The Ancients

by Adam-Clay Webb

  All of a sudden, she felt a fearlessness that was strange to her, and a sudden strength. She stood almost easily, and her tears stopped flowing. “We both die here… I will marry you in hell…” A sudden wind brewed about her and a rich purple mana flooded her being, two massive blades of purple power appearing in her hands, no expression whatsoever on her face. She reached up to Viknor in a flash, making two swings at him. He shifted back, narrowly keeping his head. Catherina looked back down at Lydia, and her face lost its deadness. She glanced back at Quincy, and over at Hilda who was also probably dead. “DIE!” she bellowed hoarsely, rushing on to Viknor at a speed that caused cracks to run through the earth.

  Chapter 4: Paths of the Ogal Hands

  “You…” The despise in Hilda’s voice was real, and it could not be hid. “I thought I knew you, Viknor… You took everything from me, from Cath—”

  “Refrain from uttering that name before me!” Viknor snapped, “You know nothing! You are filled with ignorance!”

  “Ignorance?!” Hilda flared, her mana rising up about her, “The only time I was ignorant is when I thought I knew who you were! Now I will deliver the judgement that Catherina was too weak a woman to exact! Embrace death, Viknor, son of Aredes!” Zedra found herself moving back quickly as the purple burst of mana was too hot and bright for her to endure.

  This woman! Azar thought, now fearing that she could have been even stronger than Viknor. Still, the Magmalian traitor took refuge somewhat in the feeling of his electric powers returning. Maybe he would not be so useless in this fight after all. The earth trembled and even the air seemed jittery as Hilda’s body of mana seemed to thicken and become enraged itself. She lifted one hand to the air, sending a deadly glare still at Viknor.

  Azar’s brows crawled together and the gears in his head turned rapidly. Something was strangely familiar about this witch that just appeared. There was a fuzzy memory at the edge of his mind that was like an annoying itch he couldn’t scratch.

  “Great Summoning! Dragon Nest!” the witch ordered.

  Viknor clenched his teeth and his eyes widened. So she somehow recovered her sorcery, and is using techniques of this level… Viknor thought. Azar and Zedra looked to the dark sky, or whatever it was that rested above them. They could see, even within the darkness, a heavier, denser blackness forge itself. Viknor knew exactly what it was, a portal made for summoning creatures from a much darker realm. Descending out of the darkness were tens of massive, grim-coloured beasts. Each of these things had a pair of wings and a body far larger and heavier than those of men, thick grey and brown scales covering them. Their teeth and claws looked far deadlier than swords. They swooped down at Azar and Viknor with killing speeds, roaring with Hilda’s rage.

  “Summoning! Snake Nest!” Viknor countered quickly, lowering himself and striking the ground with his palms. Azar looked about quickly as the ground quaked and broke up all around them. The young wizard, who, by the minute, was seeing how much of a novice he had always been, looked about in fright. He saw that within the earth below was a rising darkness, like a dark portal was being forced up from below. He nearly uttered what would have been a scream as he saw massive black snakes shoot out of the darkly glowing floor, extending quickly all around them to meet the beastly enemies above.

  The snakes were giant, nothing at all like the snakes found in earthly jungles. Azar knew he couldn’t stand around in awe all day though. He powered up his hands brightly and sent bolts of blue current up at two of the dragons accurately. The bolts grabbed the beasts, making a bright burst of light and a loud crash, but that was about all the effect the lightning had. The dragons practically ignored the streaks of lightning and headed down for dinner. The huge snakes were giving the things a heavy fight though. The lengthy beasts wrapped themselves around the flying fiends, crushing them mightily, and missiled themselves into others, plunging them hard into the ground with unfriendly force, ravaging through them.

  Some of the snakes even shot off toward the witches. Quickly, about five of the snakes were already upon them. “Niamer!” Zedra shouted, flashing mana at them, and in a red puff of mana, the snakes were made motionless. At that moment, two large purple swords appeared in Hilda’s hands. She jumped up and landed on one of the snakes, running speedily down the length of the frozen beast, the swords stretched out at her sides. As one of the dragons was about to crash down into Azar, and Viknor was about to be bothered to save him, a yellowish cloud of mana appeared, and Azar disappeared! The Magmalian – by birth at least – appeared a little distance out of the heavy chaos of the beastly brawl, panting in exhaustion, but quickly recovering, a thin smoke spreading from about him. He stood still in wonder for a moment, wondering if this was Viknor’s spell, but then he fully noticed that the mana was far from the stage of being purple.

