Several years after Elise's death, in the midst of Gaia's greatest war
Year 12118, Era Elyndris
The world burned. Above the crumbling remnants of Vlad, dark columns of smoke clawed at a sky bruised with the colors of dusk. The rancid stench of charred flesh mingled with the metallic tang of blood, while the sickly rot of misguided necromancy hovered like a specter. Fitran and Elbert navigated through the shattered ruins of a city that had once thrived on ancient magic, now reduced to echoes of its former glory, a haunting reminder of what they had lost.
"Vasil, how could it have come to this?" Elbert's voice was strained, thick with the acrid smoke that surrounded him and the guilt that gnawed at his insides.
Vasil lingered by a toppled statue, his gaze sweeping over the horizon's devastation. "You know well, Elbert," he responded, the weight of truth evident in his tone. "Our traditions were never crafted to save us; rather, they bind us like chains, pulling us deeper into despair. The Council's fear, fueled by greed, gave rise to this waking nightmare. We merely played our parts on a stage we thought we could alter."
"But I had faith that we could alter the course," Elbert countered, his words spilling forth in a mixture of frustration and sorrow. "If only we had stood together—" His voice trembled, breaking under the onslaught of haunting memories. "Instead, we shattered into countless pieces. We endeavored to forge a radiant future amid encroaching darkness, and yet it consumed us whole."
"You must learn to forgive yourself, dear friend," Vasil urged gently, his gaze softening as it lingered on the weary lines of Elbert's face, etched by the burdens of the years. "This war we wage is against more than just the enemy that besets our gates; it is a battle against the legacy that clings to our souls as an unwelcome shadow. It breathes still, even among the dead."
Elbert shuddered, the pain reflected like an open wound across his countenance. "And what of the souls we lost? Elise… her name remains, a whisper in every looming shadow. I fought, believing that if I pushed hard enough, I could grant her death a purpose."
Vasil shook his head slowly, a grave understanding settling in the depths of his chest. "You seek atonement, Elbert, yet know this: some debts are eternal, never to be reconciled. We either bear them with stoic resolve, or we succumb beneath their relentless weight. That is the only choice we possess now."
Elbert trembled, his voice a fragile thread as he uttered, "What of the souls we lost? Elise… her name lingers still, a haunting specter in every shadow. I thought, if I fought fiercely enough, her death might hold significance." His eyes shimmered with the weight of unshed tears, the burden of grief almost overwhelming his spirit.
Vasil's head shook slowly, a blend of pity and determination etched upon his weary visage. "You yearn for redemption, Elbert, but some debts do not find closure. We can either carry them, heavy as stone, or we allow them to drag us beneath the tumultuous tide. That is the only choice that remains before us." His voice was a gravelly whisper, laden with the shared anguish of their intertwined fates.
Amidst the lifeless bodies that seemed to silently accuse him, Elbert moved like a specter, each footfall a grim reminder of his failures. "Fitran," he breathed, the name slipping from his lips like a forgotten prayer, as he beheld his companion's silhouette flickering in the errant dance of the flames. "Do you believe dying here is any different for us than for those we've already lost?"
Fitran's response rang out, resolute and unwavering like tempered steel. "Every death is a scar, Elbert. We cannot afford the luxury of guilt now. Our memories, they are our only armor." He gestured toward the tattered banners of Gaia's Royal Guard, now nothing but charred remnants in the wake of dragonfire and dark sorcery. "We rise to fight for those who can no longer stand." Each of his words resonated like a battle cry amidst the suffocating despair.
"And what purpose does it serve?" Elbert shot back, desperation tinging his voice, thick as the mist that clung heavily to the battlefield. "What do we become when this war reaches its weary conclusion? What remains save for a graveyard and a mountain of regrets?" His gaze darted about, as if begging the shadows themselves for an answer.
Fitran's mouth hardened into a firm line. "What's left is the fight. Purpose. Survival. In the chaos of war, meaning is something you must carve out through your actions, not something bestowed upon you like a fading gift." Clenching his fists, he faced the oppressive darkness that enveloped them.
Then came the command, crashing through the air like thunder. "Clear the hall!"
Fitran's voice was unyielding, stirring the soldiers into action. Their boots crunched against the bones and remnants of the fallen, each step echoing like a grim heartbeat against the oppressive silence. Every soldier carried the weight of lives lost, the heavy burden of those they had sworn to defend.
Elbert's mind raged like a storm, tormented by the haunting memory of Elise's last breath. The faces of countless comrades, students who had once laughed and dreamed, twisted like daggers in his gut. "Each step feels like penance," he murmured, his eyes fixed on the ground as if it could offer him solace.
