Prior to this moment, he had an awareness that the liquid in the fountain was finite. It possessed an end because its basin had a limited, albeit vastly large, volume and could hold no more than what this volumetric constraint would allow. Though he knew he could not hide it from his master, The Lord of Darkness himself, he felt a pang of doubt regarding his potential and success because of his previously interpreted limitation to the fountain, his direct source of power. However, having witnessed the vast awesomeness of its potentially infinite reserves his mind was trying to comprehend, his doubts and questions began to fade.
Now do you understand the inevitability of our success? Now can you finally see that you follow the one and only path? Before you would drink, now you can bathe.
Jesolin waded out into the slightly viscous liquid and from the very first touch against the soles of his feet, he began to feel a combined synergy between pain, rage, and hate, seep into every poor of his exposed skin. Finding its way directly to his void, he was intentionally aware that while pain and rage were expressions equal in their importance, hate stood apart as the power behind their devastation. Pain was the armor, rage was the sword, and hate was the intent. As he took step after step, progressing in the terrible yet blissful depth of his subconscious ocean, now to his knees, he allowed his hate to center upon the object of its genesis. All those years suffering under the desolation of Rento had begun to breed within his soul a seed of hate later utilized by his master as the gateway. Symbolically stepping farther into the ocean until it was now up to his waist, he traveled deeper into his subconscious and focused his rage upon his parents, those responsible for implanting him in a situation devoid of any and all things necessary to ever feel joy and love. How the liquid around his skin began to burn with a pain filled sting of his worthlessness. Still seeking more of his void to be filled as the liquid continued to seep within, now up to his shoulders, he caused himself to feel the true emotions toward his Dark Master, Satan.
Yes, Satan had been there for him when there was nothing else offering solace, but in that being was a terrible price to pay. The only reparation substantial enough to satisfy the price demanded was that of his soul. Yet just as the void could never be filled, so it was with the price of immortality. Satan, therefore, required payment after awful payment expressed as total and utter obedience. And for that, Jesolin hated him. But still he needed to try and fill that which would not be filled; so he continued his weightless steps until he was fully submerged.
Looking up from the depths, he continued to bathe more deeply until he could see no light from the surface through the fathoms. It was here, when fully aware of himself that he truly connected with the vastness and singularity driving all that he had become and all that he would do without regret. All his hate for everything contained without his being was nothing more than a prevention to face what he was not able to face, until now.
He saw the truth of Rento fulfilled as a reflection of his inadequacy in a horribly truthful mirror. He saw his parents as an extension of his existence's inability to be worthy of them and their keeping. And his master, the injection of Satan in his life, and all of the manipulations to bring him to the fully manifested evil was executed not for his own behalf, but out of the complete selfishness of Satan and his awful desires. And in the end, he, Jesolin did not matter. After all these years, he still did not matter, and he hated himself for it. At the instant of this new revelation, all of the walls preventing his hate from growing beyond what he had previously believed possible came crashing down leaving his void open to be filled by the ocean surrounding him. He no longer desired for his hate caused void to be filled, he needed it to be filled, and the dark liquid submerging him responded with the torrential force of a typhoon driven tsunami. He felt the liquid drain from without and fill that which was within until he was no longer swimming in an ocean, but contained it.
The rush of power jolted him back to the physical and conscious moment where he was in the middle of parrying a vicious strike by Vismorda and simultaneously blocking more grasping claws launched by the dark mind of Mordin. With blurring speed, he spun away from each combatant, lept ten feet into the air, and landed behind them. Slowly raising his eyes to meet theirs, he revealed a new found depth to them that, upon their observance, paused both Mordin and Vismorda. The resulting change in Jesolin’s depth caused them to look to each other for any sign of recognition. Normally, when engaged in battle, if one was trained as they all were, one would be able to sense the power within the opponent. But now, looking and searching Jesolin, both Vismorda and Mordin could see none. That is because he held none. He no longer used the power because he became the power.
Sensing the training session was about to come to an end, the two combatants also infused their strength with as much of the liquid as they could contain. Mordin acted first by throwing three mental spikes at Jesolin and followed it with a river of paralyzing dark energy extending from his soul. Not more than half of a heartbeat later, Vismorda assumed the shadow cloak again and performed a shadow leap closing the distance between her and Jesolin in the blink of an eye. This combined effort should have, or at least would have caught Jesolin on the defensive. But that was before he became. Raising a single hand, he let loose his hate in a wave of blackness that caught both of his two opponents squarely and threw them back against the wall. But his new found hate and rage was not content with a single blast. Rather, he sent wave after wave pounding against them and pinning them against the back wall of the training chamber. When he sensed neither of them held any amount of their dark power, he relented, reluctantly.
Walking slowly over to their tired and exhausted bodies, he addressed them as he knelt down, "You must learn to hate all. There can be nothing within you except the hate for everything you contact. Hate deepens the void, and hate is the only thing that can fill it. The more you hate, the more you will become, and the more power you will possess. You must learn to hate even me because, in truth, I hate every aspect of you." As the last word left his lips, he stood up, looked down upon his beaten opponents, and walked away.
