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A god's birth - Higgings, EU-EMERALD


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I recommend reading this after having read the story

 

 

the story is immense and I'm aware of it, but since I really enjoy writing fantasy stories (and also cause I took 4 days to write it... lol) I didn't feel like rewriting it entirely just to respect one criteria. My aim is mainly to amuse my reader and to explain a cool way of the origin of one of the bosses of the game. If you have followed my counsel above, I thank you for having read my story and I would be pleased if you could make me questions about it or leave a simple feedback. I bid you all a nice day!

🙂

 

1.

 

 

“…our forces were divided; the ground was shaking beneath our feet. Many of us were at the point to retreat. We were standing inside an active volcano, yet we were sweating cold at the sight of his tremendous battalion running towards us, followed by the enemy faction who was profiting of our moment of weakness to strike with the counterattack. Twenty-four of our greatest warriors were annihilated by his sword, falling like ears of wheat in front of the sickle of a peasant. His eyes, reflecting my worst nightmares…”

 

“Aerias, why are you still here?”

 

As if Aerias’ mind had been awakened from a long sleep, he sees his mentor looking at him standing on the threshold of the library’s entrance. He was supposed to be training, but his mind wouldn’t just let him focus on wizardry, spells and curing techniques; what is the point of all this anyway, if they cannot find their enemy’s weak point? Snorlar has been a threat since the beginning of Arinar’s history. Defeating him once and for all would mean killing a godlike creature; a creature incapable of feeling anything aside wrath, unfamiliar with the word “mercy” and ruthless beyond imagination.

“I’m sorry, master Looras. I was trying to seek for answers. I thought that I could have found some in this diary, but the writer seems to be very jealous of information”.

His mentor takes a chair and sits close to him, leaning one hand on his shoulder.

“Aerias, my disciple, when will you understand that these books will not teach how you to survive in dangerous situations? The writer must have certainly enhanced the dramatic side of the battle because he was most probably requested to do so; the captain described in that diary must have died by now. Now please, come outside. The training session for today is over, and your companions will need you in the battle which approaches every day more. As you well know, the prophecy announced Snorlar’s return in less than one year: we must be ready at all costs. Please, do not skip the training further”.

From the library’s northern window an orange ray describes the end of the sunset. A clear night and a pale moon are about to appear. Aerias takes his stave from the table; it was of very good workmanship, created by the most expert artisans of Arinar and gifted to him by his late father. He can clearly remember a note attached to it: “to the most talented Priest of Langasard”. Exasperated by an unsuccessful search, the idea of a soft bed is a temptation to his nerves and his tired brain; he needs to rest. The library keeper locks its doors behind him, wishing him a pleasant night. Few minutes separate his dwelling from the training camp and from the library. But the captain’s words, or the writer’s, keep storming his mind: “His eyes, reflecting my worst nightmares…”. ‘But what could ever be the nightmare of a creature whose strength equals the one of a god?’ he wonders.

 

A week after…

 

Aerias looks out from behind a rock, checking out the situation. His opponents are very capable and experienced warriors. All of them are covered on a mysterious fog-alike flame. He recognizes that this kind of magic goes far beyond the individual capabilities of the adversaries. There must have been another trick behind this, a trick he could not yet figure out. Their pieces of equipment are not usual either: Aerias realizes to have never seen such armours before, thus that most of those pieces must come from a very hideous territory; from the deepest dungeons a living man could ever visit. A young seeker is at his side. The sun was up in the sky, his heart beats incredibly fast, it is hotter than hell and that fast warrior is the only companion he could rely on.

“So, what’s the plan, smart guy? Is there anything brilliant in your mind and capacities which could help to get us out of the trouble?”

Aerias is not used to think that fast. He is shocked; he could not imagine that his teammate could be knocked out by a single shot from a mage, and from that distance! A plan is necessary.

“Look” – the seeker interrupted his thoughts – “I will sneak behind that ranger’s back and I will put him to sleep. Meanwhile, should I get captured, you will focus on keeping me alive while I deal with that mage. That weird blue aura doesn’t make me feel comfortable, yet I’m sure that those armours they’re showing off are not meant for battles: three good shots should be enough to put him down. Easy stuff: we will be back in time for lunch!”

