When I was young I was scared of blades.
That's a lie.
I'm still scared of swords and blades, and for what?
My purpose?
A mere hunting dog for my god, one used to banish heretics from the face of the earth, a being whose only purpose was to satiate his god's commands.
Yet, I've always felt content with my life, my god gave me purpose, even if it was in such a sinister way.
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The terms one of two was one which tended to hold a positive connotation, but now it represented that of disaster and disarray.
There were two suns?
Rubbing his eyes in a futile hope that his mind was playing tricks on him, he once more gazed at the sky.
But even to his grief, he couldn't deny the reality before him.
The results were the same, his fears were confirmed, but confusion only stuck. This made little sense.
"...." He stayed silent for several seconds before–
"What the hell is going on?" he vented.
Regardless of reason, this was truth, reality — even if it made no sense.
That was the sad truth, but where the hell did a second sun come from? and even more so…
"... Whe-Where…," He stammered over his own tongue, and his body trembled, "Where, Is my connection to my god?" The inquisitor said before staring at the crimson bladed grass in a daze, after a moment he spoke.
His body trembled more profusely,
Across the tapestry of his body, countless veins bulged,
His expression was horrifying, the sheer aura of pent-up rage, hate and distraught excluded around him was suffocating. Most beings would die from the pressure alone.
"THIS IS UNACCEPTIBLE!!!" He thundered in a grizzly tone full of bloodlust.
Even when trapped within that cell, he had always felt his god's connection – even if that ethereal feeling was weak. Regardless of his location he had always felt that spiritual bond.
This was obscene. No, blasphemous! Even with those pesky restrictions lifted, his bond with his god rather than steeling was tarnished and somehow severed.
Pitter! patter!
Clomp… clomp
BANG… ZkZkZkZkZkZkZk!
The distant symphony of powerful steps against the ground rang though the earth, the sheer force of it shuddered the air. Thousands if not tens of thousands of vibrations reverberated across the red landscape. Within the distance, the horizon was plagued with a constant moving darkness, its entirety pulsing with a primal will of destruction.
It was a wave of annihilation, a testament that all in its path would cease to exist. Resistance — seemingly futile.
Its impression was that of an ancient demon whose only purpose was that of malevolent aim.
Of course, that was not the case, yet it still felt like the antithesis of life.
The inquisitor remained silent, his words staggered in his throat, not being able to escape amidst sheer chaos around him. His gaze remained distant, hollow.
Snap!
Crush!
Chlurch!
Digging his nails into the flesh of his left forearm. The rueful inquisitor drew from his flesh the Ulna & Radius, the bones that comprised the forearm.
His expression was sullen, not a speck of pain betrayed his features, even though his insanity.
"You are a loser who can't do anything." He muttered... No, his voice laughed, mocking the boy, the fool! He truly was.
"Always remember you are a loser and always will be, Rue Revan, you are useless, a mere hunting dog that would be put down once its golden days have passed."
Funnily enough even as he spoke such demeaning words, he smiled, the ends of his mouth tugged up, and his eyes widened in an uncanny manner.
The gore of his forearm from his self-infliction snapped shut immediately, beginning the rapid process of healing.
The flesh swelled, and puss oozed from the womb. Infection had begun — the flesh rotted within its cavity, his blood contaminated with an unknown filthy pink-like substance which began to stifle his healing factor.
Something was in the air, an unknown energy other than… will?
That made no sense, but nothing so far was, so he merely accepted it as reality.
It was like saying Krypton replaced the Nitrogen within the atmosphere. It literally was implausible, and made no damn sense.
With such an ambiguous impediment attempting to hinder his healing factor, it funnily enough proved ill-effective against Rue's dormant will.
As such, this stalemate between his residual will and this new energy, a conclusion was laminated after this several second internal strife, Rue was the victor.
Stealing a glance at his forearm, brandishing his Ulna & Radius within each hand Rue nodded before excluding a shaky sigh.
"Let's run!"
Self preservation mattered more than altruism, even if this was a perfect opportunity to temper his Will–Emission.
To hell with that. It was basically akin to suicide.
With a final glaze towards the horde of onyx incoming from the distance, he closed his eyes and focused on his body's composition. Rue compressed and destroyed the current shape of his legs. The original anatomy of his pathetic human legs was altered into a more proximal shape — one that catered toward speed.
