The Wielder of Death Magic

“Sorry, did I wake you?”

“Not really. Just tired, you know, how it always is after we finish,” flushed cheeks hid behind blankets, “-I know this must be hard, I mean...”

“Don’t justify it,” he sat on the precipice of the bed – the short distant downward seemed a cliff he ought to leap into. “-I’m not ashamed of it, I’ve been in the dumps. Everything’s slowly breaking around – without you,” he covered her warm hands, “-I don’t know what I’d have done.”

“You are the devil,” she smiled, “-I did what I must.”

“I am the devil,” he rose, “-come what may, I’m ready.” For the past few days after their return. Igna spent much of his time in the company of Syhton, the very short while spend talking and bonding: physically and mentally felt like eons. The dampened mood went between moments of utmost pleasure and vehement regrets. Katherine’s alteration into Yumi Haggard was astounding. The casual trips from the bedroom to the kitchen. Retainers paid no heed to the king, choosing to allow time to pass. It was in said instances at which Igna had his head inside the refrigerator, that a shadow of his past – Katherine, would walk by the hallway. They’d exchange meaningful glances – she returned a cordial smile and he could but returned at the supply box. ‘She’s no longer the one I swore to protect,’ he thought, ‘-her hair’s turned from beautiful blond to a woeful deep blue.’ Eventually, the time came for her enrollment. He watched as she began a new life as Yumi Haggard. Her temporary entourage consisted of guards from Phantom; lady Elvira’s orders. Thus, on her leaving the palace grounds; he’d return to Syhton – a caring home he feared to disappear at any moment. After a while, the heart to heart settled, and the instability within found a haven, someone to rely on, someone who’d never leave, such as the ideal against the rational better judgment. ‘-I can dream, can’t I?’ he wondered as the nightshade toggled and Syhton’s warm fingers ran along his back and tightened in front, “-come on,” she’d whisper, “-let me help.”

Lizzie’s phone call, the moment all Syhton’s fruit ripened, “-Igna,” she held his arms and fixed onto the solemn look of confusion, “-you’re the devil,” she smiled, “-I did what I must,” continued her sincere words. Igna quipped to a nonchalant Syhton, “-don’t joke around,” the blanket melted onto her lap, and she sat bare-chested with a purity unlike he’d ever seen, “-don’t run away, don’t fight, don’t be ashamed. Don’t have doubts about the relationship we share,” she said adamantly, “-could mere words describe how thee feels? No. Could they dictate your actions? No, tis only a medium, and one that’ll convey the deeper desire into comprehension. I did what I had because I wanted to. Don’t misunderstand – us forming a pact isn’t the reason why I gave myself to you,” she held his chin, “-I’m here to stay. I’m here to fight.”

.....

A single tear fell, “-what the hell,” he sighed, shaking his head slowly, “-making a grown man cry. Guess I’m weak after all.”

“No, you’re not,” she tenderly embraced the woeful figure. A man placed upon a pedestal of unsurmountable expectations. The conundrum of Osis, coined by the Hele during Iqeavea Renaissance as an Empire, “-would a strong man stay strong if his entourage consisted of weaklings, or would a weak man be considered strong if his entourage consisted of strong?” answer to the lighthearted jest by a critical thinker was nay. For the answer in and of itself didn’t exist. World leaders have long since added their opinion to Osis’ thought experiment. Diversification of leadership styles begot strange questions – and ultimately, the question remained unanswered.

“Go, Igna, do what you must.”

“Fine,” he looked at the ground through blurry eyes, ‘-what is my answer to Osis. What’s my answer...’

“Strength to kill whoever is in thy path,” whispered a disembodied voice.

“Knowledge to ascertain the world’s climate,” whispered another.

“Adaptability,” said a strangely familiar voice, “-the strength to kill and the knowledge of foresight. Thinking is the best way forward, imagining thy own defeat – playing a scene where one’s family is killed... such is the way to move.”

A gentle push rocked the shoulder, “-Igna, wake up.”

“My bad,” he snapped into reality, “-sorry, what happened?”

“Zoned out...”

“Ah, well,” he stood – uncertainties faded, “-enough of the tragic act,” he bellowed a heavy laugh, “-I feel refreshed. Good as new,” he spun and bowed, “-thank you for the help, Syhton, it truly means a lot.”

“Good,” she slipped out of the bed and leaped into his arms, “-better not forget who I am, yes?”

“I won’t,” he returned, diving deeper into her blue eyes, “-Daeirq Empress of Luna, Goddess of Stars, Syhton,” she leaned and bit, blood dripped from his neck, “-there,” she smeared her lips and cheeks in crimson, “-I’ve granted thee a gift,” her palms pressed against his chest, “-until the death element rejuvenates, my blood will act as a conduit between the Shadow Realm’s mana and your inability to generate said mana. We can’t afford a repeat of last time, can we?”

“Thank you,” the lips pressed and so, the clock read an early 10:45. Curtains drew, and the somber bedchambers carried the feeble outside hue.

“I ought to check on my estate,” said she dressed in a comfortable winter outfit, “-was part of our deal. Trust me,” she smirked, “-you’ll be on thy knees when I return.”

“I’ll be waiting,” he winked, the door shut behind as he watched through the balcony doors, ‘-a nice day,’ he breathed, ‘-Syhton’s help me in a time of need. She saw my ugly side, my weak side, and my ravenous side. With her blood, I can finally utilize the shadow realm’s mana without expanding my domain. Good to know,’ he threw on a suit jacket and exited the chambers. Strong footsteps echoed – a visible change greatened the atmosphere. Dully cleaning maids inhale a mild fragrance of the oozing confidence, ‘-what the...’ the frowns turned upside down.