  Your mana will take some time to regenerate… Oga’s words came back forcefully. He suddenly started in a mad laughter, realizing that his mana, though at the weakest of levels, was indeed being revived. Viknor realized what had happened, somewhat at least, but hadn’t the time to put much focus on that. Hilda jumped down at him from the snake nimbly. He forged swords of his own and clashed with the witch, creating a pulse of mana strong enough to fling off and even damage some of the summoned beasts.

  “Listen to me, Hilda!” Viknor strained to say over the noise.

  ***

  Decades ago, on a fateful, bloody day, Viknor and Catherina clashed with levels of power that were, a day before, far beyond them. The powerful witch, as soon as she got that much leeway, shifted Hilda, Quincy and Lydia far away from the Ogal mount. Quincy and Hilda were alive, but Lydia could not be saved. The more she thought of the irreversibility of her sister’s death, the more enraged she became, the more her soul tightened in anger, the more power, the more magic flowed through her being, the more she wanted to kill Viknor. With great spells, with elemental techniques and great summonings, the two clashed each other with wills to kill, wills to avenge. For hours, what were the two most powerful sorcerers alive battled to exhaustion, neither gaining enough upper hand to deliver a killing attack.

  Viknor stood a few meters from Catherina, panting heavily, grabbing on to his damaged left shoulder tightly, not having enough mana left to waste on a healing spell. Catherina collapsed to her knees, then struggled to a weary stand, her purple sword helping her up. The blade of purple power turned to mist and disappeared. Dammit… Catherina hissed. The roaring mana quieted and finally vanished from about her. Viknor too lost all his magical energy.

  Dammit, father… As Aredes’ presence somewhat weakened within him, his true consciousness retuned somewhat. Catherina saw, for a moment, a change in his eyes. She saw sadness in them, but that was meaningless now. No amount of that could bring her little sister back. Viknor vanished in a purple cloud.

  “No… Come back… Viknor!!” Catherina bellowed with redly dark emotions, then fell to her face.

  Viknor looked about. He didn’t even know where he was. He had shifted to some random wilderness it had seemed. He collapsed to the floor, and a weighty exhaustion was forcing a sleep upon him that he couldn’t shake off. He wished real hard he would wake in his bed, and all that had happened with Catherina and his father, all this dismalness, this fighting and killing and bitter sadness, was only the most terrible nightmare he could ever dream up.

  He woke in the same damp, itchy grass he fell asleep in. He cried and cursed and blew up trees and scared away the birds until it was noon. Finally, as his mind settled just a little, he collapsed again, weeping bitterly. He fixed himself in his meditative stance with a strong resolve. I’m coming for you, father… He said with the seriousness of an oath.

  ***

  Bloody hell! Viknor shifted out of another of Hilda’s quick and vicious swings, appearing a few meters back, only barely having the leeway to shift back again. Her close combat skills have vastly improved. Mine have decreased if anything, Viknor realized. Hilda released her swords and they disappe
ared.

  “Enough shifting about, you coward!” she blasted, then slammed her hands together, forming a sign made familiar to him through decades of study.

  Impossible!

  “Oga Art! Shift Aversion! Black Mist!” Hilda summoned. Suddenly, a black fog spread itself throughout the whole dimension. Viknor’s eyes were still wide, his mind rattling about more and more questions.

  This technique – only arcane sorcerers are able to shift through it, Viknor thought, so she has restricted even herself from shifting. It appears she plans to use her close combat prowess to her advantage fully. But this is an Ogal spell! Shouldn’t it cost her her sorcery?!

  “Here I come!” Hilda said, stretching out her hands again and calling forth her massive swords. Also, mana flooded her feet and arms to boost her strength and speed. Her swords trailed behind her, the manic light from them struggling to keep up with her speed. Rocks jumped up and the earth broke beneath her as she jetted toward Viknor with a determined resolve in her eyes. Viknor’s eyes widened.