With raptor-like legs replacing his past human ones, Rue sighed, his back was drenched with a film ice cold sweat. That was painful as hell,
BANG!
The ground exploded.
Rubble and dirt were filtered into the air, creating a large cloud of debris. Only a crater fourteen feet in radius remained in the spot where Rue had been.
Rue hurled into the distance in a comically swift manner, quickly hitting the ground in a sprint breaking the sound barrier several fold.
His silhouette from an observer's view was a dot in the distance.
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The air trembled with a tranquil melody of piano keys connecting in perfect rhythm— the sing-song voices of laughter hushed ears and quelled thoughts.
The piano's song was proud, and its performer equally so.
Such a sweet tune it was— it lamented the hearts of the noble audience, they swelled with joy and cheer for the benefactor of this symphony.
"Bravo, bravo, remarkable indeed!" came the voice of an aged noble man. his face bore of the passage of time, he dressed in a fine silk robe accented with red and green. "To think the talents of our prescient could create such a divine sound, hoho" He laughed with a mock-gentle smile which guided his features.
With his fellow nobles who crowded around him, each seeking his audience, but he ignored such idle chatter, so the patriarch spoke loud with indignation, his flaunting was not without show.
It was a prestigious banquet, planned over the course of several months.
The event was perfect, the festivities were in accord with only the finest of parties— the wine aged and strong— food, prepared by the most rigorous of hands. Most of all, the shining star of the party was a youth of only 17 years. A madman, mad with only one obsession, to currently play this intrinsic melody
Each note of his would soothe even the most stone hearted of individuals, yet even with such a tune, his expression remained stiff, indifferent, detested…. It could be described in one word,
Turmoil.
It was impressive, wherever his aura, or the nimble dance of his fingers across the pianos keys, they all excluded mastery.
This was [Will] , one's path, one's desire— a coveted destination, whatever this concept meant, its most sincere depth was only known to the practitioner.
Sanity was a luxury one would have to part with on their path, obsession was needed. There was no other, or shortcuts to perfection.
A swordsman trained with a sword,
A mage studied the paradoxes of reality,
A spiritualist → the primal forces of nature,
And from there, so on.
Each path was not without its own destinations: minor, major, intrinsic, eccentric, essential , final— and to end it, Death, a fitting way to conclude a path.
Distinctions were infinitive with each path, but nonetheless they all shared one common feature… without an initial, then it would be impossible for a practitioner to tread their path.
An example of this would be the boy playing the piano. His initial was not a means to an end for power. No, such a barbaric initial was something he would sneer at. Rather, his was the way of art.
His path to power crippled, he stifled his pursuit of power to perfect his craft. His path was that of a musician.
His initial→ to create a song that would make even the gods weep. These were the lines the boy abided by, his mission statement, he desired to create a perfect magnus opus, one that would shake the musical world.
"Such perfection," muttered a red-haired youth of similar age, a peer. His expression displayed perfect public decorum, yet this was false, deep within he was filled with envy, jealousy, and hate. Hate towards the person who made him feel so inferior.
An inferiority complex, a common trend among youths.
"Pardon my leave, but I have other matters to attend to," he curtsied to the small coterie that had amassed around him.
WIth a smile at departure, the red-haired youth began to stride towards the stage, where the perpetrator behind his negative turmoil stirred from,
IT WAS HIS FAULT!
He growled within his mind, resting his hand on his breastbone. The youth trailed his finger down his chest to his torso along his griffdriff — finally he patted the small inconspicuous bulge along his waist.
His expression was content, innocent, and a nonchalant smile etched his face.
"Oh if it isn't the golden boy himself," The red-haired youth greeted with a slight bow.
He was now only a few short feet from the man he hated,
"Ah, sorry where are my manors?" The boy who was playing the piano gasped in a hushed voice, he resisted the urge to palm his face.
"The names, Orvis" The youth said with a smile "And your own?"
"It would be Lucias," He curtly replied.
Not noticing the harsh tone and pliable discontent, Orvis continued his jubilant display. Naivety trended this oblivion.
Tapping his chin seemingly in thought, Lucias spoke "Would It be fine if we spoke in a more private setting?"
"Sure, lead the way," Orvis mused with a whistle