Chapter 31 - The Cursed Number

"So, ye came tae learn aboot the Twelfth Kindu, eh?" asked al, pulling a heavy tome from one of the shelves and thumbing through its pages.

"That's precisely why I came to see you," said Igorus, glancing at the Morloks around them as they went about their usual routines.

"It's happenin' now," muttered Alfons.

"What is?" Igorus asked, puzzled.

In that very moment, the sunlight began to pour through the great window behind the tree. The photons that streamed inside froze every Morlok they touched, paralyzing them completely, turning them into unmoving statues, figures trapped in the stillness of time. Within seconds, the hall was filled with a silent crowd of living sculptures, creatures existing only through the strange concept of temporal stasis.

"As I told ye before, lad, the Morloks are creatures o' the underworld. The sun is their greatest enemy. It traps them in time, stiff as stone. So, I reckon this is the perfect time tae tell ye everythin' I ken, General Igorus Friola," said Alfons, closing the book with a soft thud.

Igorus' gaze lingered on the frozen Morloks, then shifted to the book Alfons held. Its cover was thick, old, and dignified, a deep brown with golden lining at the edges. The name of the author was faintly engraved on the back but too worn to read.

"What's that book you've got there?" asked Igorus, his tone laced with curiosity and unease.

"This one? The Salvation of the Dramytes. That's its title," Alfons replied, setting it gently back on the shelf.

"Dramytes? That's the first time I've heard that name. Does it have anything to do with the Twelfth Kindu?" Igorus pressed.

"Tens o' thousands o' years ago, there were nae angels, nae dominions, nae demons," said Alfons, his accent thickening with each word. "On the divine isle, only two kinds o' godly beings existed; the Dragons and the Dramytes."

"Of course, I know of the Dragons. We regard them as the gods of gods themselves, but these ones—"

"Aye, ye hold yer ceremonies, bathin' in their blood for blessin's, I ken that well," Alfons cut him off, waving a dismissive hand. "But the Dragons, lad, were nae so holy as ye like tae think, nor as all yer dominions would claim."

"What do you mean by that?" asked Igorus.

"The Dragons soared o'er the lands o' Ladnoria, proud and terrible, hidin' horrors beneath their scales. But when they began tae gain a clearer mind, an intellect beyond their nature, they learned tae change their form, tae somethin' more suited for their new way o' life. They took on shapes like our own: white-skinned, green-haired, with eyes red as a hawk's. The Dramytes were much the same in spirit. They lived far from the Dragons, on the other side o' the isle. Each race had its own lands, its own blessings, its own peace. They ate, they loved, they multiplied.

But all that peace shattered when the lust for power was born among them. With knowledge came hunger, and with hunger, ruin. Their indifference turned tae hatred. They fought, hunted, enslaved, slaughtered each other for ages beyond count. They found any excuse tae taste one another's blood. There was nae love left between them, lad, only pain.

The Dramytes were greater in number, but weaker in body. The Dragons fewer, but fearsome beyond measure. And thus, the world found its perfect balance, a harmony built upon hatred."

"Hatred born of power and intellect..." Igorus murmured to himself.

"So that only one among them could rule the whole divine isle. Pride, lad. Far too much pride tae ever allow somethin' like coexistence, cooperation, or alliance. Each o' them saw only their own gain," said Alfons. "But a pact was proposed, a bond meant tae cool the blood between the two nations o' that godly land."

"What kind of pact?" asked Igorus.

"The Dragons were ruled by eleven Kindu, whose powers are still feared even now, though they've long been dead," Alfons began. "The Kindu proposed that their twelfth member, the fairest among them, be given as wife tae the king o' the Dramytes, Edin'Borghia Mandr'Ghana. The hope was that such a marriage might ease the tension between the two races, perhaps even forge peace between nations that kenned only ambition and blood."

"I've never heard anything like that before. The Dramytes... the marriage of the Twelfth Kindu... Edin'Borghia? Isn't he the highest deity among angels?" asked Igorus, astonished by the revelation.

