Blood Immortal

by Paul Centeno

  “Impressive for a humyn,” he said, spitting out blood.

  “Your compliments mean nothing to me,” said Dargain, descending the steps and aiming his swords at Saldovin’s throat. “Your life is at an end.”

  The dark elf snorted, his eyes turning completely black. Shortly after, he raised the dwarf from the dead. Olwe, his boney and ghoulish face tilted, hurled his battleaxe at Dargain’s back, which pierced into his spine. At that precise moment, Saldovin called upon his scimitar by means of telekinesis, flipped back up to his feet, and gutted Dargain.

  “Master!” cried out Aarian.

  Saldovin snapped his fingers, crumbling Olwe’s corpse into dust. “It’s over, humyn. Your kingdom is ruined. Your loved ones are dead. And your pitiful arranged marriage with that filthy Quel’de’nai whore has been overruled. Now it is your turn to surrender. As the last of your kind, you can either join my army as a corpse or—”

  “How about this?” interjected Aarian, using a dagger on his neck to etch the same symbol he’d seen Xel’vakora use to ensnare the demon he’d fought in Grisfall—the nine-pointed star.

  Saldovin, slack-jawed, took a step back. His eyes widening, he raised a hand. “Where did you learn that?” he asked. Before waiting for a response, he went on, “Don’t be a fool, boy. You will only doom yourself by carving that mark on your body.”

  “I am doomed anyway, right?” said Aarian, a demented smirk on his face.

  Not knowing any incantation, he simply charged toward the demonic rift and leapt into it. Saldovin roared in defiance, trying to use telekinesis to push him back. Yet it was too late. In that instant, Aarian froze in midair, trapped within the fiery portal. When that occurred, the sizzling flames of hell enveloped him. The prince screamed in agony, his body ablaze. Saldovin, horror in his eyes, abandoned the chamber.

  Just then, a shockwave of fire formed and blew out of Aarian’s floating body. The ceiling exploded as a horrendous explosion erupted. Fal’shar turned into an inferno and began to tremble and crumble apart. During this time, Saldovin had managed to reach the cove below and boarded a schooner with his remaining followers.

  “Set sail,” he said with urgency. “This land is now damned and belongs to Izabaldo. We must now gather the other clans. Then we leave for Lar’a’dos.”

  The dark elves cheered despite the earthquake at hand, rocks falling into the murky water and causing the waves to sway wildly. Obeying him, they raised the anchor and sailed out of the collapsing cavern, leaving the misty cove. In due time, they approached one of many coastal villages where the rest of their brethren resided, waiting for Saldovin to come and command them to invade Lar’a’dos.

  Saldovin gazed at Fal’shar one last time. “Prince Aarian has damned himself,” he said grimly. “No mortal can survive such a thing.”

  In the meantime, the prince remained floating in the summoning chamber. Continuing to scream in excruciating pain, horns grew on his forehead. Aarian’s body deformed, replete with muscles and skin as red as blood. Tears fell from his fiery eyes as he stared at Dargain’s corpse. Never did he think his mentor could die. Although irrational, he had always thought of him as a Spirit in disguise, wisely guiding him in the form of a humyn but truly an immortal. His naivety, however, was at an end, along with the once majestic world of Yunedar, he conceded. These were his final thoughts before absorbing the demonic hell rift into his soulless body, cursing himself for all eternity.

  ACT II

  REDEMPTION

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  SERPENTINE VOYAGE

  On the following day, Aarian awoke under rubble. He gasped, rising up and smashing his head against debris. Barely able to breath, he tried pushing boulders aside with his bruised hands. He groaned in pain, using his remaining strength in a feeble attempt to free himself. Yet nothing moved. Realizing how useless this was, he stopped.

  Miserable with himself, he decided to simply suffocate and die along with the world. He wanted no part of this demonic era; an era in which humyns were extinct; an era where Vlydyn had become a living hell, infested with demons. Closing his eyes, he lay in the rubble, wheezing and hoping he wouldn’t have to suffer too much longer. Waiting to die in the pitch-black hole, he eventually fell unconscious.

  One week later, he awoke again. He screamed in frustration, wondering why he was still alive. Then he heard pieces of rocks being thrown. At first he thought he’d been losing his mind. But indeed someone or something was lifting the stones aside.

