The Wielder of Death Magic

“Sorry about the sudden change,” the fingers erratically rummaged into his pockets – the phone, the wallet, he dug till a feeble slice, “-here,” he pulled a crumpled piece of paper. “-The case is important,” the lips told otherwise, “-this calls for thy attention.” Jumbled mess in hand, it unrolled it on his knee and read, ‘-the cult of Aturnus, worshippers of the god Esyter, have been found lurking around the castle. The report suggests an inner link. On further investigation, the knots tightened around the princess and an unidentified noble. We have reason to suspect much of ploy is being organized,’ a flash and naught, he watched the lawyer, “-you think this true?”

“Yes, I have my reasons to believe so. Her majesty has been acting rather suspiciously after the coronation, she’s on edge.”

“The cult of Aturnus, tis a first I’ve heard of them?”

“Majesty, remember the cult of the mistress of plague – the god Esyter is a supposed inheritor of her powers, the second coming or so is what I’m told.”

Therein laid a grave look on Igna’s face – of which turned to be the mild reflection adding features to the blank stare, “-I’ll investigate the matter in my own time, what of the case, when’s the trial?”

“Later today,” he smiled, “-a high priest in the Tharis sect was going to be the judge,” he paused, “-master?”

.....

“I’m here, you’d be more at ease if I take the trial?”

“Yes,” he smiled, “-it’s one of the many duties and advantages of being king, the law is thy word.”

“Even if you represent my kingdom, I will be neutral.”

“Nothing more I could ask,” he escape the room, leaving Igna to ravel in the dust, ‘-judging a case about human trafficking. Supposed it’ll be a nice change of pace,” he left shortly after. Part of him couldn’t shake the feeling of misplay, a cult in the royal castle was an insult to him and the religious devotees. A seemingly short walk grew into a marathon, every step taken was stopped by a troubled person looking for advice. Retainers, nobles, lawyers, statesmen, politicians, it didn’t matter, they swarmed to him for advice – with a mild smile and a warm feeling in his chest, he accepted and helped unconditionally. Minutes elapsed into the early afternoon; the watch shown 14:32 – the mass of questions dissipated into the open air. He took the outer walkway, a long arrangement of terraces made to be walkways, windows replaced with pillars linked with balustrades. The pleasant breeze carried the promenade further inside where laid a labyrinth of smaller corridors, guides to the maze were maids who nonchalantly turned corners and laughed in conversations.

‘I’m out,’ he exited through the backdoor, stepping onto a lush field of wild vegetation. The gardener had an unforeseen talent in growing the wildest of plants, ‘-beauty lies in unpredictability. When one reaches the border were anxiety clashes with admiration, tis then, true beauty is revealed,’ such was a quote from the very spiritual man. Down a few stairs and 180 to the right, another set of lesser tended stairs buried into the ground, he took each with precision. Weathering of the rocks and moss were commonplace, a thick doorway – the cellar, cried a loud thud. The ceiling shifted, or so it appeared, he ambled through, checking each corner by habit. Barrels of wine and liquor were stored at a moisty-cold temperature, rats screeched their disbelief, borrowing their heads into cracks. The unmeasured arrangement of the stone block was a tell-tell sign of how long the area stood, and by a guess, centuries. The inner-sanctum, located under the castle in a massive arrangement of hallways and empty rooms – was quite the location to find. By reports from the few guards taking routes into the underground, it was said the ceiling was tall with a pentagram-like kiosk in the middle. Not that it mattered how it looked, Igna dug deeper into the beast’s belly – many paths had been used for ages, some bore footsteps others, lesser human steps.

‘Strange,’ he stopped at an intersection, ‘-there’s flowing current from the right.’ Where common sense said to go deeper, an inclined slope headed for the top, he squeezed through the tight archway till a bright explosion, the fragrance of flowers invaded the nostrils, he held his hand over the eyebrows, adjusting to the brighter light took minutes, he squinted and locked onto the pentagram-shaped kiosk. The style bearing resemblance to the olden-tradition of curves and intricate flowery design, each cover bore a red-colored poll, a dried river bed, once flowing down to a moat, held but the sharp curvature of the river. Simple steps lined by rocks led to the construction, light shone from an ensemble of crystals and ores. ‘-I imagine this place to have been a haven. A flowing river, well-cared terraforming, what is a man to ask.’ *Clop, clop,* echoed, he followed the path till a sorry-sight, ‘-blood,’ spotted from a few meters away. He leaped, skipping the dried moat, and landed on the elevated construction, ‘-the sign of blood,’ he closely examined, ‘-the rumors are true, someone’s been here,’ *Blood-Arts: Crimson Threads,* finger to the stain, the solid layers cackled into tiny droplets – a sudden pull forced them into a hover, ‘-the older the blood, the deeper the crimson color,’ he paused at each grain, ‘-right, there’s some that dates a few months,’ *snap,* it merged into an upright floating arrow, a tap on the tail flung it into the kiosk’s slated roof, rocking the latter. A hallowed sound murmured below, ‘-interesting,’ the glasses came off, the sensitivity forced a squint, the tiled bed faded into a wireframe, not only did the floor disappear, so did his surrounding, the very essence of the ground vanished, ‘-there,’ the focus laid in the center, ignorant to the outer objects, ‘-something’s inside,’ a sharp headache forced a blink, the glasses went on his nose. Open palm to the supposed hallowed ground manifested splinters of blue, white, and gold, the elements of mana manifested for his sight – complete control over the life-essence of the world, the nonsentient manifestations pulled into an orb over his palm, “-master,” said a high-pitched childish voice, “-conjuration, summoning, evil,” it said, “-pathway, middle, dark,” the spirit imploded.

