Xero Chronicle

by Ross Buzzell

  “Why would I slay you.”

  Xero speaks with distain in his words, the illness. The world, it had made them weak, pathetic.

  “You’re no challenge to me. My sights are set on another.”

  Xero pushes past the man and begins to walk through the fields. Had his mind not been so clouded, or had he stopped for even a moment, he would have recognized the beauty of the world he had landed on and how much it resembled the home world of the Draronians. But he does not, he walks, and walks. Eventually the sun goes down and a white orb that gives off no heat, no radiation takes over the night sky. Xero looks up in intrigue. Never before had the banished prince seen a night without a sun, nor had he seen a sky of stars of this magnitude. Xero lays in the grass, placing a hand behind his head. He wished to adore the beauty of this new planet but his clouded mind and the venom of his loathing for his brother poisons the experience. Xero stairs at the stars trying to find which one was his, contemplating how far he had traveled before the solemnness of sleep gradually takes him.

  Xero’s eyes shoot open as the sun begins to crest over the horizon. His slumber was dreamless yet restful. Slowly Xero pushes himself off the ground and climbs to his feet. On Boron he was a prince, a soldier. With all that stripped from him the only thing keeping him going was the red hot ball of rage spinning uncontrollably inside of him. Xero begins to walk once more. On the horizon he sees trees. Xero begins to run. He leaps into the air and attempts to fly using the blue radiation of Boron’s sun but after a single spurt of light, he crashes to the ground. Climbing to his feet once more, his resolve only growing stronger, he begins to run toward the trees. The mystery of what he would find drew him. It could be where the inhabitants of this world dwelt. It could offer shelter, a way home. He didn’t know.

  Xero begins to slow down as he approaches the standing trees. As he gets closer he notices it is not just a cluster of trees, but a massive garden. He comes to a stop as something catches his eye. A man comes tumbling from the garden. He tries to get up but slips and falls again. He begins to frantically crawl away before he scrambles to his feet as a serpent slithers wryly behind him. As the man puts distance between him and the garden the serpent turns and slithers back out of sight. The man comes to a stop and looks at Xero. Xero tilts his head as the two make eye contact. It was surprising. This native inhabitant appeared just like the Boronians. He was curious at what kind of power he held behind his frail form before he sees a mark on the man’s forehead. Upon laying eyes on that mark a knot is formed in Xero’s stomach as something told him that the mark was not a good one. Xero attempts to force himself to greet the native of this new world but something deep within him would not allow that. He attempts to move forward but is pushed back. The man with the mark on his forehead covers his face and flees in shame. Xero shakes his head as the thought crosses his mind of how odd that encounter and sensation was. He decides to bypass the garden. As he does he sees a man and a woman standing over a mound of earth weeping.

  Xero continues his trek of this new planet, as he does he begins to realize something. He is no longer hungry. Food no longer becomes a necessity, neither does sleep. The Boronian treads for days, weeks, years growing stronger with each passing day as there were still remnants of the blue Boronite in his system and the sun’s radiation manipulates the latent energy to manifest physically. Xero decides to stop in one place for a little while, not having run into any other life aside from animals over his years of exploring this blue marble.

  Each time he came close to a civilization it had evidence of being yet another Boronian settlement. Those he actively tried to avoid. Sitting on a river’s edge amongst a lush green forest Xero looks into the water, the years of loneliness and isolation had taken their toll on the soldier, feeding his hate, driving him mad.

  As he sits and stews in his growing rage small sparks of electricity begin to cause Xero’s hairs to rise on end. The sky begins to slowly fill with clouds; there is a bright flash as a torch of lighting rips through the sky followed by a gut rattling explosion of thunder. Gradually water begins to fall from the sky. This is new for the former prince. He had never experienced water like this before. Gradually the rain begins to fall harder until the sheets of water block nearly all of his line of sight. Xero hears movement through the rain. He turns slowly to see a giant animal standing over three times Xero’s height, covered in scales. A large fin sails down its back as its long slender snout sniffs the air in search of prey.

  “So you are the dragon of this planet.”

  Xero turns and faces the monstrous lizard. It gives out a mighty roar that almost deafens Xero. Falling to his knees Xero holds his ears. Looking up he glairs at the cold-blooded creature. Climbing to his feet the lighting begins to shoot from the sky to the ground as if drawn to Xero like a lightning rod.

  Xero charges the giant creature who clasps the Boronian into its jaws. With a mighty bight the air is knocked from Xero’s lungs. He had been through worse. He grabs the teeth of the lizard’s mouth. Pushing with all his strength he forces the jaws of the spined animal open. Xero pushes off of the animal and launches himself into the air. Lightning bolts from the sky strikes Xero as he gets higher than the low tree line. The power of the lightning bolt rips through Xero, every cell in his body drinks in the electric energy like a sponge. He feels a rush like never before as he looks down at the monster who delivers another roar toward him as he begins to fall back to the ground. Xero dives at the creature. Grabbing its snout he lands on the ground pulling the scaly foe with him. The predator attempts to get back on its feet but Xero holds it fast. He relishes the rush pulsing through him. With a swift hard twist a crack reverberates through the creatures body and through the hands of the growlingly sadistic warrior, as it falls limp, dead at Xero’s feet.

