|| Content Warning: This Chapter contains graphic depictions of violence, torture, and themes of suffering that some readers may find disturbing. Reader discretion is advised. ||
Chapter 0.5
Shadows of the Past
The old man stumbled upon the baby in the abandoned house, a strange symbol glowing on its forehead. It was a symbol he had seen only once before in an old, dusty tome. The baby's cries softened as he approached, as if sensing that safety was near.
"Shh, little one," he whispered, lifting the child into his arms. "I will keep you safe, I promise."
The baby gurgled, its tiny hands reaching for the man's face. He couldn't do anything but just smile, a rare expression on his weathered features.
As he carried the child home, the infant began to squirm, then burst into a fit of giggles. It wiggled and crawled away, causing the man to laugh heartily.
"You're quite the little joker, aren't you?" he chuckled, chasing the baby around the room. The child's laughter was infectious, and for a moment, the weight of the world lifted from the man's shoulders. He scooped up the baby and held it close, feeling a strange warmth in his heart.
"How long has it been since I laughed like this?" he mused aloud, his mind drifting to memories long buried. remembering his past memories, The scene shifted in his mind…
***
In the dimly lit torture chamber, the air was thick with the smell of blood and burning flesh. The screams of the tortured echoed off the stone walls, a cacophony of agony and despair. People cried out, their hands and mouths bleeding, begging for mercy they knew would never come.
Of the prisoner named Conur Brownseil had always been a figure of defiance, challenging the oppressive decrees of the empire. But his actions had finally caught up with him. The moment he was dragged from his home, his fate was sealed. Now, he was at the mercy of his captors, awaiting a fate worse than death…
The clinking of keys echoed through the narrow stone corridors, signaling the approach of his tormentor. Conur strained against his bindings, the rough iron cuffs cutting into his wrists. The door creaked open, revealing a figure cloaked in shadows. As the figure stepped into the dim light, Conur could see the cold, piercing blue eyes of his captor.
"My name is U," the man said, his voice a chilling whisper that seemed to seep into the very marrow of Conur's bones. "I know it seems really strange. Why a letter? Why not a full name?" He let out a low, menacing laugh that echoed through the chamber. "Imagine it's because U simplifies Ululation."
Conur's heart pounded in his chest as U's words hung in the air.
***
Ululation: a harrowing, blood-curdling wail, often associated with intense pain or profound grief. It was a word steeped in dread and horror, a sound that signified the presence of something deeply disturbing.
***
U's smile was twisted, a macabre mask of sadistic delight.
"You see," U continued, pacing slowly around Conur, his eyes never leaving his prisoner, "Ululation is not just a sound. It is the embodiment of agony, the vocal manifestation of suffering that reaches into the darkest corners of the human soul. It is the symphony of despair, the chorus of hopelessness." He leaned in close, his breath hot against Conur's ear. "And I am its conductor."
"Please, no more!" one prisoner wailed, tears mixing with the blood on his face. "I beg you!"
U ignored the pleas. "Sebast!" he called, his voice dripping with sadistic glee. "Come here and try this! This tool makes their eyes dry up until they're nothing but empty sockets."
Sebast, a young man with a hardened expression, stood at the edge of the room, his arms crossed. "You're insufferable," he muttered, turning away from the grotesque scene. He was fed up with the endless cycle of pain and suffering, not just for the victims, but for himself.
"Always such a bore," the torturer sneered. "Why do you even bother staying around if you won't join in the fun?"
Sebast didn't answer. He left the chamber, his mind a tumult of rage and sorrow. Outside, people hailed him as a general, a hero of the empire. They were blind to the monster he had become.
"General Sebast Myrvandis, sir!" a soldier saluted as Sebast passed by. "How can we serve you today?"
"You're wasting your time here," Sebast snapped. "Go back to your duties." He walked past the adoring crowd, ignoring their praises and cheers. Inside, he was screaming.
At home, Sebast paced the room, his thoughts a whirlwind of turmoil. "I need to leave this place," he muttered to himself. "Enough of all this."
The door creaked open, and two generals entered. "Sebast Myrvandis, we need you to follow us," one of them said, his tone suspiciously calm.