  ***

  Many years ago, after what was a full day of meditation, Viknor had found himself in the realm within his soul. He looked about at the blankness. There was only a white floor there. “Father! Show yourself!” the wizard demanded. Viknor’s eyes narrowed as he saw appearing in the distance before him a sudden black cloud, which forged itself into the figure of a man he quickly recognized.

  “My son,” the man greeted. Viknor stared out at the man wordlessly. He gulped. This was the only magician he never saw himself having a chance at defeating. Aredes slowly walked up to him. “I sense you have come to fight me,” he said calmly, smiling slightly, like he was proud of his son’s decision. “By the way, I did conspire to kill all of you,” Aredes made clear. Viknor’s eyes widened and his muscles became weak.

  “Father…”

  “I haven’t enough spiritual essence to possess you fully and live again,” he admitted, “but with this small manifestation of my will, I will destroy the remains of the dreaded council. The king shall see that this is my work, and even in death, I will be recognized as the one who changed Notherland and rescued it from Ogal bondage, even from beyond the grave.” Viknor could say nothing. “Oga and his children oppressed and ruled the world with their power. Once the council remains, Oga, even in death, will be a god over us. What good is it to have a god we cannot see or speak to? I am the one who will take Oga’s place!” Aredes blasted frenziedly.

  “What are you saying?” the confused Viknor asked, now wondering just how ‘dead’ his father was, and just how existent, how much alive and potent Aredes’ will was.

  “In the last five hundred years, the council of Oga has come under attack over a hundred times by high-level mages, a few times even arcanines. You’ve read of those occurrences, right? It wasn’t long ago I discovered why all these attacks were launched, what the true aim of these sorcerers were… I was vexed with myself for not have found this light all along.” Aredes snickered a bit.

  “I found some treasure a few years ago – scrolls as ancient as earthly magic. It took me hundreds of days and nights to decrypt their messages. These scrolls, my son, were written by Oga himself, the god and father of magic. They tell of the secrets of his power, and of the very limits of seventh grade sorcery. I then learnt how weak I am when I learnt how strong Oga was. Based on what I read, I couldn’t even stand up to his youngest child. Even his grand children’s sixth-grade sorcery would be on par with my black magic. I was discouraged, but I went further deep in my research, and I ended up finding a scroll, scribed by an ancient man who studied Oga deeply.

  “I saw these words, ‘The power of the magic god will never fade or whither. He who gathers the portions of his spirit will become him, and gain rights to his power’.” Aredes saw the look on Viknor’s face and knew that his son already understood. “That’s right, Viknor. Remember the ceremony that you went through before you could be called an Ogal Councillor? You now bear his name, and a fraction of his spirit, and hence, one of the keys to his power.”

  “So you decided to kill us all and become a god,” Viknor surmised.

  “Heh. You were never a stupid child, Viknor. Oga himself is not a god, but the immortal power he was granted. The council was set up so that no one man would have that much power. The thing is, based on my understanding of these ancient writings, Oga is not dead.” Viknor’s eyes jerked wide. “He is merely in a state of sleep, and is fated to resurface any day now. I will kill all you councillors before that time, as if I wait until Oga wakes, not even I will be able to defeat him… I, my son, will become God!”

  Viknor shivered as Aredes roused his power. “I had planned to kill all of you, and then, with my godlike power, bring you back to life, and we would make this world our footstool! I will be greater than Oga ever was!”

  “But Catherina stopped you in your tracks.”

  “That’s right. Anticipating the possibility of this, I sealed inside you this fraction of my spirit, my will to become God. After I complete my mission, I will truly live again, and as God. My will will easily be strong enough to possess you fully. I will live in your body, and you shall forever be trapped in this dimension. This is your purpose, Viknor! You will be a part of the most powerful god history will see!”

  “You are mad, father! I will not allow you to use me to kill anyone else! You’ve done more than enough damage!”

  “Viknor, I really want to keep you alive. If I kill you now, neither of us will exist, as my will is not yet enough to be a life source. Do not fight me, my son.” Viknor roused his power with clenched teeth.

