Blood Immortal

Serpentine Voyage

On the following day, Aarian awoke under rubble. He gasped, rising up and smashing his head against debris. Barely able to breath, he tried pushing boulders aside with his bruised hands. He groaned in pain, using his remaining strength in a feeble attempt to free himself. Yet nothing moved. Realizing how useless this was, he stopped.

Miserable with himself, he decided to simply suffocate and die along with the world. He wanted no part of this demonic era; an era in which humyns were extinct; an era where Vlydyn had become a living hell, infested with demons. Closing his eyes, he lay in the rubble, wheezing and hoping he wouldn’t have to suffer too much longer. Waiting to die in the pitch-black hole, he eventually fell unconscious.

One week later, he awoke again. He screamed in frustration, wondering why he was still alive. Then he heard pieces of rocks being thrown. At first he thought he’d been losing his mind. But indeed someone or something was lifting the stones aside.

“No,” he mumbled. “Leave me be. I deserve to die here.” Still, the rocks were being lifted. “Please stop,” he continued weakly, coughing.

Within an hour, the rocks above him were picked up. Gray light beamed into his sensitive red eyes. Turning sideways, his wavy crimson hair partially blocking the light, he was able to see a radiant figure standing over him, extending a hand. Not knowing why, Aarian grabbed it and rose from his would-be grave. He gasped, falling to the surface of the rubble while breathing in fresh air.

“U’cleria, have mercy,” blurted a feminine voice behind Aarian. “Look at his hair. What happened to him?”

“Did you see his eyes?” said another voice, more masculine.

“Spirits be damned,” coughed Aarian, his red irises gleaming less. “I wanted to die.” He furiously stood up, turning around to those who had rescued him as he asked, “By the wretched Nine, why did you save me?”

His answer was a slap to the face. The light diminished, and the radiant figure in front of him darkened. His eyes less sensitive, he looked at the person in dismay and realized it was none other than Xel’vakora who had saved him. Also standing beside him was Parla’vasa and a tribe of centaurs wielding spears. Aarian gazed at them intriguingly, noticing their thick dreadlocks, war paint, bulky muscles, furry bodies, and hooves.

“Have you regressed back to being a child or are you still the same man I started to care about after slaying the dragon in Tor’kales?”

“Princess Parla’vasa?” uttered Aarian in disbelief. “Forgive me,” he added, kneeling. “I failed everyone. You were right all along. We should’ve never come here. Lar’a’dos should have been our destination.”

“No,” she said. “It is I who seeks forgiveness.”

“I beg your pardon?” responded Aarian, confused and rising to his feet.

“Thanks to your courage, the rift has been sealed,” she said. “Yet there’s still so much to be done. The demons that have entered our realm infest Vlydyn, and the centaur’s chieftain has personally told me that he witnessed Saldovin Keldoran and his clans embark into the Crey’falen Ocean.”

“That leads to Lar’a’dos,” said Aarian pensively. “I assume Saldovin plans to invade the Quel’de’nai and take over your homeland.”

“We must stop this at once,” said a centaur gruffly.

“Centaurs are helping us?” said Aarian. “I am impressed.”

“My name is Krekor,” said the centaur chieftain. “With the exception of Xel’vakora and his clan, the Mor’vyi’dou have always kept us at bay in our woods. Now the demons have taken even that away from us. Ula’veth and Grisfall are simply wastelands, as is the rest of Vlydyn. Our only way to survive is to settle in the forests of Lar’a’dos.”

“For your help,” began Parla’vasa, “I promise you a beautiful new home in a wilderness near Chevirith, our capital.”

“We are forever in your debt, Princess of the Quel’de’nai,” said Krekor, bowing.

“I just want to know one thing,” said Aarian, glaring harshly at Xel’vakora. “How come you never told us Saldovin was your brother?”

The dark elf cast his eyes down on the rubble. “You would have never trusted me. I have always been at odds with him. Telaria, my sister, was so beautiful. And though we didn’t always see eye to eye, she respected my ways. Then she forfeited her own life for the sake of Saldovin’s hatred. She was nothing more than a pawn to him. He brainwashed and sacrificed his own sister to Izabaldo. And for what? Our homeland lies in ruin. The demons won’t stop here. Surely they will betray him and corrupt all of Yunedar.”

