The Wielder of Death Magic

Port Dawn, for better or for worse, was somewhat advanced. People rode in carriages within the town’s confine. Ships lined the harbor, many others line the seascape onward to the setting sun. The slope eased, and Gophy exhaled a heavy sigh. “-My,” she blinked, “-never thought I’d have to sleep the day.”

“Certainly was a break Poseidon deserved,” chuckled Avon. They arrived at a nearby motel – the ethereal carriage vanished into a lantern holder, or so it seemed. The lid chimed shut, leaving the gods to observe in wonder.

“I did say the carriage was magic,” added a satisfied Avon, “-I have business here,” they stood before a growing line of shops and buildings, most of the current street was built, expansion carried in the distance – clangs, and drills mixed with slurs of the offensive kinds.

“Yeah, I suppose,” the gods exchanged nods, and thus, it came time for their journey to end, “-been a pleasure traveling,” said Gophy.

“The pleasure is mine,” returned Avon, “-drop by our place anytime. I’m sure the wife would love the company. As for you,” he stepped into Poseidon’s ear and whispered, “-Outeh had a lot of compliments. You’ve spoiled the man to love another, better take responsibility.”

“Ha,” he threw a snarky grin, “-I belong to no one save the ocean.”

.....

“Cool,” resumed a sarcastic response, “-until we meet again.”

There, as night fell onto the town space, Gophy and her travel companion arrived at yellow-orange lit windows peering onto the asphalt. A soft reflection, one backdropped by an area ruled through money and influence – the same ol’ story as any growing area.

“Clockwork Workshop,” read an artistically pleasing building – font painted by hand with excellent penmanship, they entered the strange shop. Inside, multiple inventions laid bare in the color of bronze and gold. A few assistants exchanged glances, many of caution and few of intrigue – the walls lived in beige, the shelves and open spaces left for the viewing pleasure of visitors. Complex cogs and wheels, many seem akin to the innards of a mechanical watch, though, they all shared different purposes.

Curtains parted, a long and sharp outline exited, their hair curved as heavily as some of the reflective surface – a golden-thin to the hair added quite the impression. They gazed at the duo then ambered to the counter, where, after setting their hands onto the surface, rose an eyebrow at the customers, “-welcome to the clockwork shop.”

“My name’s Gophy,” narrowed the goddess, “-must I go deeper?”

“Ah, lady Gophy,” the stern expression relaxed – same as a dog saw their master – the once associated rigidness of the posture faded, “-lord Artanos told of thy arrival. We didn’t expect it to be so soon,” no warning, they immediately took Gophy’s hand and rode straight for the back. She then realized after checking the entity that they were no usual beings. Rigidness was mechanical – they didn’t walk, legs were present to give the illusion of motion, however, as books aren’t meant to be judged by their cover – the feet were wheels.

*Inventor’s hell,* read the bronze plate, the back room opened to an area far past the limit. A whole new world opened, a factory of many workers, automatic hands, and pipes.

“Welcome to the inventor’s paradise.”

“What about the bronze plate?”

“To be confined in a place where one’s work is constantly compared by others; abundance of talent can therefore become a curse for the untalented,” they stopped and rotated, “-to my lady Gophy, we humbly pledge this workshop to thy efforts. From today onward, you’re our leader, our queen, and our goddess.”

“Nice,” commented a rougher Poseidon, “-this could be used to slaughter plenty ‘o foes.”

“Right,” she breathed, steadied her stance, and looked about. There was much to the finer details – the workshop truly lived as was pictured, a place of invention and innovation, “-let’s get to it,” a loud steamy hurl shut the door – and so, Gophy and Poseidon embarked onto their new journey within Orin.

Rosespire, Riaz’ plea for aid remained as a word from a powerless democrat. Days elapsed, and the king’s office held plenty, “-addition of new ministries, approval for the new budget, and allocation of funds for military advancements. Add Raven’s acquisition of Syhton’s companies and shares, her property, and belonging. I’m run thin as is,” a fatigued gasp escaped, “-Igna,” jet-black hair entered, “-Syhton,” he threw a smile, “-back from your trip?”

“Yeah,” she stretched, placing emphasis on her chest and well-defined female features, “-Plaustan is honestly heaven on earth. Tell me, Igna, why not take a break once in a while?”

“I wish,” he hung on a particular report, “-to Igna Haggard, member of the Blood king’s faction and inheritor of the first progenitor’s blood, we, council of clan leaders, request an immediate audience.”

The king’s shadow covered Syhton’s face, “-what’s the matter?” she asked, casting a look of care, “-are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” overcoat in hand, “-I’m needed in Glenda. Be a darling and send notice to éclair.”

“Oh no you don’t,” she snatched his collar and pulled, forcing him to turn. Lips pressed, “-now you can go,” she smiled, her fragrance told of the sweet aroma of blood, “-did you drink the blood of a virgin?”

“You can tell?”

“Yeah, of course, I can tell,” he wiped his mouth, “-don’t do anything I wouldn’t,” one step out, “-Syhton, I need a favor.”

“Do tell,” soft words exchanged,” -a trip to Claireville Academy sounds fun. It shall be done,” they parted ways. He flew through the night, landing past midnight at a remote airfield.

“This place sure is desolate,” he exited to a draft of dirt-filled air. The jet’s cargo hold lowered, ‘-nice,’ he straddled a fast-looking machine and stormed along the trailed paths. Glenda, the second capital of Arda, differed extremely from Rosespire. No noise nor blinding lights – the fortified town radiated within the town wall, ‘-a torch?’ passed his thought.