  “You are the one who will be killed!”

  “I will seal this dimension away from you for now, as you insist on being troublesome,” Aredes said, and not as if he hadn’t planned on doing that all along.

  Remembering vividly the look in Catherina’s eyes when Lydia was slaughtered, Viknor could no longer resist the paining urge to run off toward his father, bright swords in hand.

  “Save your strength, Viknor,” Aredes said calmly, and held his hand out toward his son. Suddenly, there was a nasty blackness everywhere, and Viknor had the sensation of a fast and perilous fall. He opened his eyes suddenly, panting heavily. His mana was completely recovered. As a shift was forced upon him by Aredes’ will, he vanished in a smoke of purple mana.

  Viknor looked around quickly, his brows knit, his mind challenged. He looked up at the seven statues mounted on the holy hill a little distance away. Indeed, he was on Mount Oga, where he had slaughtered Lydia. The place looked a bit different than it was before, and there was no evidence that a massive battle had arisen there just hours ago. There was no blood, and no half-dead sorcerers or corpses littered the grassy grounds. Viknor’s eyes twitched as he wondered what was going on. He noticed that the grass had grown a few inches and was much thicker.

  He shivered as he felt a familiar presence. Even through the heat of an appearing mana, he felt the air turn frigid at once. He gasped.

  “So it is you indeed,” he heard Catherina’s voice come forth. Somehow, Viknor’s body felt immovable. He dreaded looking into her eyes probably. “Come to finish the job now, have you?” A purple cloak of mana surrounded the wizard and his eyes flashed darkly. Then, his body no longer too heavy, he turned and faced the woman. Catherina’s eyes were cold and sunken. Viknors’ were menacing.

  “I’ve waited five years to kill you… This time you will not survive,” Catherina said calmly. Lydia’s face came back to her forcefully, not the nightmarish face that Viknor had painted on her, not that face that had tormented her for years and forced upon her a maddening insomnia. Instead, Catherina remembered the girlish laughter of her little sister. In her was no longer a flaming anger, but a cold, hardened fixation, a resolve. Since Lydia’s death, Catherina had not smiled even once. This feeling of finally being before the man she needed to kill was the closest she had been to happiness since then.

  Five years? The wizard became p
uzzled at this. Because of how inept he was at the technique he used to enter his soul realm, the little time he spent in there amounted to five years in the outside world. Catherina would not allow him the chance to stand and figure things out though.

  “This time your death is sure,” she said. “Elemental Summoning! Ice Sword! Lightning Rod!” the witch commanded. At that, in bursts of purple mana, a sword the exact colour of the moon appeared in her right hand. It breathed an icy mist that resembled the chilliness in her eyes, in her soul. A rod of a meter’s length appeared in her left hand, made of a metal far heavier and far stronger than steel, a unique metal rare as zarium that made nothing else. White-blue sparks swarmed the rod as she held it in its middle. Before Catherina, only arcane sorcerers were able to perform elemental summonings, and not very many of these seventh-grade sorcerers either. Two swords of mana appeared in Viknor’s hands, but were they powerful enough to clash Catherina’s weapons?

  So she has learnt new techniques… Well of course… five years did pass after all… Still, I sense a gap between our mana pools. I will certainly outlast her, Viknor told himself.

  Catherina knew she could not idle. She wasn’t an elementalist naturally, so wielding these elemental weapons would eat her mana like hungry fire on dry hay, even without her using high level techniques with them. Without hesitation, Catherina pointed the rod at Viknor. There was a sharp clashing sound, then the sound of a million tweeting birds as lightning shot off toward the wizard. In a cloud of purple, Viknor shifted out of the streak’s path, and it savaged through a piece of grassy, mounted ground viciously and loudly. Viknor appeared behind Catherina, stooping a little to jet off toward her with his swords of mana. Without turning around, Catherina jammed the ice sword into the ground. Almost as fast as the lightning had moved, ice slithered along the ground and grabbed Viknor’s feet. He managed to disappear before he was frozen solid. He released his swords as he reappeared, making them dematerialize.