As he exited the training room, void of any questions regarding himself, he progressed down the long and cold corridor at the end of which stood his bedchamber. Walking silently, still lingering upon the intoxicating power stemming from his hate, he spoke to his master, "Master, it is almost time. Our preparations are almost complete. We will see your plans fulfilled."
Yes, my Child of Darkness. It is almost time.
"Thank you, again, for filling me. You know there is naught but hate, even for you. But I am grateful even for that."
Yes, My Child. There is only hate.
"Once your plans have born the fruit you deserve, once everything in your dark prophecies has been completed, will I be free?"
But returned to him was not the familiar inner voice of his hated master, Satan. Instead he continued to walk in silence, footfall after footfall, to the beginning of his terrible destiny. He could not help but indulge in the thoughts of what Rento and his parents would think if they were able to gaze upon him now, in all of his dark glory. No doubt they would be afraid of him, but he wondered if they would feel a sense of pride at the importance of him. Would they take some amount of joy from how high he had risen, having emerge from his horrible and humble beginnings, into the single reason the entirety of Avendia was about to be altered permanently?
No, he knew they would not. They would continue to hate him, and why should they not? All those in his life had done nothing less than the same. He even hated himself. But hate was the path he followed and the devotional worship upon which his alter rested. And because of the hate, he knew the answer to the last question he had asked his master. There would be no freedom. He would never allow Vismorda and Mordin to be free, so why would he be allowed anything different? At the resounding center of hate was a truth: it would never allow freedom, for freedom was in the domain of Love. Therefore, what stood in the domain of hat
e? Control. For hate cannot allow freedom because hate fears. And it fears because it hurts. And while freedom is an expression of love and faith, control is the expression of hate and doubt. No, he would never be free because he would always be hated. And he would always seek to control because he would always hate and he would always doubt.
At the end of the corridor stood his solid black door symbolizing an emergence into the final stages of his preparation. His army was ready to be assembled and begin its calculated advance into the northern reaches of Silver Empire. His weapons of war were ready to be utilized to all of their destructive purpose. But his master's goal was not simply one kingdom; it was the consumption and subjugation of the whole of Avendia. Avendia stood on the edge of a blade, one side showing the light of God, and the other the darkness of Satan. The calculated plans to push the realm into darkness were set and finalized, all he needed to do was to open this final door and step through. If there was any doubt within him, any desire to withhold his purpose from his master, now was his final chance to do so. And as much as he hated Satan, he feared him more.
Yes, Jesolin was perhaps the most powerful entity in Avendia; however, he was nothing when compared to the terrible Devil himself. He had no choice, of course, because the Devil allowed none. So complete was his hate within, there was no hesitation. He opened the solid black door and crossed the threshold. Laid out before him was the set of armor blessed by the fluid and viscous black liquid. Satan had said it would amplify his power even more for it was infused with a portion of his own soul. And he felt it pulse with evil intent. Holding the helmet and staring into its eyelets, he inhaled, grasp his hate and snarled, "Let it begin."
Rashios (Rescue).
She vividly remembered the last time she was able to run across the open fields while the summer sun beat its relentless rays upon her back and face. It had been long ago, in an age mostly forgotten by the minds of those still living. There were only a few of them who would remember, and she was one. Not even those who joined her in her current pursuit would recall the day or battle that ensued for they were yet young in their growth; an unfortunate consequence of those of her kin who were rendered dead during the long forgotten battle. Believing they had finally won, and finally could rest in the mists with The Master of The Hunt, she felt the weary weight of knowledge set within her soul when the Call to Hunt was again sounded. She carried the weight of what it meant to answer it heavily and with a solid remorse for she knew what was waiting for them.
Pushing off the ground with legs fresh and strong, she was easily able to leap over the fallen tree that sought to impede their passage. Though their pursuit had been long, spanning miles and miles through the forest and now with the promise of traversing the entirety of the Great Plain as well, their fatigue was limited by their connection to The Hunt. As she landed, she glanced back to admire those who had sought to hunt with her as the commitment of their intent reflected in their acquiescence to The Call. None could resist it, not because it reflected the tyrannical dictates of a forceful and cruel master, but rather, the urgent necessity to join was imparted through the direct connection to the love and commonality of The Huntmaster Himself.
Clawing away at the ground, she was able to cover at least three times her length with each bound; however she had to suppress her desire to embrace the full ability of her physical prowess because her charge, her pack, her companions were still youthful and unable to maintain her furious pace. She grunted and imparted unto them her pride and confidence in their new found abilities. It was important to do this for the young because their identities, though fully realized, did not have solidity on their own. They would still look to her for guidance and confirmation, and she would have to give it to hold them together. Youthful exuberance would bring a much needed dimension to the coming confrontation; however, without their numbers balanced by an equal amount of experience, she feared their ability to replicate the victories of their past Hunts would be jeopardized.
