"I will never forget your face... but after that day, perhaps I wished to forget it... and perhaps never remember again. It would lift a great weight from my shoulders."
— "There is no sin where there is blessing... there is no blessing where everything was bought..." murmured Khaelis to himself. — "An old saying, created by my brother... years ago, when he began to see the rot that surrounded us."
Now, he was inside a floating armored carriage, guarded by an escort even stronger than the previous one. The same mistake would not be repeated.
— "My lord, why lower yourself to travel among the commoners? Such transport is not worthy of you." One of his men questioned him, still uncomfortable with the last time Khaelis had used a mere locomotive.
— "No particular reason. Only matters to attend to... and it would not be coherent to make a flashy entrance."
The carriage slid through the air. Even at its so-called "minimum speed," it moved as fast as sound. Soon, their destination revealed itself before them: EndGarden.
The great Central Sanctuary rose like a golden colossus, surrounded by radiant buildings. There, the Arcane was as dense as oxygen itself. Upon descending, Khaelis took a deep breath. The air pulsed with energy — the same energy that flowed from his own body.
— "Khaelis of Kaiwen... they await you. Please, follow us."
Five veiled women in white awaited him. Without another word beyond the announcement, they guided him.
— "I see the LiGodght remain influential... This is the first time members of a cult have come to receive me."
The women remained silent. Khaelis knew well of their rise. The LiGodght, a cult of superior status, already surpassed even some noble houses. Religious power was growing within politics — something he despised. But in that world, nothing could be done.
At last, they arrived. A monumental hall, resembling a tribunal. Four pedestals, each raising a figure of the great elite. It was they who had summoned Khaelis.
— "Submit, Khaelis."
A voice. Too unmistakable. He bowed.
— "Father... forgive me. I did not conclude my crusade... but I remain in pursuit. My brother will find rest. I ask only... for more time."
His voice trembled in inferiority. Before him stood the patriarch of the family. The one to whom he owed submission.
— "This is not why you were summoned here, my son. You have sunk into your useless crusade. You have become a target for terrorists, lost an entire troop... and still let them escape. A greater disgrace would be impossible."
— "No, I did not fail! There was a cursed one. I felt it. A great evil is coming, Father! They may be connected to it... I must continue! YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND!"
— "SILENCE, KHAELIS! It is you who does not understand. You disgrace our family's name with your delusions, chasing the ghost of your brother! I sent the ShadowStorm to keep you under control, and even she failed. The name and honor of our house mean nothing to you. Even while bearing the greatest treasure of our lineage, you stain it with filthy blood... a disappointment... a shame."
Another voice echoed among the four thrones.
— "The Kaiwens... always troublesome. The youngest now chasing an urban legend. A joke. And he even let the traitor escape."
The tone dripped with arrogance and greed.
— "Yes... and with that, the Executor's death weighs even more heavily. A disgrace upon your house, Kaiwen."
This time, an older voice intervened:
— "How dare you? You cast blame upon the Kaiwen and forget that the mind behind the attacks belonged to your own house, Reixys..."
Khaelis glared at Homis Reixys with contempt. That man embodied maximum abuse, the filthy soul at the apex of what nobility carried.
— "Yes, it's true. The traitor was once of my house. But she was purged. For years she has carried no longer our name. You had her in your hands, little Khaelis. Why did you let her escape? Are you an idiot?"
The voice cracked like a whip of sarcasm.
— "Shut up. I will not accept such disrespect. Filthy hypocrites... I am not your dog, as Yegrande was! I know the horrors that man committed in the name of your house, Reixys. I understand your frustration at losing your attack hound. But do not think you will treat me the same way. I am not like him."
Khaelis did not lower his head before those unworthy of such respect, even while recognizing hierarchy. Thus, the noble Khaelis touched the hilt of the ShadowStorm.
— "Humph. Perhaps you are right, boy. Having Yegrande, the Executor, as an ally was indeed a blasphemy against divine order. He deserved the rotten end he met. A cyborg of corrupted flesh... unworthy even as a pawn. Still, the weight of your failure remains. Perhaps... it even places you below him."
The old man's voice, laden with pride disguised as nobility, rang like that of a false Messiah.
— "Hah. You have no morality, old man. You should not even be on that throne. A cult leader, seated among the elite... Arcann-El is your answer, isn't it?"
Khaelis' mockery enraged the damned religious above. The false Messiah bristled with "divine" fury.
— "HOW DARE YOU, BLASPHEMER!"
The old man roared at the young noble's disrespect.
— "Do not exalt yourself, old man. Everyone knows. You and the Reixys are rats. And now you possess a weapon far too powerful: this Arcann-El. You sell it as a god, a supreme being... but it is nothing more than a puppet. A nuclear bomb in the hands of lunatics. Perhaps I don't grasp the full extent of this power, but I know how men like you act: you use what you have to climb higher. Am I wrong?"
Gythin, leader of the LiGodght, straightened his posture.
— "You are nothing but a fool, Khaelis. Arcann-El is born of divine will. A god of flesh. We have won countless victories with him: we banished malignant entities, even profane gods. You and Yegrand will never be more than rats. Arcann-El is a god."