"According tae the angels, aye, he's supposed tae be a Seraph, the highest rank an angel can ever reach," said Alfons. "The angels, archangels, Principals, the three Cherubs, the Ophan, and then the Seraph, Edin'Borghia himself. But the truth, lad, is that angels are the descendants o' the Dramytes."

Igorus could scarcely believe the words spilling from Alfons' mouth.

"Edin'Borghia... is a Dramyte?" he asked, shaken to his core.

"Aye, and the last one o' his kind. Just as the Twelfth Kindu is the last o' hers," said Alfons.

"And he's still alive?" Igorus pressed on.

"The angels possess only his right wing. The rest o' him, well, no one kens where it lies. Most likely in another dimension altogether, one far beyond our perception," Alfons replied with quiet conviction.

"I've got so many questions I don't even know how to react," Igorus said, his thoughts swirling in confusion.

"Aye, I ken. It's much tae take in, even for a god. This kind o' hidden knowledge carries a price, one I've paid dearly meself," Alfons said, shifting his yellow cloak aside just enough to reveal his midsection.

Igorus' eyes widened. On Alfons' left side, between the ribs and the stomach, there was a gaping hollow, a tunnel-like wound, the flesh eaten away as though carved by hunger itself.

"W–Who did this to you?" Igorus asked, horrified.

"This is the price, lad. The toll ye pay for holdin' as much knowledge as I do. Ye cannae come out o' it whole," said Alfons calmly, pulling his cloak back over the wound.

"I see," Igorus replied softly, his voice marked with empathy. He did not wish to pry further into what was clearly sacred, or painful, territory.

"Anyway," Alfons continued, "back tae what I was sayin'. The plan o' the eleven Kindu went splendidly at first. The Twelfth Kindu met King Edin'Borghia. They liked one another, fell in love, and agreed tae marry. But the Kindu failed tae reckon with one tiny detail, one wee flaw that cost them everything."

"And what was that?" Igorus asked, curiosity burning in his voice.

"The true nature o' the Twelfth Kindu," Alfons said gravely. "Her gift for deceit was somethin' beyond divine. She could fool even the mightiest gods o' this world, whose power defies the very logic o' existence. She kens nothin' but her own desires, the pain o' others is her delight. To her, all beings are beneath her, mere prey tae feed her endless hunger. She used that marriage, lad, not for love, but tae seize power, tae draw herself closer tae her grand design."

Igorus listened to Alfons closely, waiting for him to reveal what plan the Twelfth Kindu might have been hiding.

"In truth, lad, nae one really kens," said Alfons, his voice low and rough. "But judgin' by how she's acted through the centuries, I'd wager somethin' downright catastrophic's brewin' for this world, aye."

"Catastrophic..." Igorus murmured, his mind struggling to digest what he'd just heard.

"Ye see," Alfons went on, "each Kindu's got a thing they're best at; Kindu o' Fire, Kindu o' Water, o' Mind, o' Music an' the like. But the Twelfth one, lad... she dinnae fit in nae bloody category. Inside her, there's nothin' but evil. Aye, a wickedness sae deep, sae absurd, it doesnae belong tae this world at all. They say she was like that since she was wee. Sat on her balcony, watchin' folks get murdered, executed, cut tae ribbons below her window like it was a bloody theatre."

"Forgive me for interrupting," Igorus said quietly. "But... what was she before becoming a Kindu? What exactly are the Kindu?"

"The Kindu?" Alfons leaned back, his eyes narrowing. "They're the most elite warriors o' the Dragons, handpicked by the king himsel'. Two bodies o' power ruled among them, aye? The King an' his eleven Kindu. But the Twelfth... ach, she's the strangest o' the lot. Nae one kens where she came from, how she joined, or how she earned her title. She's like a ghost, lad, a faceless shape movin' behind the curtain, unseen an' unkennable."

"A dangerous shadow..." Igorus whispered under his breath.

"Aye, that's one way tae put it," Alfons nodded grimly. "There's a tale, a theory, ye might say, that the Dragon King turned a blind eye an' let her in, made her the newest member o' the eleven, makin' 'em twelve. That's the only sense I can make o' it. But that, lad, was all a bleedin' façade, a pretty mask tae hide her filth. Behind that angelic face, she was naught but hunger.