“Not like we have got any other better choice, I suppose” – Aerias heard these words coming out from his mouth, almost like it could speak on its own. He can visibly see the seeker being excited about what is going to happen.

“Let’s do this!” he says, and in no time the seeker disappears from Aerias’ sight. He hardly hears some steps going straight to the enemies, marking footprints on the ground. He pops his head once more from his hideout place. He can see the ranger carefully checking the area, with his bow ready in his hand. Suddenly, the ranger closes his eyes. Aerias can hear him babbling some meaningless words, before seeing him falling and after few seconds snoring: the ranger is completely K.O. The young seeker is now slowly walking behind the mage. He takes up his knife and prepares for a backstab when a blue lighting throws him meters away from his target. A shining warrior covered on a green aura raises from the ground, on the same spot the lightning fell a moment ago. A paladin, no doubt; Aerias could easily recognize this fantastic ability. The priest comes out from his hideout place so that he could help the seeker, knocked down by the paladin. He spreads his arms and recites a prayer, and a green light instantly comes down from the sky, curing the wounded seeker. The four fighters are displayed in front of each other, In couple of two. The paladin looks intensely at the seeker with dark yellow eyes; his pupils resembled the ones of an ancient and terrifying dragon. The mage looks at the paladin, who slowly turns his head to return the glance; the two exchanged a grin. The paladin closes his eyes, and the mage raises his stave against Aerias. An enormous fireball comes out from his sceptre, running straight against the priest. He hastily created a magical barrier surrounding him entirely. The impact destroyed the shield in a thousand of pieces. The priest tries to counterattack: he directs his stave to the sky and a giant pink wave fells against the paladin, who stands still – like stone – on the same place. The mage instantly teleports and uses his body to parry the magic wave: he seems to be seriously wounded by this attack. The young seeker’s words come suddenly in his mind: “I’m sure that those armours they’re showing off are not meant for battles”. He was completely right!

“You know, you aren’t the only one capable of manipulating fire as he pleases!” – the priest crosses his arms, and a burning heat raises from his feet to his arms. He directs this heat towards the mage: a direct hit! A fog of dust spreads upon the arena after this attack.

“heh heh… impressive, dude. But you aren’t the only one capable of manipulating barriers as he pleases either!” – calmly says the mage, raising from the ground and cleansing himself from the dust. The barrier slowly fades out of his creator’s exhaustion. The seeker profits of this moment to land a strike. The mage, seriously awakened from the precedent strike, turns his head to the paladin, which seems in the meantime to be taking a nap.

“Do you think you will need more time, or you are ready to fight?”

The paladin opens his eyes.

A shock wave spreads from him, throwing both the seeker and Aerias far away from the mage. The paladin closes his fists and his physical form slowly changes: his arms are now covered on fur, sharp fangs have taken his teeth’s place and he is now the double of his size. A hellish monster now is in front of Aerias and the seeker, both horrified at the sight of this transformation. The beast is staring at them the same way a lion stares at his prey. Aerias uses his attack-proof barrier against the beast, with no result: magic attacks seem to have no effect on him. The beast raises his giant paw, ready to land a strike against the seeker. The young warrior casts a barrier on himself, on an attempt to parry his attack: useless. The strike destroys the barrier and throws the seeker meters away. He was laying down the ground, stunned.

“Now let’s talk face to face, little priest!” – grins the beast.

 

“Enough of this. The training is over”.

 

Master Looras sentenced the end of the session. The hellish beast slowly loses his fur, his teeth return normal, his size was no bigger than the one of an average-tall adult man. Yellow human eyes are staring at Aerias and human hands are now helping him to raise from the ground.

“It was nice fighting against you, little dude. Being the last man standing on your group is not something you shall underestimate, especially after several skipped sessions of training” – says the knight. Aerias grasps his hand and raises from the ground. The knight is smiling at him, in sign of respect. Aerias sees the squad of the élite warriors moving away from him. The mage cured the ranger from his sleep and helped him walking away from the arena. Master Looras is approaching the disciple.

“I am surprised to see you were able to last this much on a fight against the most prepared warriors at our disposal. It shows great will and power, attributes your father has well predicted you would have had. But remember, Aerias, there is no perfection without training. A good engine requires to be repaired and oiled every now and then to be perfectly functional...”

