Chapter XIX – Nightmares of the Past

“Mother, why must I go through this again?” a boy whispered while seated in front of a fireplace that burned throughout the night.

His innocent yet exhausted eyes could not avert from the flame’s cinder. Seven years of age, destined for a life filled with bloodshed, left wondering what his purpose was. They say that once one goes to war, they are never the same. Yet he already had memories of traumatizing battles and his repeated death.

“The gods have blessed you as the savor of our world, my dear child. Do you not wish to avenge your fallen brothers?” she asked with a honeyed voice while holding a knife in hand, carving away at a small chunk of wood.

She was making a token to the goddess of death, Enna.

The woman was a mother of four, with the boy being the youngest, five years apart from the third born child. All three of the older siblings had lost their lives. Two were slain in battle fighting against forces of Hell, while the third died to a curse bestowed by a night hag. Her husband, a cowardly tavern drunk who pretended to be a cripple to avoid deployment and abandoned her for another woman since she had gone mad after the loss of her firstborn. The eldest son was sent in his father's stead, even though he was fifteen years of age.

“Why would you call this a blessing mother? Won’t just the suffering that I know of repeat itself?”

“No my child. Enna herself watches over you.”

Before the boy was born, a witch came to visit. She foretold that he would awaken great powers on the fifth blood moon many years after his birth. Tonight the witch’s words were to come true, a moment that would lead the boy on the destined path.

“If that is true, then why have I failed in the past?”

“You’ve failed only to appear now, at a time where you shall finally be ready to face such evil. If you don’t, then your brothers’ deaths were all for naught.”

“Why must I bear the burden of this forsaken world? Why must I be the sacrifice?”

Footsteps echoed through the old cottage house as the aged wooden planks wept for better care. His breath made misty clouds, proof of how freezing the dark room was. With the howling wind of winter, despair crept in the village of Zatrav.

Wrapping her arms around the boy, his mother sat down behind him and hummed.

“Andras, my boy. . .” she whispered into his ear.

His mother’s embrace was not one of love, but one of desperation. Never did the boy celebrate his birth, nor did he have friends. Even in the fading memories of his former lives, he was nothing but a tool.

“Your name is quite special. Given to you by the first Lord, the Lord of Light that protects us. Andras is what they call you my dear boy. Name that carries weight in the world, a name meaning warrior.”

“Why do you accept the idea of my sacrifice?”

“Are you saying that my love for you isn’t real?”

The boy could not dare answer and soon began crying. While the memories of the past remained with him, they felt foreign. Always left wondering what parental love felt like. Never reaching an age that allowed him to gain wisdom, instead left only with the knowledge necessary to succeed the next time he was reborn.

The mother tried soothing him, but unknowing to her he sensed the harbored hatred she truly felt.

If only he didn’t fail before. Why did he have to be so weak? Maybe my true sons would have been still among the living. This soul, which stole my fourth son’s body, now asks for comfort. Fate, you sicken me.

The boy kept crying through the night. He was always able to sense what others felt. Some called it a blessing, but to him it was a curse. Even though his mother didn't love him, the boy had no one else. Nobody he could call family. The wind cried for him, knowing the destiny that awaited.

Midnight came, and screams began to echo throughout the village. Men and women cried desperately for help. Andras glanced towards the window only to see a grown man banging against the glass. That was the first time he saw a human perish in this life as a shadow that walked behind tore him to shreds.

“You have to save us, Andras,” his mother pleaded tearfully out of fear. “Awaken my dear boy, show me that I was not forsaken.”

Her voice was brittle and hands cold, yet he could not do anything to change the fate that awaited them. History that he feared was about to repeat. Outside the cottage was nothing but traumatizing screams that rang in the boy’s ears. Haunting sounds of death and despair. Covering his ears and shutting his eyes, he hoped it was all a dream. Andras was petrified.

When the front doors of the cottage shattered into pieces, everything went silent. The only thing the boy could hear was his trembling breath and feel the relentlessly pounding heart. He counted from one to a hundred, with each count taking longer than the former.

Nothing happened.