Perhaps the old man believed his own delirium. His mind overtaken by selfish ideals proclaimed as divine.
— "Do not mistake your puppet for divinity, old man. They will never be the same."
Khaelis' irony dripped like venom. His hatred for it burned in his throat — madness, lying ideals, he recognized the stench of those vermin from afar.
Suddenly, a muffled, heavy voice cut through the air. The last of the four, silent until now. His authority crushed all others.
— "Enough. We are not here to quarrel. We are gathered to discuss losses. The Reixys' traitor already causes us intolerable problems. Khaelis lost her. We also lost the Executor. He was not the strongest, but his defeat was unexpected."
A dreadful sensation tore at the chest of everyone present. That voice was unquestionable, it dominated the entire place. A weight swallowed Khaelis, like an obscure and terrifying shadow. He felt his hand tremble as it gripped ShadowStorm's hilt. None of the other authorities' voices bore such weight as that man's.
The voice continued, aware of the terror it caused, but it did not matter.
— "The cursed one... after analyzing Yegrande's corpse, we discovered: an Ancient Plague. It devoured all the Executor's Arcane, brought his cybernetic systems to collapse. Then, on his knees, he was executed with a single shot. A humiliating death. This is a declaration of war."
Khaelis, even in trance, swallowed by the terror of that voice, fighting to breathe, understood every word. His head wanted to bow, but his will kept it upright.
— "I summoned Gythin for this. Arcann-El is the most powerful being in this world, without doubt. But if this information leaks, the scandal will be immeasurable. The supreme god of the greatest cult, involved with Arcaneless terrorists? And the revelation of a cursed one? Unacceptable."
He recognized that dark, hoarse voice. And with his willpower, Khaelis lifted his head, his pupils locked, suffocated. Looking at that man, his doubts were stripped away. A shocking image in his mind: on that fourth pedestal sat him, one of the absolute authorities, even compared to Noble Houses. A single man worth as much as them all. The Supreme Counselor, head of everything, peak of the high council.
His condition was horrible, degrading. A man with long black hair, like shadows covering hell, skin so pale it resembled the emptiness of a corpse's eyes. He wore noble garments, as expected of his rank. Beyond the black hair and pale skin, something revolting drew attention: the man was bound to a grotesque life-support system. It hurt the eyes just to look at him, a truly disturbing sight — tubes, a respirator mask, a system fused to his chest. Technology of the highest order, made to keep dead men standing. That this man lived was unnatural, as if life had already fled his body long ago. His existence defied all natural laws. He was an aberration, a corpse kept on its feet, fragile and disgusting, all the more with that massive black aura that swallowed everything around him. Proof of impurity and hypocrisy — how could men who called themselves holy live in such conditions? Sustained by machines, his existence was the purest offense. And that terror made Khaelis tremble. Even so, perceiving the horror he inspired, the man continued.
— "Therefore, Khaelis... this mission remains yours."
The voice silenced all. It was absolute authority, carrying not only respect, but above all terror, from those who knew his essence.
— "I have no time for this. I will not be your dog. I am not like Yegrand, nor Arcann-El, nor the Master of Massacre. I have my crusade. I will not meddle in your games... and that goes for you as well, Father. Even if you live in denial... what happened to my brother will not be forgiven."
Even engulfed by the incomprehensible terror that fragile, sickly man carried, Khaelis turned to leave. But a crushing force threw him to his knees. The invisible hand of that man. It was unbearable. How could a man who could not even live on his own cause such terror?
— "You do not understand, Khaelis. This is the duty I assigned to you."
The man's voice was like flesh being torn. The terror he radiated should not come from one surviving only through life support.
— "N-no... I will not..."
He resisted, even under the weight. Even engulfed by a pressure that hurled him from side to side, slamming him to the floor.
— "You refuse? Then so be it... But that thing... the one that took your brother..."
The voice slid into a venomous whisper. Fatal, like a serpent offering a pact, a tempting ally.
— "Your father may live in denial. I do not. I know well what it was. The toy of the Demon of Healing. Heh... I've known it for centuries. Centuries of study into Arcane, curses, and technology. A relic created to cure diseases... wrapped in a horrid legend. And that legend became real with your poor brother, did it not?"
The voice now sounded so different... sweet, like a great friend, someone there for you, someone who wanted to help, a friend who understood. A friend Khaelis had once had only once. Tempting.
— "A tragedy... but I can help. Curses attract one another, did you know? The cursed one... he will draw the very thing that took your brother. The choice is yours, Khaelis. Only you... can decide."
Khaelis' body trembled. Fear. Those words carried the weight of corruption, but also the coldness of truth. And his brother... was more important than anything. Those words sounded tempting, as if that damned sick man sought to seduce him, like an angel calling him to heaven, or a demon to hell... but it did not matter. He heard what he wanted to hear. And if that man could truly lead him to finally achieve his goal, to reclaim what was lost, he would follow him, no matter where it led.
And as a whisper of hatred. An inaudible scream. Khaelis' voice resounded.
— "Where do I begin?"