  “No,” he mumbled. “Leave me be. I deserve to die here.” Still, the rocks were being lifted. “Please stop,” he continued weakly, coughing.

  Within an hour, the rocks above him were picked up. Gray light beamed into his sensitive red eyes. Turning sideways, his wavy crimson hair partially blocking the light, he was able to see a radiant figure standing over him, extending a hand. Not knowing why, Aarian grabbed it and rose from his would-be grave. He gasped, falling to the surface of the rubble while breathing in fresh air.

  “U’cleria, have mercy,” blurted a feminine voice behind Aarian. “Look at his hair. What happened to him?”

  “Did you see his eyes?” said another voice, more masculine.

  “Spirits be damned,” coughed Aarian, his red irises gleaming less. “I wanted to die.” He furiously stood up, turning around to those who had rescued him as he asked, “By the wretched Nine, why did you save me?”

  His answer was a slap to the face. The light diminished, and the radiant figure in front of him darkened. His eyes less sensitive, he looked at the person in dismay and realized it was none other than Xel’vakora who had saved him. Also standing beside him was Parla’vasa and a tribe of centaurs wielding spears. Aarian gazed at them intriguingly, noticing their thick dreadlocks, war paint, bulky muscles, furry bodies, and hooves.

  “Have you regressed back to being a child or are you still the same man I started to care about after slaying the dragon in Tor’kales?”

  “Princess Parla’vasa?” uttered Aarian in disbelief. “Forgive me,” he added, kneeling. “I failed everyone. You were right all along. We should’ve never come here. Lar’a’dos should have been our destination.”

  “No,” she said. “It is I who seeks forgiveness.”

  “I beg your pardon?” responded Aarian, confused and rising to his feet.

  “Thanks to your courage, the rift has been sealed,” she said. “Yet there’s still so much to be done. The demons that have entered our realm infest Vlydyn, and the centaur’s chieftain has personally told me that he witnessed Saldovin Keldoran and his clans embark into the Crey’falen Ocean.”

  “That leads to Lar’a’dos,” said Aarian pensively. “I assume Saldovin plans to invade the Quel’de’nai and take over your homeland.”

  “We must stop this at once,” said a centaur gruffly.

  “Centaurs are helping us?” said Aarian. “I am impressed.”

  “My name is Krekor,” said the centaur chieftain. “With the exception of Xel’vakora and his clan, the Mor’vyi’dou have always kept us at bay in our woods. Now the demons have taken even that away from us. Ula’veth and Grisfall are simply wastelands, as is the rest of Vlydyn. Our only way to survive is to settle in the forests of Lar’a’dos.”

  “For your help,” began Parla’vasa, “I promise you a beautiful new home in a wilderness near Chevirith, our capital.”

  “We are forever in your debt, Princess of the Quel’de’nai,” said Krekor, bowing.

  “I just want to know one thing,” said Aarian, glaring harshly at Xel’vakora. “How come you never told us Saldovin was your brother?”

  The dark elf cast his eyes down on the rubble. “You would have never trusted me. I have always been at odds with him. Telaria, my sister, was so beautiful. And though we didn’t always see eye to eye, she respected my ways. Then she forfeited her own life for the sake of Saldovin’s hatred. She was nothing more than a pawn to him. He brainwashed and sacrificed his own sister to Izabaldo. And for what? Our ho
meland lies in ruin. The demons won’t stop here. Surely they will betray him and corrupt all of Yunedar.”

  “And so you aided us, hoping that together we could stop Saldovin?” asked the prince, astonished. Upon seeing Xel’vakora nod, Aarian went on, “Well, I think any other Mor’vyi’dou would have vomited by now if they were lying. I have never heard of dark elves speaking with compassion before.”

  “You’re mistaken to think I am weak,” said Xel’vakora. “I simply care for my own kind and realize that despite the differences we have with other races, demons will never help solve that problem.”

  “Indeed,” said Aarian. “I trust you. Furthermore, you saved my life more than once.” He observed the region, only seeing burnt trees and rubble. “What now?”

  “Now we leave on Xel’vakora’s ship,” replied Parla’vasa.

  “What ship?” responded Aarian, gazing at the destroyed wharf and empty shoreline. “I don’t see it anywhere.”

