“My beauty, oh, my magnum opus, complete at last; Dyosius, the sole device of my eternal power. The device of God, of Azafel, of Evra… The last remnant of my dying species–by my own hand, I might add. Yes, The Kinslayer, they’ve called me. The Eternal, they shall. I’ve come closer–no, I am putrid holocaust, and the lich unto my phylactery, Dyosius.

It’s all up to you now, Llestren’vatis. The Watcher. The Outsider. Very ambitious, what you have planned for me. Naive, though; before Serkukan’s empty body hits the cold tiles of my palace floor, both of your souls will be mine. And once I reap that energy, and I become the supernova, the universe, and god undying, Dyosius will serve its ultimate purpose. Azafel’s Ring, the court of our Red King… The court of King Algirak. Two birds killed with a single stone, as the multiverse whispers unto me… My multiverse, after tonight…”

-King Algirak, The Kinslayer

Five Hours before The Collapse

×××

A suit of curving ivory plate armor marched down the center of an iridescent marble palace, blue banners flowed from his rounded pauldrons and chainmail cuirass. Two wrinkled eyes poked through the front of his draconic helm, with white stars upon their azure pupils.

“Llestren’vatis.” a growl caught his attention.

He sighed before he turned to face a more jagged suit of crimson armor. His face, sure to be locked in eternal scowl, lay hidden away behind a sharpened, dagger-like helmet. “Yes, Serkukan?”

“Where is Vekzul?” his hissed. His balled fists pulsated with burning energy.

“Vekzul is dead. He was captured by Algirak’s pawns during the last eclipse.”

“Captured? He wasn’t that weak. A red especially is not killed, or captured, by pawns.”

Llestren’vatis held his tongue, then continued down the hall. Serkukan stormed after him.

“And from Elesia no less? Captured right here, is that what you’d have me believe?”

“You can believe what you wish, Serkukan, but Vekzul’s fate does not change, and nor does his change our own.”

“No, but I can.” his armor flared with fiery light that matched his flaring emotion. “Fuse with me. We’ll open a gateway; we can slip into his palace undetected and incinerate him.”

“Even Azar’kara could detect such gateways. No doubt Algirak is monitoring his leylines for such an attack.”

“Azar’kara?”

Llestren’vatis hesitated, finally turning to one of the many ornate doors lining the hall. He knocked, then turned back to Serkukan. “Azar’kara is one of Caloria’s many fortresses–”

Serkukan shuffled in irritation.

“–If they have the means to detect intruders, and Elesia does as well, then there is no question that Algirak would witness our entry and retain the upper hand. Even just peering in would surely alert him to our position here, and incite our own destruction.”

“Upper hand or not, it would barely take us a second–”

“To destroy his palace, perhaps, and most of his mortal pawns. But once that’s done, do you think killing him will be just as simple? He who pairs himself up with Azafel?”

“His strength is no greater than our own. So long as he doesn't use Dyosius–”

“And what if he does?” his eyes turned red. “Then we expect to die? Because he will, once he has us within that range. The last two obstacles stopping him from wandering the multiverse; we’d be dead sooner than you could fathom, perhaps even as we opened the portal…”

The door finally rattled open, and two hollow suits of silver plate marched out, followed by the potent aroma of lavender.

Serkukan glared. “Who’s hiding in there?”

“Your business is not to ask questions. Return to your quarters and bide your time. You’ll be useful soon enough. And if you heed what I've said, we just might have a chance.” he concluded, slamming the door shut behind him.

“Serky!” a young girl in a suit of similar cobalt armor dashed up the hall to him. “Albion has an idea! We can–”

“Not now, worm. Not ever.” he growled, turning away.

She frowned. A tall, azure-plated boy placed a hand on her shoulder, his golden eyes glistening. “Don’t worry, Tir. All in due time, as Llestren said.”

Llestren’vatis sighed and pulled his helmet free to reveal the long white braid and curling beard upon his aged face. His eyes turned gold when he looked to the woman laying on the violet bed before him.

“If your… visiting my bedchamber alone is part of your attempt to coerce me, I must admit; it’s working.” her teeth gleamed as she chuckled.

He shifted his lips with bemusement. “Jokes aside, you know my plea.”

“Of course, Llrestren, darling…” she snickered. “So long as you and Serkukan are willing to meet the… demands that I’ve set forth.”

He took a very long moment to consider her words.

Damn Etherians… can’t think about anything but themselves…

“Fine, then. It’s done.” he held out his steel gauntlet.

She laughed heartily. “I just knew you’d come around.”