“And so you aided us, hoping that together we could stop Saldovin?” asked the prince, astonished. Upon seeing Xel’vakora nod, Aarian went on, “Well, I think any other Mor’vyi’dou would have vomited by now if they were lying. I have never heard of dark elves speaking with compassion before.”

“You’re mistaken to think I am weak,” said Xel’vakora. “I simply care for my own kind and realize that despite the differences we have with other races, demons will never help solve that problem.”

“Indeed,” said Aarian. “I trust you. Furthermore, you saved my life more than once.” He observed the region, only seeing burnt trees and rubble. “What now?”

“Now we leave on Xel’vakora’s ship,” replied Parla’vasa.

“What ship?” responded Aarian, gazing at the destroyed wharf and empty shoreline. “I don’t see it anywhere.”

“It’s moored at my village,” said Xel’vakora, approaching a centaur.

“Climb up,” said Krekor, lowing himself.

To Aarian’s surprise, the centaurs were allowing him and his remaining companions to ride on them. He mounted onto Krekor’s back and held on tight. Once the princess and dark elf were on other centaurs, they galloped south along the shore, avoiding the tainted ashy forest of Ula’veth at all costs.

While riding on the chieftain, Aarian gazed skyward and realized that the demons had in fact stopped invading. Even though the demonic sky had dissipated, it remained dark and cloudy. Looking over at Ula’veth, he also noticed that most of the trees in the region had been burnt to the ground. Sizzling trunks were all that remained. Aarian felt nauseous, staring at the remnants of a once rich continent that used to be full of life. Now it became a spirit-forsaken land where demons roamed, killing anything alive.

“We’ll need an army to defeat Izabaldo and his legion of demons,” said Aarian. “Princess Parla’vasa, will your people help?”

“I have no doubt,” she said. “But first we must deal with the Mor’vyi’dou.”

“Right,” he said, tightening his fists.

He recalled how his mentor had died: the ignoble magic of a comrade’s axe plunging into his back and a scimitar piercing into his stomach. Teary eyed, Aarian gritted his teeth, vowing to track down Saldovin and make him pay for such heresy. His rage was so intense that his irises gleamed dark red, veins unnaturally bulging from his skin. He closed his eyes, feeling a terrible pain in his chest, and breathed deeply. Aarian was scared—not necessarily afraid of what might harm him but, rather, what might be dwelling within him. Breathing deeply, embracing the wind, and trying to forget about Fal’shar, he managed to calm himself.

Looking ahead, he spotted a settlement where Xel’vakora’s clan and Krekor’s centaurs fought together to fend off undead humyns. Though most of the village had been decimated, a few homes near the shoreline and dock remained. Yet waves upon waves of undead relentlessly swarmed toward the village. Merely stepping on the ground beneath them defiled it, making the land unfertile. Centaurs threw javelins into their chests while the dark elf clan launched arrows at them.

“Xel’vakora has returned!” shouted one of the dark elves.

A cheer ignited despite the oncoming ghouls. As soon as Xel’vakora and his companions arrived, one of the elven archers blew a horn, waving atop the ship’s lubber hole. Dozens of dark elves withdrew from the battle, boarding the ship. Krekor’s tribe galloped aboard too, but a few stayed behind to defend the others. Aarian stared at the invasion of undead fiends with his mouth wide open, an expression of absolute horror on his frail face.

“This is all my fault,” he muttered.

“I beg to differ,” said Krekor, hearing the prince.

Leaning his head against the chieftain’s upper furry back, he replied, “If only I was brave enough to decline the arranged marriage. Then none of this would have ever happened. But no, I had to be so damn indecisive and passive. Now, because of my actions, everyone I knew is dead. And worse, the rest of the world is in grave danger because of my foolishness.”

“Prince Aarian,” began Krekor grumpily, “I believe you are not to blame for this. Such a proposal was created by others in power—the Quel’de’nai rulers and your parents. You are not to blame, so pull yourself together and help the rest of my tribe reach the ship.”

Before the prince could agree, the centaur chieftain charged at an approaching swarm of undead. After stomping over a few ghouls and kicking others from behind with his hind legs, the prince unsheathed his sword and struck sidelong, decapitating an undead humyn.

“Rest in peace,” he whispered, watching the headless corpse fall.

