Evil Reborn

Collapsing back against the altar, Avii wheezed. He coughed, clutching at his aching sides as the blood that coated his lips sprayed out before him with each expulsion of breath. Weakly shifting his head down, he caught sight of the gore that dripped past his chin before splashing against his MULE. He followed the sanguine river down his chest to the rods that had been pushed through his gut.

Carefully, he reached over and placed a hand to the spears. But even at the slightest touch, Avii’s body trembled in response to the pain. Agony gripped the man, shaking him to his core as the sensation alerted him to a grim truth. A knowledge that the jagged metal had pierced something inside of him that should have remained unharmed. With a cough, more blood spilled from his mouth as he braced his weakening form against the stone interface behind him.

“Shit.” Avii groaned, reaching his gauntlet up to wipe the blood from his face. “So, this is really it?”

Half expecting Harbinger to speak to him, Avii waited for the reply. Waiting for a voice to coax him on. Speak of purpose. Of surviving. But no one talked to him. No voice graced his ears or chilled the back of his mind. No god, or devil, or witch. Just a deafening silence broken by the subtle sound of blood dripping from his body.

It was a strange feeling for him. A double-edged sword. While it was a comfort to know that he was alone and at last reaching the end of his life, he also felt fearful of what came next. Fearful to die with no one at his side. No one to talk him through to the end or hold his hand. Then came the fear of what followed. With no heaven or hell, only darkness to look forward to, he wondered what his existence would become. What would happen to his eternal soul? And that was when he remembered. Remembered his deal.

Avii was not destined for the afterlife. His soul belonged to the witch now and whatever torment that included. But as that thought settled into his mind, it didn’t scare him. In fact, in that moment of resignation, it did the exact opposite. It brought comfort.

After navigating an existence filled with pain and torment with only the thoughts of freedom in death to give him hope, an eternity of it with no escape seemed easy. There were no questions about salvation or freedom from the damnation that awaited. He knew what was to come. What horrors the witch had prepared. All that was left was to die. But before that, there was one last thing he had to do.

Turning back to face the glass, Avii looked out over the ancient city. The lost world that had been sought for decades. That had filled the dreams of starry-eyed youths eager to dive deep and be the first to unlock the glorious vaults beneath. Though now, what had once been thought of as a blessing to him revealed itself to be a curse.

That man feared that without Maldain to guard and protect the power within, the magic before him was too much for the world to wield. That if he died and left the treasure trove of divine power to Estaria or Kovika, they would unleash untold horrors upon mankind. And then, what would come of his promise to Ostave? To the children of the future that he wanted to have normal lives without the threat of war looming over them?

Then, as he thought of his Maldainian responsibility to keep the mines secure, his vision flashed, and he remembered it. Remembered the exact moment he now experienced. Recalled the vision the witch had given him. And as he looked down at the altar, examining the blood-soaked runes, he wondered if it was so easy.

Pressing down on the first symbol, he watched as it began to glow. As the light that radiated from the rune pulsed a faint green. Then, with the next one he tapped, both became a little more yellow. And so it went, a dozen glyphs pressed, their magical glow slowly shifting to orange with only a single button holding back the tide of red. The colour of a core going critical. The colour of death.

As Avii stood there, staring at the final rune that punctuated the bittersweet conclusion of his journey, that was when he remembered it. Remembered what he had forgotten to see when he entered that first sequence of runes. What he had forgotten from the witch’s vision. The darkness that came afterwards.

It had been Ostave. The darkness had concealed the orc attacking him from behind at the behest of Harbinger. And now that the moment had passed, he could recall it as though it had always been there. As though he had initially blocked the moment from his memory. Or maybe the vision never had all the answers.

All that Avii knew was that one thing was for sure. He knew that the moment he pressed his hand to that final glyph, something else would come. Another darkness he would face before the end.

So, hesitating a moment, he looked up from the altar where his hand hovered and stared through the cracked glass. And as he glanced out over the world one last time, preparing himself for his end, he saw it. The flash of light that reflected what was coming from behind him. The light from the labyrinth tile letting him know that someone had appeared.

That he was no longer alone.

As they moved with an unimaginable speed, Avii knew he would not be able to defend himself and press the glyph. So, he made a choice. Turning quickly, Avii threw up his hands, blocking a strike that came for his head. As he did, a rod pierced his forearm, stopping short of his skull as a voice hissed. A terrible, familiar voice.

“Mule,” His sinister tone echoed through the room. “Mule, you left before we could finish our game!”

A chill raced through Avii as he pulled his hands away to see him. To see a man with horns resting atop his head. With demonic eyes of black and orange staring him down. He wore a twisted smile, marked by fangs and skin coated in a layer of dried blood. A devil in a suit of metal, scratched and dented, but charged with a purple radiance that flowed from his body.

“Sebastian,” Avii gasped, his heart stopping as he stared at the evil force that had been reborn before his very eyes. “How?”

“You should have stayed, mule.” He chastised, leaning in close to Avii’s face as he licked hungrily. “Should have waited for me to die. For the final bubbles of air to escape my sanguine-soaked lungs. But you left before the game was over. Left me alone. So very alone. So, let’s pick back up where we left off! What do you say?”

With a shift of his eyes, Avii glanced for but a moment to the altar. To the glyph that his gut told him would end it all. Would destroy the city and protect the world. But as he looked back to Sebastian, the devil had seen it as well.

They remained locked, Avii holding his ground with a rod piercing one arm. Sebastian, across from him, was frozen like a predator waiting for his prey to make the first move. Their eyes were fixed on each other. Their breathing matched. And then Avii moved. He reached his hand out for the final sigil, his fingers stretching for the rune that would end it all. Then it was gone.

Avii didn’t feel it when the blade sliced down. He just knew that one moment his hand had been there and the next, blood sprayed out from the severed end of his armour.

“Gyaah!” The man screamed, his body flailing as he stepped back.

He could see it there on the altar. The missing part of his arm. A heavy gauntlet and the bloody pool beneath it. A deep gash had been carved into the table, and as Avii followed the line back to Sebastian, he saw it. A blade that had not been there a moment before. That had not been there in their previous fight. It came from his suit much like the rods, though three feet in length and nearly a foot in width. The metal it was forged from was the same Maldainian steel as the rods. The same as Avii’s suit. Dense and sharp, made to cut through MULEs with a single swipe.

“You’re probably wondering why I would maim my future armour?” Sebastian asked as he raised his free hand and a wicked smile split his face. “It’s because I only need one glove to unlock the secrets of your ancestors.”

Lunging forward, Sebastian swung his blade at Avii’s head. But the man dodged to the side, taking his remaining hand and balling it into a fist as he did so. With a sharp hook to the devil’s cuirass, he knocked his foe off his footing and stepped away. And though he had evaded the strike, dealing a minor blow to the man, Avii was now in the wrong place to accomplish his goal. Because between him and the altar, Sebastian stood with his sword at the ready.

Avii would have no choice but to continue to fight. To survive just a little longer to guarantee that no one would ever get their hands on the ancient city. So, with little choice left, he heated the palm of his remaining glove and pressed it firmly against the stump that was once a hand. And as the pain surged through him, snapping him back from the exhausted state he suffered after the Ostave battle, he was ready for one more.

“This will be fun.” Sebastian hissed as he licked Avii’s blood from his blade. “So-SO much fun.”

A final fight for the future of the Maldainian legacy. For the future of the world.