As they neared the heart of Vlad's palace, something raw and primal stirred within him. The towering architecture loomed above them, untouched since the first siege, a silent relic of the terrors that lay within. Before them, a colossal iron door stood, ancient and foreboding, its surface adorned with glyphs from a language long lost to time. Fitran's gaze drilled into Elbert's, an unspoken question hung heavy in the air. "Are you prepared for what lies beyond this threshold?"
"Do we truly have a choice?" Elbert replied, his voice interwoven with both dread and defiance, regret and resolve warring fiercely within his heart.
Fitran grunted, his demeanor resolute as granite. "None worth uttering. Smash it down."
With a piercing wail that echoed through the air, the door relented, collapsing inward and releasing an acrid stench that clawed at their throats like a desperate hand. As they retched and fought against the wave of nausea, they stepped into the consuming darkness, their torches sputtering feebly against the oppressive gloom. Shadows writhed along the walls, where glass tubes loomed ominously, each one a hollow testament to the shattered dreams of resurrection.
Bodies floated listlessly in the thick, putrid fluid—a grotesque tableau of the once-living. Some remnants were nearly human, yet others bore the horrific semblance of twisted nightmares, skeletal jaws and hands grotesquely melded to bone. Elbert could feel the atmosphere thrum with a sinister energy, an unrelenting weight that threatened to smother him.
"It's as if we're treading through someone's waking nightmare," Elbert muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, a tempest of anger and disgust boiling beneath his skin.
At the back, a boy-soldier trembled, his voice a frightened murmur, "Saints have mercy…" The raw terror in his words was palpable, a sharp reminder of their dire situation.
"Mercy?" Fitran echoed, his eyes as cold and unfeeling as stone. "Mercy has been a mere ghost here for far too long," he replied, his voice edged with a steely resolve. "In this darkness, there is no room for it."
Elbert's hand reached toward a rune suspended in a jar, his fingers quaking with a mixture of fear and determination. "These are necrotech protocols," he explained, his voice strained and taut. "Vlad wasn't merely conjuring the dead; he was fashioning soldiers—abominations that cannot die, cannot recall their own existence."
Fitran's voice sliced through the thick air like shards of frost, unwavering. "Fear births monsters. But we cannot falter now," he declared, his gaze locking firmly onto Elbert's, the gravity of their shared history pressing heavily in the space between them.
They advanced cautiously, boots splashing through a grotesque mixture of blood and caustic chemicals. The acrid stench seared their nostrils. Suddenly, a rasping breath pierced the oppressive gloom, swiftly followed by a sickening, wet snap.
From the shattered remnants of a glass tube, a figure slithered out—a horrific mockery of life, with limbs that seemed impossibly elongated, skin as pallid as the grave, and eyes glimmering with insatiable hunger. "What in Gaia's name is that?" Elbert muttered, dread coiling around his heart like a vice.
"Back!" Fitran shouted, sword half-raised, instinct overtaking the paralyzing grip of fear that threatened to overwhelm him.
The boy-soldier froze, his gaze locked in wide-eyed terror. The creature sprang, its jagged teeth sinking mercilessly into his forearm. "Aaaah!" he screamed, dropping his sword as convulsions racked his frail body, dark veins spidering grotesquely beneath his skin.
"Focus!" Fitran bellowed, urgency thick in his voice. "Remember your training!" Yet even he could feel the relentless gnawing of fear seeping into his chest, a shadow he couldn't shake.
The boy's eyes rolled back, the essence of the person he had once been slipping away like grains of sand through their fingers. He jerked upright, the infection burgeoning, now merely a puppet serving something far darker.
"No... Saints, no," Elbert gasped, the tide of horror crashing over him like an unrelenting wave. Memories flashed through his mind—bubbles of laughter, shared lessons—"These aren't mere corpses. They were our comrades—friends, students—turned against us." His voice quivered under the weight of betrayal, barely able to contain the anguish within.
The grotesque, infected figure swayed toward the survivors, its hollow gaze betraying no hint of recognition. Around them, chaos erupted: soldiers cried out in fear, steel blades gleamed menacingly, and arcane spells tore through the air, creating a symphony of desperation and dread. Elbert, his heart heavy with sorrow, raised his hands, magic blazing from his fingertips as he unleashed a bolt of energy toward a former comrade—agony coiling in his gut. "I didn't want this…" he murmured, but the roars of battle drowned out his voice.
"Keep your wits about you!" Fitran bellowed, his voice booming over the tumult. "The decree stands—they are lost! If we falter, we succumb!" His grip tightened around his sword, knuckles stark white, every moment pressing against him with the weight of survival.
Still, Elbert hesitated, grief clutching at his heart like a vice. "I taught them! I instilled hope!" he cried out, his voice wavering as memories surged like a rising tide, threatening to submerge him. His mind was besieged by visions of their once-innocent faces—now twisted, barely recognizable amidst the monstrosities before him.