Aarian continued to strike down as many ghouls as he could while the chieftain galloped around the settlement, launching arrows with his bow. Never did Aarian think he’d be riding on a centaur, more so the two of them fighting on the same side. After blocking multiple side attacks with his embossed shield and riposting using his crystal sword, he spotted Parla’vasa launching arrows of her own while on a centaur who was hurling javelins at the enemies.

“What in Gar’kon’s name are we waiting for?” asked Xel’vakora angrily, looking at his crew. “Get us the hell out of here!”

The horn blew again, signaling to raise the anchor. At that point, the remaining centaurs on land cantered onto the dock and boarded Taeldelan, the schooner that belonged to Xel’vakora. With so many centaur archers on the deck, they were able to hold back the undead humyns from leaping aboard. There were numerous dark elves along the footropes rigging Taeldelan’s cordage and masts, allowing the vessel to swiftly sail away.

Another cheer broke out as they safely left Vlydyn and embarked on a voyage that would take them across the eastern hemisphere of Yunedar to the western continent of Lar’a’dos. The waves were a bit chaotic at first from the sudden departure but eventually unruffled when Xel’vakora’s ship distanced itself from the tainted kingdom. In due time, the boat stopped swaying and evenly sailed west.

During this time, Aarian dismounted the centaurs’ chief and stepped over to the bow of the vessel. Alone, he stared at the water while the others celebrated with food and drink. Aarian wasn’t sure how they could have an appetite after experiencing such a dreadful battle, but that was just his opinion. Then, to his surprise, Parla’vasa joined him.

“Why are you standing here alone?” she asked. “Aren’t you hungry?”

“I lost my craving to eat after seeing my people turned into lifeless husks,” he said glumly.

“There’s no sunset to watch,” she said.

“I don’t mind,” he said. “This view is the only serenity available to me. Everything and everyone has been taken from me. I have nothing left in this world, not even the damned Nine; they have forsaken me.”

“Don’t say that,” she said, her voice tender. Looking at him sympathetically, she spotted the nine-pointed star carved into his neck. “What did Saldovin do to you?”

His reddish eyes downcast, he touched the magical rune on his skin and replied, “This was my doing. I’m no wizard, but it’s supposed to represent the divine immortals. I thought this would thwart more demons from entering our realm.”

“You thought right,” she said, smiling. “Though it did something strange to your body,” she went on, drawn to his hair and eyes, “you nonetheless succeeded.”

“But at what cost?” he asked, staring at his pale hands.

“You needn’t worry any longer,” she said, stroking his hair. “If you won’t eat, then I beg you to rest.”

Feeling her gentle touch greatly quelled his anxiety and fear. Although he still thought of Belisa, he didn’t want the elven princess to stop. When she did, he sighed heavily and looked out into the sea one last time before turning around and gesturing for her to lead the way. Parla’vasa then guided him downstairs to one of the many bedchambers. She didn’t dare enter with him, but she at least hugged him before leaving.

“Thank you,” he whispered to her.

“Of course,” she replied softly. “Sleep well.”

“I’ll try,” he said, bowing.

After watching her enter another room to sleep, he closed his door and was about to lay on the bed when he took notice of a cheval mirror with calligraphy etched along the frame. The last time he’d looked at himself was in his royal quarters on his wedding day. Though only three weeks had passed, it seemed to him as if that precious morning had been a year ago. In the blink of an eye, his life had changed. He was utterly frightened to stare at himself in the mirror. Aarian nevertheless swallowed his fear and stepped forward, gazing at his reflection.

His wavy, crimson hair and glistening-red irises weren’t as bad as he thought. Perhaps this was because he’d been told about them. He closed his eyes and gently rubbed his marked neck when a vision of hellfire abruptly flashed within his feeble mind. Gasping, he opened his eyes; the inferno was gone. That instant, he felt a strange irritation on his left cheek. Scratching his face, it started to peel. Aarian shrieked, blood splurging out. His heart pounded madly, sweat pouring down his forehead. He then screamed in agony as more skin peeled off, horns jutting from his scalp. Eyes blazing; skin bulging; wings growing from behind; his whole body burst, Izabaldo emerging and roaring from the torn flesh.

Not a second later, upon blinking, Aarian found himself back to normal. Though his hair and eyes were still a reddish tinge, and his skin as pale as a wraith, he nonetheless felt healthy. Aarian unsheathed his glossy sword and struck the mirror, shattering it. He then slumped while lamenting.

“Damn it all,” he groaned, sobbing.