  “It’s moored at my village,” said Xel’vakora, approaching a centaur.

  “Climb up,” said Krekor, lowing himself.

  To Aarian’s surprise, the centaurs were allowing him and his remaining companions to ride on them. He mounted onto Krekor’s back and held on tight. Once the princess and dark elf were on other centaurs, they galloped south along the shore, avoiding the tainted ashy forest of Ula’veth at all costs.

  While riding on the chieftain, Aarian gazed skyward and realized that the demons had in fact stopped invading. Even though the demonic sky had dissipated, it remained dark and cloudy. Looking over at Ula’veth, he also noticed that most of the trees in the region had been burnt to the ground. Sizzling trunks were all that remained. Aarian felt nauseous, staring at the remnants of a once rich continent that used to be full of life. Now it became a spirit-forsaken land where demons roamed, killing anything alive.

  “We’ll need an army to defeat Izabaldo and his legion of demons,” said Aarian. “Princess Parla’vasa, will your people help?”

  “I have no doubt,” she said. “But first we must deal with the Mor’vyi’dou.”

  “Right,” he said, tightening his fists.

  He recalled how his mentor had died: the ignoble magic of a comrade’s axe plunging into his back and a scimitar piercing into his stomach. Teary eyed, Aarian gritted his teeth, vowing to track down Saldovin and make him pay for such heresy. His rage was so intense that his irises gleamed dark red, veins unnaturally bulging from his skin. He closed his eyes, feeling a terrible pain in his chest, and breathed deeply. Aarian was scared—not necessarily afraid of what might harm him but, rather, what might be dwelling within him. Breathing deeply, embracing the wind, and trying to forget about Fal’shar, he managed to calm himself.

  Looking ahead, he spotted a settlement where Xel’vakora’s clan and Krekor’s centaurs fought together to fend off undead humyns. Though most of the village had been decimated, a few homes near the shoreline and dock remained. Yet waves upon waves of undead relentlessly swarmed toward the village. Merely stepping on the ground beneath them defiled it, making the land unfertile. Centaurs threw javelins into their chests while the dark elf clan launched arrows at them.

  “Xel’vakora has returned!” shouted one of the dark elves.

  A cheer ignited despite the oncoming ghouls. As soon as Xel’vakora and his companions arrived, one of the elven archers blew a horn, waving atop the ship’s lubber hole. Dozens of dark elves withdrew from the battle, boarding the ship. Krekor’s tribe galloped aboard too, but a few stayed behind to defend the others. Aarian stared at the invasion of undead fiends with his mouth wide open, an expression of absolute horror on his frail face.

  “This is all my fault,” he muttered.

  “I beg to differ,” said Krekor, hearing the prince.

  Leaning his head against the chieftain’s upper furry back, he replied, “If only I was brave enough to decline the arranged marriage. Then none of this would have ever happened. But no, I had to be so damn indecisive and passive. Now, because of my actions, everyone I knew is dead. And worse, the rest of the world is in grave danger because of my foolishness.”

  “Prince Aarian,” began Krekor grumpily, “I believe you are not to blame for this. Such a proposal was created by others in power—the Quel’de’nai rulers and your parents. You are not to blame, so pull yourself together and help the rest of my tribe reach the ship.”

  Before the prince could agree, the centaur chieftain charged at an approaching swarm of undead. After stomping over a few ghouls and kicking others from behind with his hind legs, the prince unsheathed his sword and struck sidelong, decapitating an undead humyn.

  “Rest in peace,” he whispered, watching the headless corpse fall.

  Aarian continued to strike down as many ghouls as he could while the chieftain galloped around the settlement, launching arrows with his bow. Never did Aarian think he’d be riding on a centaur, more so the two of them fighting on the same side. After blocking multiple side attacks with his embossed shield and riposting using his crystal sword, he spotted Parla’vasa launching arrows of her own while on a centaur who was hurling javelins at the enemies.

  “What in Gar’kon’s name are we waiting for?” asked Xel’vakora angrily, looking at his crew. “Get us the hell out of here!”

  The horn blew again, signaling to raise the anchor. At that point, the remaining centaurs on land cantered onto the dock and boarded Taeldelan, the schooner that belonged to Xel’vakora. With so many centaur archers on the deck, they were able to hold back the undead humyns from leaping aboard. There were numerous dark elves along the footropes rigging Taeldelan’s cordage and masts, allowing the vessel to swiftly sail away.

