Blood Immortal

Challenge of Titans

Darkness surrounded Aarian as he lay on the ground. He could hear something burning around him. In fact, it felt to him as though the flame was ubiquitous, spreading throughout the cosmos like the immortal Spirits whom he decided to keep believing in. Even though his eyes were wide open, he couldn’t see anything. Yet, in due time, a faint light appeared afar. The light was calling out to him; however, he wasn’t able to move.

The noise of the flame grew, becoming more intense. He felt a tingly sensation all around his crippled, paralyzed body. Moments later he started regaining his sight, a blurry vision of hazy smoke. By the time he was finally able to see, fire engulfed him. The light began to diminish. He shrieked in agony, his bloodcurdling face melting. The weak voice he’d heard before was fading away as he screamed. He managed to stand as fourth-degree burns formed on his skin. Limping forward, Aarian found himself in a realm of hellfire. Then, one final time, the serene voice in the light called out to him louder:

“Come to the light, Prince Aarian.”

Aarian broke into a run. He wasn’t sure how he was able to move or even sprint, but he stopped thinking and simply dashed toward the light as fast as he could. The cackle of Izabaldo was within earshot, the demon’s shadow covering his own and expanding as if it had become his now.

“Hiding is futile,” said Izabaldo, his voice echoing. “You belong to me. The mark on your neck is our pact.”

“Get away from me!” shouted Aarian, reaching the light.

That instant, a bright radiance enveloped him. He fell to the ground, disoriented. The fire dissipated, as with the demon. Aarian tried to catch his breath, steadily regaining his composure. He was so sick of running and being afraid, but what was he supposed to do? At least being here made him feel safe. The light strengthened, strangely making him drowsy. At that point, he gave out a sigh and attempted to rest. Closing his eyes, he let the radiance embrace him and heal his crippled body.

After what seemed to him like an hour of sleeping, he awoke at the bottom of the massive arena. Opening his eyes, he found himself on the floor facing a wild audience of orcs and trolls roaring viciously at him. To his surprise, he was able to move and get up after falling down from such an unbelievably high floor. Earamathras gazed at the prince from his nest with an astounded expression. As for Varkagorsa, he looked impressed but figured the demon within Aarian would eventually kill him.

In the meantime, Aarian stood firm and stared at the crowd, trying to figure out what was happening.

“Let the Challenge of Titans commence!” boomed the emperor.

“Gallant swarm of Warenyth,” began Warlord Varkagorsa, “I present you Prince Aarian of Vlydyn, the last living humyn in existence!” The crowd cheered at his notable announcement, anxious to see a glorious battle. “His first combatant is a being of might and tenacity: Xar’jax the Mutilator!”

Just then, the northern gate opened, and in came an eleven-foot-tall troll wielding an axe as large as he. Aarian, eyes widened, unsheathed his sleek katana and backed away. He glanced around, checking to see if there were any exits he could escape from but found none. The snooty green-skinned troll with a long crooked nose and rings pierced all over his sucked-in, grotesque face stomped toward Aarian, carelessly swinging his battleaxe back and forth while he advanced in a sluggish manner.

Aarian was so used to being able to defend himself with a shield. Yet this time he didn’t have one. The only thing he had was a weighty two-handed katana. Holding it wasn’t easy, but he didn’t have much of a choice. Swallowing heavily, he strode forth and swerved aside as the hulking troll swung his axe down with all his might. Grunting, he struck the concrete that shook and cracked, chipping a piece of his sharp edge.

Swiftly maneuvering behind his opponent, Aarian slit his leg, severing a ligament. The troll yelped, kneeling in pain. When he unwillingly lowered himself, Aarian swiped his katana across the troll’s neck, slitting his throat. Not even bothering to look at the gurgling troll, Aarian sheathed his weapon and waved his hands to stop this madness. This, however, only incensed the crowd. They grumbled and booed at him with ferocious expressions.

“Unbelievable,” said Aarian to himself. “They’re all savages.”

