Transcendence Cleaves
[unsubmitted version]
[was under 'Wolfclad' account]
The horrors. To this, he’s awakened. What are these, how long has it been, he wonders. How long had this, what happened, wh— … No…. no, this is… no. To this, he’s awakened. The visions. The horrors.
The rage. All those who died. All those who died, with him not knowing why, how. For how long? This, smoldering tension clogging up on his chest, the burn and suffocation of rage. Visions after visions. Then, a revelation. “Him.. him. Why, WHY.” Questions. Questions he knows devoid of answers. His curiosity conflagrates, yet discontented, then dims to cinder of confusion. His agitation, unsatiated, only to deviate into anger. Him. The rage.
The betrayer. Moments passed. That recollection, too much to mourn. Solely vengeance that lingers. We were great, once. Pay, you must. Indeed it is a nation of greatness, though in a land so barren. Yet it was great. And it is because of him that it is great. Then betrayed. Fallen, forgotten, lost in time. Yet no more, he’s awakened, and his vengeance is due. I’ve return, far stronger. And I see you. With his power, with them, he marches. They march, seeking vengeance due. March, for the betrayer.
***
“Fresh air at last. At long last,” a congregation of spark, of power surge, manifested into being. By him, another being, a warrior of sort, deranged into a frenzied demeanor in the brink of losing his mind if it’s not already.
“Begone you witless toy, go seek your own affair for all I care. I have my own to attend to,” he ponders then glance to the arid horizon, foreseeing a prey, ”he’s coming, I can sense him. I can sense his army. Come, make amend to our long overdue query.”Beyond his expectation, he did acquire what he longed for in his clutch. Innately, he does not require a testament of his power, yet centuries long of idleness from admiring his own accomplishments in magic, demands satiation. To unleash, to unload, to see the kind of destruction he’s capable to deliver. A flaunt to a friend, or an enemy?a brother?
“You treacherous slave, to what abomination have you become,” after millennia of nothingness but a flash recollection of horror, the cause of its calamity is upon him. The betrayer. His chest smoldering with anger, limbs twitching, prepared to charge at no moment’s delay, “you will pay for your evil deeds!”
The betrayer’s not heeding, arms folding in contempt, looking down upon. Though his visage — and all his being — is but a hypothetical shape, vile intent is clear on display.
“Strange that you are alive. No matter. Your... resurrection... might have grant my release. After this millennia, you have quite an alteration too i see.”
“Be silent traitor! You will pay for my death, my empire. You are but an insect i will crush.”
“Hah, with what? Crush me, with what? “ the betrayer chuckles, taunts in revolting amusement.
“My power has grown beyond mortal limits! The power by my right.“
“That power is incomparable to mine, dear brother. In my hands, surges energy beyond your comprehen— “ the betrayer’s words sickens him, urging his buried hatred to surface, “yours is an indignity! a forceful acquisition of a thing unfit for you to take. You are but my shadow, and you owe such power to me!” he roars battlecry, summoning more soldiers, commanding them to charge as he leaps towards his opponent vigorously.
The soldiers perish by a flash of arcane discharge. Still undaunted, he thrusts his spear to a body more ethereal rather physical. The thrust does not maim flesh nor bone. Even the thrusted, does not waver. “As ever, arrogant.
“Unlike you, mine’s earned! Earned! Not given away like an entitled child begging for toys. Yours is no match for me.”
He pressed forward with no reluctance, hacking his spear to his opponent, screaming his hatred filled lungs, “you haven’t tasted my full power!” though with might, his strikes injure none. Until his breath fails to serve. Yet the betrayer still left unscathed.
“The likes of you are no match for me! Even the acclaimed warrior of the, glorious empire, can be made knelt before me. And how would a boy playing king stand?” the betrayer mocks.
“I don’t play king! I’m a just ruler. I’am what this empire need and deserve. I eradicate slavery in my name. For you. But what you give in return?”
“Your vanity corrupts, entitled emperor. You think you are different than your predecessors? you are not.”
“I am different! I set your people free,” he kept on his loud voice. And it impedes his breath. Yet the betrayer is indifferent.
“Set me free? You are using me. All the power I possess, may be in your granting. But why? For your own benefit. As a weapon to expand your rotten empire. You can’t deny it. And now the weapon shall bite its master,” the betrayer thundered him in vehemence. He dodges every strike that flanks him with labored breath and discordant footwork. Many missteps are made that supposedly send him to his demise. Yet he persists.
With all that remains, he raises legions of sand soldiers. Positioning them as necessary, and sending them to wreak havoc onto the arcane-animated-sarcophagy. Only to disintegrate. On the verge of his limit, he took a moment of respite.
“Exhausted yet, emperor?” he is, yet what fatigues him isn’t the skirmish nor the mockery.
“So you are in vengeance’s path too. And i must pay your price. But, my family? My people?” his voice calm.
“Sacrifices, must be made.”
“My family! My wives, my children!”
“You had a family! Wives! Children! What of me? Slavery has taken them. My father died off it. My mother? Even i’ve forgotten how she looks. Slavery has taken them long before you taste power. Why would I care about yours? Did you care about mine? Maybe you did, but what did you do instead? Using me.”
He’s enraged yet again, invokes his residual strength, “ enough! Your desire for power is an abuse, to me! You send me to oblivion only to be awakened to the horrors of that death I refuse to recall. I lost everything!”
“You HAD everything. I had nothing. Nothing. The only thing I possess is power. The only thing I know, is power. Your suffering is nothing. In mortal and transcendent life, your suffering is nothing!” arcane energy bombs down. Enough to disintegrate flesh to dust, yet he still persists.
The ground surrounding him is charred, still he is unscarred but petrified, “very well then. End me.”
“Oh i could. But you disinterest me. You are weak, nothing but an entitled boy chasing for the sun. You are nothing, but an image of a past, Azir.”