“Master Looras” – interrupted the priest – “how could that paladin turn into a beast? I thought the Animagi were the only ones capable to do so”. The mentor scratches his long beard. It is clear he is trying to select appropriate words to tell his disciple. “The paladin you have seen is in possession of very rare pieces of equipment. We speak of armours of an incredible power, capable to give the owner incredible attributes and strength. This is the reason of why I wanted you not to skip the trainings, son”. The priest carefully listens to his mentor. They both are walking to the resting pavilion, where fighters are instantly cured by professional healers after a training. “I would want you to acquire these armours” – continues the master –

“I shall ask the keepers to grant you special access only for this time to their sanctuary. You will have to fight, but you shall not be alone. In fact, I shall grant the presence of our best soldiers, even the ones you just fought during the training, if it pleases you”.

“This is incredible, master Looras, and I’m honoured to be considered worthy of such merit in your eyes.” The disciple takes a small pause. “However, I would like to ask you something else”. Master Looras is now carefully looking at his disciple. “You are the wisest teacher this academy has ever had, and I would like to extend my knowledge on this subject. I don’t desire to depend excessively on magic items, though I recognize their value. I was wondering...” – he nervously swallows – “are you perhaps in possession of an advanced manual which I could take information from, perhaps belonged to an Animagus? I believe it would help me to face the challenge of this new dungeon, as well as help in the incoming war…”. Master Looras bends his head, almost in sign of disappointment, but he is very good at hiding it. “well...” – he starts – “it is possible that our library is very well supplied with books explaining the techniques of the old wizards, keepers of the secret of transformation”. Master Looras instantly notices a certain happiness in his disciple's face. “Bear in mind, however” – in a severe tone – “that this search of yours shall not be used as justification to skip another training, Aerias. If you want to lay your hands on these rare items we were discussing about, you will have to prove me to be still worthy. Have you understood?”

“Of course, Master Looras. I will not disappoint you”.

 

‘Not further, I hope’ – thought the master, and he leaves the disciple alone. Aerias looks at his hand. Raises his head to the sky, admiring another wonderful night. So quickly has the time passed this day, yet the darkness could not hide a smirk on his face. The hand is closed in a fist.

 

2.

 

‘Nothing’… ‘Nothing here too’…

One book after the other flies away from a table close to a window in Aerias’ room. Last day, he rent some manuals with the hope to find out the secrets belonged to ancient wizards, to learn something more about Animagi and their art of transformation; it became his obsession since the day he talked to Master Looras. He used one week to read them all. Aerias neglected his rest in the meantime, but not his trainings, in which his skills had improved significantly. Among his mates, he is now maybe one of the most respected priests of the academy. Exasperated, he closes another book and gets his hands in the hair. ‘I won’t find answers here’. It is late night; some clouds cover the moon and the stars, and the trees outside appear like unclean creatures in his eyes. Aerias stands up and takes in his hand the “Captain’s Diary: chronicles of the war against a god”. He closed his eyes, enough to make them resemble two cracks on a face. ‘What madness have you found there?’ he thought. Suddenly an alarm occurs. There is a lot of movement outside the dwelling. Aerias sees through his window many soldiers running hastily altogether. The lieutenants and the high rank warriors were there too, and so was Master Looras. Aerias grabs his stave and goes out from the house. He runs as fast as he can to the rendezvous location. Here, the entire battalion of his academy is standing on its place, creating a semicircle. On the middle of it, a Firstborn scout from Irselnort is trying to bring the attention to himself.

“Soldiers, I command you to pay close attention. This is captain Hector, from Irselnort’s fifth offensive division. My soldiers have just reported several earthquakes which epicentre locates right in the Volcano, the same Volcano of the Prophecy in which Snorlar is gaining power. At this rate, the barrier casted long time ago will not last for long. The area outside the Volcano is protected and patrolled by our most talented warriors, yet thrice this week had they to fight against tremendous demons which appeared on a secure area”. A buzz can be heard in the crowd. People are questioning whether the prophecy wrongly predicted the time when Snorlar’s return had been announced.

“Quite a bad situation, huh?”. Aerias turns his head to the right, just to find the young seeker at his side. “Oh, by the way, name’s Ivanus”.