‘Adventurers,’ he observed, ‘-must be returning from quests. Good to know the smell of ale, sweat, and rust shan’t disappear soon.’ Bards played their hearts – drunkards sang and danced outside of pubs and taverns. Merchant stalls were shut, enclosed shops served much of what one might need. ‘-Now this is a glitch,’ he stopped on way to the inner town, ‘-a modern pharmacy instead of an alchemist’s shop. Guess modern medicine’s better than random assortments of herbs... then again, without potions, the career of adventurer might as well go dull,’ a stall compromised of potions, ‘-and there I go assuming things.’

Castle innards; “-where are those messengers?”

“They were dispatch to the town hall. Lady Alta, what are we to do in response to Noctis’ Hallow’s request?”

“I don’t know,” she pressed her forehead, “-we sent word to the capital. It had to happen now.”

“It’ll take a while for someone to arrive from the capital,” commented one of her assistants.

“Depends on our king... if the whims taken his path elsewhere... I despair.”

“What about my whims?” a thunderous voice strode along the corridor, the bustling slowed, “-Alta, been a while.”

“MAJESTY!”

“There, calm your horses,” he rose a palm, “-tell me about what’s happened?” her present entourage seamlessly dispersed. Quietness allowed for a moment’s respace, “-majesty, mind joining me on a little promenade?” From the warm interior, they climbed a watchtower and exited upon the wall walk. Here, as the wind blew coldly, her words fell even colder, “-the nightwalkers may be in danger.” A shiver crawled up the spine, “-nightwalkers are in danger?”

“There have been reports of powerful nightwalkers being killed and stripped of their immortality. The latter doesn’t affect vampires. As the first progenitor shares her blood – and as it’s transferred and diffused – regardless of rank, a nightwalker has the inherent ability to harm a higher entity. This alone is enough to raise eyebrows.”

“Why was I requested urgently?”

“That tale is best be recounted by the clan leaders. They’re presently at the town hall, I’m not sure, we had a meeting earlier. Aurora should be there handling paperwork.”

“And my aunt?”

“She’s taken no interest in the matter. Her hands are tied leading an underground war against the Mafioso of the Northeast.”

“Snow?”

“-and Cimier,” she added.

“What are your thoughts?”

“My thoughts,” she stopped and leaned, catching the sound of passing stream, “-it’s all too coincidental. I’m not very up to date on the palace’s affairs – Celina’s death did catch me by surprise. Similar to how they were killed... I get the feeling the same strings are at play. Conspiracies, the life, and blood of an intrigue-fueled kingdom. Sometimes I do think what if our cards were revealed, what if we became transparent,” she trailed her voice, “-rambling of the tired mind. Please, majesty, head to the town hall, you may yet catch Aurora.”

‘This sensation,’ a strange aura pulled, “-Alta, head inside,” wings sprouted, “-SEND REINFORCEMENT TO THE TOWNHALL!” he flapped, the wall trembled, ‘-the timing was perfect,’ he roughly grabbed onto a thin nape and dove, “-FOUND YOU,” he crashed into a hillside, ‘-the presence, the feeling... to think my reason for expanding a mana detection spell would come in so handy,’ he knelt atop an unknown figure; it harbored strange wings, “-who are you?” mysterious figure turned and narrowed, ‘-yellow eyes drowned in a sea of black.’

“Speak,” he ordered, nothing, ‘-a clockwork fighter,’ quick to examine the entity, ‘-blood-soaked hands, don’t tell me,’ quick to look back -distant chaos spoke volumes, “-will you speak?” he pressed to no avail, fingers mildly dug into the skin, “-don’t have time for this,” the grip tightened, bones snapped – little resistance fell for idleness.

Back at the Town-Hall, a crowd of troubled officials gathered at the front, “-help, somebody help,” they cried, Igna landed shortly after and stormed against the crowd.

Alta’s worried face stared into the corridor, “-what’s the matter?”

A blank expression remained, he turned the corner to a bloodied mess. Aurora’s body was nailed to the wall, her entrails scaped the floor, her chest sliced down the middle, her inner organs were out for all to see, she blinked her near-death pupils, “-not on my watch,” he entered with a snap, unwanted guests were pulled, the door locked and the windows shut, *Watchers, spectators, names ring high and low, us, unknown to the world’s reality, unknown to the world’s knowledge, have lived in utter solemness for millennia to come and go. Watcher of the Shadow Realm, beckons my might to be fully materialized without prejudice, reality is but my playground, neither god nor demon shall overcome my authority, face me in stride, face me in fear, reality’s what I wish it to be for knowledge is the true strength: Realm Expansion, Shadow Realm Variant – Rantiam.*

Colors faded to grey, “-long time no see, Aurora.”

The lass gave no response, “-seems I was here just in time,” he stopped at her rather open posture and stared, a sword sliced gently through reality, “-ah, I should have known,” said a familiar voice.

“Undrar seems I left the door open for the death reaper. Care to strike a deal?”

“One with the devil?” she climbed from her horse and stared, “-yeah, no thanks.”

“How bad can it be?” he leaned beside Aurora, “-she was assaulted by one of Artanos’s minions, I killed it. I guess I was here in time – now I’m certain Artanos’ involved. Undrar, I’ll be reviving my comrade in a newer body, is that alright?”

“Sorry?”

“Soul Transmigration,” he said, “-once a person’s life essence is trapped within the Shadow Realm, they’ll be subject to that domain’s laws.”

“And practically making them immortal in other dimensions. Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Aurora’s soul passed – a golden orb shimmered.

*Living or dead, I invite all to the realm of absurdity, serve me and my companions, be one of a greater family. Forgo of the past and look towards the future, one in which thou art be immortal and without regret. Box of Soul: Shadow Realm Transmigration.*