The Wielder of Death Magic

“Leave me behind,” hand in hand, a girl, with half of her visage burnt, “-it’s not worth it,” the rain raged, behind, in tandem, forces of unimaginable quantities.

“Don’t give me that self-sacrificing bullshit,” with a hard tug, “-we’re getting out of this together,” shielded, five shots as loud as explosions, “Cough” each hit, blood dripped.

“You’re not fine,” paralyzed by fear, the girl, now in a princess carry, could but stare vividly as the rain, turned crimson, dripped from her carrier’s face and body.

“Are you seriously going to stand there and take this abuse?” from the back pocket, a fairy hovered, “-fight already,” she stood with her arms on her lap.

“Don’t you think I want to retaliate,” gritted, an injured Staxius struggled down the forest, the path seemed to go on forever. “Have you forgotten we’re being hunted by saints and an angel no less, the bullets from that fucking Knightfall doesn’t help either,” regeneration didn’t kick in.

“P-please,” the girl begged, “-l-leave me and escape, I’ve already lost my dignity as an apostle.”

.....

“Shut it,” a sharp refute, “-shelter,” amidst the pouring rainfall and barrage of bullets – he slid and leaped into an abandoned mine, trees had overgrown. Invisible during the brightly lit day, at night, was as dark and somber as space itself.

‘Damn it,’ rested against the rough edge wall, he panted.

“W-who are you?” asked the girl with a confused look.

“No one particular,” the shirt opened, bullet wounds that didn’t heal nor regenerate, “-Adete,” he turned, “-this is bad.”

“What do you mean?” for the first time, there was a look of defeat on his face.

“I’ve used up all my mana, I’ve barely got anything to heal nor use magic. Infiltrating this land of fanatic took more than seven months, can’t believe we’re reaching the eighth now,” the face leaned back, “-no mana to use means that the regeneration isn’t going to take effect,” the hands trembled, ‘-this is bad, super bad,’ eyes closed, he thought. ‘The saints, the angel, and an entity who has gone beyond the realm of reality, Kreston is more than the land of fanatics. I should have taken more precautions; it was a wise choice to infiltrate and track down the apostle’s location. I managed to make contacts, the process was tedious, killing was out of the picture – the angel has a barrier all around the province, and remote killing-intent or foreign mana will immediately notify my presence. I can’t fight, using all my mana without recovering for all this time – used to create a shield so that I’d be able to slip under the radar.’

“Listen to me,” worried, Adete grabbed a hold of his cheeks, “-look at me,” she ordered, consciousness barely there. “Don’t give me the bullshit of you dying on me. Have you forgotten who you are?” her voice serious, “-you’re he who thrives in killing. Stop holding back for the sake of the kingdom. You’re scared that any move you make here might have repercussion on Arda and Hidros,” she pointed towards the girl, “-look at her, these people aren’t worthy to be left alive – go out and slaughter them. Who cares if mana is out, WAKE UP BLOOD KING.”

“No need to make it so dramatic,” he sighed, *Release,* the all-seeing eye returned, for the entirety, he had been surveying the land for an escape. “The saints are not that far off; the angel is back at the church – he’s worried that I might go ahead and kill the Pope. Soldiers are roaming around, not to mention that sniper, waiting for us to leave.”

“Excuse me, why is it that you’re here?” she asked, with a star-shaped mark on her forehead.

“I’m here to return the very much-loved apostle to her people. Don’t you have to spread the word of Goddess Syhton – so many people thrive in her warmth and kindness. That’s why we’re heading back home no matter what, I’ve got a pregnant wife waiting, I miss her so much.”

“It’s been eight months since I was abducted, I thought I was going to die on the first day,” she stared off in the distance, “-turns out, the pope had ulterior motives. My face is proof, just look at it,” burnt without an ounce of pity, her right eye was bleached to white. “I’m relieved,” she smiled, “-despite all that pain, my faith never faltered. The stars always gave me the courage to go on. Then, before my execution, a man dressed in a suit with silvery hair swooped in and rescued a damsel in distress.”

“Don’t overthink it,” ripped, the sleeve and cloth torn into makeshift bandages, “-they got my leg,” tightened, the blood poured right through. “We won’t be doing much running,” outside, numerous presences approached.

“Listen to me, girl who I’ve yet to ask her name – burn this message in thy head. The cruelty of this province, the inhuman brainwashing,” a side glance later, “-only a monster can take down a monster.” Knuckled cracked, “Adete, get ready,” with a smile, the eyes rekindle.

“On it,” stood on his head with arms crossed, *Blood-Arts: Bloody Mary.*

“Don’t you dare move from this spot; I don’t want someone innocent to bear witness of what is to come. Trust me, it’s better for the both of us.”

“As you say, old man,” the last part came out involuntarily, “-sorry I didn’t mean it,” her hands covered her mouth in embarrassment.

‘Old man,’ he chuckled, ‘-seriously.’ *Blood-Arts: Crimson Thread,* wings sprouted, fingernail sharpened, the aura around the cave changed.

“Come out so that our faith can purge thee heathen.”

“We’ve got the god’s emissary watching our backs, there’s nothing you can do about it,” a reference to the sniper.

“At ease,” in swooped a man dressed in a white robe with a great-sword, “-leave this hunt to the chosen,” a hand gesture forced the fighters on their knees.

“Saint Marl, we’re saved,” they bowed with respect and admiration. Across a narrow line of sight, laid on a small cliff, the scope of Knightfall bore its fang on the entrance. “Better not miss,” seductively, a lady caressed the wielder’s cheek from right to left, “-else I’ll be forced to find another host,” she whispered with a chilling breath.