"While the King an' the others slept easy, she'd slip awa' into the old quarter o' the Dragon capital, tae a place nae soul even kent existed. There, she'd take poor folk, bairns, women, old ones, an' she'd torture 'em. Not for power, nay... for pleasure. She'd listen tae their screams like it was music, waitin' till their bodies couldnae even feel pain any more... then slit their throats clean. She dreamt up new tortures every night, callin' 'em art, just tae satisfy her twisted crave tae taste blood. Aye, she'd bathe in it, lad, bathe in the blood o' her victims, laughin' while the corpses cooled."

"That's monstrous... not even a demon would do such a thing," said Igorus, horrified.

"Ha! Demons'd give their horns tae taste even a sliver o' her darkness," Alfons spat. "Nae one kent what she did. She drank their blood, aye, feasted like a cannibal, washed herself in red pools o' the slain. Ye've heard o' her power tae twist folk's memories, aye? Izidra must've told ye. That's why no one ever caught her. She made 'em forget, made 'em see what she wanted. Even the gods dinnae ken her true face.

That image folk whisper o', the woman dressed the red gown, wi' golden hair an' a faceless countenance, that's naught but the madness left in her victims' minds. Just their final sight afore death took 'em. Everythin' about her's wrapped in shadow an' lies, lad. Even what I'm tellin' ye might be nothin' but scraps o' rumour tae explain a horror the world cannae understand.

Every soul she slaughtered got blamed on the Dramytes. She'd strike her secret deals wi' them, use 'em as scapegoats tae cover her sins. Then, when they were caught, she'd stand there wi' that sick smile while the Dramytes were executed in the square, screamin' in pain, burnin' alive, an' she'd enjoy it, the wicked beast.

So, if ye ask me, lad," Alfons said darkly, his accent thick as gravel, "she's the one who stoked the fire, the one who drove the Dragons an' Dramytes tae tear each other apart."

"It's hard to believe any of this, Alfons," said Igorus, his eyes trembling slightly between disbelief and awe as he looked at the old man.

"Aye, I ken it sounds mad, lad," Alfons muttered, rubbing his chin. "But the best part's yet tae come. After she wed the king, only a few days later, Edin.Borghia vanished, gone, poof! All that was left o' him was his right arm, lyin' there in the hall. The Dramytes, and rightfully so, thought the Dragons had sent the Twelfth Kindu tae kill him. That sparked a war between the two races, the great Seventy-Seven Year War. For seventy-seven bloody years they butchered each other without exchangin' a single word. There was nae language left between 'em, lad, only killin'. The Twelfth Kindu sealed the coffin shut wi' that act.

"The Dragons believed she'd been executed by the Dramytes... but she wasnae dead. She'd been imprisoned deep below their citadel, the only prisoner in that cursed dungeon. When the remaining Kindu heard o' it, they summoned her tae a grand assembly, tae ask what truly happened tae Edin'Borghia, for it was too wild a thing tae believe.

"But she said nothin'. Not a word. Then, in a single instant, faster than even time could blink,all eleven Kindu fell dead. Just like that. The whole meetin' was nothin' but another step in her damned plan. How she killed them... even I cannae explain it. Maybe it had tae do wi' the Arch o' Sizran, that cursed relic that weakens dominions wherever it manifests. But even that shouldn't have been enough tae kill eleven Kindu in one breath.

The Dramytes were left standin' victorious. The slayin' o' the Kindu broke the balance o' power. The Twelfth convinced them that the Dragons truly had used her as a pawn tae murder Edin'Borghia. She twisted their minds, turned their grief tae rage. They hunted every Dragon they could find, men, women, bairns, didn't matter. For months, they purged the world clean o' them; a bloody genocide. An' she loved every minute o' it," said Alfons darkly.

"W-what did she do after that?" Igorus asked, horrified.