Racing over the plains, she felt and smelled that the distance between her pack and their quarry was decreasing at an unusually rapid rate. For the whole duration of their hunting until this moment, their progress to close the gap had been steady but slow. Now, however, it had changed. A decreasing distance of this speed could mean only one thing. The beast was now racing toward them. Why would it alter its course now? It knew it was outnumbered and faced a strength it could not defeat in battle and as such, wisely chose to prolong its life and flee. So, why now had it decided to end its flight and run toward them? Her Huntmates could sense this too and reflectively slowed to further assess their changing environment. She knew if she slowed, it would convey an uncertainty and lack of the confidence she so effortlessly portrayed before. Seeking to avoid the detriments of doubt, she spurred them on with a few rough and quick grunts. Responding as a dammed river does after the floodgates have been relieved, her pack dug in and increased the speed of their pursuit. Emboldened by her urgency and confidence, their bloodlust for the beast grew in response to their increasing speed. Their quarry was close. They could smell it, taste it, and feel it.
At the far edge of the plains stood a forest thick with its growth and heavy with the large and dark trees standing as giant guardians preventing anything from crossing its borders. Seeing into this forest was impossible, even with their keenly sharp eyes. So she instead extended her Hunt Sense into its depth. She sought to identify the location of the beast they were currently pursuing to prepare her pack for attack, yet what she found confused her. She grunted at her pack and they slowed as she slowed. Moments later, they came to a crawling halt and stood about a mile before the edge of the dark woods. What she felt did not align with what she had felt before. When their pursuit began, she clearly felt one presence, strong and clearly evil, but only one. She reached out to the Hunt Master for confirmation before they began. Receiving the confirmation she sought, they began The Hunt. Yet now, what began as one distinct entity had multiplied to a number exceeding those who ran with her.
Never before had the Hunt Master been wrong when she aligned her focus upon Him. There was no mistake because He Who Knew All Hunts, the very Alpha Hunter, was never mistaken, could never be mistaken. And yet, now He had been. Or perhaps, He was not. Perhaps, what they had followed had indeed been a single entity. And perhaps when it ran into the forest it was still a single entity, and now, perhaps it was still a single entity. But if all that were true, then it could mean only one thing, a trap had been set. And she, in her pride and confidence, or rather arrogance, had led her pack directly into it. But how could the Hunt Master be deceived regarding the intent of their quarry?
As the conclusion of her silent reasoning ending in what would have to remain as an unanswered question, a large beast followed by several more best exploded from the dark trees and began charging toward them. Uncertainty flooded her consciousness and as such, was transmitted to her younger companions. Great beasts resembling huge bipedal stags each carrying impossibly large axes with impossibly muscled limbs were tearing up the distance between them. Warped and unnatural, their heads seemed to have exploded in a set of white horns arranged in chaotic patterns. Their bodies, following the chaos of their horns, offered no logical arrangement of musculature or movement, yet they expressed a fluidity of motion that was at once gracefully beautiful and horribly terrifying. Seeing this horrific image speeding toward them, she was sure of two things: firstly, this was indeed a trap, and secondly, they would die if they stood their ground
The strength of The Hunt was built upon superiority of numbers. Efficient and effective, each pack in The Hunt had its strategy of attack and defense rooted in outnumbering its quarry. But when the ratio of Hunters to hunted became more equally balanced, their weaknesses as individual combatants could be exploited. Because the beasts charging toward them possessed greater inherent strength, The Hunt Master always, always, called forth sufficient numbers to guarantee their victory; however, on this day, it appeare
d the Hunt Master had failed. Judging the numbers of the opposing forces as equal to theirs left her no other conclusion but to run.
She uttered several grunts bonded together with urgency and fear, but her packmates did not respond. The thought of fleeing in place of fighting was so foreign to their collective pack mind, having been built upon ages and ages of successful Hunts that any other idea not containing a strategy for their victory was, on instinct, rejected. And still the beasts charged toward them. Again she issued her commands repeating her guttural insistence, but this time she allowed them to carry the full measure of her desperation at the closing horde. Finally, after what seemed to be too many wasted moments, her pack joined with her in agreement. As one, they turned around and started digging their claws into the ground in the direction from which they came.
She knew they could outrun and outlast the beasts so her fear melted away as did her sense of urgency. Her pack would be free to hunt again another day. But there were other things at work requiring answers. How had so many of the beasts broken through? And how had they come to be organized into a strategic plan? If there were this many, were there more? What would happen to The Hunt now? Clearly they would not be able to conduct The Hunt as they had in the past, and clearly The Huntmaster must be made aware of the changes. She glanced over her shoulder and saw the horde of beasts stop their pursuit. She pressed the pace of her pack seeking to push them again to the limits of their ability. If they did not need to be pushed before, they needed to be pushed now. Things were uncertain, and she had to prepare; they all had to prepare.
Convergence (The Dragon Within Saga Book 1) Page 42