“Aerias” – he replies.

The scout once again raises both hands to indirectly request silence and to pay him attention. “Now, my task here is both to warn your tenants as well as to request in advance to prepare your goods and to follow my Commanders. You shall sail to Irselnort at dawn. Teachers and Commanders of this academy are exempted from this order; they will sail when the sun is already up in the sky, so that I can give them further information about the current situation. This is it”.

The battalion scatters from the initial position. Every warrior is now packing his goods to sail to Irselnort. Aerias turns his head to the right, but Ivanus is not here. He returns to his dwelling; not like there is a lot to pack anyway. He grabs his stave, some food and the Captain’s Diary with him. Locks his door and creates a small light with his stave. The sound of the weapons and the chatter of the recruits lead him to an immense ship anchored at the docks, which will lead him to Irselnort - the ash coast. Soon after, he shall use a transport to go as much close as possible to the secure area specified by the scout, and there he will have to build a tent. The schedule is full, and so is Aerias’ mind. ‘Irselnort is the place where Berengar lived’ – he thinks – ‘It would be a shame not to pay a visit to the artefacts and the tomes he himself had to deal with’.

A hand lays on his shoulder. Master Looras was behind him. “As you might have guessed, the journey in the dungeon will have to wait”.

“So it appears” – Replies Aerias.

“Take care of yourself, my disciple, soon we might encounter again, but should that not happen, I bid you luck. Your last trainings sessions were simply excellent. I am deeply displeased not to be able to keep my word…”. A normal warrior would be sad for such revelation, but Aerias feels relieved instead. Away from his homeland and no one that could look after him: this is the perfect moment to search more, to quench his thirst of knowledge!

“I thank you Master Looras. I bid you luck.”

“Farewell, my disciple”.

 

“… his sword, stealing my friend’s souls and exposing their entrails to the hungry demons… I pick up my weapon, and the warriors at my side had picked up theirs. Rangers and Mages were ready behind me. Although our forces had been halved, we decimated most of their legion and we then used a decoy so that demons could focus against the enemy faction as well. A bloodshed was inevitable. Snorlar beat his feet on the ground and an earthquake suddenly occurred. Our warriors felt the ground trembling beneath them and fell. Matthew, one of the youngest and most capable Templars in my battalion, fall into a pit… his scream is what keeps me awake at night…”

 

“IRSELNORT – THE ASH COAST!”

 

The ship’s captain screams the name of the island. Aerias closes the Diary and gets up from the bunk. He could not sleep for the entire route, but the idea to pay a visit to Berengar’s knowledge kept him awaken. The ship gets anchored at the docks and Aerias is now on dryland. A group of fifteen men standing near the ship is giving each warrior a special teleportation scroll capable to directly teleport each warrior to the secure area. As soon as he opens the scroll and reads the set location written on it, the priest gets teleported in a city, small capital of the neutral faction which used to inhabit Irselnort: Nadir Sard. The capital is filled of life, though its roads are now in uproar after the recent events which broke the peace normally granted to new visitors; warriors in rusty weapons running from east to west, people from an enemy faction forced to deal pacifically with the counterpart, high ranked commanders giving orders to recruits who just teleported to the zone… Aerias notices a giant accessible portal on the northern quarter of the city. A floating message is located above the portal: “To the secure area: Langasard/Melvendil”. But Aerias’ plans are different: in the same district is located a building, resembling a much larger library than the one he used to visit on Langasard. He rapidly runs on the sly, crosses the threshold and a stunning sight astonishes him: the knowledge about arts of combat, hunting, camouflaging, healing and illusion are now at his complete disposal. The priest checks the environment and realizes to be alone. ‘They might be outside, scared of the many earthquakes occurred. This is my occasion!’ – he thinks. Shelves are filled with books considered forbidden in his homeland. The priest grabs as many manuals his lust of knowledge could ever desire as possible: books describing in detail how to summon hellish creatures, tomes citing the story of Animagi and the evolution of their art over time, manuals meant to teach how to bow to someone’s will any being…

 

Aerias has lost track of time. He uses every single moment to train and to read the forbidden knowledge Berengar and many others after him indirectly and unwillingly left at his disposal. Euphoric, he finds every single instruction written extremely easy to read and to follow.