Aarian collapsed onto the bed, shriveling into a fetus position. Candles eventually burned out as he wept, dimming the chamber. Something awful hid deep within him, haunting the fabric of his existence. There was no doubt about it, he conceded. The thought of slitting his own throat crossed his mind. Gripping the handle of his weapon, he desperately wanted to end his wretched life. The desire to avenge his loved ones was the only reason why he didn’t do it. Sniveling and shuddering uncontrollably, he wasn’t able to fall asleep until two hours passed.

In the meantime, Xel’vakora steered his vessel. Nightfall had arrived, and the iridescent clouds briefly drifted apart. This allowed the crew to see three of the four moons. They were all diverse in terrain, a reflective spectacle of colors that lit the firmament with violet- and amber-tinged rays of light. While the dark elves cared little for such phenomena, it was a beautiful sight to the centaurs. Yet it was short lived what with the thick clouds merging again in the middle of the night.

A few hours later, Parla’vasa awoke and joined the crew. At this time the wind picked up. Though this allowed the vessel to sail faster, waves formed more violently. Water occasionally splashed on the deck, alarming many of the crew. The farther west Xel’vakora steered his boat, the more brutal the weather became.

“It looks like we have a heavy storm upon us,” said Xel’vakora with frustration. He glanced at the indigo-haired elf beside him and added, “Sardamir, tell the clan to mount the footropes.”

“Don’t you think this will panic them?” asked the dark elf.

“It’s too late for that,” replied Xel’vakora. “But you can at least tell them to be discrete so it doesn’t alarm the centaurs. With the exception of Krekor, they are ignorant of the ocean. There is no need to worry them.”

“You care that much?”

“No,” said Xel’vakora firmly, giving him a long look. “I care about an army that’ll wipe my brother off the face of this world. Now do it.” His second-in-command staggered and then, as ordered, started to quietly tell the crew to be ready to rig. Xel’vakora, meanwhile, shook his head and mumbled to himself, “I hate emotions.”

Within the next twenty minutes, the dark elves were standing on footropes near the spars that consisted of masts, yards, and gaffs. Some also checked to ensure the cords were still strong, many of which had baggywrinkles along the cordage. Excluding the downpour of rain, sporadic booms of thunder, excessive flickers of lightning throughout the gray and iridescent clouds, and ferocious waves that frequently splashed water aboard the schooner, all seemed well. The crew was never more ready for a storm. Xel’vakora was the only one who felt uneasy.

“I didn’t think a hurricane could be this bad,” he said, bewildered.

Just then, multiple explosive sprays of water erupted sidelong. The centaurs and elves fixed their eyes northward, gawking at nine serpents rising from the sea with slit-shaped eyes. Their fangs were razor-sharp, and their elongated necks had spiny crests along their backs that looked as pointy as their serrated teeth. Then a gargantuan body of green scales rose from the ocean, water dripping down and falling onto the vessel that wobbled wildly.

“Get down from the ropes!” shouted Sardamir frantically.

“What in the name of Crey’falen is that thing?” asked Krekor, cantering away from the gunwale and readying his bow.

“It’s a hydra,” said Xel’vakora, his face pale.

“Spirits save us,” said Parla’vasa, sprinting across the deck and entering the cabin as fast as she could.

Each of the serpent heads gave out ear-piercing screeches, one louder than the other. Not even thunder matched their vicious sounds. The dark elf clan attempted to descend the footropes, but the hydra’s heads lunged at many of them, gnashing fangs into their flesh and either ripping them apart or swallowing them whole. Dozens of dark elves who were lucky enough to make it down safely to the deck swiftly mounted centaurs. Together they hurled arrows and javelins at the hydra, many of which deflected from the hydra’s hardened body.

There was so much commotion due to the attack and ship shaking as if it would capsize any moment that Aarian awoke. He wore an irritated face, rising from his bed. Before he could bang on the walls and yell out to the crew to stop celebrating as though they had saved the world, Parla’vasa barged into his chamber.

“Aarian,” gasped Parla’vasa, out of breath. “By the divine, there’s—”

“Can you please tell those imbeciles to stop making a ruckus?” interjected Aarian. “I’m trying to rest.”

“You fool!” she snarled. “We’re being attacked!”

An expression of confusion formed on his tiresome face. “What?” he uttered. “But we’re so far out in the sea. How…?”

“It’s a hydra!”

