Chapter 21: A Memory of Aether

I emerged into consciousness amidst a crimson sky, obscured by billowing smoke and ominous black clouds. My senses remained dulled, rendering me unable to speak, while my vision swayed and my head throbbed relentlessly.

Surveying my surroundings, I found myself amidst the aftermath of destruction. The landscape was dominated by burning ruins, the remnants of once towering structures now reduced to piles of smoldering debris. The ground beneath me, perhaps once paved streets, now lay fractured and fissured, with pools of molten lava punctuating the landscape at regular intervals.

Though confined within the confines of memory, I could sense the searing heat of the flames licking at my skin, a suffocating sensation exacerbated by the insatiable hunger of the inferno for oxygen. Instinctively, I gasped for air, the acrid taste of smoke filling my lungs.

Amidst this apocalyptic scene, the cacophony of distant explosions reverberated through the air, accompanied by the incessant rumbling of the earth as it trembled beneath the weight of destruction.

Where am I? I wondered to myself looking at the horrific sight around me.

"Aether," Noir's voice resonated from behind me, his sudden presence jolting me from my thoughts. With glowing eyes that pierced through the dimness, he gestured toward the noise ahead. "Head there," he commanded, his tone leaving no room for hesitation.

As if propelled by an unseen force, my body obeyed Noir's command, urging me forward through the treacherous landscape of lava pits and burning debris. Step by step, I navigated the chaotic terrain until I reached the end of the road—a sheer cliff face. Peering over the precipice, I discovered it wasn't just a cliff but the rim of an enormous chasm, gaping wide below.

Within the vast abyss below, a formidable army assembled. Soldiers, knights, and cavalry stood alongside mages, their magical energies crackling in the air. Among them, monstrous creatures and demons prowled, adding to the intimidating spectacle. The array of weaponry, both massive and minute, gleamed ominously in the dim light. As I gazed into the depths, the sheer magnitude of the army stretched across the horizon, an unstoppable force poised for war.

The countless legions advanced relentlessly, their thunderous footsteps echoing through the abyss as they trampled over fallen comrades. At the foot of the cliff where I stood, a solitary figure awaited their approach. Despite the overwhelming odds, the small figure stood unwavering, a lone beacon of defiance against the encroaching tide.

As the horde closed in, the figure at the base of the cliff became clearer, revealing the familiar silhouette of the man from Aether, known as the War Demon by Cassandra. Despite the overwhelming odds, he remained resolute, his gaze unwavering, his weakened body swaying unsteadily, his arms and shoulders dropped from exhaustion and his entire body covered with blood and open wounds. He was panting and struggling to breathe, and despite the pain, he clutched his blade tightly, every fiber of his being prepared for the inevitable clash with the approaching army.

I turned to Noir's shadow, my voice trembling as I asked, "W-what is this?"

With a softened, reminiscent look, Noir responded in a solemn tone, "This... This is the last memory of Aether as a world."

I looked back to the pitiful state of the couched man and asked Noir, "Who is he?"

Noir took a moment to think and then replied, "He is a Guardian in every sense."

“Tsk-,” I clicked my tongue in frustration. "Not what I asked," I muttered.

“His is called Leon,” Noir revealed. “He is the 36th Guardian of Aether, as well as the epitome of paradox.”

Paradox? I was happy for a moment that I got a proper answer for one but that was quickly overshadowed by a flood of new questions. No, I wouldn't drive myself mad trying to unravel this mystery.

But amidst the confusion, I found solace in the revelation of his name: Leon. Yet, my newfound clarity was swiftly engulfed by the ominous rumbling of the advancing army towards Leon.

With unwavering resolve, he met the onslaught head-on. As the enemy closed in, he surged forward, his movements swift and precise despite his weakened state. Each strike was calculated, every maneuver executed with finesse. He weaved through the chaos, employing a combination of speed, traps, and explosives to fend off the encroaching horde. Flames danced at his fingertips as he unleashed bursts of fire magic upon his foes.

Unlike the rigid formations of the army, he moved freely, adapting to the ever-shifting battlefield. Exploiting the confusion among the enemy ranks, he darted among them, using their own comrades as unwitting shields. Each encounter was a testament to his resourcefulness and determination as he held his ground against overwhelming odds.

Amidst the chaos, his blood mingled with the earth, staining the once-green fields a deep crimson hue. With relentless determination, he pressed forward, his movements accompanied by an eerie creaking, like an ancient door swinging on rusty hinges—a sound no human body should make.

Yet, even more perplexing was the nature of his mana—it was devoid of color or attribute, an anomaly in a world governed by elemental magic. Despite this, he wielded magic with skill and precision, tapping into the elemental forces of fire and ice with an uncanny proficiency.

As the mages unleashed their devastating spells, torrents of fire and ice cascaded from the sky, threatening to engulf him. But he was undeterred, darting between the fallen bodies of his foes, using them as macabre shields against the onslaught. Each step forward was a testament to his resilience, his will unbroken in the face of overwhelming adversity.

With each step, he plunged deeper into the heart of battle, his movements fluid and instinctual, his mind a whirlwind of strategy and tactics. For days on end, he waged his solitary war against the relentless tide of enemies, employing unorthodox methods and cunning maneuvers to outwit and outmaneuver his foes.

As the army finally began to falter, their ranks depleted and their spirits broken, Leon pressed his advantage, driving them back with relentless determination. With the last of his strength, he fought on, until the battlefield lay silent save for the distant echoes of retreat.

Now, as the dust settled and the chaos subsided, Leon retreated to the edge of the cliff, his body battered and bruised, his mana depleted. With practiced hands, he drew upon the last vestiges of his power to mend his wounds, the healing magic weaving through his tired form, offering respite from the pain and exhaustion.

With the approach of another battalion of monsters, Leon wasted no time in preparing for the next wave of battle. Swiftly, he rose to his feet, exchanging his worn weapon for a broadsword salvaged from the remnants of the previous conflict. Draping a piece of cloth over his battered frame, he fashioned a makeshift robe to shield himself from the elements.

Taking his position at the edge of the cliff, Leon stood firm, his gaze fixed on the oncoming horde. With steely resolve, he awaited their advance, ready to meet them head-on in another clash of steel and sorcery.

As I trembled with trepidation, I dared to voice the question that gnawed at my soul. "H-How long has he been fighting?"

In response, Noir gestured towards a cluster of hills in the distance. Upon closer inspection, those hills revealed themselves to be mounds of countless bodies, a grim testament to the battles that had been waged. It was inconceivable that a single individual could have wrought such devastation alone. The enormity of it all left me reeling.

In a somber tone, Noir revealed, "His adversaries from Celestia also joined the fray. It's why he earned the moniker: War Demon." With a heavy heart, he added, "As for how long he's been fighting... Even we cannot say. He lost count after enduring fifty millennia of conflict."