"Not today," Sebast replied, sensing the danger. In a flash, he activated the teleportation rune hidden in his family crest, transporting himself to the other side of the city. He ran, dodging and fighting against knights who tried to capture him.
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One knight lunged at him, but Sebast grabbed the man's head, kicked him in the gut, and twisted his arm, disarming him. Blood splattered as Sebast broke the knight's nose with a swift punch. The knight fell to the ground, clutching his shattered face, blood pouring through his fingers.
Another knight charged, and Sebast parried with his sword, slicing through armor and flesh. Hearts stopped, blood flowed, and Sebast moved like a whirlwind of death and fury. He sliced through a knight's thigh, the blade cutting to the bone. The knight screamed, falling as Sebast's sword came down again, cleaving through his shoulder, leaving him twitching on the ground.
A third knight, larger and more brutish, swung a massive axe at Sebast. Sebast ducked, rolling to the side. He sprang up, grabbing the knight's wrist and twisting it until he heard a sickening snap. The knight howled in pain, and Sebast drove his blade into the man's stomach, twisting it cruelly before pulling it free, entrails spilling onto the ground.
Blood sprayed across Sebast's face as he fought with relentless fury. He kicked a knight in the chest, sending him crashing into a wall. Before the knight could recover, Sebast was upon him, driving his blade through the man's throat. The knight gurgled, choking on his own blood as his life drained away.
Buildings shook from the impact of bodies and blows. One knight was thrown so hard he crashed through a restaurant's window, sending glass and debris flying. Diners screamed, ducking for cover as the battle raged outside. Another knight was hurled into a nearby house, the wall caving in under the force, the structure groaning and collapsing partially.
Sebast didn't stop. He grabbed a knight by the collar and flung him into a cart of barrels. The barrels exploded, spilling wine and wood splinters, the knight buried under the rubble. Sebast turned, blocking a sword strike with his forearm guard, then headbutting his attacker. The knight stumbled back, dazed, and Sebast took the opportunity to kick him in the chest, sending him flying into another building. The wall cracked, and the knight fell, unconscious and bleeding.
Finally, surrounded by a group of knights, Sebast used his trump card. He chanted an ancient spell, and in a burst of light, the knights vanished.
"WHERE ARE WE?!" they screamed as they reappeared miles away, vomiting and clutching their heads from the sudden teleportation. The disorientation was so severe that some collapsed, unable to stand.
***
Almost free, Sebast encountered General Pendrick von Luiyh, an old friend turned enemy. "Sebast," Pendrick sneered. "I always liked you. If only you had kept your mouth shut, continued pretending until death."
Sebast's eyes narrowed. "Pendrick, you know this path leads only to destruction."
"Maybe, but you're the traitor here," Pendrick growled. "I should cut off your hands and feet, leave you a cripple. But you're the only one who knows teleportation magic."
Pendrick lunged, but Sebast was quicker. He teleported in front of Pendrick, grabbed his hands, and headbutted him. Pendrick staggered, drawing his sword, which burst into flames.
"You fool," Pendrick spat. "You have no idea what you've started."
Sebast smirked. With a flash, he extinguished the fire on Pendrick's sword, leaving him weaponless.
Pendrick roared in fury. "Even without a sword, I have my hands!" He conjured fire in his palms, launching an attack.
Sebast dodged, but Pendrick was faster. Flames seared Sebast's hands, making him scream in pain. Pendrick headbutted him again, sending him sprawling.
"You cunning idiot," Pendrick hissed, grabbing Sebast by the hair. He pressed his flaming hand to Sebast's face, burning him. "Where's your arrogance now? Huh "
Through the pain, Sebast managed a grim smile. "Here." He showed Pendrick the middle finger and teleported away, leaving Pendrick cursing in rage.
***
Sebast reappeared in Veridian, his injuries severe. He stumbled down a street, drawing the attention of a nearby family. "Shit, he's the wanted one," the father muttered.
"Let's help him," the wife insisted, but the husband hesitated. "Get out of here or I'll scream," he warned Sebast.
Sebast tried to stand but collapsed, too weak to move. "I need help," he whispered.
The father sighed. "Alright, but don't screw us over. Come inside."
They helped Sebast inside, the warmth of their home contrasting starkly with his recent ordeal. "Thank you," he said, his voice weak.
