3. What is Power?

While Lucas expected to be cut down, Muriel instead took a deep breath before slowly sheathing her sword. “But you are unworthy of my blade.” With that, she lifted a finger.

The previously unmoving Ashens started to quiver. Screaming. Wailing. Even Argus finally roared – freed from their invisible shackles. But they didn’t take a step forward… yet. It seemed as though they waited for Muriel’s command.

Lucas would be lying if he said that he didn’t feel slightly scared at the sight of the Ashens. So many of them. Oh, so many of them. He hoped that at least, his death would be painless.

“Kill him,” said Muriel before vanishing into the aether as the Ashens’ roars pierced Lucas’ ears.

Lucas closed his right eye as he gritted his teeth in pain. But he still readied his blade.

One. Two maybe. Maybe three. Four would be pushing it. But at least, if he could free some of them from pain, then he would be happy.

“Fuck it,” Lucas said, but before he could charge against the horde of Ashens, his knees collapsed on the ground. The birthmark on his index finger that looked like a ring tattoo vibrated–– shooting pain throughout his body.

Lucas clutched his head and clenched his jaw, trying not to scream.

***

The pain eased and when he opened his eyes and looked around. He was confused. Gone was the chaos, and the scorching flames searing his skin. Instead, he was in a… throne room?

“Greetings, Elysian.” A voice called out.

Above the dais, there was a throne that Lucas could only describe as futuristic, exuding a glow from what looked like purple LED lights that lined its contours.

And there he sat upon the throne, a pale man donning a regal obsidian exo-armor. His long, black mane crowned his face; as if tattooed with veins of black visibly running down his neck.

The man tilted his head, resting his forearm against his throne, palm cradling his jaw.

Then for some ungodly reason, a great pressure forced Lucas to bend his knees. He gritted his teeth as his patellas slammed against the crystalline ground.

The man smiled, seemingly satisfied.

“Who are you?” Lucas asked with a huff, mustering the will to speak. “Where am I?”

While his mind tried to convince him that the man on the throne was just but a figment of his imagination–– he felt it. It was as if the aether itself whispered in his ears, that the man before him is of a cosmic origin.

…A deity?

He didn’t know.

But this being. Lucas knew–– is one capable of bending the laws of the universe itself.

“…No,” Lucas said. “What… are you?”

The man just raised a brow, as if confused. “Does it matter?” he said with a whispery tone as his crimson eyes, like that of a bird of prey, studied Lucas.

Lucas tried to speak, but he was surprised when he couldn’t. What’s going on? he thought.

With a bored expression, the man sighed before speaking very slowly but deliberately. “Faiths of old, or faiths you perhaps believe in, call their fated coming with many names. Some call it the Ragnarok, the completion of the Kali Yuga, the hour, or the apocalypse before the Armageddon – and many, many more.”

Even while Lucas remained confused, SPECTRAs are trained to keep calm in different and unexpected situations. After all, they deal with the mysteries of the aether. And with the aether, they are to assume that anything can happen.

Thus, while he may not have been able to fully calm himself, his training at least allowed him to gather his bearing.

So, at the man’s words, he thought: Is he talking about the Ashen? Lucas was about to voice his question, but he still couldn’t part his lips to speak.

“Whatever you call it… it is naught but a tiny speck of a machination that threatens not only this planet but all of the galaxy. And yet, Gaia, once a great shield, is this… close to breaking.”

Lucas may just be 13, but he’s no fool. Despite the man’s lazy demeanour, Lucas knew that the man knew something–– is something. Is he the key his mother referred to? “The galaxy? What are you impl––” He was forced into silence. Literally. What in hell… is going on? he thought.

“This key your mother speaks of is a beacon. But do not mistake. It is not the key you think it is. For the Ashens’ descent is not a puzzle. No grand secret to unravel. No door to open. The cause of their coming over 300 cycles ago is actually very simple.”

Lucas grunted as he forced himself to stand up from his knees. “…Then why? Why have they come? What are they?”

The man seemed amused. “To finish what they have failed in the past – they, the real threat out there in the stars,” he said. A slight pause, just enough to let his words hang in the air, but not enough to let Lucas interrupt. “The forest may be dark, but it is nonetheless a forest.”

“…Why? Why must you hide the truth if you truly have it?” Lucas asked.

“Because it will stray your path. You are not ready. You would not understand.”

Lucas took a deep breath. “Primes. Ostracized when we voice our thoughts because we’re–– young. Yet killing is alright. And you tell me I won’t understa––,” he said when the man forced him to silence. Again.

Lucas ground his teeth.