“You shouldn’t be here” – says a voice – “I couldn’t find your tent and, since I’m aware of you being a bookworm, I was certain I would’ve found you here.”

The priest’s excitement suddenly ends. He slowly turns his head behind him to just see Ivanus, whose face resembles the one of a person who has just busted a burglar in his home.

“You wouldn’t understand” – says Aerias – “This battle shall be a massacre. You really believe our superiors know what they’re doing?”. The priest nervously approaches to the young seekers and holds his shoulders between his arms. “Many before us have tried this. Before Snorlar could be locked away, a lot of our people lost their lives. They were sent to death, and what’s worse is that our superiors made them think that this was an honourable death!”. Ivanus is now visibly scared, but Aerias closes his eyes and slowly shakes his head. “No” – he continues – “I won’t stand for this. All I’m trying to do is to seek for his weak point, or at least to enhance our stronger qualities. We mortals cannot defeat a god! We can just momentarily stop his advance to our world, but it will be a matter of time that he will be strong enough to the point that all our efforts against him will be futile! You must have the power of a god to defeat a god; how do they say? To fight fire with fire!”

“You’ve gone crazy!” – says horrified Ivanus, freeing himself from his grip.

“Crazy? I?”. A demonic laughter spreads in the silent library. Ivanus cannot believe such sound could come from his companion. “If I am crazy because I’m just trying to avoid a bloodshed then I won’t dare to ask for your opinion about our superiors, who are lying to our companions right now, convincing them to sacrifice their lives ‘for a greater good’”. Aerias takes a pause then looks with sufficiency at his interlocutor. “You’re yet young, Ivanus. Wouldn’t you best be off? The name of the Sentinels shall be written on history’s pages as the ones who crushed both a god and the Legionaries between their hands and at the same time! We shall be remembered as glorious at the eyes of our children’s children! Our memory shall last for the eternity and it’s up to you now, Ivanus, to be remembered as one of the most capable warriors who took part to the fight…” – Aerias smirks after a little pause – “or as one of the many other dead souls whose memory is described on a diary and whose author might not even be the real one”.

The noise outside has increased. A lot of warriors run through the portal at the alarm of a raid of several demons which broke again in the secure area. Ivanus takes the opportunity to get away from Aerias, who returns instead to his forbidden knowledge and his trainings.

“The alarm is ringing yet you there refuse to listen… typical of you Sentinels: unruly and stubborn people. Perhaps we might teach you two how a real soldier should behave in these cases!” The door is blocked by two individuals. Two Rogues from the Legionaries, holding two war axes each, are in front of Ivanus. By the appearance of their equipment, they seem to have faced far worse creatures and opponents than a young warrior and a priest, who is sitting and apparently not minding them. Ivanus slowly takes his weapons. Aerias angrily closes the book he was reading and takes his stave but remains still on his place. “You there! Are you perhaps deaf? You’d better come here and help your bud here, otherwise he might be dead even before he tries being somehow useful to his battalion!” – laughs the taller rogue.

“And you would better follow the counsel I gave my bud earlier, if you don’t want to face consequences of who naively interrupts my studies” – threatens the priest, turning his head enough to see the two assassins with one eye.