  Another cheer broke out as they safely left Vlydyn and embarked on a voyage that would take them across the eastern hemisphere of Yunedar to the western continent of Lar’a’dos. The waves were a bit chaotic at first from the sudden departure but eventually unruffled when Xel’vakora’s ship distanced itself from the tainted kingdom. In due time, the boat stopped swaying and evenly sailed west.

  During this time, Aarian dismounted the centaurs’ chief and stepped over to the bow of the vessel. Alone, he stared at the water while the others celebrated with food and drink. Aarian wasn’t sure how they could have an appetite after experiencing such a dreadful battle, but that was just his opinion. Then, to his surprise, Parla’vasa joined him.

  “Why are you standing here alone?” she asked. “Aren’t you hungry?”

  “I lost my craving to eat after seeing my people turned into lifeless husks,” he said glumly.

  “There’s no sunset to watch,” she said.

  “I don’t mind,” he said. “This view is the only serenity available to me. Everything and everyone has been taken from me. I have nothing left in this world, not even the damned Nine; they have forsaken me.”

  “Don’t say that,” she said, her voice tender. Looking at him sympathetically, she spotted the nine-pointed star carved into his neck. “What did Saldovin do to you?”

  His reddish eyes downcast, he touched the magical rune on his skin and replied, “This was my doing. I’m no wizard, but it’s supposed to represent the divine immortals. I thought this would thwart more demons from entering our realm.”

  “You thought right,” she said, smiling. “Though it did something strange to your body,” she went on, drawn to his hair and eyes, “you nonetheless succeeded.”

  “But at what cost?” he asked, staring at his pale hands.

  “You needn’t worry any longer,” she said, stroking his hair. “If you won’t eat, then I beg you to rest.”

  Feeling her gentle touch greatly quelled his anxiety and fear. Although he still thought of Belisa, he didn’t want the elven princess to stop. When she did, he sighed heavily and looked out into the sea one last time before turning around and gesturing for her to lead the way. Parla’vasa then guided him downstairs to one of the many bedchambers. She didn’t dare enter with him, but she at least hugged
him before leaving.

  “Thank you,” he whispered to her.

  “Of course,” she replied softly. “Sleep well.”

  “I’ll try,” he said, bowing.

  After watching her enter another room to sleep, he closed his door and was about to lay on the bed when he took notice of a cheval mirror with calligraphy etched along the frame. The last time he’d looked at himself was in his royal quarters on his wedding day. Though only three weeks had passed, it seemed to him as if that precious morning had been a year ago. In the blink of an eye, his life had changed. He was utterly frightened to stare at himself in the mirror. Aarian nevertheless swallowed his fear and stepped forward, gazing at his reflection.

  His wavy, crimson hair and glistening-red irises weren’t as bad as he thought. Perhaps this was because he’d been told about them. He closed his eyes and gently rubbed his marked neck when a vision of hellfire abruptly flashed within his feeble mind. Gasping, he opened his eyes; the inferno was gone. That instant, he felt a strange irritation on his left cheek. Scratching his face, it started to peel. Aarian shrieked, blood splurging out. His heart pounded madly, sweat pouring down his forehead. He then screamed in agony as more skin peeled off, horns jutting from his scalp. Eyes blazing; skin bulging; wings growing from behind; his whole body burst, Izabaldo emerging and roaring from the torn flesh.

  Not a second later, upon blinking, Aarian found himself back to normal. Though his hair and eyes were still a reddish tinge, and his skin as pale as a wraith, he nonetheless felt healthy. Aarian unsheathed his glossy sword and struck the mirror, shattering it. He then slumped while lamenting.

  “Damn it all,” he groaned, sobbing.

  Aarian collapsed onto the bed, shriveling into a fetus position. Candles eventually burned out as he wept, dimming the chamber. Something awful hid deep within him, haunting the fabric of his existence. There was no doubt about it, he conceded. The thought of slitting his own throat crossed his mind. Gripping the handle of his weapon, he desperately wanted to end his wretched life. The desire to avenge his loved ones was the only reason why he didn’t do it. Sniveling and shuddering uncontrollably, he wasn’t able to fall asleep until two hours passed.