"Just don't make us regret this," the father replied. "What's your name?"
"Sebast," he answered. "Sebast myrivandis, Thank you for helping me. You don't know the danger you're in."
"Are you threatening us?" the father snapped. he shook his head to the side thinking: "did he get hit too much?"
"No," Sebast shook his head. "I'm just... warning you."
"Wow, I'm starting to feel like the punchline of a bad joke! But hey, you're right, I we're in danger. But you are the one calling for help idiot, Then rest and don't cause trouble," the father said.
As they tended to his wounds, Sebast couldn't help but notice the artifacts around the house. "What...race are you?" he asked, wincing in pain.
"You... you still correspond power to someone's life with 'race'?" The father's voice was laced with disappointment and frustration. "We are just normal humans who are different, It doesn't matter what the magic is."
Sebast's heart sank at the realization of his insensitivity. "I'm sorry," he muttered, his voice heavy with remorse. "I didn't mean to offend. I'm really sorry about that, this will never happen again and i will get this bad concept out of my head"
moving his head, the father agrees and raises his palm for sebast to tell more about himself.
"if you give me the time I'll start telling you about myself" Sebast says this after falling into thoughts about himself.
***
"alright as you might know I am Sebast Myrvandis, the last descendant of the most privileged family in this country. The Brownseils are not just a historical name; we are a distinct lineage, gifted with a unique ability that sets us apart from all others. For generations, my family has mastered the art of teleportation magic, a feat made possible by the singular power of the Feriym stone.
From my childhood, I was taught to respect and understand my family's legacy. The Brownseils have a special connection with the Feriym stone, a magical artifact over one meter in height, black as night, capable of absorbing and precisely deciphering magical energy. To anyone else, the Feriym would be nothing more than an inert rock. But in our hands, it becomes a portal to the impossible.
The Feriym stone acts as an intermediary, capturing magical energy and converting it into a usable form. This process is akin to a fireworks display, where each spark and explosion is meticulously choreographed. This precision allows us, the Brownseils, to teleport with an accuracy that no other magic can match.
The key to this ability lies in the bond we share with the Feriym stone. This bond is forged through generations, a deep and intrinsic connection that only a Brownseil can possess. The stone absorbs magical energy through our palms and transforms it into a controlled flow, enabling us to traverse vast distances instantly. This power has allowed us to create a network of teleportation points around the world, connecting kingdoms and rulers with just three to seven Feriym stones. Imagine a world where leaders can convene instantly, where distance ceases to be a barrier to cooperation and progress. This was the vision of my ancestors, and it is a vision that the empire both fears and covets.
My family has paid a high price for our gift. Our influence and power made us targets of the empire, which sees the Feriym as a threat to its dominion. My family, all were hunted, imprisoned, or killed. Some of them were given the chance to become useful to survive and gain fame for the chosen kingdom, that was the path I followed. Now, I think. I am the last Brownseil, the sole keeper of our secrets.
My life, up to this point, has been a constant battle to protect my family's legacy. I carry within me the responsibility of centuries of knowledge and sacrifice. I know that, in the wrong hands, the Feriym stone could be used for malevolent purposes, further consolidating the empire's oppressive power.
But controlling the Feriym stone is not a simple task. It is governed by a bond—a bond between the stone and the one who wields it There are also Clans that are able to know a little about our contact with Feriym and are able to use it, like the Foremencers, renowned and respected clans for having the power to control fire and using this stone, they are able to create explosive bombs.
The empire's interest in our power is both a testament to its value and a danger to our legacy. They seek to control what they do not understand, to wield a power they cannot truly master. I know that revealing the secrets of the Feriym stone could spell disaster for the world But i owe you my life so please don't tell anyone about this...-
***
Far away, in a palace shrouded in darkness, A man stood on a balcony, looking out over his kingdom. "Sebast has escaped," a shadowy figure reported.
"Let him run," he replied, a sinister smile spreading across his face. "He can't hide forever. And when we catch him, he'll wish he had never been born."
The figure bowed and disappeared into the shadows, leaving the man alone with his thoughts. "The sacrifice of innocence," he murmured, "is a small price to pay for power."