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Flashback (300 years)
Inno's POV
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I was dragged across the muddy floors with the chains wrapped around my hands. The people who saw me were too disgusted to even look at me.
Some began to throw rotten foodstuffs at me. Immediately it reached the reach of mouth, I wolfed the food stuff down, rotten or not. My hunger was insatiable at that point. I couldn't be bothered of where the food came from, I was just glad I was able to eat. They laughed though, but I was too weak to laugh back.
My state was pathetic. Worst so because I couldn't do anything about it.
We arrived at the King's quarters. We had to wait at the door because King Akzari was preoccupied with his bedchamber duties.
While we waited, sorcerers, mages, occultists, acolytes, shamans and oracles from all over the kingdom came. They sat in the waiting room all wearing prestigious clothing showing their high standing. They brought several equipments, potions and items with them.
I wasn't sitting on sofas like them, rather I was on the floor still chained. I forced myself to my knees as I watched more people come in.
'What's the occasion?' I thought. Was this a preparation for some kind of ritual?
The last person to enter was the Chaplain, the spiritual advisor for The King.
The Chaplain went towards the King's Quarters door and knocked. Some guards answered ready to kill the knocker if needed. Knocking on the King's Quarters door is a capital offense, if you were not in a high position. The Chaplain was high enough and upon seeing him, the guards nodded and retreated back into the quarters.
A little while later, King Akzari came. He wore a robe and had beads of sweat on his face. Evidence of his private indulgence.
What happened next was a blur. I was carried to one of The King's room. A large expanse without any furniture apart from the curtains.
The guards placed me in the middle of the room and exited.
"Let's commence." King Akzari said.
The occultists and acolytes stepped forward and began to draw marks, sigils and runes on the floor around me. Their faces were serious showing their focus. It seemed like they couldn't afford to make a mistake.
Immediately they were done, they stepped back and whispered somethings to one another and the mages & sorcerers.
The mages and sorcerers, after hearing what the occultists & acolytes had to say, stepped forward.
They stretched forth their hands & wands and began saying incomprehensible words. They conjured up spells which went directly to the markings on the floohey had a dark purple glow to them.
"AKZARI!!" A shout escaped my throat. My eyes had turned blood red. My body... my body felt off. I wanted to put a stop to whatever they were doing.
I felt suppressed. My body buckled under an invisible force. I began having internal injuries.
"STOP! STOP!! STOOOOOPPP!!!" My throat felt like it was being ripped apart with every scream, but no sound could ever match the torment raging inside me. It was as if molten lead was coursing through my veins, burning me from the inside out. I could feel my ribs cracking, one by one, under an invisible pressure that I couldn't see. Each breath I tried to take felt like knives slicing through my lungs.
Blood filled my mouth, warm and metallic, choking me as I convulsed on the cold floor. My fingernails clawed at the stone beneath me, splintering and breaking, but I couldn't stop—I needed something to hold on to, some kind of anchor against the storm tearing through my body.
The markings on the floor pulsed faster and brighter, each glow sending another wave of agony crashing over me. My eyes rolled back as my skull felt like it was about to split open, as if something inside was hammering away, desperate to break free.
I wanted to die. Oh, how I begged for death in that moment—but I couldn't. My immortality was a cruel joke. I was nothing but a vessel for pain, and the ritual was filling me to the brim.
"AKZARI!!!" I coughed up blood as I screamed his name again, my voice cracking, my body shaking uncontrollably. My bones groaned, my muscles felt shredded, and still that invisible weight pressed me down, grinding me into the floor as if the world itself wanted to erase me.
Every heartbeat was an explosion. Every breath felt like a blade. And deep down, I knew—this was just the beginning.
"Don't you want freedom?" King Akzari suddenly said. He was sat on a very majestic chair which was brought in by some guards. His face was lowered in a menacing way.
"I'm trying to give you what you have so desperately longed for. Shouldn't you be thanking me. You should be grateful, you ingrate!!" Akzari shouted in a pissed off tone.
"What I've been longing for? No... don't tell me...." Realization set in.
"Yes.... Death! I'm going to grant you the gift of death. You don't need to know the details. In a short while, all this pain will be over and you'll be free and I'll no longer be limited by you. It's a win-win." Akzari spread his arms, his tone swelling with dark triumph.
"Finally, I will no longer be limited by the limits of a mortal man. I will become like a god. No more being belittled by this Council members. I will be above and beyond. I'll be The All Mighty!" Akzari threw back his head and laughed, his words tumbling out between ragged breaths, half-shouted, half-snarled. His voice cracked with wild glee, each declaration swelling louder than the last until it was almost a scream.
"Hmph! Idiot." I barely let out before losing consciousness.
* * *
I don't know how much time had passed, but when I woke up it was already night time. I was no longer in the castle grounds.
Clatter! Clatter!!
Behind me, I heard hooves of horses thundering. I was laid out on the floor, my body in pain. With immense difficulty, I turned around using my left hand as a crutch.
My eyes widened at the sight that came to my vision. I nearly fainted out of sheer shock.
The castle… the magnificent Shilton Castle… has been utterly destroyed. Its once-majestic towers now lie in ruins, and walls that had stood tall for centuries are nothing but piles of rubble and ash. Flames consumed both stone and timber, filling the air with a thick, choking smoke. The grand gate was ripped apart, statues lay in pieces, and banners were reduced to mere ashes.
Yet, the devastation of the stone pales in comparison to the tragedy of the lives lost. Warriors were slaughtered, mothers held their lifeless children, and what used to be lively courtyards now stood silent, a graveyard of ash.
Shilton Castle didn't just fall; it was obliterated—its splendor, its people, its very history—all swept away in a single, ruthless wave of destruction.
The aggressors? An army of White-robed warriors riding in white horses. They were already making their way out, their robes untainted by the destruction around them.
Leading the horde was a green-robed man, a member of The Council. Charles.
He stopped in front of me.
"You. Can. Not. Die." He said each word one by one staring straight into my very soul.
With that, he left.
That day was when I knew the true might of the White Warriors.