The Relistar

4E156

Jeremy W. Recupero

“Fifty years was all it took. How many will it now take to sterilize the filth you've let prosper upon our land? How many will it take to repair the damage to our cities, empires, and people? And will we even succeed?

Only one thing is certain in the future you’ve created: our sterilization begins with you.”

- Alia Vleren, Azar’kara’s Second-in-Command

3E50, Last Day of the Third Era...

"Auuuuugh!"

A broad, double-bitted axe swung through warm air to shatter the flimsy handle of a woodsman’s hatchet.

The mud-drenched man screamed. His blistered hands scraped a trail of scarlet blood across the amber leaves as he desperately dragged himself away.

“Funny, eh?” a tan, shaven man leaned close to his face. “So close to the Hunters but so alone, no matter how hard you scream…”

He nodded at the towering bronze pyramid poking through the eastern trees. Dark silhouettes marched back and forth across its plateau with their halberds poised toward the sun.

The man wailed again as a powerful tug at his collar hoisted him up to his feet.

A bearded man wearing a deep scar over his left eye stared him in the face, bullish and donned in the same black leather gear as the axe-wielder. “I’m not asking again. Make with the coin, and you’ll walk away with your life.”

"N–no, I–I don’t have any–”

A sharp pain sprung up his side. He peered over his shoulder. A pale, thin-faced man with pointed ears forced smiled back at him. His side began to bleed.

Then he collapsed with a groan. The bullish man dropped immediately over the body, and began to rifle through his pockets.

The axe-wielder turned to the elf with a smirk, “At this rate, we might as well set up shop here permanently. What’s that, the fifth today?”

“Don’t be stupid, not even the Sylvet would, here.” he muttered, sliding his dagger away into the scabbard on his leg. “We’re passing through, and that’s it. Especially in Siln.”

“Shh!” hissed the third man, “Damn, he hasn’t got any after all.”

The thin man spit onto the body. “Damn woodsmen.”

“Probably think they’re safe so long as they travel light. Too bad ogres won’t treat them as kindly–”

A nearby rustling quieted him.

The axeman stepped forward, pausing when the bullish man gestured to him. The elf had already begun to creep away.

“We’re done here. Head for Dreslon. Could catch a few migrants on the way in.” the bullish man muttered, following the elf’s lead.

They finally turned to recede into the western woods.

Two black-red eyes stared out from beneath a dark bush, growling in satisfaction as his home became his own again. A long, bloody chain dragged through the dirt behind him, wrapped around his thick green wrists.

The man on the ground screamed again as the hulking creature towered over him, cracking the chain into his ribs like a crushing whip.

And then all was silent.

“How quickly the hunter becomes the hunted,” the elf noted.

“Shut up, Ilvas. What’s an ogre to us but a–”

“Please, don’t even pretend.” he rolled his eyes. “There's a reason why we're fleeing.”

"Bah." The bullish man waved him away.

The thin man scoffed. "You get too cocky and you're going to get us all killed…"

Two shimmering jade eyes echoed the autumn sun like glistening gemstones. Orange leaves fell around his limp body, circling the stump he had sprawled himself out upon. A strange breath escaped his lips just before he extended his slim, toned body into a comfortable stretch. He carefully slid his dark brown satchel just a bit closer to the log before he got comfortable once again.

He smiled, closing his eyes to let the scorching heat of Kylinstrom’s final heatwave wash over him rewardingly. And to think tomorrow could mark the first day of snow… Let this day last. Forever, even. Until Solus burns out…

His ears piqued suddenly at a distant rustling, growing louder as it neared the clearing. Birds fluttered away, seemingly unexcited by what they knew was coming.

The man smiled again.

He forced his heavy eyelids apart and sat up, greeting his visitors with a lofty yawn. “Caloria’s breath, I’ve only been waiting all day.”

Three bandits in black leather garb emerged from the trees with sinister glares in their eyes. He counted their weapons: an axe for the large one, a couple of daggers for the skinny elf, and…

The man at the front of the group drew two crude swords, obviously Harthian in nature, their sandy blades curving like the dunes of their native desert. He chuckled, “All day? And who’re you expecting?”

“Certainly not a bunch of punks done up in gaudy black leather." he mocked.

“You’re one to talk…” Ilvas muttered.

He smirked, glancing down to nod in delight at his own dark leather kit, with just enough blood still crusted into it to remind him of how he got it. “Suits me better than it does you, don’tcha think? The name’s Cedric Castelbre. Nice to meet'cha.”

"We've kept you waiting long enough, haven't we? Wethinks you already know what we're here for.” the frontman growled, beginning his approach.

“Hmm… Wouldn’t be money, would it?”

“Any and all.” he grinned as he neared.