“Do you think we are afraid of you? You’re nothing more than an arrogant bug which will be squashed by my axe!”. One of the assassins jumps at Aerias, but as soon as the axe touches his back, he vanishes in a cloud of stream, materializing himself behind the taller rogue, who is still close to the threshold of the door. Aerias raises his stave to the sky: a shining dark light comes out from the gem set on the tip of it and the rogue who attacked him finds his feet stuck in a burning mud on the floor. “What the… I can’t move! Help me! It’s burning!” The taller rogue then throws his axe against the priest behind him, who parries the hit with the stave. Silver sparks came out from the impact. Ivanus backstabs the taller rogue with his knives: a loud scream comes out from his opponent. Profiting of this moment, Aerias channels energy in his staff and uses it as a club against the enemy: the impact released a darkish energy from the stave which throws the taller rogue away, crushing one of the tables of the library. Ivanus swiftly runs towards him, his knife on his hand ready to land the coup the grace, but a sudden pain through his body stopped him; Aerias horrifies at the sight of an axe being thrown behind his mate’s back, hitting him directly. Ivanus quickly loses his strength and falls on the floor, apparently still. The axe belongs to the rogue trapped by Aerias’ previous spell. Blinded by rage, Aerias stomps his stave on the floor, and a shockwave throws away from him shelves, books and artefacts in the location, leaving him and his adversary alone. The burning mud disappears as well, leaving the rogue seriously wounded but still capable to put up on a fight. The stunned taller rogue awakes and reaches his fellow, helping him to raise from the floor; Aerias is now outnumbered. The priest spreads his arms and raises his head to the ceiling, and a wide seal appears beneath his feet. Snakes come out from such seal, covering him entirely, from his feet to his neck. These snakes then turn into a Dark Tunic. A small brown cape covers his neck and part of the body and the back. His stave, covered on snakes as well, became golden and a snake symbol took the gem’s place, which now is red coloured and finds itself behind the fangs of the snake symbol. His opponents turn white at the sight of this scene, but they have not yet lost their will to fight. Both rogues jump at him. Aerias creates a paling, strong enough not to break in pieces after two heavy blows from two opponents at once. He dodges one blow, parries another one and right after raises again his stave to the ceiling to create a giant pink wave which engulfs and stuns his opponents.

“I have enough of you two!” – says he with rage. Once again, he stomps his stave on the ground. His stunned enemies get covered on a purple fog and start floating in mid-air, incapable to react. A burning heat raises from Aerias’ feet to his hands and the spell resulted from this heat generates a massive explosion. Incredibly, the environment around him seems not to be affected by such massive explosion, but the two rogues are thrown away, distant from each other and seriously wounded. One of them fell close to the apparently lifeless body of Ivanus. The priest grabs with both hands his golden stave. A purple fog generates from the gem and in a matter of few seconds a dark, sharp stick resembling an arrow rapidly flies against the taller rogue, hitting him on the chest and hanging his body on the wall; a strangled cry comes out from him. His head slowly bows forward, leaving the body inanimate. Aerias looks around to find the second assassin. He sees him; he is slowly raising on his feet, his right hand on his head. The priest directs the stave against him, and a red flashlight comes out from the gem. The rogue gradually becomes rigid, until he himself notices his legs becoming stone, and so his arms. His body turns completely into stone in a matter of few seconds.

 

It was over. Aerias looks at Ivanus’ body. Still shocked from what just happened, he gets close to him and touches the axe stuck on his back; the touch incinerates the weapon and approaching the stave close to the wound, he can see it slowly disappearing. Ivanus moved a little. Stunned as if he had a very long sleep, he slowly raises from the floor. What he looks at – he thought – is unimaginable: the spectre of a horrified person stands in front of him petrified and the corpse of another person killed by a glowing dark arrow is located few meters away from him. His companion, who now stands in front of him, is wearing a black attire totally resembling a warlock. Confused, Ivanus starts to babble: “I… You… What happened here?... what happened to you?... what is going on, what killed these people?”

Not a single word has Aerias spoken. In the moment he turns his back to the seeker, the young fighter grabs the sleeve of his attire. “I have literally no idea of what just happened… but I’m not stupid, Aerias. The path you decided to take makes you embrace a kind of knowledge not meant for us: it’s dark magic. Come back before it’s too late!”

Aerias frees himself. “The alarm is ringing” – he says, and he leaves the place and Ivanus alone.

 

3.

 

Demons have seized the defensive battalion. Red scales cover their entire body, brown demonic wings are ready to jump at their enemies and sharp fangs and claws are ready to crush and cut even the most resistant armour of Arinar. A Blade-dancer manages to kill one of the demons with a well-set blow of his sword, creating a way out. The squad slowly walks backwards, their face is focused on their opponents. A ranger shoots an arrow and hits one of the demons right on his chest. Demons appear to be scared from that: they are now outnumbered. All of them retreat and the defensive squad is after them. The very moment they disappear, the squad notices a breach on the barrier casted long time ago. “That’s where these monsters are coming from!” – says one. “We must warn our superiors at once!” – says the other.