“Fear not, valiant legion,” intervened the warlord, trying to calm them from killing the prince themselves. “We have another vicious warrior, or should I say warriors, who are ready to crush this flimsy insect of a humyn.”

“Can you cut me some slack?” asked Aarian. “I’m not a one-man army.”

Thousands of orcs and trolls ignored his plea. Many of them jeered at him while others cheered at Varkagorsa’s words. There were even a few who sniggered, wondering why they had to watch such a scrawny boy fight.

“Yorgaza and Gerebarga, squash this petty man from existence,” commanded the warlord menacingly.

The southern gateway opened, making Aarian curious to turn and look. At that moment, he saw a two-headed ogre enter the arena. The beasts’ saggy body stood about fourteen-feet tall. If a dozen pregnant women combined their bellies, they still wouldn’t be able to compete with the two-headed ogre’s. Yorgaza and Gerebarga were also replete with muscles. One of their biceps was virtually the size of their chest.

Aarian couldn’t decide which face was more grotesque. Most intimidating, however, were the wooden clubs they held. A single hit would probably crush his entire body. Yet he refused to back away in fear, unsheathing his katana.

“Me bash him hard,” said Yorgaza, cross-eyed.

“No, me bash him first,” replied Gerebarga, snickering while raising his thick club high, eager to whack Aarian multiple times.

“Try hitting me once, you two-headed freak,” said Aarian, lifting the katana.

After taunting the ogre, he charged toward it like a madman and hastily slid between their legs. Upon doing so, he jabbed his blade into their left ankle. Yorgaza shrieked in pain, tilting to the side. Gerebarga was so angry at him that he walloped his twin head in the face with his club, breaking Yorgaza’s nose. Blood gushed down his nostrils as he attempted to attack Gerebarga. Fighting each other, they soon fell to the floor.

“This is sad,” said Aarian, hurling his sword into the ogre’s chest.

The two heads stopped yammering, their body twitching for a few seconds. Silence fell briefly as the prince reached for his sword, yanking it out of the corpse.

“Do not worry yet, glorious legion,” said the warlord. “Next is a band of heroes we have always treasured. Thanks to them, the chilling and vicious harpies of Niratredam have fled our kingdom forever.” At that point the crowd shouted for joy as though they knew who the fighters were. “Here comes Swarm of Fangs!”

“More like Swarm of Fools,” said Aarian.

He glanced at the western gateway where a pack of six werewolves galloped toward him on their four limbs. His heart instantaneously raced. Staggering, he didn’t know what to do. He was completely outnumbered and had to fight against ferocious beasts that could easily tear him apart.

Closing his eyes, Aarian remembered what Dargain had taught him—the importance of alacrity. Dargain was somehow always able to evade Scar or just about anyone for that matter. In fact, the only reason why he had died was because of foul magic. Otherwise, Saldovin Keldoran would’ve been long dead. Aarian didn’t want to look. He pretended to be blindfolded, listening to the movements and growls.

Aarian promptly dodged to the left and right, ducked, leapt backwards, rolled to the side, flipped forward, and pirouetted while sweeping his katana in an arc formation. In seconds he evaded numerous attacks by the werewolves, one of which was split diagonally. This suddenly got the crowd’s attention. They started to hush and take Aarian a bit more seriously, including Varkagorsa who knew not even he could’ve performed such moves. Feeling more confident, the prince opened his eyes.

“Who’s next?” taunted Aarian, keeping his katana leveled with his chest. “Why hold back on me? I’m just a flimsy humyn.”

The werewolves snarled and gnashed their teeth, yearning to sink their fangs into him and tear off his limbs. They wildly pursued him again. One even tried pouncing on him. Yet he slid beneath it, slicing the werewolf in half from head to groin.