Opening his eyes, the boy realized that his mother went missing. The snow made its way into the house. He heard no sound and felt neither warm nor cold. The fear that petrified his heart had slowly faded.

Rising to his feeble feet, he slowly took wobbly steps towards the outside. The once wooden planks that cried now were silent and stained with blood.

Reaching out into the cold snow, his eyes adjusted to the crimson moonlight that befell the village. Dozens of corpses decorated his view. Men used as target practice and food, with their bodies mutilated while women were abused and used as sexual relief before being torn to shreds or taken away.

Blood-covered snow made a red carpet for him to reach the front of the garden, where the mother’s corpse lay ruined. Words could not describe the sickening view that the boy saw.

Mother.

Fatigue and dizziness struck him, as he collapsed on his knees. The silence was shattered by footsteps made in crunching snow from the front. Glancing up, a hairless humanoid monster that stood two meters in height with a muscular build. Along its arms, it had blood-covered, razor-sharp claws that looked no less sharp than steel blades. Its eyes were crimson and surrounded by a visible and wavy vapor aura, colored purple mixed with the darkest black.

The boy's heart pounded faster with each of the creature’s guttural chuckles.

It wasn’t the only one present, as the boy found himself surrounded by a dozen more.

Raising its claw, the demon emitted petrifying killing intent. The boy could do nothing but shut his eyes and scream.

Before the attack could land, a radiating blue light burst around the boy along with a deafening high pitched noise.

He dared not open his eyes as fear of death consumed him. Kneeling on the ground and left waiting for what felt like an eternity, he finally felt a touch on his shoulder. When he open his eyes, the boy saw a man wearing winter clothes belonging to a noble, couching in front of him.

“Andras, we have been waiting for your return,” he spoke with a modulated voice.

The entire village, including the monsters, had been engulfed in ice. Behind the man stood a battalion of human soldiers who observed in the distance the village getting massacred. A small price to pay for the hero’s awakening.

Jumping out of bed, soaked in sweat, Arthur grabbed hold of the shirt he wore to bed. His heavy panting echoed within the bedroom.

“Just a dream. . .” he whispered collapsing back on the bed.

With a sigh of relief, he glanced outside the window and towards the full moon.

“Why would I remember that?” he asked himself before mustering the strength to get out of bed.

It was barely past midnight.

He opened the doors to his room and stepped into the hallway. A sound came from downstairs. Carefully, he made his way down the stairs with faint music playing in the background and a blueish light coming from around the corner. Like a ghost in the dark, Arthur appeared in the living room only to see Sophie who sat in her pajamas enjoying a movie in the dark.

“Oppa? What are you doing up?” she called out to him.

It was impressive just how fearless Sophie was. Though, she was watching a comedy, as the laughing track played in the background to a poorly made joke.

“It’s nothing. Why are you up?” he asked with a breathy voice.

“Couldn’t sleep, so I decided to watch a movie before hitting the bed.”

She was doubtful of his words but decided not to call him out on it. Clearly, he had a nightmare.

“Want to join me? It might be the end, but the story is silly enough where you might still get a laugh in.”

“Nah, I’m fine. Going to drink water and hit the bed. You should too, otherwise, you’ll be exhausted after our morning run.”

“Eh, I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it,” she ensured him.

Her giggle forced a smile to appear on his face, making him remember that this was now his life.

“Don’t stay up too late.”

After drinking a glass of water, he returned to sleep. Entering deep slumber, his nightmares were far from over.

Within the burning city of Raveryn, conflict broke out. Demonic forces consisting of various monsters that were too numerous in type to name, and other humanoid races evil in nature that joined them, launched an assault on the city after a two-year-long siege.

With the defensive array made of divine energy significantly weakening after an extended magical bombardment over time, the siege weapons wielded by monsters that reached heights comparable to the tallest giants shattered the city walls. Monstrosities that reached the two dozen meter range height, roamed the city streets.

A sea of blood flooded through the streets, as the armies were slowly being decimated. Greater monsters like demons charged towards the palace, slaying anyone that opposed them. Meanwhile, lesser creatures such as goblins invaded homes and killed the citizens. Burning down the residential area, the men were slaughtered painfully, while the women were raped and tied to wooden boards to be used as living shields against arrows that the humans preferred. The smell of ash and death filled the air, along with the screams of innocents and cries of soldiers that fought back.