Relentless, the rain flowed down the veins, as if curtain, with a sharp gesture, “-who has come to purge me?” Staxius asked rhetorically and approached. The stomach bled the face fatigue, he limped.

“You’ve finally shown yourself,” menacingly, a man with the title of Saint, bearing a strong religious belief with an unforgiving aura, “-you’d better show where the pseudo apostle hides.”

“I’m going to hit him right in the head,” forced, the sights lined with the target’s face, “-wait...” shocked, he backed away.

“Why are you retreating?” asked the lady.

“It’s him,” he mumbled, “-he stared through my scope and smirked...” panic set in, “-that’s impossible.”

Crashing down, after glaring at the sniper, the attention turned to the saint and fighters. All were on guard with weapons drawn, lasers could be seen lined up on various mortal spots.

“Quite a predicament,” he limped slowly.

“Don???t take another step,” voiced the soldiers, “-we’ll shoot if you don’t comply,” threats and orders dished at intervals.

“Please, I mean you no harm,” reached out the Saint, “-the will of god is the persecution of they who spread lies and false belief. We are not crazed individuals with a lust for killing – our business is with the apostle. Hand her over and you’ll be given safe passage back to Oxshield.”

“Sire, please don’t approach that man,” yelled a man across the field, “-he’s dangerous.”

“You needn’t worry,” smiled the saint, “-he bears the crest of the holy one,” painted in red on the chest, “-any who carries such strong faith must be given a chance to explain.”

*Blood-Arts: Crimson Thread,* “-I appreciate the sympathy, saint. Don’t look down on people, even if they’re injured,” as if a conductor, with gentle motions, the symphony of death. Blood turned to weapons, *slash,* turned to ground meat, what was a saint fell to the ground.

*OPEN FIRE,* they yelled, eyes closed, the darkness and rain didn’t matter. Limping across the battlefield, opponents fell one after the other, their blood turned into orbs that Adete kept on swallowing. The more she ate, the stronger he got – back at the church, using magic, the Angel witnessed what transpired with utter shock. Merciless as he could, no care for life, the night turned into an orchestra, one with the mellow tone of bone cracking and limbs tearing.

“GET A GRIP,” yelled the apparition of Knightfall, “-if you don’t,” too late, using sheer speed, from the ground, Staxius hovered before the marksman. “Tell me,” arms crossed, the boy dragged his bottom across the ground in fear. “Who gave the order to shoot?” Staxius asked.

“You won’t win that easily,” angered, the spirit tried to protect her host.

“Mind thine place,” another swipe slit her throat, the apparition vanished.

“Now then,” unable to kneel fully, he grabbed the boy’s neck, “-I’ll give you two options. Turncoat and work for me or die right here and now,” pressure as heavy as thunder dropped without warning. “Is dying here thy wish or do you want to survive?” having sensed how weak the boy’s mind was, he figured it would be best to have someone who knew how the province worked. A turncoat, face with death, even a king could bow down and relinquish all his possession.

“If you can save my sister,” tears flowed, “-then I’ll agree to forever serve you.”

“I see,” eyes closed, the All-seeing eye scoured the numerous prison and dungeon around the province, “-found her.” *Heed mine call, Wings of Nike, I humbly ask for a mere fraction of thine power. Grant me this favor so I can save this child’s sibling.* Red to gold, the wing hovered and latched onto the forehead, “-hold my hand,” grabbing the rifle, *Ancient Magic: Teleportation,* back and forth, they stood in front of the cave.

“B-brother?” a girl around the age of fifteen trembled in fear. Her body was as shrunken as a starved animal, one could see her skeleton exposed – not an ounce of meat.

“Elista,” dropping the rifle, she who knelt got a heart-warming embrace.

“Damn it,” Staxius gritted, a sharp pain shot out the head, the overload caused veins to burst and bled profusely.

“Old man, are you ok?” one hand on the wall, staring the ground, he bled.

“Forget about me,” holding in the pain, one that felt as if dying over and over again, “-we need to move,” one eye closed due to injury. *Blood-Arts: Crimson Thread,* barely, the wounds were stitched haphazardly.

“T-thank you so m-much,” sincere, the young man aided in supporting Staxius.

“We need to move,” on the brink of death, the mind had but one thing, to move forward. The sister, apostle, sniper, and Staxius kept on running.

“Before we continue, what’re your names?” asked Staxius.

“I’m Elliot, and the girl you rescued is my little sister, Elista.”

“I’m Sharon, Apostle of Syhton.”

“I’m Staxius Haggard.”

“Sir, what do we do after we reach the border?” asked Elliot worryingly. “-I doubt the pope is going to stand back and watch as we escape.”

“I’ve something in mind – just keep moving, we need to make it there before daybreak, else we’ll be cut off by the patrol,” from limping, doing emergency first aid using Blood-Arts, the leg regain movement. “Come here,” without warning, grabbing Elista, “-we need to go faster,” it turned into a jog.

“Sire, if you push there’s the possibility of bleeding to death.”

“Focus on the path before us, we need to escape. She’s light as a feather, don’t worry about it.”

A covert mission that had undertaken months of information gathering whilst blending into Kreston. The mission assigned on the last day of the Inter-magical tournament came to a close. Though not out of trouble yet, the man, in toe with possible allies, made his way down the forest as the thunderstorm intensified. ‘I hope Cake followed the instruction I gave. There was a code inside that message – a big gamble. Come on, don’t fail me now, Strategist,” barely alive, the phone turned on – a blank message.