies whispered to a whimpering mother, who shushed her child until the crying stopped. The flames brightened where all the past revealed itself.

“My son, you are a Blade. You will rise from the fallen phoenix ashes and cloud the world with a deep freedom. You are our son, Malakai Blade.” A mother and father continued to speak while holding their son. The two held each other tightly while embracing their newborn son.

Footsteps grew closer to the campfire. They continued to multiply by two. One after the other they ran past the same ole tree branch stepping right on top of it. The wanderer did not move. He only sat still, even more, awaiting the figures. His eyes shifted from the flames towards the distance. He searched for the hundreds of footsteps before all that stood in front of him was a pale gray old man. The pale man wore no sense of clothes and yet his body fell flat. The cold didn’t bother him.

“The fires of Altira’s children, always show the light we desire most.” The pale man spoke with a sinister smile brewing on his face. “What does yours entail, Diborn?”

The wanderer only examined the entire framework of the pale man. He didn’t notice his genitals or skin hanging from his naked body. Goosebumps weren’t raised from the shivering cold either. His sinister face with claws for teeth hanging out of his overgrown mouth sparked curiosity. The dull grey eyes completed his examination.

“Hmph. A doppelganger. You know nothing of my kin. We Diborn serve the empress of the night, Shieva. The notnot-so-belovedin sister of the goddess you praise.” The wanderer smirked, he balled his hand into a gaping fist that turned into a black flame. So did the bright flames of the campfire, he began poking with a stick.

The doppelganger chuckled. He averted his long frail sword hand over his claw mouth. “Yes. We know all about Diborn. Creatures no different from us mutant irregulars who were born soulless. They say you do not harbor any feelings or connections to any beings. Not even your family…”

The wanderer raised his head to the face of the doppelganger. The face of the pale mutant changed to an elderly tan-colored man with lushest black hair. The black clouded eyes of the wanderer widened in sincerity. He knew this man. The wanderer didn’t show feeling.

“They say a lot about us Diborn. Our charcoal eyes resemble a lack of a soul. What you call a dull personality is a chosen and focused one to us. We bring death wherever we go they say. I say we deliver death where the highest coin is thrown. We know nothing of love or are we strong enough to cut away from those emotions?” The wanderer questioned.

He removed his hood finally, along with his cloak. The doppelganger watched the masked appearance disappear. A broad well-spoken black man came from beneath the dark clothes into the pale light. The wanderer’s long black dreads fell down his back, underneath a large silver broadsword. He wore a moon necklace chained to his chiseled chest, where a large gray-white unbuttoned coat roamed free. His black trousers were scoffed at by the snow, along with worn-out black boots. The man applied two silver gauntlets to his wrists, raising from the log he sat on.

The wanderer pulled his sword out, pointing it at the doppelganger. “Afraid you signed your life away when you tried to rattle a soulless soul there, friend.”

The doppelganger moved slightly back. He became frightened by the forward threat of the soulless man. Diborn are known as powerful demon hunters who only are threats to the very existence of the living demonic souls.

“My mirage is perfect. It worked on two of your kind!”

The wanderer moved closer to the doppelganger who imitated a woman. A young middle-aged woman who had luscious silver hair. It wore a red dress with brim fire flowers scattered around the robe. The Diborn didn’t stop, however. The vague imitation the doppelganger used to manipulate him didn’t work.

“My mirage taps into the very deepest of any soul. Why are you resistant to what you want?”

The Diborn grabbed the arm of the doppelganger. He stared into the demon's eyes with those soulless black eyes.

“Because I live for a cause. And that memory is long deceased.” The Diborn severed the head of the doppelganger without hesitation. The lifeless figure returned to its pale state falling to the snowy grounds. Silence arouses like the phoenix rising from its ashes. The Diborn wanderer only let out a soft sigh shaking his head.

A burden rested heavily on his chest. “Find peace.”