A small room, the only source of light was an oil lamp standing on a desk. The fireplace behind it had long since gone out, leaving only cold embers. A carpet that had seen better days lay on the wooden floor, which creaked at the slightest sound or the scurrying of a mouse that had found shelter in these old walls. The shabby wallpaper barely clung to the walls, echoing the floor's drawn-out melody. The few cupboards had long since lost their functionality: all the shelves had fallen down and remained lying in a heap on the floor. The clock hanging above the old front door, the upper half of which was now a sieve, had long since stopped. Now it always showed eight o'clock in the morning. The time when the end of humanity began.
"M, hm-hm, hm-hm.
A quiet melody rang out in the room from the lips of a man sitting on a chair, methodically carving various symbols and runes into a large blue crystal. None of the authorised magicians of the Guild of Arcanum could decipher some of them, and if they could, they would immediately report it to the inquisitors. The man carved the last symbol and raised his finished work to eye level. The blue crystal began to emit a soft blue light, illuminating its owner's face.
He had short wheat-coloured hair, a neat stubble and a small, frozen smile that lacked any warmth or positivity. His eyes, which were an unnatural icy colour, glowed slightly in the darkness as they watched his hands.
"I think that's enough," a fairly young, calm voice rang out in the room, and then its owner placed the crystal on the table and stood up to his full height. A heavy black cloak with metal shoulder pads and bracers clanked, and tall boots with thick soles clattered on the floor. A leather vest and armoured trousers fit him like a glove, along with a wide belt equipped with numerous small pockets. A cartridge belt with shotgun shells was slung diagonally across his chest, and his gloved hands ran neatly along the sill of the large window.
"Tell me, Father, when I grow up, will I help you?" the young man asked, looking out at the street through the cracked glass. But he received no answer, only the howling of the wind and the creaking of wooden planks.
"My sister plans to become an inquisitor. She won't help you. Plus, she's old," the smile and voice remained unchanged, and the eyes continued to stare into the distance as the crystal on the table began to glow brighter.
"Hi, Levi, how are you? I'm fine, because soon I'll be able to help my father.
His gaze shifted to the sky, which was covered with heavy clouds through which the sunlight barely penetrated. Reaching the ground, it mixed with the filth that had infected the once beautiful gardens and fields. The young man's smile twitched slightly as his eyes fell on the huge green crystals growing out of the ground. The ether was like a disease that changed the body for its own needs. Only it wasn't animals or humans that were sick, but an entire planet and an entire species. His species.
***
Castor shook his head. His empty discontent was illogical and pointless: it would not bring back humanity, his family, or his youth. Better to focus on the task at hand, which would prove far more effective than his past attempts to undermine his enemies.
"The upper echelons of humanity have rotted, but that's no reason to exterminate an entire species.
Brinel continued to smile, but there was no emotion in it: just a habit developed over decades of war. People prefer to look at a smiling defender, and it makes enemies very uncomfortable.
"Our dark hour has come, and no one has offered a helping hand.
Castor did not understand the reasons for what had happened. He had tried many times to understand the philosophy of the followers of Hton and the Ethereals in order to find the foundation, the basis from which their main enemies proceeded. But Brinel found no answers, only vague images, psychological deviations and logic that was beyond human comprehension. But he was able to understand it, to recognise it as gratuitously cruel and useless. Does this conclusion make him less than human?"
"When the bells ring for the last time, then the logical end will come.
Perhaps Castor had not been human for a long time. Since childhood, he had heard a voice. Ancient, deep, and not belonging to this planet or any gods. It would be logical to attribute this to a brain disorder, but even a child's imagination could not create such a friend. One who had existed since the time of Hton...
"Where are you, my old friend?" Brinel looked at the crystal, which was growing brighter with every passing second. His smile remained unchanged, as did his mood: calm, focused and ready.
Time... Much time had passed since he joined the Guild of Arcanum, and then the Charoloms division at the Imperial Court. The most skilled in magic and fencing. The coldest and most detached, whose goal was to hunt down the Emperor's enemies, those who carried magical nature within themselves. And also to protect important officials from magical threats. A job meant for the most... Special, if you can put it that way. Castor understood the logic behind it — it was better to keep various gifted individuals close by so that, if necessary, they could be disposed of immediately.
"And then the Agreement was signed..." Brinel said into the void, crossing his arms over his chest. The work of a spellbreaker had its rewards, both good and bad. Numerous attempts on his life, litres of spilled blood and walking on the edge — the usual work of a hired assassin for magicians, except that you have to work for one employer, otherwise you quickly become a target for the luminaries.
And then, on the advice of his friend, Castor made a pact with the Stars. In exchange for impossible power, you paid... Brinel couldn't remember what he had given up, or if he had given anything at all. And in books, both modern and ancient, there was no mention of such a contract ever being successfully concluded. Usually, the unfortunate mages disappeared without a trace or turned to ash. Since then, Castor ceased to be a sorcerer — he was placed under the supervision of the Luminaries. A logical decision.
Brinel stared hypnotically at the crystal, whose light filled the entire room. His mind was plunged into memories as the end he had been heading towards for almost eight years approached.
"After... After came the Dawn...
