Draconic Testament (16 page)

”I thought you were going to forfeit for a moment there.” Varnis said. “You are sure you wish to continue?”
”Yeah, no problem.” Bastion said, confident.
”Thus the battle resumes.” Varnis said, casting fire at Bastion. Bastion blocks with a shield, then draws mana, not from the pillars in the main room, like everybody else, but from above. Whenever you draw mana, there’s no limit to how much you can draw, but if you keep drawing past a certain limit, you waste the mana that you’re drawing, since it basically fades away. He continues drawing from all the lights, till the glow fades and cuts out. The room is full of darkness, and the Magi gasp in shock. He senses that Varnis and the magi are drawing mana from the pillar to illuminate light, and the crystals above will soon be back on to light up the area, so, in the darkness, he closes his eyes and begins to cast Odin, the lightning spell. While his eyes are closed, he can see the exact location of Varnis, who had illuminated a small radius around him by lighting a ball of light in his hands. As he intensifies it, Bastion fires the lightning toward him, and it crackles and soars through the air. Varnis drops the ball and puts up a shield, but before the grids have finished piecing together, it penetrates a small hole in the middle of the shield just as it was about to come together, electrifying Varnis. Varnis clenches his teeth and tries to roar in pain as the electricity shocks his body, making it spasm uncontrollably. As the lights around the room, from the gems and the mages, lit up the room, the audience gasped, seeing their elder being beaten by such an inexperienced child. As Bastion’s hopes rose, Varnis released an explosive amount of energy from within him, shorting out and arcing away the lightning and knocking away any debris or objects that had surrounded him. Bastion fell backward from the force of Varnis’ magic, but he maintained his footing. He was momentarily dazed by the blow, and his vision was not up to par. He rubs at his eyes, and slowly his senses piece back together like a jigsaw puzzle. He sees Varnis walking towards him, but being a good PE student, he knows if he tries to make any fast movements in this state, he’ll end up making his dizziness far worse. Perhaps even to the point where he is knocked out. He raises his hands to cast a shield, but he has trouble connecting with the pillar, and before he can focus and make the connection. Varnis grabs Bastion’s hand. Bastion groans uses his other hand to try and break Varnis’ grip, but as he looks up he sees Varnis begin to conjure fire in his hand. Dozens of possible outcomes run through Bastion’s head as he sees Varnis’ cold look, and the intent to harm, and he panics trying to draw magic again. He ends up trying to swing for Varnis, to no effect. The room was as silent as a graveyard, but unbeknownst to Bastion, the Magi were actually looking on expectantly, as if this the key point in the fight. Bastion continues to flail, but then submits, and looks on at Varnis in terror… then… the flame in his hand goes out, and he releases Bastion from his grasp. “That’s enough.” Varnis said, turning to the crowd who was murmuring at the match they had just seen, whispering theories and statements such as ‘The boy was not bad’ and ‘Varnis has not dulled with age’. The Magi did not have to be told to get back to work, and they turned off to continue practice, or leave the room, dispersing and leaving a single being looking on at the stage as she had the whole time, Veronica. Bastion had never been so confused in his life.
Veronica came up onto the platform where a brooding Bastion clambers his way to his feet. The defeat had bothered him slightly, and he shudders with humility and embarrassment when he thinks of how he must have looked struggling like that in the final moments of the fight. He turned to face Veronica as she approached him alongside Varnis, though looking her in the eye was difficult. This was one of his fears, to be beaten in a fight in front of his friends, though most of that fear came from how Talia would react if she was present. But Veronica wasn’t Talia, she was calm and her eyes were not judging Bastion. She saw his distress right away. “There’s no way you could have won… you put up a far better fight than I did when I joined.” Veronica said
”I'm sorry for how the fight played out… it’s a formality when accepting sorcerers into the Blue Magi…” Varnis said.
“Humiliation is a formality, then?” Bastion asked, bitter.
“Drop the pride, Bastion.” Veronica sighed.