Swiftly rising to his feet, he parried three werewolves’ attacks and then riposted, severing a snout. The beast yelped horrifically, fell to the floor, and bled to death. Meanwhile, the others continued to swipe their claws at Aarian who deflected them with his curved, slender katana. He only withdrew tactically—not out of fear. Then, when Aarian saw an opportunity, he twirled to the side and decapitated one. Charging forward, he attacked another beast that stood on its hind legs, amputating one of its limbs and gutting it. Pulling out his katana, he stood still while the beast croaked.

From the corner of his eye, he saw the last werewolf rapidly approaching him. He waited for it to draw closer and make a move first so he could parry and riposte. When it leapt to attack, however, it swiftly retracted on purpose, fooling him, and then struck his left thigh with its sharp paw. Without waiting another second, it leapt onto him and sank its fangs into his neck, precisely where the nine-pointed star had been etched. Aarian screamed in pain, dropping his sleek sword by accident.

The werewolf hauled the prince left to right with its snout, biting harder. Blood squirted from the wound, Aarian shrieking. When the beast finally released him, it stood on its hind legs in a hunched position, growling at him with utter hatred. That instant, the gray beast twitched and convulsed. It soon howled in agony, lighting up in flames that scorched it until only bones lay on the ground.

The crowd, flabbergasted by what had just happened, sat quietly. In the meantime, Aarian tried to stand on his feet. He, too, witnessed the strange demise of the last werewolf. And he had a feeling why this occurred. Though relieved to be alive, he gritted his teeth in fury and used the katana to snip a piece of flesh off his neck. By doing this, he removed the rune that he’d carved on himself in the citadel of Fal’shar.

“I am done with you!” he exclaimed, stepping on the frayed skin.

“It seems we have a talented swordsman in our arena today,” said Varkagorsa, ignoring what Aarian had done. “This means we are privileged to see more carnage.” This immediately excited the legion before him. “I now introduce a brute of absolute power who even I’d shudder to face. I give you: Cyclone the Eradicator!”

The southern and largest gate opened. Aarian, putting pressure on his neck wound in an attempt to prevent more bleeding, feebly turned to gaze upon the creature that thumped into the coliseum. Violent tremors occurred with each step it took. At first the being standing thirty-six feet high was a bestial silhouette. Aarian could only make out hooves. Then, with another stride forward, Aarian discovered what the beast was—a colossal cyclops. An immense horn stood upon its scalp, its rigid and bumpy chest and arms perfectly shaped. And its legs were covered with brown fur. When its single eye spotted Aarian, it pounded its massive chest, giving out a deafening roar, and stomped toward its prey.

“Now this is something I haven’t imagined fighting,” murmured Aarian to himself, sweat pouring down his haggard face.

He quickly broke into a run, reaching a corner where a pillar stood. He tried to climb its chains to get on higher ground while the cyclops approached. By the time he scaled a few links, however, the giant was already upon him. It grabbed him with its coarse hand and hurled him like a ball across the arena. He slammed threw a stone column opposite the cyclops, its rubble crumbling over him.

Despite how much Aarian wanted to move, feeling like every bone broke in his body, he couldn’t even budge a muscle. Something must have surely been fractured, he conceded. Though groaning in agonizing pain, he didn’t fall unconscious. He wanted to rise back up to his feet and fight the damn creature. Yet how could he battle against such a titan? The cyclops merely took three steps forward and was already upon him.

The crowd burst with excitement, craving to see the prince either get eaten by the giant or battered with its bare hands until nothing but blood would remain. Aarian, infuriated, bellowed louder than the cyclops. Experiencing such rage, his eyes gleamed with fire. His frail skin started bulging, gradually becoming replete with muscles. Then, without warning, the titan stomped its hoof on Aarian, squashing him.

Bloodcurdling expressions formed on the faces of many spectators. Others grinned at the sight, cackled, and roared in delight. They could even hear the smashed pieces of stone crushing, as well as flesh mashing and bones cracking. Earamathras snorted, turning away. On the other hand, Warlord Varkagorsa gazed at the horrid occurrence with a mystified countenance, as if he expected more. He eventually grunted and held his head up high, giving the impression that he knew this would be the outcome.