Cedric dug into his pockets and pulled out empty hands with a kind smile. “I’m broke.”

“The last guy told us a similar story.” the axeman growled, circling the clearing.

“The last guy wasn’t lying…” Ilvas clutched the bridge of his nose.

Cedric cleared his throat as he finally rose from the log. He tossed a fist-sized, sepia bag onto the amber leaves between them. It jingled when it hit the ground, though not much louder than the crunching of leaves beneath it.

“So he was lying.” the man laughed.

“Just promise me you'll take it and leave." his face remained as still as stone.

The axeman growled, “He’s wasting our time. Probably has something nice in that satchel over there…”

Ilvas spoke, “Rivim, if this is an ambush…”

Rivim chuckled, taking a step forward. "Right, then. I promise."

Cedric smirked. Perfect.

“Rivim, wait.” Ilvas shouted suddenly. He closed his eyes, placed his hands out at his sides, and aimed his palms at the sky.

Cedric felt his muscles tense up and burn as Ilvas violently tugged and twisted the leylines around them. But even as Ilvas’ face contorted in pain, and smoke began to rise from his burning fingertips, Cedric stood unafflicted, his gaze unchanged.

“No magic,” Ilvas panted, “he can’t feel the leylines.”

“Then a blade will do perfectly–” Rivim gasped, finding himself unable to move.

“Riv? Is it a trap?” The axeman asked, glancing around warily.

Rivim shuddered, straining with all of his effort.

A dull laughter thumped within Cedric’s throat. “Not quite magic, no… At least not in the traditional way. And no traps, either. It seems that your friend intends to break our promise… and my Relistar does not appreciate that gesture…”

Ilvas snapped, “You’re bluffing. There’s no such thing; the Hunters never even found Tovas’ after his execution.”

Cedric’s grin only grew wider.

“Kill him already!”

“Glady.” Cedric muttered.

He swept his hand. Rivim’s head jerked itself backward, snapping his neck like a branch. He collapsed instantly. The leaves beneath him became darker and darker.

Ilvas gasped, drawing his green-hilted daggers.

“Stay where you are.” Cedric commanded.

“You bastard, I’ll kill you!”

The axeman raised his weapon well above his head. “You dirty–”

The flora on either side of Cedric burst open suddenly, and two black-clad, green masked bowmen leapt out from between the trees.

Ilvas lit up. “Yolvis, Torill! He killed Rivim, he–”

Cedric didn’t flinch.

Yolvis and Torill drew their bowstrings back.

Ilvas’ breaths came out in shudders, then, with Torill’s arrow pointed at his head. His eyes began to water.

The axeman stumbled back. An arrow had already lodged itself into his underarm, beside his heart. “Y-Yolvis! What are you doing, we’re your allies, we’re–”

“Not anymore.” Cedric shook his head. “And now, you hand your gold to me.”

“Galum!” Ilvas beckoned. The axeman stood still, brooding over his next move. But Ilvas knew him well enough to know that he would never make one, not without Rivim to lead him.

“Well, are you going to turn it over or–“

“No!” Ilvas screamed, rushing forward with his dagger poised upward.

Cedric lifted his covered sword up from his side. The dagger bit into his scabbard and Cedric pulled back his weapon, taking the dagger with it.

Ilvas flipped his second dagger. Cedric swung the scabbard again, cracking it against the elf’s jaw.

The elf collapsed to the dirt, clutching his bloodied cheek with a whimper.

Galum took a step forward, but froze up again.

"Alright, alright… let's get this over with." he rolled his eyes and knelt down to Ilvas. "I'll cut you a deal and then we'll be even, and you'll never have to see me again."

"H-huh?" he whimpered.

"A deal, you stupid bastard. Can you hear me?"

He nodded with clenched teeth and wet eyes.

"Good. All I need is for you to promise that you'll never speak a single word of what happened here, and I won't ever lay a finger on you. Or your pals."

He nodded more frantically.

"No, no, I need to hear the words: 'I promise.'"

Ilvas swallowed burning, bloody saliva. His eyes twitched and his hands shook. He knew what a promise meant to the Relistar. He had read the legends. "I-I promise."

Cedric dropped his satchel between them and dug into it, soon revealing a crimson crystal, and the white, eight-pointed star embedded into its surface.

"Th-the Relistar!" he gasped.

"That's right!"

Ilvas' lips snapped shut, locking into place as a fresh layer of skin fused over them, pulling his teeth together into a solid mass of flesh and bone. The other bandits crumpled to the ground around him, fighting the same agony.

Cedric's expression went dull. He stood and slid the crystal back into his chestpiece, turning his gaze away from the dying bandits.