"Ah, ye'll nae like this part," Alfons sighed. "Once the Dragons were gone, she turned on the Dramytes themselves. Slaughtered every one o' them that had survived the war. She was obsessed wi' wipin' 'em out. Aye, she adored genocide, lad."

"H-how could she kill them all? Alone?" Igorus stammered.

"Well," Alfons said, leaning forward, "strange as it sounds, she wasnae alone. She had a partner; one that shared her dark mind an' helped her carry out every vile thing she dreamt up. Lucky for us, we ken his name. Darvus. A nasty bastard, that one. Knew the Twelfth Kindu better than anyone alive. Maybe he'd been by her side for ages. While the armies were busy fightin', he took the chance tae slay every Dramyte who couldnae lift a blade, the weak, the sick, the wounded. Together they purged the race from existence. Another genocide, lad. Both o' them hand in hand, like lovers o' death.

And I've reason tae believe he's still alive, just like her," Alfons said, his sharp eyes meeting Igorus's. "How they erased the Dramytes completely remains a mystery even tae this day."

Igorus was silent for a moment. "That such evil would have a partner..." he muttered to himself.

"When she came close tae fulfillin' her final plan," Alfons said, pressing his fingers together to illustrate his point, "somethin' strange happened. Somethin' stopped her. To this day, I cannae tell what it was. Some unknown force blocked her victory, sealed both their bodies away somewhere in this world. Aye, lad, that mystery might've saved our realm, at least for a while."

Igorus listened in heavy silence, his eyes locked on Alfons, hoping the old scholar would go on.

"After that," Alfons continued, "came the birth o' the angels, the dominions, an', in a twist o' fate, the demons. But demons, lad, they're naught but angels reborn, souls burdened by regret. For over thirteen thousand years, these three divine races've been manipulated by faint spiritual fragments o' the Twelfth Kindu. She's been twistin' them, guidin' 'em tae carry out her will in ways she cannae herself. Her influence's growin' stronger by the day. I can feel it. And I fear, Igorus..." Alfons's tone hardened "that Uanamangura has been born."

"He has," said Igorus quietly. "He's my son."

"Aye," Alfons replied calmly. "I figured as much. Ye thought I'd be shocked, but I asked tae see yer powers earlier for that very reason."

"What do you mean?" Igorus asked.

"According tae Dragon legend," Alfons began, "Uanamangura was meant tae be their savior, a dragon born in human form, destined tae deliver his kin from extinction. The Dramytes had a prophecy o' their own, speakin' of Bakabali, their chosen hero. Both tales tell the same story, lad, two saviors, fated tae clash an' decide which divine race would rule Ladnoria... maybe the whole damned world.

To this day, their fates haven't changed. Uanamangura's seen as the villain, aye? The destroyer o' Ladnoria, driven by rage, that's what the angels claim, ain't it?"

"That's what we've always been told," Igorus admitted.

"Then it's a lie," Alfons said sharply, his tone slicing through the air like a blade.

Igorus' eyes widened.

"Uanamangura's nae the villain, lad. He's just a pawn, a catalyst in the Twelfth Kindu's grand design. What makes him, and Bakabali, special is that they can wield all three divine energies. That's why they matter, that's why they're hunted. According tae old dragon lore, Uanamangura's the son o' the last fire-breathin' dragon, the one who scorched the frozen lands o' Narne'I, the final dragon lord. Ye, Igorus Friola, inherited that same flame. An' that fire's cursed yer boy."

"My... my flames have cursed my son?" Igorus whispered, clutching his head as the weight of Alfons's words crushed him. His hands trembled violently.

"Aye," Alfons said gravely. "Ye're cursed too, lad. Uanamangura's nae evil, not truly. But tell me, do the angels see it that way? Nay. I reckon they're already plannin' how tae kill him."

"Is there a way to stop this war? To save my son from his fate?" Igorus asked, voice breaking.

"Aye," Alfons muttered. "Two ways, in fact. Ye might like one o' them... the other, not so much."

Igorus leaned forward, breath shallow, eyes desperate.

"Either ye kill every angel, Bakabali included," Alfons said, his voice low and grim, "or... ye kill yer own son..."