 

Aerias is now alone. He runs away from the library as fast as he could; breaking the neutrality by attacking and killing in Nadir Sard represents a very serious violation of the law. Should its guards find everything out, or should Ivanus explain what happened in there, the priest would be wanted and executed soon after. ‘Perhaps healing him was a mistake …’ he thinks. But he removes the idea from his head with the same speed it came in his mind. The priest reaches the portal which shall lead him to the secure area. He notices in the meanwhile one squad of the defensive division reporting some news to generals. He profits of this moment to enter the portal and instantly he finds himself on a burning wasteland. It is twilight; the sun appears to have the same colour of the Lava which surrounds the wasteland itself. Mountains vomiting magma are set all around the area, except for an enormous Volcano located on the middle of the zone, far away from Aerias’ position. All around the Volcano, a paling had been casted years ago, to protect Irselnort from the threat which hides inside that Volcano. The priest checks the area and notices in the vicinity a group of tents all located in the zone the generals call “The Secure Area”, which seizes the paling that cages the Volcano and its demons. On the other half of the wastelands, enemy tents are located. The two factions cannot meet each other on the Secure Area, but they can meet and fight once they pass through the barrier. Aerias goes away from the Portal’s entrance as he sees a lot of warriors coming there; the situation must be even worse than expected. Hundreds… thousands of warriors coming on the Secure Area, ready to fight again and to prove the world their strength in battle. Aerias decides to run and to blend in with the warriors around him. The cinder raining from the sky made the armours of every single warrior greyish, thus his attire was not so different from the one of his mates. The battalion is standing in front of the barrier. Demons of unimaginable form and size have come closer to the barrier in a blink of an eye. Both battalions are now staring at each other with a common target: kill the ones on the other side. One commander leaves the crowd of warriors and places himself ahead it. He takes up his sword and raises it to the orange sky: “May our blood sanctify these lands, and may our enemies be poisoned from it! Mages, I command you to cast off the barrier!” The most talented wizards are now out from the crowd of warriors. Their staves are pointing the sky and the union of their power results on the dispel of the upper side of the barrier, then the middle part, until it is completely dispelled. Warriors and Demons are now face to face.

“ATTACK!” – screams the commander. Devils on the other side scream and start to charge their enemies. The winged ones jump in the sky and with immeasurable speed they instantly reach the battalion.

 

The massacre has started. Rangers from behind the tanks shoot their arrows on the sky: their arrows colour the sky of a dark blue and so does the blood of the demons which rains above their head. Part of the squad engaged other demons with swords, spears and axes. Fireballs are falling against demons, shot by several mages from the distance. The bigger demons annihilated several warriors before they could even get wounded. Every punch they throw makes the earth tremble. More flying demons are coming out from the Volcano, which in the meanwhile vomits even more lava than earlier. Suddenly, an earthquake occurs: a giant crack on the wall of the Volcano appears, caused by a deep-red spike alike weapon thrown from inside. Aerias, who was fighting as well, turns his head to the cracked wall. A second huge blow enlarges the crack appeared on the Volcano’s wall, and soon after a third: the wall collapses. Many warriors and demons fell because of the earthquakes into blazing pits, perishing. From inside the destroyed wall, a river of Lava comes out, and slowly walking away from it, an enormous figure wielding a giant sword, with disfigured face and red eyes; Snorlar has returned.