Cacophonous rants extended into the street. ‘Ministry of internal and external affair was a little crowded,’ followed a sarcastic observation. He vaulted over the barriers and into the back. Three steps led up inside. Argumentative businessmen and politicians were heard screaming.

“This is bad,” added troubled attendants, “-lady Katherine’s illness was leaked to the noble faction. They want payback and are threatening public condemnation.”

“What can we do anyway?” added another, “-we’re only temps.” A harsh figure passed the doorway – the cling of a spoon hiding a cup followed, “-did you see someone?”

“No, why?”

“I thought I sensed someone,” returned the other.

“The coffee,” came a jestful comment, “-too much coffee I say.”

*Click,* a turn-barged shattered the angry mob. Eira, Ela, Minerva, and éclair sat before a desk, unable to answer questions from a prominent low-ranking noble. Whispers muffled. The king ambled – striking murderous sneers at any who dared raise a malicious expression. He stopped and leaned onto the desk. A flick lit a cigarette. Few puffs exhaled onto the leader of the sudden revolt.

“King Igna,” nodded the noble grudgingly, “-my name’s Ester Corei, a noble hailing from the prosperous Plaustan.”

“A baron,” he observed, “-who’s family has achieved quite a lot of influence. Tell me, are your family business tycoons or is there something greater at play?”

“My king, the continent knows of thy cynical nature. I shan’t be confined to the Haggard way of negotiations. I will fight my case with or without threats. The sanctity of the Hidrosian royal line is at risk. We fear the possibility of annexation from the Empire. They’ve already taken the northern coast – with prime minister éclair’s reported amorous engages with the Wracian Empress, I fear the unchecked leadership might trigger an international scandal.”

“Royal line is at risk?”

“Yes, the noble faction swore fealty to duchess Katherine. A good source has reported her absence. We’re justified to seek answers. Come what may we are entitled to a response. If deemed unworthy, the population has a right to voice their concerns.”

“Good ol’ civil unrest,” he puffed, “-tell me, Baron Ester, have you ever taken a life before?”

“No? why should I sully my hands when a murderer is already at my disposal for the task.”

“Wrong,” he puffed, “-the thrill of watching as life is slowly snuffed from the victim’s body. The last breath they give, the moment where light leaves their faces. Tell me, have you ever experienced said joy?”

“My king, please do not brag about thy murderous past.”

“Not bragging,” he pressed cigarette and stared, “-Ester, what are your demands?”

“Demands?”

“Yeah,” he said, “-regardless of who’s at fault, I’m willing to overlook this blatant act of terrorism. A discourse ought to be played with words, not weapons,” he rose his arms where a dark-metallic orb summoned, “-and thy entourage, I’m afraid, consists of cold hearted murderous,” it brightened – pistols snapped as if metal to a magnet. A touch dropped the firearms, “-now, shall we have a nice discussion?” he flicked, and the door slammed shut.

“My king, a show of strength won’t break my resolve. I will make sure this incident is told to the nation. The real truth of their leader, a cold-hearted murderer.”

“My,” he smiled, “-you’ll find it amusing that,” an interface toggled, “-everyone knows how deadly Hidros’ culture of survival of the fittest is. We’re a nation of adventurers, never underestimate our culture, you hear!” the room deadened, “-tell me, what are the demands?”

“Assurance of the noble faction’s position. Plaustan’s independence from the Hidrosian Crown. Dorchester’s been torn, we rather keep the peace of the province. Hidros’ are no longer united. I’m happy lady Gallienne’s not alive to see what a mess her lovely kingdom’s become.”

“Independence comes at a price. My lord Ester, if there’s something thee wish, then come take it. Plaustan ought to show their might in battle. I invite you and the appalling noble faction to a contest. To draw on the ancient tradition lain by the mages of old – I hereby challenge the province of Plaustan to a battle. Bring your army, bring mercenaries, I don’t care for I, Igna Haggard, shall face thee in battle alone.”

“ALONE!” the ministers shot upward, “-there’s no way we’re allowing this.”

“What will it be, Ester,” a hauntingly charming persona drew the baron’s focus.

“Perfect,” remarked the baron, “-let’s host the battle a weak from now. It’ll be broadcasted to the world and hosted at Claireville Academy.”

“Claireville Academy?” he laughed, “-my, Ester, you’re a Claireville graduate. I sense a deeper grudge, tell me, why?”

“For the honor of our late director, Josiah.”

“Old man Josiah bit the dust?”

“Yes, he died of old age. We loved him, everyone loved how he’d recount the olden days. He’d go on about how he should have stopped a monster from ever enrolling at the academy. The defining moment at which Staxius Haggard became an apprentice mage. I guess it’s how the legend of the Haggard Dynasty began,” he sighed, “-honestly, I don’t stand a chance against you or anyone from the Haggard dynasty. I came here to see the king and voice my concerns. There’s no need for battle. Consider this my way of relaying our director’s death. As for the weapons and threats, they hail from the council of Plaustan. Independence is on the table as are their concerns.” The shouting stopped, “-until we meet again, my king. Until then, be careful of the noble faction – many schemes are on the way, and closest of allies may ruin the peace,” seats emptied, Igna waited patiently for the room’s silence.

“Brother?”

“My sincerest apologies, big sister. This man Ester, is a man of wisdom. The background told of miss play, however, upon revealing more information,” a message rang, “-I found him to have crawled from nothing and became something. It takes courage,” he smiled, “-this man, Ester, willingly acted as the opposition to draw my attention. éclair keeps a close eye on him – I’m sure today’s not the last day we hear of his accomplishment.”

The enigmatic man exited, ‘-until we meet again,’ he turned at the office building, ‘-consider that my formal application.’