Just before Varkagorsa spoke, he and his fellow audience, as well as the emperor, heard the cyclops groan in an irritable tone. Little by little, his hoof was being lifted by force. To the crowd, this was impossible. Yet, to the emperor, it made perfect sense. The imperial dragon of Warenyth stared at a rising prince whose pulverized body was healing, deforming, and growing in size. His skin soon peeled off, and his outcries turned into demonic roars that frightened the cyclops.

“By all that’s hollow in Yunedar,” gasped Earamathras.

Aarian’s body transformed into a monster none other than Izabaldo who swiftly clawed the cyclops’ chest. He then lunged his fist into the rough skin of the giant, gorging out its heart. The titan fell to the floor lifelessly, slamming down so hard it caused an outrageous tremor.

“You dare challenge the might of an immortal?” exclaimed Izabaldo, his body ablaze, taller than the cyclops. “All of you shall die!”

Even though Izabaldo’s audience was a faction of ferocious savages, they immediately started to run away in terror. He spewed fire from his mouth, scorching a dozen trolls and orcs. Izabaldo then conjured massive fireballs from his hands and hurled them in myriad directions, incinerating a hundred brutes and setting the building on fire.

In the meantime, Varkagorsa dropped his sword and stared blankly at the blazing demon. Earamathras, however, spread his wings and flew down, blasting Izabaldo with a breath of frost so powerful that his flame dissipated for a brief moment. At that precise moment, Earamathras clawed the demon’s chest and took off to the sky.

Izabaldo looked overhead, scowling at the imperial dragon. When his flames returned, he grew boney wings that stretched out and joined Earamathras in the freezing sky. Upon doing so, the cold gripped him, reducing his fire. Still, he pursued the ancient dragon until they met face to face beneath the greenish-blue aurora.

“Your time is at an end, Earamathras!” exclaimed Izabaldo, lava spewing down from his fiery mouth.

“I haven’t given up hope yet, Izabaldo,” retorted Earamathras.

Titans from an age long forgotten battled in the sky. Between slashes of claws enchanted with the earthen strength of Yunedar and the blazing swipes of an insidious inferno manifested by one of the most powerful demons, the firmament above Niratredam looked like it split open. Claw-shaped fissures sizzled throughout the heavens accompanied by a firestorm that looked as though stars were falling. Together they fought viciously while flying, striking each other with all their might between iridescent clouds.

“Your attacks are futile,” said Izabaldo monstrously, cackling. “You forget that I am immortal. You will never defeat me, old fool.”

“I don’t intend to,” responded Earamathras, flying higher.

The demon furrowed his fiery brow, wondering what the dragon meant. Though, by the time he started to realize what Earamathras had meant, it was too late. The icy winds weakened him, followed by a swipe of the dragon’s tail. Earamathras struck him so hard that he propelled thousands of feet down, smashing through a glacier and onto the frozen icescape.

Shortly after, Earamathras descended next to Izabaldo’s stock-still body that lay sizzling in an icy crater, his deadly flames doused. Examining him warily, the imperial dragon snorted and flew back in the air, perching himself atop one of Warenyth’s watchtowers. He remained there for a while, patiently observing Izabaldo to see if he was truly unconscious or pretending just to trick him.

“Now the rest is up to you, Prince Aarian,” said Earamathras on tenterhooks. “Either you prove to be yet another pawn of the demons or their downfall.”

In the meantime, Aarian fell into a dream state, finding himself in a realm of hellfire. By now he’d become used to experiencing this nightmare. He was fed up and wanted to find a way to end it. He rose to his feet and scouted the mountainous, volcanic region that had a scorching sky. Far across the rock-strewn landscape, he spotted a bright light. It was much farther than the radiance he’d come into contact before.

Then, gazing sidelong on the ground he stood upon, he saw Izabaldo who seemed to lay unconscious. For the first time he appeared weak. This gave the prince an advantage to sprint over to the source of light. Meanwhile, the demon opened his eyes and hissed, quickly standing up and spotting Aarian running toward a glowing beam. Izabaldo grimaced, stomping after the prince.