He strode around Ilvas and stole a dagger, cutting his satchel free. His phony smile returned for just a moment, “Ah, ah–no fingers! Just like we agreed!”

“And so the hunters become the hunted yet again…” he mumbled as he strolled out of the clearing, four new satchels adorning his shoulders.

Within just a few minutes, he wandered through the ends of the cluttered forest to face the crumbling stone walls of Dreslon, separated from him by a wide gap where the grass had died away, and where the trees had been stripped to stumps.

The familiarly quiet buzz of the town was gone, replaced by the loud milling of expansion, constant shouting from weary workers, and the wafting scent of freshly cut wood. Ash and smoke hovered through the air, the harsh residue of burnt-out leylines.

And Mother, how crowded it’s become.

“Hunter’s blood… What a mess…” he heard a woman mutter as he passed a crowd of panicked, pale-skinned migrants at the gate, with their faces tucked behind the dark blue hoods of their heavy whitefox coats. Many still even carried their boltshafts, long steel rods with enchanted blue crystals stuck into their ends, perfect for blasting any frosted threats that may have assailed them, though plenty relied on the white-bearded elders to protect them with strange and powerful sorcery.

He scowled toward the migrants. Unfortunately for them, those petty sticks aren’t even capable of taking down a man, let alone any of the creatures that linger around the midland forests.

A startlingly wide, moss-green behemoth leaned over from beside the open gate, huffing cold steam through his toothy maw. His red-black eyes glared down at them. “Forget the Hunters ‘round here. They won’t protect you anymore…”

Cedric pulled his hood up and quietly passed through.

They must receive the most scorn out of all of Kylinstrom’s twisted cults…

A shady man in red-and-black leather garb caught his eye, shouting something into the passing crowd about deities and frost dragons.

Even those Sylvet, who’d rather execute and enslave the common man than packs of ravenous ogres, are subject to more praise than disdain nowadays. It’s not like either group is very far off from the other…

But at least they’re not Lunars.

The crowd thinned as he broke off into a narrow alley that led toward an aged shopping district, where wooden huts still lined the loosely cobbled road. He squinted as he neared the end of the path, quickly landing his eyes upon a most familiar shop. The rusted nails were still jutting out of the moldy wooden walls, as they had been ever since he had first arrived, and the sign still bore the dulled title of Greslock's General Goods upon it.

He choked as he forced open the heavy, squeaking door, as stagnant dust and mold immediately barraged his nostrils. Though it was always caked in a layer of dust, Greslock’s store always managed to impress with its organization, something lacking in the rest of the village.

Everything in the shop was neatly sorted and categorized into wooden bins lining the walls and forming the ‘aisles’ that stores in Cromer were more accustomed to, leading toward the small counter sequestered at the back where Greslock conducted all of his business. Cleanly carved wooden signs were hung above every box, indicating what food or goods lay within.

Cedric held his nose as the musty stench continued to permeate.

And even the horribly, hugely muscled and green Greslock himself, who Cedric’s eyes finally came to rest upon, was always neatly tucked up in imitation nobles' garb, laced at the top and sides unlike the drab potato sacks that every other imbecile in Dreslon wore, and neatly completed with a precise topknot upon his head. His hands came up in frustration, tugging at his tough, mossy face.

“I told you, old man, keep the apples separate from the oranges.” he roared.

“Fruit’s fruit, what’s it matter?” argued the bulky, grey-haired ogre to whom he was shouting.

“No, you–”

Cedric interrupted, “No wonder you don’t turn a profit in this place… they let you shout at customers like that?”

“Cedric!” he shouted out again, carelessly throwing the fruit back into the wrong baskets.

Cedric shrugged, letting his leathery cowl, nearly the length of a cape, flap over his shoulder, basking in the recognition. He brushed a patch of dirt out of his scruffy beard, coming closer to greet the ogre-kin.

“Stay back, you’re filthy!”

“As if you’d care?” he scoffed.

“You know damn well what I care about!” he turned, leading the way to the cluttered shop counter. The floor creaked under Cedric’s muddy black boots with every step. “And good timing, too.”

Cedric looked to where Greslock nodded; a white-gold plated soldier with his silvery hair tied behind his head, and a sword strapped at his side. He scrutinized the Maps & Compasses section, seemingly disappointed by the lackluster quality.

He whispered, “A Hunter in Dreslon?”

“Right. Think he’s here about the leylines. Seems we’re using a suspicious amount of magic. Just making sure no cult activity is going on… Then he met Norgurd about making us a Hunter-State, but you know how he is…”

“How everyone is.”

“Aye, right.” he cleared his throat as he rounded the counter. “What’s with the moody get-up, anyway? Funeral today?”