“No matter–– you are here because I’ve allowed you so. Your thoughts. I hear them. Your desires. Your memories. I see them. I know what you seek, and I have mine. Even that woman you faced have seen through you. She knows what you seek, for your wrath is only but a manifestation of your helplessness. One, she hoped, she could wield. But in her hubris, she failed to understand.”

What I seek?

“My champions etched their names in history – human history. Both existing, forgotten, or erased. But despite their differences, they all had one thing in common. One goal,” said the man as he lifted his point finger. “Power. And power, I have given them.”

Lucas pursed his lips as he tried to consider the man’s words, trying to gauge his identity. After all, he saw and sensed no lies. This man, he truly speaks true.

“Something you so too desire, no?” the man said as if he read his mind.

“…And what is so wrong with that?”

The man hummed. “Why do you seek power, Elysian?”

Thoughts rushed through Lucas’ mind, but he failed to find an answer. But to seek power. It sounded inherently wrong. Almost evil. He muttered, “I don’t know.”

The man shrugged. “Power is a tale as old as time. This desire. It’s what makes a human, a human – their mortality,” he said. “You understand the answer to your own desire. But you? You fear it.”

“I don’t fear it,” he denied. No. He tried to convince himself. How could he fear something he so desires?

The cadence of the man’s soft laughter fleeted, his features painted with a momentary gleam of glee. “Power is humanity’s response to their… irrelevance. A desperate bid for control in a universe teeming with uncertainties,” the man said, his brief joviality promptly waning – morphing to pensivity. “This ceaseless yearning for dominion and ambition. It’s the eternal cycle of men. One, as the Almari have already proven once, caused its own demise.”

The man lazily lifted his other hand, summoning an orb of black above his palm.

“With power comes the promise of certainty. Promise of freedom in a world they often feel to be so capricious and arbitrary. It whispers assurances of mastery over fate. A semblance of order in the chaos of mortality. A trap,” the man said and closed his fist, snuffing out his orb of darkness. “Don’t you think so?”

Lucas gulped at the sight of the snuffed orb. For some reason, he felt fear. A fear far eclipsing his prior fear for Muriel by a thousandfold. But overwhelmed and confused, he still had no answer to offer.

But for some reason, he knew that the man was referring to something – a tale perhaps. It sounded like it. “With all due respect, I’m not good with riddles.”

“Power in itself is a riddle. A paradox. It is a question without an answer. A prison humanity created for itself, seeking meaning in the shadows of their own aspirations. So, tell me what I already know, Elysian. Do you seek power to escape?”

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

For some reason, Lucas steeled his gaze at the question. Escape? Maybe there is indeed a prison to escape from, or maybe there is not. But if he had a semblance of power. It would be the power to destroy. Destroy those who took them all away.

As far as tales of power go, the power to destroy is a platitude. But banal as it may be, is that not enough of a cause? Does it have to be something else he has to justify?

Justice, he’s already been denied. The laws of men have become irrelevant. He’s beyond helpless. So, what is left of him but his blade to raise and fight?

A brief flash of Muriel’s face entered his mind. And he finally answered what his very being previously tried to deny. “Revenge.”

“…Truly juvenile,” the man nodded. “Retribution. A facet of ambition. One that grows like a twisted vine around even the gentlest and most tender of souls. It corrupts all those the avenger touches. And the tales of those who seek it is always the same – destruction. Not even redemption can save them from themselves.”

Lucas frowned. Save them from themselves?

A gentle inclination of the man’s head hinted content. “It is not power you fear, Elysian. But the countless possible results of your own ambition. It is an instinctual fear. One borne of humanity’s realization to its own morality – a concept borne out of conflict and fear. After all, for society to function, morality is taught to a child: what is wrong and what is right. It’s a concept humanity created to prevent it from destroying itself. To create order out of disorder.”

“…What are you trying to say,” Lucas said, narrowing his eyes.

“Conflict is borne out of ambition. Ambition is the very threat to peace. And society fears the ambitious,” the man said. “…You fear what may be the results of your own ambition.”

Rogue Awakened, he thought. Those who get greedy for power often turn into Rogues. His mother always cautioned him to be careful, so he wouldn’t lose himself to the whispers of the aether. Especially as a Prime.

It is said Primes are the most vulnerable to losing control. That’s why… he may have feared power itself. But. “I will not become a monster, if that’s what you imply.” No, he wouldn’t. He would try to.

The man quietly observed Lucas for a moment, humming to himself. “Yet you’ve almost failed,” he finally said. “And you haven’t even realized it yourself.”

