Blood Immortal

Wrath of the Undead

Night arrived and passed rapidly. Pouring rain continued to patter against the tents. The ground became saturated, mist forming around the encampment. Then dawn came. Yet it was so cloudy and foggy outside that no one could see a hint of sunshine. Eventually, the legion brought down their tents. When the alliance assembled, they formed into two lines. Aarian approached through the middle, between both formations. Upon reaching the frontlines, he faced his comrades.

“Yesterday was another victory,” said Aarian. “Yet it came at a great cost. Earamathras sacrificed himself so that we could gain a stronghold here. And though we have taken back the southern coast of Vlydyn, there is still much to be done. As we prepare to march through what was once Tor’kales, be ready for anything—demons and undead alike.” Pausing for a moment, Aarian exhaled and added, “I ask that you come forth with me and destroy these fiends. But I will not blame anyone for wanting to retreat when we face Izabaldo’s demon lords.”

“We are with you until the end, Dralekar,” said Warlord Varkagorsa. “Isn’t that right, brethren?”

The alliance roared in agreement, making the prince smile.

“Excellent,” said Aarian, turning to his guardians. “Falvorn, I want you and your clan to scout ahead.”

“As you command, Dralekar,” said Falvorn, taking off with his fellow gargoyles.

Aarian mounted Scar and faced the volcanic mountains as he raised his sword. “Onward to Tor’kales!”

Thousands advanced through the badlands wrought with cracks, abysmal sinkholes, and streams of lava. Not once did they see a single tree. The entire wilderness that was once known as Grisfall had been burned down. And the gargantuan mountains where the ancient kingdom of Tor’kales was once located had become a demonic furnace. The sky turned orange-red, smoke rising and filling the air.

Many coughed as they marched forward. Ahead became hazy. It was extremely difficult for anyone to see. Scar was the only one who could see better than others, but even he struggled. The coalition heard blistering bubbles of molten lava and slowed down their pace, fearing they might accidently stubble into a pit of fire. Searing magma dripped down the crags near them. Unbearable heat gripped them, causing hundreds of savages and elves to sweat. Passing by the fuming volcanoes proved to be more difficult than they imagined.

Just when they thought it couldn’t get worse, Falvorn and his remaining clan of gargoyles approached with distraught visages.

“Dralekar!” shouted Falvorn while descending. “Dralekar! We must pull back our forces immediately!”

“What’s wrong?” asked Aarian, flying a few feet above his army on Scar.

“A legion of undead approaches,” answered Falvorn. “They know we are here. And they march with a massive demon.” He caught his breath and went on, “Light of Xen, I’ve never seen such a fiend before.”

“Do you hear this, brothers and sisters?” responded Aarian. He maneuvered Scar to face his army. “The demons want us to be afraid. But it is they who are in fact afraid. The immortal, accursed Spirits are using my enslaved people as a first wave because they need to prepare for the ultimate legion that we are. Unsheathe your weapons and be ready to slay those who should have found peace in death like normal mortals. And make no mistake about this—when we are finished obliterating them, my beloved Vlydyonians will never rise again.”

“For the Dralekar!” bellowed many of the savages in unison.

The alliance unsheathed their weapons and charged forward. Hundreds of them wore expressions of madness as they advanced. And sure enough, when the legion passed the thick haze caused by volcanic eruptions, they were able to see millions of undead approaching them. The swarm of undead were all humyn. Even though Aarian knew this, seeing them with his own eyes pained him. His eyes downcast, he raised his sword and roared at the top of his lungs:

“Purge them all!”

Within seconds the factions of life and death incarnate collided, weapons clinking and sparking amid the pouring magma alongside them. The vast majority of undead humyns were skeletons but some still had rotten pieces of flesh clinging to them. Bones cracked, splintered, and shattered. Flesh tore open. Limbs were hacked off, blood squirting all over the desecrated ground. Though outnumbered, the alliance managed to overpower their enemies, decimating half the undead forces. During the carnage, however, the fallen undead rose again, as well as those of the alliance who had just died.

“We can’t win,” panicked Parla’vasa, on the verge of retreating.