  He looks around, his eyes scanning the massive beast before him. The decision, he needs a weapon, becomes apparent. Another bolt of lightning slams itself into Xero causing sparks of electricity to begin to jump from his body and into the ground. The power of two lightning strikes pour out of his soaked form. The sparks arch into the ground around him as the amount of electricity within him begins to form a magnetic pull. Small metallic orbs begin to unearth themselves around him.

  Xero walks towards the lizard’s forward arm. The ore begins to separate from the rock which falls away leaving only the metal. As sparks jump between Xero and the metal, it begins to glow red as the rain turns to steam instantly upon contact. The ore begins to flatten and turns into a long jagged blade with a crescent moon in the middle. The former prince observes the blade begins to be rapidly cooled by the rain. It is shiny with waves of layers within it caused by the unique forging process. With a flick of his wrist Xero throws the metal forward as electricity jumps between the two, cutting the flesh from the creature’s bone. Xero approaches the newly dissected forearm of the beast. The rain causes its blood to form a small river flowing away from the two and contaminating the pure water as it goes. Xero leans over and peers into the open wound; he sees the massive white radius and ulna of the beast. Reaching into the limb, Xero grips the bones tightly and with a mighty yank he rips both bones from their home in the deceased animal’s arm. He quickly discards the smaller of the two. Observing the larger he nods in approval.

  “This will do.”

  The fight of the monster was such a rush that Xero begins to form a plan that would entertain the increasingly board soldier. Over the next millennia Xero neither aged nor slept. Using the sword he had formed from the bone of his first kill and the metal he drew toward himself, Xero hunted down and slew every last creature that could be considered ‘game’ to a man who has fought in wars against real monsters. He tried to avoid the increasing population of the planet. Once after being captured by one of the ancient civilizations he escapes by knocking down a tower they had spent generations building, this caused the city to flee in many different directions expanding the influence of the beings on the planet as a whole.

>   Having influence over the Egyptians, they believed him to be the sun-god Ra and worshipped him as such after he decided to build three massive structures in the desert in an attempt to locate Boron’s daytime star. He was captured again by a race far more advanced than any he had encountered. Taken to their island city he is held for research purposes. The beings found a way to drain the energy from him to power their slice of paradise. They continued to study Xero for years, draining him just enough to fuel their city but not enough to kill him. They began to grow increasingly arrogant as the decades rolled on. Believing that they could harness the power within Xero themselves, they attempt to splice Xero’s DNA with some of their own… it ends badly. A massive explosion detonates the lab giving Xero just enough heat energy to overload their systems. This causes the power grid across the entire island to explode resulting in the sinking of the island and Xero’s escape once again.

  Encounter after encounter of this new race ended with them either worshipping or trying to kill Xero. Every time it ended one of these two ways. They would hoist him up on a pedestal for him to disappear causing their complete and utter annihilation. They had tried to sacrifice him to a volcano. He just detonated it from the inside and burned an entire costal city. He would fry entire cities to turning people to salt. Xero’s powers grew unrivaled with each passing century until a legend, formed in the east reaches his ears. A legend of god, whose powers are far beyond any mortal man’s.

  Unwilling to share power with any being on this planet, Xero chose to investigate these ‘gods of Olympus’ for himself. After centuries of practice, Xero had finally discovered how to channel the power of the sun known as Sol in a similar fashion to that of his own. Xero clenches his legs together and his arms to his side. His body begins to glow white as the solar radiation burns from his body. He shoots through the sky as he once did on his home world. His sword mounted on his back is immune to the heat he can generate. Having been wielded so long by Xero the weapon had taken on the traits of its master.

  Xero lands on the outskirts of a city in its wheat fields. A farmer, reaping his wheat, wears a long crimson robe when he sees Xero land and staggers back in fear. Standing far shorter than Xero the man drops his scythe before stumbling to the ground trembling in fear. Xero dauntingly draws the blade from his back as he approaches the farmer. Sweat dripping from the terror gripped Grecian he stumbles to find his word.

  “M-my l-lord Kronos, please spare me!’

  His pleas fall on deaf ears. With an effortless swipe of his sword, the Grecian’s head rolls through the wheat that he had sewn. Xero kneels and picks up the crimson cloak. Draping it over himself he speaks to the fallen farmer.

  “I spare no one.”

  Xero re-sheaths his sword under the cloak as he wraps it to cover the lower have of his face. He begins to walk towards the majestic stone city. The architecture was clearly inspired by the great judicial building back in Caelum. It made this world feel a little more like home. Upon his arrival he is greeted by a soldier wearing a crimson cloak, carrying a large round shield with two lines that meet in the center of the shield and descend at a forty-five degree angle to the shield’s side. A circle floats above the adjoined triangle, the symbol of the Emissaries, but after such a long time it was doubtful they remembered their true heritage.

  “What business have you in Sparta wanderer!”

  The soldier demands as one hand reaches for his weapon. Xero speaks from behind the cloak.