“Each race has certain… bonus attributes when fighting with magic. In the last moments of that fight, you gave off the impression you were merely human. You panicked when you thought your life was in danger, whereas a Domini would have become enraged, or a Cazrian would have kept his cool. Not all creatures of the universe share human nature. Humans have evolved knowing and feeling fear to protect themselves. Throughout the fight, there were no hints that you had any training of any kind, or had seen other races fight.” He says, pausing. Bastion takes this time to take a peek at Veronica, who had moved her gaze away from Bastion for that moment. “Plus, you have obviously been spending time at earthen fighting classes, that much was apparent.”
”Yeah. Boxing and Japanese sword fighting.” Bastion said.
”Sword fighting may be of some use.” Varnis said. “Magi don’t use guns. They’re usually useless against us, due to our shield and the fact that bullets can be reflected elsewhere, including back at the aggressor, so it’s usually not a good idea… Not for human guns, anyhow.”
“What, bullets can’t hurt you?” Bastion asked. “That seems a bit ridiculous to believe.”
“Aye, I suppose it is.” Veronica said. “An unsuspecting Magi would easily be killed by a bullet from a gun, but a mere child could easily protect themselves from bullets if they knew they were coming. Most Magi children are taught at a young age how to defend themselves against bullets by creating a disintegration field around their body. That way, small projectiles of any kind would quickly be absorbed by the field and torn apart. The bullet would be reduced to dust before hitting the body.”
”So… what now?” Bastion asks, flinching from the pains on his body.
”Well… Veronica will heal you, and you can do whatever you like for the rest of the day. Training will begin tomorrow. You’ll be taught many things, such as using magic effectively and severing your magic’s instincts. I’ll come by later to take your blood.” Varnis said.
“M...My blood!? What do you mean?” Bastion asked, as images from scary vampire movies entered his head.
“Each recruit has to submit a vial of blood to Rhenium, as well as their details. To track you down if you turn rogue.” Varnis said. “It’s not a choice thing.”
“Alright...” Bastion said, reluctantly.
“I bid you both good day.” Varnis said, and with that, Varnis turned and began to return to whatever duties he had before Veronica had brought Bastion to him. “That’ll be all.” Bastion sighed from his wounds, and Veronica could almost feel the distress radiating from him. “It’s all right” Veronica said, putting a hand close to his chest where most of the damage was. “There won’t even be much of a trace of pain after I heal you up. You may feel a little achy, especially in the morning… but you’ll walk it off.” Bastion felt the pain begin to fade, though it felt as if it left behind a mark. He could almost still feel the impact the kick had, just with no pain. It was as if the pain came in a bag form, and inside the bag was the pain, and once the wound is healed, the bag remains, but the pain is gone from within. “Do you regret coming here?” Veronica asked, expecting to be disappointed.
”No, no. I'm actually a little excited to learn. It’s just; I usually like competition in my sparring matches. It wasn’t exactly fair.” Bastion said.
”It’s alright. Nobody will probably even retell what happened down here. Nobody expected you to win… someday you may, though.” Veronica said “During training, we’ll have sparring matches too.” The thought of fighting a girl, even if it would be even, felt a little off to Bastion, though he didn’t doubt that Veronica would likely wipe the floor with him anyway. “It will be calm now. No more big surprises, or having your head filled with wild tales of Magi.” Veronica said. “Nothing from this point could possibly seem off to you, and there will be plenty of time to take it in.” Bastion smiled at Veronica, and luckily for him, it later seemed to Bastion that she was probably right. Varnis had sent the word out that Bastion was officially a Magi, and most Magi he met greeted him with a warm smile, and treated him like family.
 

Chapter
Six – The Dreadlord Draynar
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Draynar the first of Clan Yumerga.