He chuckled, dropping himself onto one of the shabby stools beside the counter. “The way the empires have fallen, every day is some scumbag’s last.” he lifted up his hefty satchels and slid them up to Greslock.

“Not like you were even alive… Where’s this haul from? Or should I even ask?” he pushed a pair of small, flimsy spectacles up onto his wide nose, and tugged one of the bags open to inspect its contents. He closely examined each piece, jotting different prices down onto a piece of paper.

Cedric frowned at the low numbers. “Just a few bandits. Standard fare.”

“Where’d that big-hearted pacifism of yours go?” he mocked.

He furrowed his brow. “Does pacifism mean I shouldn't defend myself?”

"Oh, but you don't instigate them, right?"

Cedric twisted his lips.

"That's what I thought."

"Leave my extracurriculars alone, it's none of your damn business."

"Oh, extracurriculars? I wasn't aware you were part of any curriculum!" he laughed. "What, finally joined a cult?"

“Traveling circus.” he rolled his eyes. “And where does a creature like you even learn a word like that?"

"I could ask you the same." he grinned as though he had won a game. "I had one myself, many years ago. I was enrolled in a school back when Duaver and Ilgids were still around."

"Yeesh, that makes you, what, at least two-hundred years old? That means you witnessed Tovas’ execution, right?" Cedric’s expression lit up in interest.

Greslock nodded. "A lot longer than any other ogres. I should be proud."

"But…?" he slouched back down, realizing Greslock had no desire to speak of it.

The ogre shifted uneasily. "But what have I done with all of my time? My brothers chose to fight; I chose to… to run a shop into the ground."

"You’d rather have fought and died?"

"Bah. I’d rather’ve made a bigger impact."

"Your side gig doesn’t make a big enough impact?"

Greslock cleared his throat.

"Oh, right. Sorry." Cedric lowered his head.

"Just being courteous."

Cedric shifted himself awkwardly while he waited for Greslock to reattain his footing in the conversation.

“Anyway… the fuseflower is saleable, the weapons are nothing special, ‘sides the Harthian ones, but even this map has some glaring inaccuracies…” he hummed, skimming the particularly stained parchment.

“Ah, come on, cut me a deal.” Cedric pulled off his bloody gloves, dropping them onto the counter. Greslock shot him a fierce glare until Cedric finally pulled the gloves away, then watched him hopelessly try to wipe the bloody droplets away from the counter.

Greslock huffed. “I’ll be taking that out of your profits today. That’ll be the third time this week I pay young Algrim to polish my counters.”

“Toss a coin his way to give this place a good dusting, too.”

Greslock glared. “You know Cedric, I am cutting you a deal. With the Hunters watching our backs and the way things are going…”

“Sixty three Tongues!” he gasped, staring at the paper that Greslock had scribbled onto. “How am I supposed to survive a single night on that?”

“Don’t spend it all at once. Don’t blow it all on the roast gryphon at that damn pretentious place you like, eh?” he huffed, counting out bags of Tongues, the bronze coins that only Dreslon maintained.

He shrugged, stealing a bronze coin away from a pouch as Greslock filled it. “It’s worth it.”

Greslock rolled his eyes, sliding the rattly pouch to Cedric. “You know Cedric, you’ve hardly seen a handful of elves, let alone gryphons…”

“What are you trying to say?”

“Roast gryphon? I’d bet you good coinage that it’s all a hoax. Probably venison if I had to guess. Not that most of us folks can really tell…”

Cedric scowled.

“Just… Try the place my buddy Kilren runs. It’s over in–”

“Oh, I know. But if you think I'm going to head into…”

“Food's free with a room. Ain't half bad, either." Greslock ignored him.

“Not half bad? No, not for a species that tends to eat–”

“Don’t try it, Cedric.” he lowered his darkened, weary eyes. “We don’t need two Hunterbloods ‘round here, aye?”

Cedric shrugged, pulling his gloves back on. He held his pouch of Tongues up to the flickering candle above the counter. “Perhaps Tongues should be the native currency of Kylinstrom. Far less cumbersome to produce than the others.”

“Yet far easier to imitate.” he grumbled, watching a shady-looking ogre force open the door to the shop.

“If they’re willing to put in that effort, who cares? It's a living.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. If all of my currency is imitation, how am I making a living? I bring my Tongues to any Hunter exchange in any Hunter-State and they’ll imprison me. I hate to say it, but their currency is likely the most secure, the way they imbue it with that fancy… whatever it is.”

“Good luck convincing your kinsmen of that,” he gave a dull wave as he rose from the stool.