The world sank into oblivion. The Ethereals — once living beings, now powerful spirits — invaded their world and began to change it. Weaving flesh, metal, and wood into grotesque images and creatures that had no mercy. The invaders swept across the world like a wave, spreading chaos, death, and what they call 'the Glorious Old World'.
"Perhaps I pity you, but something tells me that you are not worth pitying.
Long ago, the Ethereals lived on this planet, but an ancient war between the gods stripped them of their shells, turning them into what they are now. Humans are nothing more than vessels to them. At the same time, the cult of Hton began to flourish. Hton was a god who existed at the dawn of the universe. Whose children dismembered him and used their father's flesh and blood to breathe life into their own creations: plants, animals, rivers, lakes, and humans. Every pain of every creation is the pain of Hton. The dying god suffers eternal torment because of the selfishness of his own children.
"Perhaps it will all end soon for you," Castor said emotionlessly as the crystal began to emit cold.
The cult of Chthon kills people, makes sacrifices and summons demons. Another big nail in the coffin of humanity. The remaining defenders fought to the end, as did Brinel himself, who understood the futility of it all. They lost. They lost a long time ago. Even before they were born. This was not the ravings of a madman, nor was it fiction, but a fact that had been revealed to him by the stars and his old friend. As much as Castor pitied his family and his people, it was done. The only thing he could do was...
"When the stars begin their symphony, when the planets spin in dance, when the cold cosmos looks down upon us, then a true requiem will sound.
The crystal on the table began to crack unnaturally, and the cold grew stronger, drawing the heat from the surrounding air. Frost and ice began to creep across the table and floor, exuding an unbearable chill. But Brinel did not feel it, continuing to smile and sit still, lost in his memories. Of all the deaths and battles he had been through.
***
"Don't you dare," Castor rose from his seat and raised his hand towards the entrance, sending a visible wave of cold air. The snow-white arc collided with an uninvited guest who had rushed through the entrance door and instantly froze in place when his body, except for his head, was encased in ice. A second later, green flames melted the ice, freeing the intruder. She was dressed in an armoured coat and boots, with a hood pulled over her head and a mask covering her face. Slits for her eyes emitted a bright green light, just like ether crystals.
"Anasteria," Castor said her name without anger in his voice. An Ethereal in human form who realised the tragedy they had committed, she had switched sides to the humans. Secretive, curious, and malicious, she was willing to do anything to destroy her former allies.
"You are making a huge mistake!" Unlike his calm voice, hers was filled with fear.
"I checked all the runic symbols and bindings a couple of dozen times, as well as the location of all the crystals," Brinel said calmly, crossing his arms behind his back and keeping a smile on his face. "The probability of error is minimal," he said, looking neutrally at Anasteria. She shook her head.
"I'm not talking about a mistake in the ritual, but the very fact of performing it!" The witch tried to take a step, but Castor raised his hand warningly, and a cold wind swirled around it. Behind him appeared several dozen icy blades, their tips pointing directly at the potential enemy.
"The ritual is supposed to destroy all the Ethereals and Chthonians on the planet, and, in theory, also destroy their masters in other dimensions in a chain reaction. I don't see any mistake in performing it," Brinel said calmly, shrugging his shoulders. Of course, he understood why Anastasia was worried, because she would die. But Castor didn't care about the witch's fate.
"You will destroy not only your enemies, but also those who have nothing to do with the destruction of your kind!" she cried. "You will become no better than those you fight against!"
"Why should I care about them?" Castor asked. "The Ethereals and the Chthonies could have declared war and won. Then I wouldn't have had to take this step," the mage's smile became a little more tense. "But you and I have witnessed a real genocide. Monstrous experiments. Need I remind you of the incubator?"
"True, you have no answer," Brinel gave Anastasia, who had remained silent, a cold look. "The force of opposition is equal to the force of influence, if I'm not mistaken.
"What about basic humanity? Logic? If you destroy everyone...
"Then I won't care, because the probability of my survival is low. Not zero, of course, but low," the man shook his head, continuing to smile. "I won't care anymore. I am the last of my kind. And I will go on my own terms.
"Then I'll have to stop you," the woman said viciously, receiving only a quiet laugh in response, which stunned her.
"Why does this remind me of all those silly scenes from books, when two people stand facing each other and time stands still?" The mage looked at the crystal, which was completely covered in cracks. He ran his hand through the air, forming the most ordinary blade of ice. No patterns or complex structure to the blade. The most ordinary short sword.
"Life is full of disappointment, deprivation and pain, Anastasia. Say goodbye to yourself and your race.
The blade plunged straight into the crystal, causing it to shatter into a pile of fragments that flew through the air before coming to rest. Between them, snow-white lines began to appear, forming an intricate pattern that pulsed with energy from within. The surrounding space was filled with an unnaturally intense cold that began to freeze Anasteria to the bone, despite her numerous protective charms.
"You all think you're gods until the silent cosmos devours you all," Castor's smile widened slightly as a dark fabric dotted with myriads of tiny burning dots began to appear between the lines of the pattern. The cosmos. Endless, cold, merciless, but so calm and inviting...
"Farewell," Brinel snapped his fingers, looking straight into Anastasia's mask, which was now in front of him. Her witch's knife easily pierced the thick skin of his cloak and vest, piercing his lung. But Castor was not afraid of death, because in the end...
...it was a logical outcome for any living creature.
***
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