Aarian wondered, was this some kind of sick joke? No, deep down inside he knew that it had to be true because Parla’vasa wasn’t the humorous type. The vessel trembled again, causing him to fall off his bed. With the help of Parla’vasa, he got to his feet and equipped his moonstone armor. Then, unsheathing his sword, he followed her upstairs.

Stepping outside to the deck, Aarian gazed at the sea monster and staggered back with a look of terror. He accidently bumped into Parla’vasa who sulked and pushed him forward. They then joined the centaurs and mounted them. The prince, like before, rode on Krekor but this time hesitated to attack. He gulped heavily, not sure how useful his weapon would be against such a monstrous fiend.

By now more than half the crew were dead—eaten alive to be precise. Three of the seven masts were missing, two drifting in the ocean. One of the serpent heads bit into another, causing it to tumble down and crush a couple of centaur archers. Little by little, other spars were being splintered. Aarian noticed this and realized that if he and his companions didn’t do something significant soon to harm the creature, they’d be doomed.

“I’m sorry, Krekor,” said the prince feebly while looking skyward, “but this time you’re on your own.”

“There is nowhere to run,” said the chieftain, misunderstanding him.

Swallowing his fear yet again, Aarian stood on the centaur’s lower unicorn-shaped back and then, after passing the jiggermast, leapt onto bulky futtock shrouds near the mizzen. From that point, he used the cables to bring himself over to the central mast. Observing the prince’s actions, Krekor finally understood what he’d meant and continued to attack the beast using his bow.

In the meantime, Aarian climbed to the top of the mainmast, boarded the lubber hole, and brandished his glossy sword. When doing so, however, a head swirled toward him, its elongated neck coiling around him. Aarian had hoped for this, promptly climbing its scales. He then raised his blade and started hacking it. Blood gushed out as the head gave out a heinous yelp. Lightning flashed behind Aarian as he continuously hacked the scaly neck, rain pouring over his drenched hair.

“No!” shouted Xel’vakora, seeing what Aarian was doing. “Prince Aarian, don’t behead the beast!”

Being so high up, Aarian wasn’t able to hear the dark elf. Furthermore, he was too busy fending for his own life. Another head rose and snapped its jaw at the prince who rolled aside, nearly sliding off. Fortunately his sabatons gave him a decent foothold on the wet scales that were as firm as scutes. He hurled a dagger into the mouth of the other head and, as it withdrew momentarily, he returned to the neck wound and hacked it again and again until he managed to sever it.

Cursing under his breath, Xel’vakora carved a glyph onto his forearm while mumbling a powerful incantation. Then he targeted the headless stump in an attempt to burn it. Even though fire ignited, it simply wasn’t strong enough. Due to the torrential downpour, the rain doused the flame before it could do any good. Aarian, meanwhile, jumped back onto the lubber hole, never more proud of himself; at least until he turned around. Within seconds, two heads sprang from the stump. Now there were ten heads, and the hydra had become even more enraged by all the attacks made against it.

The numerous heads twirled and cast elongated shadows over the crippled vessel. Then, its massive body closing in, the hydra rapidly thrust its heads forth and bit centaurs and elves in half—one of them being Sardamir. In the meantime, a new head plummeted toward Aarian who ducked into the lubber hole. That instant, its neck coiled around the mainmast, tearing it off. The prince tilted and fell, slamming down on the deck and yelping as blood leaked from his scalp.

Instead of retaliating, Aarian briefly observed the battle. He’d just realized that most of the crew was missing. Slowly getting to his feet, he tried to find the princess. Before spotting her, however, one of the hydra’s heads sank its teeth into him, yanking him from the deck. Yet when it did so, it hissed as though sensing something evil and tossed him into the ocean.

Sinking deep into the depths of the ocean, Aarian felt dizzy and could barely move. His vision severely blurred, he wasn’t able to see much other than the hydra’s diving heads, which were reaching out for more fallen prey to feed on. One of its victims was Krekor whose brawny body was mashed apart in an instant. When he witnessed the chieftain’s awful fate, he thought of Parla’vasa—what if this would be her fate too? An irrepressible rage abruptly took hold of him, his eyes gleaming red. Despite the insidious wrath lurking deep within him, he wasn’t scared of it. As a matter of fact, he embraced such frenzy. Rage unleashing, his body burst into hellfire, and that was the last thing he remembered happening.