Stationed in the central square were the elite forces of Raveryn, the capital of Eleron. Consisting of a hundred heavily armored knights, one thousand infantry, seven paladins blessed with divine powers, and the general who was also a powerful arch-mage.

“Get ready men!” the general yelled with a booming voice enhanced by magic.

Rushing through the streets, a wave of countless enemies collapsed upon them. Regardless of who one was, there was no way of being numb to the fear they inflict. Their frenzied rage and war cries were enough to harm the soul itself.

With the clash of the two forces, magic warfare between them began. Channeled spells that were not blocked by magical means ravaged both armies mercilessly, and the paladins that stood at the forefront used their divine blessings to repel as many enemies as possible.

Even their hearts quaked as the demon commander stepped to the front. Roughly three meters in height, wielding an oversized halberd infused with necrotic energy, and covered in plated armor, a monstrous bull-like demon that shared similar features as a Minotaur, roared. The shockwave of which blasted away countless men and killed just as many as their eardrums shattered.

The opening created allowed for a second wave of enemies to swarm the defensive forces, but the momentum shifted as a beam of bright light struck the ground in front of the enemy commander. Appearing from it was none other than the prophesized hero Andras. With a single flick of his hand and a basic chanting of a spell, a wave of energy burst forward crushing the frontline enemies with its weight.

“So you’ve come,” the demon spoke in human tongue.

His deep and growly voice penetrated the hearts of those who listened.

“This time I shall claim your head,” Andras proclaimed confidently.

The two clashed many times over the decade but never has one claimed the other’s life. Every time Andras was about to win, more enemies would rush to his rescue, but it would be foolish to say that he was stronger than the demon to the point where victory was assured if it was a fair duel. The two were much closer than Andras would have liked in terms of power.

Disappearing into thin air, the large demon teleported above Andras and slammed downwards with his halberd. Though dodged, the shockwave of the weapon created a crater in the ground and collapsed nearby houses.

Kaisa fifth form, Kai De Virtuous Execution!

Kai De was a sword drawing technique and Virtuous Execution was a thrusting attack that focuses on delivering a quick killing blow, typically to the neck.

Empowered by buffs previously applied to him using magic, along with both strength and speed enhanced by Qi, his speed reached to the point where the human eye failed to follow his movements.

The hit ripped into the commander’s throat as the longsword he wielded was the Heavenly Thorn Katarina, capable of slicing through the hardened skin as if it were water. With blood gushing out of his throat, the commander gritted his teeth and slammed his hoof on the ground, making Andras backstep to safety. The fight was far from over as the demon possessed greater regenerative powers, the wound he inflicted was to be healed within seconds.

However, while the wound still persisted, Andras used it as an opening to channel magical energy and create beams of light that would attack his enemy. Each hit causing searing pain, but that too would be recovered quickly. To the untrained eye, those attacks were pointless, but there was a limit to how much healing one can endure before it slowed down. Every wound inflicted had a purpose.

Mixing magic and martial arts, the fight between the two forced a ceasefire between the human forces and monsters that surrounded them. Simply put, anyone who dared step into their wide range would be either cut down in an instant or crushed by the weight of their auras. This was a fight between two monsters that reached strength nearing demon lords.

The only reason the city withstood their clash was that the demon commander needed something within the city and could not risk its destruction, and Andras had no desire to slaughter the million people living in it. Otherwise, the landscape would be leveled by their high-tier abilities that spanned over larger areas.

Both gained advantages from such a situation. Andras was far superior versatility due to magic and technique, while the demon wielded more power and stronger defense along with its recovery magic.

The fight was reaching its climax, and Andars once again had the upper hand. However, his celebration was cut short as the demon burst into laughter.

“You’ve failed yet again Andras,” his words were truthful and not a mere boast. “The sealed relic has been claimed.”

“You’re lying!” Andras yelled out, rushing to deliver a killing blow.