“Behead them,” commanded Aarian, swooping down on Scar as he decapitated a humyn ghoul. “Do not fear them, fellow guardians. They are nothing more than mindless puppets of the demons. Put them out of their misery.”

The tens of thousands of warriors and warlocks still alive obeyed him, doing their best to decapitate the undead and hurl fireballs at them. Doing so, as Aarian had advised, prevented the corpses from rising again. Just then, a mist of darkness enveloped the battlefield. Whispers of an unknown tongue filled the ears of both savages and elves. To many of them, especially Aarian, it sounded diabolical. With the exception of Xel’vakora, the alliance fought on. The only dark elf in the legion backed away, terrified as he spotted what approached within the mist of death.

Behind the swarm of undead stood a sixteen-foot tall black-skinned demon with obsidian horns and fiery-red eyes. Its skeletal wings were partially covered in the dark mist it produced. Not surprising to Aarian, etched on its upper chest was a nine-pointed star. When the demon lord approached the battlefield, it gave out a monstrous roar.

“Fear me, mortals!” boomed the malevolent fiend. “The demon you now face is Gar’kon! This battlefield is nothing more than your graveyard. Know that as your corpses fall, they shall rise again to serve me!”

Countless elves shuddered and withdrew.

“You cannot surrender, Gar’kon,” said Aarian, rising higher in the sky. “There shall be no clemency for the likes of you.”

“Surrender?” replied Gar’kon, frowning as he gazed skyward at Aarian. “Pathetic humyn, I will personally make sure you die a billion different deaths! And if you dare beg for mercy, I’ll torture you for eternity!”

“I’m going to enjoy tearing your Spirit apart,” said Aarian wrathfully.

Aarian tugged Scar to fly swiftly toward the demon who gazed at him with utter hatred, never more insulted by someone he thought to be a mortal. As soon as the prince advanced, his eyes gleamed blue, and his sword’s blade glowed with an aura of light akin to Xen’s radiance. The moment Gar’kon witnessed this, he squinted at the prince.

“So you’re the one she has entrusted her Spirit to,” said the demon lord.

Without responding, Aarian swooped down on Scar and cut off one of Gar’kon’s horns. The demon roared furiously, hurling a sphere of black energy at the gryphon who barely evaded it. When he missed, he spread his wings and flew into the sky, pursing the duo. In the meantime, Falvorn saw what was happening and signaled his clan to aid the prince who deflected an orb of demonic magic with his enchanted sword in midflight.

“You’re disappointing me, Spirit of death,” taunted Aarian.

Fuming with rage, Gar’kon conjured a wave of black flame and was about to hurl it at Aarian when suddenly attacked by the clan of gargoyles. Though he had been clawed several times around his back and chest, he managed to transform the wave of energy he’d just invoked into a transparent shield that enveloped him. Moments later, it pulsed outward like an explosion and vaporized the gargoyles.

“Falvorn!” cried out Aarian, escaping the blast by a couple of inches.

“Come forth, immortal humyn,” said Gar’kon, cackling as he continued to pursue him. “I shall be more than happy to consume your pitiful Spirit.”

Fixing his icy eyes on the demon, Aarian tugged Scar to approach the demon and closed his visor. He then stood on the gryphon’s back. Scar wasn’t sure what the prince had in mind but trusted him. The malevolent fiend, meanwhile, conjured yet another sphere of deadly magic. At the same moment Gar’kon hurled the orb, Aarian leapt off Scar who swiftly descended, avoiding it. Aarian struck the orb in half and then thrust his sword into the heart of Gar’kon.

The demon lord gave out a croaking roar while he descended from the clouds. Before landing, however, his croak turned into a cackle. Aarian pushed his glowing sword deeper into his chest. Still laughing, the demon exhaled on Aarian whose beak-shaped visor eroded within seconds. When this happened, Aarian grimaced and removed his sword from the fiend. He then swiped it across the demon lord’s neck, decapitating him.

At that precise moment, while falling, the demon lord’s Spirit emerged. It quickly started to drain Aarian of his soul. Groaning and slightly aging, Aarian sheathed his sword and conjured a trident of pure light by means of Xen’s white magic, hurling it through the ethereal being who then screeched and tore apart. When this happened, a shockwave erupted from the dying Spirit that enveloped the battlefield, causing the remaining undead fiends to disintegrate into ashes. Afterwards, the Spirit of death, whose ethereal chest had been punctured by the trident of light, dissipated.