One knee to the floor, the elaborate design told of a magical circle, *Mana Control: Dark Element Variant – Convergence,* a thick cloud of smoke spiraled through his palm and bore into the center; locks clicked, the foundation dropped to ground level, no separation between the edifice and dried moat. A particular object rose from the center, the shape resembled a torture device used primarily by lustful nobles, a play on the Judas Cradle, made especially for pleasure and torment, a lot of blood drained during the process. ‘-Ritual,’ he paused and stared, “-Come forth: Vengeance.”

“Your orders, master.”

“Keep guard over this area. Don’t act even if there are people trespassing, observe and report, there must be another way they’re entering the premises. Keep me informed the moment a presence is sensed.”

“Your wishes are my command,” he faded into thin air.

Five minutes later, Igna had his back to the ritual site. The kiosk and any sign of his presence were erased. The returning journey took less time, and before long, the great open-sky dawned on the dusty outfit, “-majesty,” said a passing maid, “-the suit’s dirty, shall I fetch another or would you take a bath?” an apple-fill basket rested on her hip.

“No, my dear,” he smiled, “-please carry on, I’ll care for it.”

“As is wished, majesty,” they exchanged nods.

Questions filled the mind, the library of Mantia gave nothing on the god, he scoured every book and nothing, Origin’s sense of being was lost, faded into the abyss of knowledge. Not knowing something burned the concentration – arms crossed and body on auto-response, the subconscious before the royal bedchambers.

“You know I do,” followed by laughter, “-satisfaction is one of the things I love. Will w-” the door barged, Eia blinked, her phone exclaimed another man’s voice, the attire was one lesser befitting nobility – she wore very subjective clothing, her breast almost exposed to the elements without a harness to shield her virtue.

It took one look, he shook his head and passed her side, turned at the walk-in wardrobe, meanwhile, the phone kept on asking questions, the speaker screamed whilst she stood dumbfounded, unable to act or blink, ‘-there,’ he grabbed a gray-colored suit made in remembrance to the Claireville Academy uniform he once proudly owned, the golden buttons were replaced and kept a low-key color whilst the cufflinks were made to bear the dragon insignia. Gold, precious metals, the little accessories fetch little over five figures. A combination spell cleaned his body and hair in a matter of seconds, matching tie and shoe, pairing the formal attire, he exited the wardrobe to a frightened Eia.

“Igna?” she said.

Nothing, he went pass, stopped at the door and threw a cold regard, “-Eia, long as you don’t interfere with me or put my name or my family’s reputation in jeopardy, thou art free to live thine life,” a thud followed into distant heavy steps.

She broke onto her knees, “-Eia, why are you not responding?”

“Sorry,” she said, “-I was interrupted by Igna.”

“Did he find out?” screamed a troubled voice.

“I can’t say. He knows, my outfit, the phone, he knows – I can’t,” tears dropped, “-he told me something and I heard, if you cross me, I’ll kill you.”

“It doesn’t matter, I’ll free thee soon. Besides, we already have the seed planted for a legitimate heir to the throne, no way we’ll let him spit on tradition.” Her sorry expression turned at a portrait of Queen Gallienne sat proudly beside the prince consort. ‘-mother,’ she gulped, ‘-am I doing the right thing?’ time elapsed, her outfit changed into one suitable for the castle, phone in pocket, she exited the suffocating space and made into the altered castle, ‘-people, everywhere,’ she observed, ‘-he’s changed the castle without giving a second thought. Unknown faces, how can he trust them?’

“Have you heard,” whispered a group of very pretty ladies, “-the king’s helping the recruits.”

“I know, the place feels more like an office, and I love it. A friendly atmosphere to better the country, he’s the best candidate to rule our people.” Interest piqued, the queen matched the group and ended outside, to a newly refurbished building, large and tall, the sign read, ‘-cafeteria.’

The roads were crowded, families made back and forth, the orchard, flowerbeds, and garden were made public parks – anyone with complaint had rights to storm the castle and meet a representative directly. The very essence of Rosespian business and understanding was pulled into the castle walls. The connection between rulers and people was closer than ever. ‘When did everything change?’ the walking slowed into bafflement, ‘-what did he do?’ she entered the cafeteria to see nobles and commoners laughing and eating – the disparities were present and kept for inner thought, mutual respect was the main dish on the menu. A large screen displayed the King’s adventure in Alphia, a performance of a lifetime in the company of Markus, ‘-why are they?’ a seat caught her drop, “-majesty,” said a casually dressed visitor, “-rare to see the queen out of her bedchambers.” The mention attracted attention, unlike anything she’d experienced.

“-How’s the king?

“Is he kindhearted?”

“Does he change once behind closed doors?” a barrage of inquisitive questions centered around Igna, the waves crashed, she drowned till white-hair pulled her focus, “-Igna,” she said to which the others turned. He was in the company of Bleu, “-majesty,” they waved, to which he returned their attention with a respectful nod, “-have a pleasant day.”