“Oh, many apologies,” muttered the gold-trimmed Hunter as he bumped against Cedric. Cedric pointed his eyes up to the man in a sharp glare. The man’s own golden eyes had a strange peace to them, unlike most Hunters he had ever met.

"Watch yourself, Hunter." he growled.

"Cedric!" Greslock hissed.

The Hunter smiled. "It's quite alright. Stressful time for Dreslon, yes?"

He placed a few miscellaneous objects onto the counter and pulled out his coinpurse.

"There's an upcharge for using Tokens." Greslock warned.

"Well, I should have a couple Tongues knocking about in here… Cedric, was it?"

"What's it to you?"

"Nothing, lad. Familiar name, is all."

"So far as I’m aware, I haven’t caused trouble for any Hunters."

"Mm. I know." he smiled politely, placing a few coins onto the counter. “Don’t get all worked up, I'm just about done in this town for today, anyway.”

Cedric shifted uncomfortably.

The Hunter turned to face him again. “Safe travels, boy. May the roads be ever prosperous, and may the red eclipse leave you unscathed.”

His stomach twisted suddenly. He turned away, unable to say anything. With one last uneasy glance at Greslock, he shuffled away from the counter.

Red eclipse? What does that mean? Unless… Does he know…?

The heavy door squeaked open for him again, and Cedric took a deep breath as the warm breeze of Dreslon’s quiet, amber sunset washed over him, bringing with it the nostalgic, quelling aura of a sleepy town. He leaned up against the wall, letting himself take in the glowing glory of the forest beyond the stone houses, and of the pointed silvery mountains far off into the western horizon.

Even their stamina-enhancing magicks can’t keep the workers going forever… The more migrants arrive, the more work falls into the hands of these few men.

He lowered his head and chuckled. His fingers went to his amulet, matching the colors of the withering trees.

Though, perhaps the northerners should be admired. Frost trolls and dragons, the cacti-mimicking shards of ice that were alleged to come alive and trail after lone wanderers, the amalgamated golems of ice… Whatever other strange creatures lay at home in the north, they must be the realm’s last remnant of living magic. The rest have gone the same way the Alisars are headed, and good luck finding more than murderers, frex, and pit holes to the south…

His eyes finally trailed up to Lunus, the grey sphere hovering only slightly above Solus. It was just barely visible in the blazing ginger sunset, swelling in its own eerie aura.

Cedric turned away, his eyes catching on a figure down a nearby alleyway. A glowing pillar of spiked ice… A frost-cactus? Here?

He blinked the blurriness away from his eyes, and a more reasonable image came into view; a young girl, watching me from the shadows? Definitely not of age to be a Hunter…

He chuckled, continuing on as though he had never seen the girl. Perhaps she’s like me, seeking out her next prey for profit. Best of luck, and Dreslon be damned for our situations…

Should I even bother to describe Kilren's Cove?

What would anybody expect from the residence of ogre-kin like Greslock, anyway? Most of their tables lay shattered in pools of shimmering blood and beer, seeping into the cracks of the dark tile floor. Lifeless clouds of dust and mold drift through the air, surely contributing to the wretched, festering stench of the place. Though, the ogres themselves contributed the rest; each of them hulking and bare, wearing not much more than leather battle-garments and bandoliers, with old scars and fresh wounds covering their hideous bodies.

Needless to say, it wasn't a place that a Hunter should show up in. Nor any sane creature for that matter…

He was nearly toppled as one of the creatures stormed in from behind him, carelessly knocking into his shoulder. He glared up into the cold gaze of the ogre’s black-red eyes. A smirk grew across his dark green lips.

“Watch where you're going. Or I'll pluck those useless eyes from your skull.” Cedric hissed, pulling his hood down from his head. The small crowd of the tavern continued to chatter around them.

The ogre let out a low growl and inflated his chest to make a show of his size.

Cedric scoffed. "Threatening me, too?"

The ogre guffawed and licked his lips. "Big talk, this one has."

"Oi," Kilren's silhouette groaned from behind the counter, the hearth glowing at his back. "Leave the boy alone. We've had enough fights today."

"Oh? Ain't no fight, it'd be murder."

It's certainly going to be… he thought, rubbing his finger across the crystal in his pocket. "I'm inclined to agree with Kilren. Leave the boy alone."

The ogre leaned in close to exhale warm steam against Cedric's face. "Or what?"

"Or I promise that your life ends here." he muttered. He felt an uncanny shift in the air as his magic gemstone began the contract.

"Now you’re talking!” the giant moved his hand to the hilt of the weapon on his back.

Cedric smirked, sealing the deal and completing the spell.

The ogre tore his axe free from his side and swept it in a magnificent arc. Cedric grasped the crystal.