Lucas widened his eyes at those words, before recalling his encounter with Muriel.

“…Yes. That rage. A Prime you may be – a Varas – but you’re still a child. And does a child really speak of blood and feel the lust for death so indifferently? You’ve become a harbinger of death, that you have come to believe you’ve become numb to it. No. Your sins. It will stay with you forever.

For whatever cause or justification may be for the blood in your hands; you’ve still betrayed your faith–– and disregarded the sanctity of what you call life. And that realization, borne out of guilt, is bound to burst–– you become a Lost. A Karis. A Rogue. One who freed himself from morality; becoming a personification of chaos himself; one who creates disorder out of order.”

Lucas gritted his teeth as he glared at the man. While he denied those words, it seemed his body did not, trembling in denial.

He promised.

He promised his mother that he wouldn’t lay upon the cradle of wrath; the embrace of rage; the lust for death.

But the man is right. Even in that regard, he failed…

The man flicked his finger, drawing Lucas’ attention back to the present. “You’ve become a monster, and yet you still fear becoming one. That hypocrisy and arrogance befits a Rogue.”

But before Lucas could even respond, the man leaned back against his throne, clasping both hands together on top of his knees.

“No matter. If vengeance is your wish, then vengeance it is. I just hope you won’t lose sight of that,” the man said with a flicker of a smile. “Mundane revenge may be as your cause, it matters not. I do not seek a champion who is–– complex. A weapon is much deadlier when they are simple. After all, a spear is useless when it pretends to be a shield. And you are no shield.”

Lucas’ features darkened at that. The man made it sound akin to being a slave. And every fibre of his being screamed against becoming a slave. Yet his desperate hope for power was too much to bear. It beckoned him.

…Thankfully, this desire was not enough to overshadow that tiny seed of doubt, preventing him from grasping that of which enticed his greed.

And once again, as if by instinct, he felt as if he could talk again. It was odd. “But why me? Why do I deserve YOUR power, if I am that monster you seem to abhor?” A lingering question – the source of his doubt.

What makes him so special and worthy of a power he doesn’t need to work for?

Is it because he’s a Prime? That can’t be.

So, what’s the catch? Why him?

What’s the price?

“Deserve? The constant rambling in your head is proof of your own delusion. You’re not special. You don’t deserve anything. You are unworthy,” the man said. “But…”

Lucas raised an eyebrow.

“Alana’s blood runs through you. A soul untainted by the cruelty of men. A soul who has lost so many. Far more than you can imagine. Yet one who remained steadfast and strong despite being so pitifully weak. Despite being so powerless.”

“Mom…?” Why would the man speak of his mother’s name? But for some reason, Lucas shivered at the mention of it, unable to prevent a tear from tracing his cheek.

Her name… just another reminder of his failure.

“That you are, and I am repulsed by the sight of you. Do you really believe the universe could have granted you with such a gift? To be a Varas, or a Prime, as your primitive tongue calls it?” the man said.

Lucas shot the man a glare. He wanted to respond, but the man did not allow him to speak.

“You’re a Prime because of my mark…,” said the man, before he seemed to trail off.

What…?

But just as the echoes of the man’s words were about to disappear, his voice chimed once more. “…Yes. She freed me, but she did not have the–– capacity. So her toddler was the most suitable host. Weak and untainted. You’ve become a Prime only because of a string of many coincidences.”

“...Coincidences?”

“Your mother’s occupation. Your birth. That’s all there is to it,” the man said with a shrug. "You are simply lucky, and I am not. But you'll make do."

"I see..."

"Your hesitation stems from the idea that power must be earned. But humanity's concept of power is borne out of its limitations; their lack of grasp and understanding of the vast cosmos of the universe," said the man with another flick of his finger.

Gone was the endless void of black about them, and when Lucas looked up, he saw what looked like the universe instead, of countless flickering lights seemingly not beyond his reach.

“The source of your power is irrelevant, young one. But if you wish to wield the fullest of my strength… then shatter what chains may bind you and make it your own. Forget everything and be reborn.”

Lucas knitted his brow. “Forget everything? Even Mom? Micah?”

“…Yes.”

It shouldn’t be a very difficult decision. To live without this pain? How could he not accept it?

But he bowed his head defeated. “If I refuse?”

"Would you? You would attain power beyond the comprehension of men. You WILL break through the realm of immortality, and you could destroy the Ashen once and for all," he said... seemingly as a matter of fact and Lucas sensed no lies. "Muriel would be dust before you. You could lead humankind to ascension, and destroy those who sought to glass your realm. This... sacrifice. Your memories. It wouldn't even be right to call it a sacrifice to the power you will gain."