“The light cannot save you,” said Izabaldo, gradually catching up. “You have performed admirably for a humyn. But, like all mortals, you must die.”

“Not yet,” said Aarian, running at a swift pace.

Drawing closer to the light, Aarian felt stronger. His neck wound started to heal, the new patch of skin showing no trace of the demonic glyph. Little by little, he was beginning to doubt the belief he’d grown up with. Instead he began to embrace what Earamathras had told him. It was hard to believe, but without the nine-pointed star on his neck he felt healthy. In addition, he continued to recover and regain his strength by approaching the illumination.

In the distance he could see a figure within the light. This being stood as tall as Izabaldo and resembled a demon. Yet there was something unusual about it. Perhaps the main difference was that Aarian felt no hostility toward it. He only felt tranquility radiating from the being that levitated within the radiance.

“Betrayer!” roared Izabaldo.

“Yes,” said the demonic figure of light calmly. “I was once a traitor to my people. But no more. Never again shall I betray them.”

At long last, Aarian breached the region of illumination. Izabaldo was just inches away from grabbing the prince but staggered near the radiant-covered boundary that belonged to the demonic being of light. At that exact moment, ivory beams emitted into Aarian whose body was filled with magical power. Aarian, finally feeling at peace with himself, embraced the rays that illuminated his eyes, returning them back to their natural blue hue. Then his hair changed from fiery red to blonde. The pigment of his skin was also no longer pale.

Blessed by the light, Aarian turned and fixed his eyes on Izabaldo’s. He didn’t even say anything to the demon king. He simply absorbed the rays around him, conjured a sphere of holy light, and hurled it at his nemesis.

“No!” shouted Izabaldo in defiance, wounded by the blast. “Impossible!”

“I am not a mortal anymore,” said Aarian, staring at Izabaldo confidently. “I am blood immortal.” Just then, he leaped out of the radiant boundary and pressed his gleaming palms against Izabaldo’s wound. The demon bawled horrifically until his essence was consumed into Aarian. “I am the Dralekar.”

That instant, the peninsula of hellfire diminished, replaced by a landscape of consecrated ground. Taking a deep breath, he turned around and faced the other demon whose ivory-glowing body and horns showed both humyn and elven glyphs of magic, none being the nine-pointed star that was once thought to be sacred. The demon smiled warmly at him, reaching out to hold his hand.

“You’re a demon,” muttered Aarian, accepting the feminine hand. “Can it be that you are Xen?” When the radiant being nodded, Aarian went on, “I can hardly believe it. But how can you be a demon?”

“Not all demons are evil, Dralekar,” said Xen.

Aarian raised his eyebrows and said, “I wouldn’t want to get used to hearing people call me that, divine Spirit or not. I only announced it to Izabaldo to infuriate him before consuming his soul.”

“Those words were indeed ahead of you,” said Xen. “It is not always wise to play with fire. But you deserve the precious title, Prince Aarian.”

“Thank you,” he said, bowing. He looked around awkwardly and then turned back to Xen as he went on, “I have much on my mind...it’s overwhelming.” He took a deep breath again and asked, “Have you been trapped here for millennia?”

“Not trapped,” answered Xen. “I chose to stay here. And do not worry; the other demons dare not enter my domain. They fear the power of light as much as they fear death. Izabaldo was beyond arrogant and, as you can see, he failed miserably. This victory is a testament to the fact that you have what it takes to defeat his legion.”

“Why me?” he inquired.

“Dralekar always existed in the fabric of time and space,” said Xen. “He only needed the correct constituents at the right time to manifest in both the physical and spiritual realm. And as of today, at this very moment, he has manifested. You have manifested.”

Aarian found this knowledge and insight difficult to take in but nevertheless nodded. “I am curious...you mentioned the spiritual realm. You mean hell, right?”