But the spell hadn’t completed. And the axe closed the distance quickly.

Cedric fell fast and hit the tiles. The axe bit into the door where he had once stood.

NOT THIS TIME.

A voice caught his attention. He glanced around but no face matched it.

Just as the ogre raised his axe again, Kilren, darker-skinned and hairier than the other, appeared from behind the counter and deflected the attack with his own massive axe. Sparks shot across Cedric like flames.

“Down. Olck‘ta na gresh.” Kilren spat in another tongue.

“Bala? Fie kar.” The Ogre protested.

Kilren snorted and the negotiation ended. Then, he turned to Cedric and offered him a hand. His eyes traced the new indent in the door with disdain. “You pick fights everywhere you go?”

“I’m usually a pacifist.” he helped himself up.

“Ain’t we all?” the ogre scoffed.

Cedric tossed his satchel down beside the messy, cornered bed in the dark room upstairs. He clenched his nose as he turned to inspect the black mold scattered all over the blade-battered walls. The floorboards crackled and crunched with every step, instead of the almost nostalgic creaking that he would have expected, even preferred from an inn.

But not from an ogre's inn…

He clumsily threw his sword down onto his satchel and began to strip away his leather kit. His bandolier and jacket came off easily enough, but he paused before his shirt, turning to scowl at the plate of muddy mush that Kilren had delivered to his room, still sitting on the floor beside the door.

As if I’d eat that… Hoax or not, I should have gone for roast gryphon…

The crystal! he gasped, suddenly sent frenzying through his discarded armor. His hands ripped through the leather kit and dug desperately through his satchel. He panted and choked, a horrific wind of anxiety striking him like lightning.

It dropped to the floor with an unceremonious thud as he lifted up his leather jacket again. He lunged upon it immediately.

The crystal's surface pulsed and swirled with a strange vibrancy, humming in a familiar tone… Or growling…

CEDRIC CASTELBRE; DARE I ASK?

He turned to the door quickly. His heart pounded. “Who’s there?”

OUR PATH AHEAD IS PAVED IN BLOOD AND SHROUDED IN DARKNESS.

Cedric gagged and choked, grasping at his throat as the voice boomed again through his skull.

I AM YOUR HUNTER’S ECLIPSE, THE RED MOON, AND NOW ARRIVES THE COUNTERFEIT GOD TO MASK IT.

The door to the shabby, fire-lit tavern suddenly shot open, carried by a fierce gust of wind. The whole building rocked and creaked, struggling to survive what was quickly becoming an apparent snowstorm.

“Someone get that door shut,” Kilren ordered, preoccupied with scrubbing blood from his counter using a stained rag. “That bastard upstairs is trouble enough, we don’t need the whole damn blizzard–”

His eyes froze upon the dark, mangled figure standing in the doorway. It slid toward him as though it hovered, its disfigured and misshapen body concealed by a long black robe.

Disappointment. Horror. Undeserved agony. The floor creaked with every slight movement it made until it arrived at the counter. Then all was silent except for its voice, riding upon their sheltered breaths: “Kilren’s Cove, yes?”

The wind creaked, scratching against the furniture. A thin, bandaged arm extended from beneath the robes, tapping a long, charred finger onto the counter.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

The ogre-kin shuffled uneasily. He cast a few nervous glances at his patrons. “W-What can I do for ya?”

“I’m here to take care of the child upstairs, as any good sandman should… It seems he’s taken a liking to a certain… Relistar…” the walls creaked.

Kilren twitched suddenly, an unusual, uncontrollable fear crawling over him. He gestured Cedric’s room number with his fingers, and nodded to the strange, robed thing ahead of him. The empty robes nodded back, silently hovering toward the splintered staircase that rose above the bar.

He paused suddenly. Without moving, the creaking began again. “But the grim appearance of your fairytale poppart shall not operate without a name… Unless, have I mistaken this universe for another? No matter, you may call me King Algirak.”

Kilren shuddered again. The patrons breathed heavily with their eyes shut, trying their best to resist the unruly fear that had broken forcibly into their minds.

King Algirak the Intangible had come.

Algirak turned to the stairs again. Kilren watched him tensely, holding his breath. The silence only grew heavier as the candles dimmed. It was as if he didn’t quite exist. Or shouldn’t.

The lights flickered out and then returned. Algirak had vanished. Kilren panted slightly. He clutched his chest.

“S-shut that door.” he finally mustered. Though, even with the door open, there was no wind to cause his shiver. And he could be certain it was not from the cold, for the burning fire behind him kept him swamped with warmth.

Caloria’s end, he’s here!