Lucas gazed upon the stars. Only after a long silence, did he finally say, “…Forget them, huh?" Even at the promise of power, that is one thing he could never do. "Forgive me. But I’d rather burn in hell.”

But when he glanced at the man, who also admired the canvas of stars, the man only said, “I see.” No mockery of Lucas’ decision. Just a simple acknowledgement of it.

Lucas looked back toward the stars, where a bright twinkle suddenly appeared. A twinkle that gave him comfort amid the silence-filled space, save for his own stifled sobs.

He didn’t even notice he was crying. I’m so tired, Mom…

He longed for her smile. The hot meals she cooked every time he came home from training. He longed for her embrace. Their embrace. I’m so… tired.

What joyful memories, yet so painful at the same time. He wanted to erase it. To remove them all. But doing so... is just wrong.

Then, like a gentle drop of water, the man’s voice broke the silence. But his words were far from gentle. “Your mother may be saintly, but the saintly is always a fool. She’s just like everyone else. Playing the part of a hero. Idealistic. Naive and––,” he said. “…Arrogant.”

“Stop…”

“She believes humanity will find peace. That this cycle of cruelty will stop. That this world will rise from the ashes,” the man said and began to laugh. A laughter that immediately stopped with a beat. “Then she begged me for help. You should have seen her face. So desperate. So… stupid. She was crying like you are now. Like mother, like son.”

Lucas roared through gritted teeth, despite the man willing him not to speak. ”Don’t pretend like you know her!”

As he and Micah grew up, his mother has always told them to keep to their faith. To not lose themselves. To not lose their humanity in a world of darkness teeming with death.

They were told to be pillars of hope. To never stop fighting.

And they were taught to be good people, just like that time. Lucas remembered, she was so mad then.

“You know that what you did was wrong, right?” she said. While her voice was calm, she looked very angry. And that scared Lucas.

“I know already,” Lucas clicked his tongue. He just wanted to go to his room and play a video game. Cale already beat him up after he tripped a kid without powers, and he already got a lecture from Master Livia. He didn’t need his mother lecturing him too.

His mother sighed. “You want to be like Missile Man, right Cass? What does he do?” his mother said as she applied ointment on his wound.

“He’s a good person and he fights evil,” Lucas said as he pressed his lips, glancing to a poster of Missile Man on his room beside the calendar.

“Yes. Missile Man, with his great power, can easily harm others if he wants to. But he doesn’t use it for that. He uses it to defend the weak,” she said, angrily meeting Lucas’ eyes. “You can’t harm others because you think it’s funny. That’s called bullying, and bullying is not OK.”

“I’m sorry…”

She smiled. “When a good person does something wrong. What do they do?”

“Apologize…?”

“Good. Do you think you can apologize to Mary and Cale?”

“But… Cale already beat me up!”

“Cass?”

“OK… Fine, I will.”

“Great!” she said and hugged him. “I’m proud of you!”

God, how he hated her always treating him like a child.

Lucas glared at the man as he lowered his voice. “You don’t know her…”

“Oh, but I do. I’ve seen her whole life. Witnessed what she stood for. A world without suffering, but a world filled with only peace, hope, and happiness,” the man said with a sing-song voice. “She stood and fought for nothing, Lucas. She fought for a senseless delusion.”

“No. She didn’t…!”

“Then rise, Elysian! Seek your own vengeance! Grit your teeth and spare me your pathetic sobs. Rise and prove her right! That humanity will find salvation. That it could rise beyond the skies, to the stars where it belongs!” said the man with a thunderous voice, of commanding authority. “Prove your mother right, that you are worthy of the power of a god!”

Lucas locked his jaw and gripped his fists tight until they bled.

And the man stood up from his throne. His lips did not move, but his voice echoed in Lucas’ mind.

You seek my name,

I, whose Trial you have overcome.

He who shall grant you your desire.

I am Hades,

King of the Is’mar,

Suzerain of Apathania,

Speak the Elysium's Oath,

And my mantle of great power,

Upon you,

I shall bestow.

Lucas widened his eyes, as a great pressure descended upon him, forcing him to dig his knees even deeper on the ground.

Oath. The Oath. For some reason, he knew what the oath would be. He only had to say it.

And casting his fist against his left chest, to hesitate, he did not.

“I,

Lucas Hale,

Progeny of Daniel and Alana,

Swears fealty to he,

King of the Underworld,

Suzerain of the Undeath.

I am your spear,

Your avatar.

I am,

Your Elysian.”