The town was a smouldering mess of rubble and ash. Draynar overlooked the heaps of rubble and burning trees of one of the most beautiful and historic parks in the Sovereign States of Zolka, named the ‘Amber Fell’. The work of the Domini and the work of Magic. Around 5 of 18 states of Zolka had been taken over and occupied by the Domini, be that Godslayer’s Legion or not. The Godslayer’s legion began 2691 CY, during the DomiCazrian war, and it was comprised of Domini who had followed the Dreadlord Adda’Gorath in the defence of the Zolkan Portal, which connected the half-dead world of Dominion to Cazria. If the portal had been closed, the Domini on Dominion would have been doomed. It was a death sentence, and the only way they could have defended themselves was starting a war. The reason the Zolkan military had done this was because crime rates for Domini were going through the roof, and it was only getting worse. It wasn’t just the Domini, though. When other races saw how easily the Domini escaped after doing such horrific deeds, it wasn’t long before farmers and common folk turned bandit, plundering the once rich and illustrious sovereign states of Zolka. The Domini were violent creatures, though some tried to hide their lust for carnage and lead honest lives. The lust was overwhelming for many of the Domini, as the lust came from the tentacles atop their head, which replaced their hair. They detected Magic, and it would urge the Domini to join in the fight and kill all, indiscriminately. The ones that heeded these urges too much turned insane, and is referred to as ‘the lost’. After the Cazrians had saved them from their world, they had kept their heads low, and rarely fought anyone, however, when the Metholian civil war blew over the Zolka, Adda’Gorath had felt the need to help the Crusaders who had the good will to save their dying world against the dragon’s will. The death had been rampant, and it was forever on the Domini’s minds. Thanks to that war, the Domini had been turned to criminal, their crimes rising after the wars over the years. It got so bad, at one time, that the Zolkan military had made Alienages to lock away any accused Domini of criminal work. Many innocent Domini were locked away from a rather lengthy period of time, men and women both, and the weak were prey for the strong within the Alienages while nobody cared to help them. However, this didn’t last long, about two decades. Then, the Zolkan military tried to take down the portal in direct defiance of Metholi, which sparked the DomiCazrian war, and that had elevated to unstoppable points. It went from defending their lives, to willingly taking away others, and Metholi had come in to stop them. Sancterus put down Adda’Gorath and his family and quelled the Domini’s rage by giving them gifts and things they could work their rage on, namely an Arena in Dominion. However, Sancterus never put down Draynar. Instead, he took him as his apprentice, a young boy at the time. Sancterus had killed Adda’Gorath right in front of his son, Draynar. For that, Draynar returned the favour, and slew Sancterus and his wife, and fled to Zolka, where he riled up the Domini for their second war. However, both Zolka and the Domini were weak from their past war, even though Metholi was not likely to bother with this war. The Domini were slowly taking state by state, but of late, the fighting was starting to die down. Draynar was plotting his next moves, wondering what was next. The state he was in, which was called Northern Cross, was the most recent state that had been taken over. The fight was long, and hard, and lasted years, but like other four states, it eventually fell. Draynar was sitting cross legged upon the ledge on the roof of a skyscraper, looking out at the carnage around the city and beyond with an Arcana in his lap, when his advisor, Glackan, had come to speak with him, approaching from behind. “Dreadlord Draynar.” She said, approaching him.
“I told you many times to call me Draynar.” Draynar said. “I'm not some high and mighty egotistical Dreadlord like my father. I'm hardly a Dreadlord at all.”
“How could you say that?” Glackan asked. “Look at what you’ve accomplished.”
“Burning, dead buildings. The residents we’ve enslaved are being brutalised, against my commands. They just follow me because of my blood.” He said. “It doesn’t bother me though. My ideals will become a reality, either way. This... This won’t matter.” He turned to look at Glackan, a slight smile on his face. That smile had always been there, for as long as Glackan could remember. Glackan used to be Draynar’s wet-nurse during his childhood years, as her breasts were huge and refilled with milk fast, fast enough so that Draynar and her own children could suckle the milk from her teats. When she had attempted to rescue Draynar from Sancterus’ grasp, and nearly gotten herself killed, but Draynar begged for Glackan to be spared. After that, Glackan had raised her own children and kept in contact with Draynar. “Problem, Glackan?” He asked.
“It’s just... Our people...” Glackan said.
“You know it won’t matter for the longest time.” Draynar said. “You know it will all be okay in the end. For everyone.”
“I know... It’s just...”