Cedric cried out, endless sweat glistening across his skin in the dim candlelight. The crystal’s fire burned into his hand. His heart boomed deafeningly through his aching skull.

He pulled back to throw the scorching crystal away, but his mind forced it back into safety within his clenched fist.

Damn, damn, damn! the curses echoed through his head. The crystal glowed brighter and brighter, soon illuminating the room with its red flame.

The calm, slow rapping began at the door.

The Relistar burned again, forcing Cedric to his knees. He could hear a voice, feel an energy gently prodding the edges of his psyche.

“No–” he gasped, collapsing into his end table. The candle fell to the floor. Its brass holder clattered noisily.

“Ah, I can hear you… Serkukan…” scratched the door.

The fire from the candle vanished and the Relistar suddenly seemed to glow even brighter. Cedric’s eyes rolled over. His skin turned pale as he began to faint.

“Yes, yes,” the door finally squeaked open, “Evra’s bastard child and her firstborn, finally reunited… How long has it been? A decade? Longer?”

Algirak clicked each of his knuckles against the door, carefully scanning every inch of the room with the purple-glowing marbles hidden beneath his hood.

“Our last encounter has disfigured me, brother… The blisteringly red rage that you set upon me has shattered my once pristine form, courtesy of Llestren’s Relistar. But no matter; he’s patiently set to await his demise in the north, just as quickly as I can get there… Once we all converge for our final encounter, that traitorous dog will be shown what it is to be punished.

He’s betrayed us, don’t you see? We were one, brothers in Etheria, before this outsider came in… Twisted our fates against each other, into the helix of distrust and spite that we struggle through now… I still see our true natures, through all of his lies and deceit… You’re not a pawn of Azafel like that bastard. Once you see through it, once you reach up to strike him down… We’ll converge again. The Supernova, Algirak and Serkukan, together at last… And we shall both reap the benefits of Dyosius. Eternity across the multiverse shall be ours to conquer, and our black-red mimicry of Azafel will be our weapon to destroy him…”

He stood for a brief pause, letting the silent suspense fall upon the empty room. Before a minute had passed, he continued. “Take your time, Serkukan. Until Llestren finds you, or you find him, your fate is in your own hands. But that spawn of Azafel is a disease, waiting to obliterate whatever power we yet wield. I beg of you Serkukan; this is your choice. Make the right one. But know that with or without you, I’ll strike down this deceiver. It’s merely up to you whether you rule with me – or die against me.”

Cedric’s consciousness struck back into his mind after the door clicked shut. His body reemerged from the warping, moving floor, which he had sank into to hide.

He gasped, “W-what was that? What did you just–”

I HAVE SAVED YOUR LIFE THIS ONCE. FROM HERE, YOU BECOME THE VESSEL OF YOUR OWN SALVATION.

“But what–it was as if–” he scrambled for words, his head aching.

I AM SERKUKAN, THE GREAT RED ONE OF ETHERIA.

Cedric’s heart sank.

YOU’VE HEARD OF ME, I’M AWARE. AND NOW THAT ALGIRAK HAS DISCOVERED ME, WE MUST MOVE. QUICKLY.

“Serkukan? Algirak? They’re Sylvet legends–they’re… they’re not real, there’s no way–”

SHUT UP AND LISTEN.

His lips suddenly fused shut.

I’LL MAKE THIS SIMPLE FOR YOU.

Cedric grasped his skull, silently screaming out as a beautiful titanium crystal materialized within his mind, its glossy surface swirling with a rainbow spectrum of churning colors.

THIS IS DYOSIUS, HIS MASTER RELIC. A DEVICE THAT COULD DESTROY EVERYTHING YOU’VE EVER KNOWN, EVERYTHING YOU’VE EVER HELD DEAR. IT’LL WIPE OUT THIS UNIVERSE AND THE NEXT, ALL UNLESS YOU FIND SOME SENSE IN YOUR HEAD TO STOP IT.

WE’RE HEADING NORTH. THAT IS WHERE OUR ‘WHITE LIGHT’ LIES.

Cedric continued his muffled screaming until his lips finally unfused, replacing his desperate wails with terrified whispers. “W-we can’t! Not there, I’ll die–”

DIE?

Cedric filled with horror as the voice became a loud cackle of an unhinged demon.

AS IF OUR CHANCES OF SURVIVAL ARE ANY BETTER HERE, NOW THAT HE’S CAUGHT US.

And then came a wave of lethargy over Cedric; Serkukan’s theft of his emotions, to turn him into a mindless, thoughtless pawn.

He collapsed without another word as Serkukan compelled his body into obedience.

And Serkukan had nothing left to say, but to sit and growl curses at Llestren'vatis for giving him such a spineless pawn in the first place.