Aarian, meanwhile, continued to fall. Before hitting the ground, however, Scar flew by and caught him. Bringing him down safely, he rejoined the remaining thousands who grieved over their losses. Though triumphant, it cost them greatly again. Falvorn, along with every other gargoyle in the swarm, had been killed. Even worse was that there were no bodies to bury; they had disintegrated due to the deadly spell. Very few people praised Aarian who didn’t even want the praise. He simply nodded and gazed at the hazy battlefield with sadness.

“So many honorable lives lost,” he mumbled.

“It’s not your fault, Aarian,” said Parla’vasa. “I had never been more afraid. Many of us were frightened by what we experienced today. But we somehow survived. And thanks to you, we—”

“Thanks to me,” interjected Aarian despondently, “Falvorn is dead. Thanks to me every gargoyle has been brutally murdered.”

“That’s not true,” snarled Shakar. “He joined you in combat upon his own volition. He alone knew the risks and fought, like you and all of us, for what he believed in. Falvorn died a noble death.”

“He and his clan shall be remembered forever,” said Varkagorsa. “Let there be a grand memorial here in their name.”

Shakar howled in agreement.

“I...I can’t believe that was Gar’kon,” blurted Xel’vakora in a frail, whispering tone. “It couldn’t have been.”

“You be knowin’ the truth, dark elf,” replied Zavoba. “This be just as the Dralekar ‘n our emperor say. He only one of the spirits corruptin’ our land, ’n it be up to us to send ’em back to hell.”

“No, Zavoba,” said Aarian tersely. “That’s no longer good enough. We will amputate their bodies and tear their Spirits apart until nothing left remains of them, here and in the nether. As a matter of fact, when we are finished with them, the nether realm will no longer exist. There will only be Yunedar—a world empty of demonic spirits.”

The guardians concurred with their leader and then dispersed, tending to the wounded. With the exception of trolls who self-healed, druids restored numerous orcs, ogres, werewolves, and elves to health. Aarian used the white magic he gained from Xen to heal them too.

“That should do it,” he said, feeling a bit relieved.

Shortly after, the alliance worked together to create a small but meaningful memorial for Falvorn, his clan of gargoyles, and so many more who’d lost their lives in battle. The survivors lifted every weapon on the ground and dug the blades into the soil, using them as graves for the fallen. In the meantime, Aarian used magic to etch the name “Falvorn” along his blade and then placed it in the center of the graves.

A moment of quietness fell. No one made a sound. The legion of savages and army of elves stood before the thousands of graves in absolute silence while Aarian kneeled before his talon-hilted sword, gently touching it.

“You will forever be remembered, my brave friend,” said Aarian, finally breaking the silence. He then stood up and gazed at all the weapons, “All of you will be remembered. May you all rest in peace and know that we shall not stop here. We will persevere. We will fight on. We will restore Vlydyn and all of Yunedar.”

“Beautifully said,” muttered Scar.

“Thank you,” replied Aarian, faintly smiling at him. “I hope you don’t mind, but we need you now more than ever. You’re the only one who can be our eyes from afar.”

“You don’t even have to ask,” he said, spreading his wings. “I’ll start now.”

Aarian nodded appreciatively, rubbed his best friend’s feathers, and then watched him fly off in the distance.

“What now?” asked Parla’vasa.

“I suggest we rest,” said Aarian. “Varka, can you inform the legion to set up camp? We’ll need a great deal of respite in order to fight diligently again; and believe me, there will be battles worse than this.”

“Agreed,” said Varkagorsa. “Witnessing the accursed Spirit of Gar’kon is a testament to that. I’ll let them know right away.”

Over the next few hours, the alliance set up another makeshift encampment with only a few bonfires to give them some light since nighttime had arrived. The only efficient scout they had left was Scar, so they relied heavily on him. Despite the pressure, Scar didn’t mind flying around to see if another army of death was approaching. After twenty minutes of reconnoitering the region, he returned to Aarian who lay outside attempting to stargaze.