“Did you have a twin, Glackan?” Draynar asked.
“Yeah.” She admitted. “I did.”
“How long did she last?” Draynar asked. Glackan hesitated.
“Died at the age of four. A hate crime.” Glackan said.
“What was her name?” Draynar asked.
“Polira, 62nd of her name, of Clan Ledger.” Glackan said.
“So many before her had that name.” Draynar said. “I once heard a Cazrian say he was thankful that the Domini died young, because we usually spurt out twins. Everybody’s twin just... dies very quickly. We keep names and records in our family books, relics that hold records of the pasts, and also relics of a time when we were civilised. A time where we had futures. That was so long ago, so long ago that even our great grandfathers could only wonder what that time was like. Now, what do we have? Death. Constant death. Nobody wants us alive... Sometimes, when I watch the Domini, sometimes I wish I was Cazrian. Sometimes I wished I could just kill the rest of our race.”
“How can you say that?” Glackan asked, hurt and confused. She was much older than Draynar, and used to tend to him when he was but a child. He had changed so much since that time. “I'm sorry.” Draynar said. “Perhaps I shouldn’t speak my mind so freely. It’s just; I am surrounded by people I can’t stand. I'm surrounded by Domini, who hate Cazrians and wants to kill anything they can get their hands on, or perhaps bleeding hearts who want revenge for their dead, and the townsfolk who I’ve sworn to allow no harm to come to spitting on us freely. I can’t stand it.”
“I'm not like that.” Glackan said.
“I know. For that, I'm glad. I’d have just jumped off this skyscraper by now if not for you.” Draynar said.
“I think it’d just the stress of living in your father’s shadow that hounds you.” Glackan said. “His words haunt you, and his death. Adda’Gorath was a hateful man. He hated everything, and trusted nothing but those of his own seed. He trusted in you, and so far, you’ve conquered more than he could have.”
“I don't know about that... But thanks, all the same.” Draynar said.  “I’d just prefer it if the Domini could grow up with their birth twins, instead of being haunted by their deaths.”
“I hear talk among the men of your heroics.” Glackan said. “Of how reckless you are. Just because you’re strong, it doesn’t mean you should charge ahead and risk your life so nobody else will die. You speak as if you’re hardened and as evil as everyone else, but you’re not. You’re kind, and the men can see that. Just... be careful.”
“Apologies.” She said. “I'm babbling.”
“It’s very much like you to babble.” Draynar said. “It comforts me. I used to listen to you forever all that time ago, back in that dreadful excuse for a palace, till I went to sleep, not that you’re boring.”
“Seems like yesterday...” Glackan said.
“Does it?” Draynar asked. “Honestly, I can’t remember. I feel like I’ve been sitting up here for years.”
“You always say things like that.”  Glackan said.
“Guess I'm just bored all the time.” Draynar said.
“Remember our old friend Torrig?” Glackan asked.
“No, not really.” Draynar said. “Is that the Warlock girl that Sheol sent to split?”
“No, that’s Yula.” Glackan said. “I'm talking about the male paragon. He’s really obnoxious.”
“I don't recall. Continue, anyway.” Draynar commanded.
“Well... He’s dead.” Glackan said.
“How unfortunate.” Draynar said sarcastically.
“He died on Earth. In a human town.” Glackan said.
“A human killed him?” Draynar asked, catching interest. “That’s... haha! Golden! Are the humans losing their minds over it?”
“No.” Glackan said. “A human did not kill him, at least, I don't think. His body was burned afterwards, so... It was either a Magi, or...”
“Or?” Draynar asked, then, he caught an idea. “No, not him! He’s too young to take a Paragon...”
“I'm sure Torrig would have tried to take him alive, so he wouldn’t have been going full out. Either that, or his Paladin slew Torrig.” Glackan explained.
“This is... This is good! This is good!” Draynar beamed. “He needs to die, so that Sheol can’t get his hands all over him and become the ‘gods’ of the new race, as like likes to say. Then, our lord can put his faith in us.”
“Don't we need him?” Glackan asked.