“There you are, finally!” – screams Aerias – “I shall put your existence to an end, once and for all!” The priest leaves the crowd of warriors and demons and runs directly against his real enemy. Several warriors recognize him and follow him in the fight. Every step he makes covers meters and meters: warriors behind him could not keep up with his speed. Full of rage and excitement, Aerias jumps, holding his stave with both hands and then lands, sticking it on the ground: a massive crack is created and the gem in his stave starts to glow. Several skeletal hands appear from the ground, then skulls, then skeletal bodies and skeletal legs. Aerias has summoned an army of undead at his side. The warriors behind him now stand on their places scared, wondering whether that wizard was indeed the priest they respect or not. The army of undead created slowly walks toward the god, at Aerias’ command. More and more warriors are now behind Aerias, passing him and profiting of the situation to charge. Snorlar screams of wrath; picks up his sword and raises it against the battalion. Several other demons of immense size come out from the Volcano and the god himself starts to run altogether with them. Snorlar reaches the undead army and slays them all with a single blow of his sword. Warriors behind Aerias fight against the demons, slaying some of the bigger ones. Casualties are a lot. Many élite warriors measured their strength against Snorlar itself. Beastly paladins wildly attacking his arms, Rangers whose aim made them hit his vital points, Wizards capable to cure and endure most of his blows. Snorlar holds now his sword with both hands, and with huge strength slams it on the ground, screaming out of rage. The impact destroyed the ground with a tremendous explosion. The warriors in the nearby were seriously wounded and some other perished on the impact. Some demons perished as well, and others just raised on their feet heavily mutilated. Many other warriors behind Aerias are still dealing with hungry demons; Aerias cannot count on them. He opens his right hand, and a little flame appears right above his palm. Immediately he closes the hand on it and his entire body is now set on fire: his size slowly doubles, his skin becomes darker and his face changes, resembling the one of a nightmarish creature. His stave enlarges as well, fitting the new size of his owner. Immediately he teleports in front of Snorlar and with his stave summons a rain of meteors which fall right on the head of the alive demons, killing them. Aerias, or what remains of him, stands face to face with Snorlar. The god swings his sword on an attempt to hit the Priest, but with his sole glare he stops the sword and his wielder from moving. The priest materializes a dark knife on his right hand, and profits of his enemy’s position to stab him. The pain made Snorlar free from the spell. He stomps his feet on an attempt to cause an earthquake, but the Priest once again hits him with his stave, making him get down on his knees. Snorlar uses his sword to support himself and as soon as the priest spreads his arms to cast another spell, Snorlar raises and hits him with a blow, right on his face. This last blow made Snorlar terribly exhausted, and the priest, screaming of agony, starts to channel energy from his feet to his hands. The priest crosses his arms, and a gigantic explosion hit the god but also wounds the priest further. Snorlar lays down and so does his adversary: the battle is over.

 

A small wind flows in the wastelands. Snorlar’s body slowly turns to cinder, and that cinder slowly returns in the Volcano which lulled him until he acquired full strength. The priest gets fastly seized by several hundreds of warriors survived on the battle. He moves one finger, then one arm and then, with the help of his stave, he sits on his place. Warriors wonder whether he will attack them or not. The priest recognized only one young and wounded seeker from the crowd. Out of pity, with his strength left the priest creates a green light above the entire platoon, healing them. Sighing, at last, he stands on his feet and swinging his stave manages to create a portal, in which he enters. Ivanus tries swiftly to run through it, but the portal closes as soon as his creator enters in it.

 

Aerias finds himself in the catacombs of Irselnort, near a portal its citizen call “Gates of Shadow”. The wizard enters in it, seriously wounded. The cut on his face seriously disfigured him and there is no cure for the damage dealt by a god. In that silent sanctuary, he finds a black hat and a white beak-shaped mask: he wears them both, and there… he shall wait, until he can regain entirely his lost strength.

 

Edited by Higgings
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  • Higgings changed the title to A god's birth - Higgings, EU-EMERALD

"let your imagination fly"

 

well you just launched your imagination to low earth orbit 

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Just now, Jcbreff said:

"let your imagination fly"

 

well you just launched your imagination to low earth orbit 

 

I find myself guilty  :khekhe:

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Great story, it's clear that you put a lot of work into it. I like the fact that the protagonist is more of a grey character, he's not the traditional good-hearted hero and he's so obsessed with killing Snorlar that he ends up becoming a monster-like creature himself (literally but maybe metaphorically too?) but at the same time he still seems to care about other people. Also, I really liked the final battle, the way you described it is really cool and the Animagi transfiguration stuff makes it more interesting, I really enjoyed reading it! 

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5 hours ago, Stillron said:

Great story, it's clear that you put a lot of work into it. I like the fact that the protagonist is more of a grey character, he's not the traditional good-hearted hero and he's so obsessed with killing Snorlar that he ends up becoming a monster-like creature himself (literally but maybe metaphorically too?) but at the same time he still seems to care about other people. Also, I really liked the final battle, the way you described it is really cool and the Animagi transfiguration stuff makes it more interesting, I really enjoyed reading it! 

 

I'm really glad that you've appreciated it. Thank you a lot for your comment! :thumbsup:

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2 hours ago, Jcbreff said:

if demonologist had backstory this would be great for it

 

The "birth" indeed refers to the protagonist's transformation 😉

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