“You may find this hard to believe,” she began, “but this is not hell. This realm is one of many links to it, though. When you sealed the demonic rift, you unconsciously created a magical link to the spirit realm, allowing demons to haunt you. Izabaldo, the demon king who had come through the rift before it was sealed, saw this as an opportunity to possess you and use your body to become immortal in the physical world. Interestingly enough, it back fired on him. Now he bows to your every whim.”

“I see,” said Aarian pensively. “There’s only one problem I have with everything that’s happened.”

“Which is?”

“Prophecies,” spouted Aarian. “Revelations. Visions. Any of the like; I absolutely hate them and find them to be unsettling. You see, I hate the idea of destiny or fate. I want to believe that I carve my own path. I want to believe I’m Dralekar not because someone proclaimed this thousands of years ago but because I was strong enough to become a Master.”

“You don’t need to believe in the prophecy, Prince Aarian,” said Xen. “The prophecy already believes in you. Whether you’re a believer, the prophecy is like a life of its own. For countless eons it has permeated, waiting for its destiny to unfold. But, if you wish it,”—she noticed the irritated look on his face and exhaled softly—“you can see it differently, such as forging your own path.”

“Is that so?” he said suspiciously. “Then what’s next if you’re so wise and all-knowing?”

She sighed and responded calmly, “I may be a divine Spirit, but I certainly don’t have all the answers. I am simply able to, at times, touch the fabric of time and see into the future—or at least what may be our future.”

“Now that’s better,” he said.

“You are Prince Aarian,” she said. “Yet you are also the Dralekar. You have the freedom to choose whatever path you want in life; however, I implore you to rise up and vanquish the vile demons once and for all.”

“Oh, believe me, I intend to do that,” he said with new fervor. “But first I have some unfinished business to take care of in Lar’a’dos.”

“I figured as much,” she said.

“Saldovin Keldoran must pay for his misdeeds,” he said crossly. “It’s because of him that the world is in peril.”

“He is one of the factors...yes,” she said. “After you remove him from power, however, you’ll need to deal with Izabaldo’s legion, particularly his demon lords. The eight of them may soon enter the realm of Yunedar.”

“What do you propose?” he asked.

“Having the Spirit of Izabaldo within you and successfully enslaving him has given you a strength that will make them tremble,” she said with assurance. “If you have gained full control of your demonic strength, you will have a chance to overpower one. However, if you fight more than one at a time, it is possible for them to harm you. Challenging several immortals at once is not only foolhardy, but it may also cost you your life.”

“That’s not what I wanted to hear,” he said in dismay.

“It is nevertheless a fact,” she said. Seeing his disturbed face, Xen added, “Do not trouble yourself with such thoughts, Prince Aarian. For now you need to adapt to your magic and deal with Keldoran. If you’re able to master your demonic power and vanquish him, then I believe that the eight demon lords will be in for quite a surprise when they confront you.” She paused for a brief moment. “But, as I said, do not worry about on this right now. What you need to focus on is returning to Yunedar.”

Aarian examined the mainstream of light where Xen levitated while he asked, “Is there a way out of here?”

“I will assist you,” she said meditatively. “Simply close your eyes and envision yourself returning to your body. Lie down if it makes you feel better. Allow the perennial light of my everlasting Spirit and the dark soul of Izabaldo to embrace your essence of existence. Within the balance, you shall find your way back to the world of the living.”

“All right,” he said, lying down and closing his eyes. “I’ll try my best to follow your wisdom.”

“I have faith in you, Dralekar.”

Aarian couldn’t help grin upon hearing her call him by that special title. He didn’t want it to get to his head; yet he truly started to fall in love with the primordial concept. Just then, he felt a tingly feeling run up his spine. In fact, it tickled him. He felt pressure in his chest—a throbbing pain. Then it dissipated as he took deep breaths, contemplating on the light and darkness within his body. Such darkness and light were the constituents of his soul. And so he embraced both his rage and compassion, unifying them. Then his everlasting Spirit vanished, returning to his healed body in the icescape of Niratredam.