  “I am here to speak with the oracle.”

  The Spartan draws his weapon and crouches in a battle stance, protecting himself with his massive shield.

  “No one speaks to the oracle without first consulting the Ephores, and only our king consults them. Come with me wanderer to see my king or fall where you stand!”

  Xero only peers at the Spartan from behind the confines of the cloak. As one of the Grecians makes eye contact with the one they had christened Kronos, the Spartan drops his shield and sword and bows, finally realizing who he had been dealing with. It would be so easy for him to slay the two but he was on a mission and would have to kill everyone in the city should he take out a warrior. Out of all of the civilizations that had cropped up over the years, this one most truly resembled Boron, even their elite fighting forces had the same name.

  Xero walks past the guard onto the cobble stone streets of the granite city. From behind his cloak, Xero glares at the civilization that had been founded. He found the people weak and pathetic. Once a strong people, they had forgotten where they truly came from and breeding with the indigenous peoples of this planet made them even more frail, or so Xero though.

  Xero approaches the base of a mountain as he reaches the far edge of the city. Peering toward the sky, Xero sees the mountain’s peak has even penetrated the level of the clouds. With a powerful thrust of his legs he leaps into the air, soaring a great distance upward. As his ascent slows Xero grabs the rock face tightly, holding himself close to the rock face he begins to climb by digging his fingers into the rock. For hours he climbs higher and higher as the sun gradually falls lower and lower until he reaches a ledge just below the cloud cover. Xero climbs over the edge. As he looks up there are three old, diseased men, hideously disfigured. They look at Xero with judgment.

  “What seek you Kronos.”

  The Ephore hisses in a horsed voice, shriveled imposters of what should be the proud Emissary order. They were lucky he did not strike them down on sight.

  “I have come for the Oracle old man.”

  The Ephore laughs as Xero’s jab.

  “You are far older than I, and no one sees the Oracle, not even you.”

  Xero climbs over the edge, pulling himself onto the flat ground and stands to his feet. Slowly, menacingly, he towers over the old men. Xero slowly takes the torch from one of the Ephores while holding menacing eye contact with the leader. Without a word he rams the flaming torch into one of the lesser Ephore’s gullets. The mystic falls to his knees as blood pours from his mouth and fire begins to consume him. The scent of scorching flesh fills the air as the Ephore screams in pain. He chokes on the fire and ash from the torch as his throat begins to burn with him still alive. Xero grips the head of the dying Ephore and throws him from the mountain into the darkness and fog below.

  “I am not asking”

  Xero hisses as he reaches back behind his head and slowly draws his weapon and points it at the throat of the second Ephore.

  “Open the door.”

  Terror gripping both men they concede to Xero’s brutality. They were used to being bribed with gold, precious stones, even women to fulfill their dark hearts desires, but none before had dared to threaten them as they did have what is perceived as mystical powers. To Xero it was just a miniscule amount of Boronian power manifesting within them. Slowly they turn and walk away. The remaining Ephores lead Xero into a cavern lit only by torchlight. Both the Ephores begin to chant in what they believed to be ancient Greek but Xero recognizes the language. They speak the Emissary dialect of Boronian.

  “May the gate to the oracle’s chamber and the blessings of the gods be open!”

  The Earth begins to rumble beneath Xero’s feet, as does the cavern. Gradually the stone wall at the far end of the cavern begins to slowly rotate and open from the middle revealing a different land on the far side. Xero laughs to himself as he recognizes a very crude yet very Boronian wormhole. The soldier approaches the opening; he turns to the final two Ephores.

  “Your god thanks you.”

  With a swift swing of his sword Xero damages the outside of the wormhole as he passes through. The cavern begins to shake even more violently as both it and the mountain in which it is contained collapses, falling to the ground resulting in the death of not only the remaining Ephores but about half of the population of the city below. Their lives meant nothing to Xero as he feels no guilt about his deeds.

  Xero turns and looks at where he was. He stands on a massive plate of crystalline glass that mak
es up the floor. The clouds form hard structures, pillars, temples. Xero smirks in amusement as he cautiously walks around the place so similar to Boron yet not quite there. The stars in the sky twinkle in the peace that was this beautiful slice of Boron on Earth. A roll of thunder rumbles throughout the streets, shaking the ground beneath Xero’s feet. The stars begin to slowly disappear one at a time as massive storm clouds role in. Xero begins to keep his eyes close on the sky. The lighting was sporadic yet organized. It seems to crawl from every corner of the cloud but would unite with the other branches of the electrical field in the center.

  As the cloud closes the lighting stops. Xero grips his sword tightly; ready for anything. A massive bolt of lightning strikes in front of the soldier with such force the ground explodes into millions of tiny shards. Xero covers his eyes as the lightning persists. From the lightning three young men fly, one wielding a pitchfork, the other a trident and the third and middle a lightning bolt spear. The trident is thrust at Xero first but he is able to get his sword up and block it. The being with the pitch fork moves in for a jab at Xero as well. He smirks and twists his blade pulling the trident toward him causing the trident to block the pitch fork.