Dark magic gathered around the demon to form a defensive array capable of repelling Andras’s attack. Lesser demons sacrificed themselves by charging him to create an opening for their commander to retreat via teleportation magic that required a few seconds to cast. Few seconds that would cost hundreds of sacrifices thrown at a blood lusted Andras.

With the disappearance of the demon commander, Andras screamed to the heavens before rushing to confirm the truth. The city was still ravaged by forces that remained, but with the commander gone, they would eventually either retreat or be eradicated by the rallied allies.

Reaching the monastery that was located in the eastern part of town, Andras observed as countless corpses were splattered against the walls and impaled with spears. The front doors had collapsed due to strong impact. Using magic to clear out the debris, he ventured into the blood-soaked hall. A dozen paladins were torn to shreds, and the priestess that guarded the place was stripped of her clothes and strapped to the statue of Arelia, goddess of life. Her skin was branded by burn marks made up of infernal scripts, with the cause of death being an internal injury which caused a slow death, noticeable only due to the discolored skin around her stomach.

Averting his gaze, he looked down to the open trap door which was hidden underneath the central carpet that covered the floor from the doorway to the altar.

Descending into the darkness, he knew what awaited ahead but was still not ready to face the truth. Stationed underneath the monastery was a hidden dungeon which held a nonmagical relic that served as one of five keys leading to the true artifact capable of cracking open parts of the gate preventing passage between the mortal world and the underworld, or better known as the Gates to the Abyss.

While he feared the loss of the artifact, what worried him more was seeing the one person he came to care about over the years, Alissa. She was the first person to treat Andras with kindness, and the only person who saw him as a human being and not a tool to stop the war. A year younger than him, and with a bright future ahead of her, he could not help but hope to win her affection as he was smitten with her. Granted that their relationship never reached that stage, and she was promised to another.

Entering the room, all the soldiers stationed suffered the same fate. Impaled by gruesome metal spikes through their chest or guts. Their eyes were gouged out and some even had their limbs torn off for the sin of daring to oppose the monster that entered. The enemy that came through there was likely on par if not stronger than the commander, but wished to remain hidden from Andras.

It was then that he finally saw her. Leaning against the wall, her body was ruined all the same. He approached, falling to his knees before sobbing in disbelief. That’s when it happened. Her hand twitched, as she showed signs of life.

“Andras?” she asked with a weak voice without the ability to see.

Due to her magical energy, her life was prolonged even in such a helpless state, though her eyes and mouth had trails of blood.

“Alissa. . .” he called out shocked.

“Andras, you’re here,” she coughed up blood.

He grabbed hold of her hand. There was nothing he could do but watch her die slowly. The wound inflicted was something that no healer within the city could mend, and moving her was impossible.

“It really is you, Andras,” she spoke, recognizing his voice. “It’s so painful and dark. . .”

He held back his tears.

“It’s OK, Alissa. . .” he whispered.

“Andras,” she mumbled. “I failed to stop them.”

“It’s OK. . .”

“Andras. . .” her voice became weaker as she sobbed in pain, unable to produce tears due to her eyes being destroyed. “I don’t want to die. . .”

“I know. . .”

It was all he could say.

Her grip loosened as she passed away moments later.

His cries echoed in the dark.

“No!” Arthur yelled out in pain, managing to wake himself up.

A soothing hush rang in his ear as he felt a warm hug from behind. Turning around, Arthur saw Sophie who laid down next to him in his bed. It was clear that after the movie, she came to check up on him and saw him trembling so decided to sleep in his room for the night.

“It’s OK,” she whispered.

Her words made his eyes tear up before she embraced him into a deeper hug.

“Sophie, I. . .”

She kept on humming a soothing melody into his ear, a song she remembered when she was little that her dad used to hum. No words were needed, as he kept quiet and accepted the situation for what it was.

“You’re home Oppa,” she whispered. “I’ll always be here for you. . .”

The nightmares he had, the memories he recalled, they could not take away from the warmth and love he felt in Sophie’s arms. His terror slowly vanished, as the two fell asleep once more. That morning, they skipped their run and slept in a bit late, getting some well-deserved rest.

Chapter End.

Thank you for reading.