“It seems we’ll be fine tonight, Prince Aarian,” said Scar.

“That’s a relief,” said Aarian with a sigh. “By the way, please don’t call me by that title anymore.”

“Why not?” asked Scar, startled.

“Vlydyn is gone,” he said. “I’m not the prince anymore. I’m simply a man named Aarian who fights for the survival of this world like everyone else. Even when the legion of Niratredam refer to me as the Dralekar, I can’t help feeling strange. Yet if I told them to stop, they would be insulted. They mostly fight because they believe me to be their prophet, so to say. But you are more reasonable. Just call me Aarian, all right?”

“Boy, that was a mouthful,” said Scar, chuckling. “Aarian it is.”

Aarian shook his head, chuckling too. “Thanks,” he said. “I know it may seem strange, but I just prefer it this way, that’s all.”

“I understand,” said Scar. “You were never fond of being a prince even before this nightmare began. Back then, you wanted a more simple and peaceful life—one that excluded politics.”

“Indeed.”

“It’s just unfortunate that so many people had to die for your wish to come true,” said Scar, his tawny-hued eyes gazing down.

“Trust me,” began Aarian, no longer trying to locate a star in the hazy sky, “if I knew that this was going to happen, there are so many things I would have done differently. In fact, if I just knew what Saldovin’s intention was, I would have run off with Belisa in a heartbeat.”

“You still remember her?” asked Scar.

“Are you insane?” snapped Aarian.

“Hey, no need to get feisty,” said Scar apologetically. “It’s just that I’ve noticed you’re a lot closer to the princess.”

“Don’t get me wrong; I find her to be an amazing elf,” said Aarian. “Parla’vasa is exotic and comes from a mystical continent that has a rich history of magic. She’s intelligent, insightful, caring toward those who need support, and she also fights well and rarely lets fear control her. Yet despite how incredible she is, it cannot overrule the natural love I had for Belisa. When you love someone—truly love someone—you never let go.”

Scar’s countenance lit up, hardly believing the words he heard from Aarian. It was as if he was speaking to someone completely different, he thought. Upon hearing such words, Scar gave out a joyful squawk and rubbed Aarian.

“Stop that!” chuckled the prince, being tickled.

“I am so proud of you,” said Scar, happily squawking again. “Your parents would not understand. But you’ve surpassed them and have become the man Master Dargain and Magi Frostwarm had always hoped you’d become.”

“Your words mean a lot to me,” he said, petting Scar along his white-feathered chest. “I miss them so much.” Aarian suddenly cried. He tried not to weep but couldn’t hold back his tears as he shuddered. “If only Belisa could see what I have been trying to do.” He dug his trembling fingers into the dirt as he stammered, “She died thinking I was a pathetic prince.”

“Please don’t say such things, Aarian,” said Scar sympathetically. He gently caressed the prince’s face with his beak, wiping a tear away. “Soul or not, Belisa will always have you in her heart.”

“I doubt it.”

Scar shook his head, not knowing what to say or do. Then his eyes widened. “Hey, I have an idea.”

“What?” asked Aarian, sniffing.

“When this is all over, how about we go on an expedition together?” proposed Scar in an anxious tone.

“An expedition?”

“Yeah,” said Scar excitedly. “I’ll fly while you enjoy the sights. It will be the journey of a lifetime.”

“Maybe,” said Aarian, shrugging. “I suppose.” He wiped his tears away and tried to stop sniffing. “I think it’s getting late. We should both get some sleep. Tomorrow may be our worst battle yet.”

“I’ll scout again for a little while and then join you here,” said Scar.

“Sounds good,” said Aarian, getting to his feet. “Just be careful.” He waved at Scar and watched him fly off. Shortly after, he entered his makeshift tent and lay on the ground. “Belisa, I hope you have forgiven me.”

Aarian started to cry again. Yet this time, being alone in his tent, he didn’t mind. He did not try to stop himself from sobbing and shuddering. Not showing such weakness to any of the savages who idolized him, he welcomed and embraced the tears and sudden hysteria of regret, misery, and recognition that he was the only humyn left. And so he released all the tears he had within his frail body, shriveled and alone in the world.