“We needed Sancterus, and we need Adda’Gorath, but they fell victim to death, and we’re still working towards our goal. We’re still in the shadows, several steps ahead of everyone.” Draynar said. “Plus, we’ve been commissioned to our mission, and Sanctum has been commissioned to theirs, only theirs has paid off! If we let them take the cake, our lord will likely grant them all sorts of blessings, and we’ll be stuck as second-rate fools. I won’t allow them. We need to kill him.”
“Draynar... Are you... alright?” Glackan asked, disturbed.
“I’m fine!” Draynar snapped, his tentacles writhing in anger and excitement. Then he caught himself, rubbing his eyes. “I’m fine. This is me talking. This is what we need.”
“What’s the plan, then?” Glackan asked.
“... I don't know...” Draynar said. “We can’t just search all over the area for him, can we? A bunch of Domini?”
“No... I suppose we can’t...” Glackan said. “We have to think of something subtle.”
“Sanctum have Cazrians to blend in the crowds with magic and cloaks, but Domini? We got tentacles that are meatier than hair, and huge tails like a Jackobi! What, do we shove them up our arses?” Draynar moaned. “We do have the girl to do the scouting work.” Glackan said. “What about her?”
“The girl?” Draynar pondered. “With her teleporting skills, she’d do nicely. But, we can’t have her wandering around, looking for him, the Magi would catch onto her in time... We still need something to go on.”
“Perhaps I can help you with that.” A voice from behind the two said. Glackan turned around, but Draynar did not need to. He knew who it was. The Philosophical Scientist, Ivorian, the creator Replication and the Demon of Nature. His Infamy knew no bounds, as he had created a device to duplicate a living body, and configure it’s features and genetics. His intelligence was unparalleled in this world, with the exception of Dhym, and perhaps Blight’s Children. However, despite all his intelligence, he was also infamous among the Legion for being obscure, and was rumoured to be completely deranged. There were disturbing rumours surrounding some of his habits and disappearances, something that Draynar was fully aware of. He had not shared what he had seen Ivorian doing with anyone. Despite all Draynar’s claims and ideals, he still had a soft stomach compared to Ivorian’s. Ivorian was an Ispii, with long hair and finely cut robes that would make a nobleman insecure. You couldn’t see his hands because the robes were hanging over them, and he had a mask with a smiley face on it, which was the complete opposite of Ivorian’s personality. He did everything odd. Everything seemed clumsy, and he rarely let anybody into his life as far as friends went. What people feared about Ivorian was what they didn’t know. “How can I help you, Witchdoctor?” Draynar asked. It was a nickname he called Ivorian to evoke some emotion, but he’d never seen any. He was calmer than Draynar. “I have the answer to your troubles.” He said. “The way to overthrow Sanctum and become the Lord’s chosen, if you want it.”
“Of course I do.” Draynar said.
“Perhaps we shouldn’t.” Glackan said, disillusioned now that Ivorian was involved. “Let’s just go along with the tasks that our lord gave us.”
“Glackan... What am I to do with you?” Draynar asked. “Constantly worrying over me.”
“I worry over all of us!” Glackan scolded him.
“Oh, quit it, fussball.” Draynar said. “Carry on, Ivorian.”
“I had not informed you of this.” Ivorian said. “A couple of decades back; I was imprisoned by Laer and some woman from the Covenant of Dawn for war crimes on Metholi during the DomiCazrian war. Apparently, my mind was too important to throw away, so they had me kept in some resort prison. It was...” Ivorian trailed off into silence. Glackan shuffled uncomfortably, and warily, becoming rather intimidated, all the rumours she had heard rushing through her head, but Draynar sat patiently. Ivorian carried on, forgetting his last sentence. “After... Void knows how long of suffering and torture, they let me out in order to replicate someone. One last replication and I would be free to rejoin the fight for freedom. So, I did it. I recently found that replication.”
“Who did you replicate?” Draynar asked.
“The late head of the house Sylvarin, leaders of Sanctum.” He said.
“But... Replication is incomplete! It would have killed him, surely!” Glackan exclaimed.
“It did.” Ivorian scoffed.