"We have no choice in this!" Fitran snarled, his blade slicing cleanly through flesh. Ichor sprayed onto the stone floor, sizzling and hissing like a serpent. "Do you wish to stand idle as they rend Gaia asunder? Survive now, grieve later!"
With gritted teeth, Elbert summoned a fire-like magic crackling at his fingertips. "Is this the legacy we strive to protect, Fitran? A foundation built upon despair? Where hope is merely a shimmering facade we wear?"
Unyielding, Fitran's blade rose once more, crashing down with unyielding force. "This isn't merely tradition! It is a matter of rooting out this plague. We cannot waver—block the exits!"
With a flick of his wrist, Elbert summoned a shimmering barrier that sealed off the stairs. Yet, the burden of guilt weighed heavily upon him, as if iron shackles bound his heart. "If we arrive too late... if the contagion spreads, the blame rests squarely on our shoulders. All of it."
Fitran locked gazes with him, his eyes ablaze, marred by streaks of dark blood. "Then we shall see to it that this ends here, Elbert! This is our moment! With every swing, we seize our fate!" He lunged forward, Excalibur slicing through the horde, each strike resonating like a vow to defy the cruel hand of destiny.
"Is this what you wished to become?" Elbert shouted, despair tightening around his heart as yet another friend-turned-monster collapsed before him. "With every spell I cast, am I simply condemning another soul to this madness?"
"Pain is the toll for survival," Fitran rasped, breathless from the toll of battle. "And we shall pay that toll in full. Together, we shall reduce it all to ashes!"
Together, they unleashed chaos upon the world: steel clashing, flames roaring, a cacophony of light and shadow. Glass shattered beneath their feet; spells ignited the air, and the acrid stench of scorched flesh assailed their senses. Elbert's heart felt as though it might fracture, yet his determination solidified, his hands unwavering in the storm of destruction surrounding them.
When the last monstrous form crumpled to the ground, an eerie stillness blanketed the chamber like a heavy shroud, oppressive and all-consuming. The metallic tang of death intertwined with the acrid odor of chemicals, nearly seizing his breath. Fitran leaned wearily against the crumbling wall, his armor a grim tapestry of blackened blood and charred remnants.
"No one must know of the horrors that transpired here," Fitran whispered, his voice scarcely rising above a breath, laced with gravity. "Gaia cannot withstand another necro-plague. Swear it, Elbert—swear that the secrets perish with us."
Elbert nodded slowly, the immense weight of a thousand regrets crashing down behind his eyes like a relentless tide. "I swear it," he replied, his voice thick with emotion. "For Gaia. For Elise... for every soul who has suffered due to this wretched plague."
As Fitran turned, his armor clinked softly, a steely resolve etched upon his face. "We cannot allow this research to slip into the wrong hands, Elbert. Not again."
Elbert's gaze drifted toward the shelf, where waterlogged tomes lay in wait like trapped souls—each sealed with wax bearing the crest of Vlad. His breath caught, memories of their past friendship flickering in his mind like lightning during a tempest. Could there yet be a glimmer of hope to save them? he wondered, desperation clawing at his heart.
"Fitran, hold on," he called, stepping toward the shelf as though it were a sanctuary. "What if there's something—something within these pages that could alter our fate?" The question hung in the air, laden with unspoken possibilities.
Fitran hesitated, his gaze piercing with scrutiny. "Would you truly dare to tread that perilous path? To unravel the chaos left behind by that accursed fool?"
Elbert's grip tightened around a worn notebook, the leather cracked and weathered. "If there exists even a flicker of hope, I cannot forsake it. I cannot forsake them. Look around—this isn't merely a laboratory; it stands as a mausoleum of despair."
"And you believe clinging to his shadowy secrets will resurrect them?" Fitran retorted, irritation simmering beneath his composed exterior. "It might well ensnare us further."
"Or it could serve as our salvation." Elbert's voice sharpened, a storm of turmoil roiling within him, leaving him exposed and raw. "Every road is fraught with danger, yet I shall not allow fear to steer my decisions any longer."
As Fitran turned to obliterate Vlad's scattered records, Elbert stealthily stowed the notebooks within his satchel, a secret withheld even from his most trusted companion. The act weighed heavy upon him, akin to treachery—a solitary stand against the encroaching tide of hopelessness. "We must swift our pace," Fitran insisted, breaking Elbert's reverie. "The shadows draw perilously near."
As they climbed from the sunless depths of the ravaged lab, Elbert felt the oppressive burden of that concealed knowledge press upon him, as if it were a curse binding his very essence. A potential path to redemption—or to everlasting damnation—haunted every step he took, murmuring of sacrifices yet to come.