The Wielder of Death Magic

Chapter 754: Déjà vu

By the time he crossed into the tavern’s not so admirable seating area, the priestess, hidden under her hooded robe, sat with a menu sprawled onto her face. Slid into the L-shape seat, he faced she who had her attention firmed onto the alcoholic-drink section.

“Demoness, I’ve arrived.”

“I see,” the large cardboard laid onto the table, she fixed her fist onto a sightly crinkled edge, “-I want to order some rum.”

“This early in the morning?”

“Yes,” the hood fell backward, to which affectionately shaped eyelashes and a slight sneer, landed on the displayed diagram, “-I want that,” she smiled.

‘Photos in this day and age?’ paused to stare, ‘-looks like there’s more to Draebala than imagined.’ “Fess up.”

“No need for impatience,” she replied smoothly, “-have thee read the letters?”

.....

“No?”

“Read them meanwhile I wait for the cocktails.”

“Understood,” he reluctantly resummoned the letters, residual darkened energy dissipated with a few shake of the hands, ‘-let’s see.’

The first, addressed by Mayor of Tariel to Igna Haggard, “-Greetings, I hope the little message of mine finds thee well. Then again, I do wish I could have done more to present the letter in a more dignified manner. Long story short, the priestess of mine is a rather tricky individual, by heart, I’d like to think she’s a good person, however, her actions and usefulness elapse the dubious personality. God forbid you to meet at a tavern or anywhere remote, if there’s alcohol, I shudder thinking about her habits. No matter, I’m glad to say the faction of which my late-cousin June controlled has been relinquished. Brings me joy, at last, I can fully exert my powers over the town. The village will be rewarded for their cooperation in unveiling the scheme. This lady, Aulia, no matter her appearance, is subject to my son’s fancy – I’m not one to care for noble-blood, thereon, I wish to convey this, he will pursue her in his own time, and if they fall in love, I’ll be a happy father no matter his partner. Time is short, I wish I could have done more to aid in thy quest. Once again, thank you very much, might not seem apparent -death comes with more life. Last thing, the priestess, if she is deemed worthy to accompany thee in thy journey, do have her drop by the town hall, we ought to discuss the replacement,” signed, Tohha Jone Currinda. The paper swiftly folded, a cast over the envelope showed the priestess, inebriated at the mere thought of booze, patiently waited, her fingers interlocked and laid atop the table.

The next letter, “-Hello master Igna, perhaps the title is bolder than first appears. I’ve never written formal letters before, this is hard. I’ll cut to the chase and say sorry and thank you. Thank you for rescuing me and sorry for my uncle’s behavior, you were pulled into family affairs without reason. I now know that my father isn’t the evil dictator I painted in my head, he’s a kind man whose resolve is that of a hero going to battle against death. No matter the outcome or circumstances, I vow to make the town and the allied village grow and prosper. Until we meet again, I wish thee a good trip. So long, friend, and about my soul, tis still yours.”

‘Brat,’ smirked a half-smile, the display dropped to a frown upon sighting the waiter who ambled, balancing a few drinks atop a mat-brown plate.

“Here’s your order,” he said.

“Awesome, here it is,” she fully drooled, “-don’t mind if I do,” one after another, she inhaled the drinks, no volume nor outwardly strong scent swayed her feelings – a true veteran at work else a radically sad person who’d drown their sorrows in alcohol for a moment’s bliss.

“I read the letter,” the white rectangles vanished, “-Priestess, time to speak.”

“Where should I start,” she paused, whilst a blue-haired outline exited the darkened shadow of the stairway, her fiercely light-blue pupils locked, the ears flashed as did her eyebrows, “-Igna,” she scurried to his seat and ordered.

“How about we talk about a doubt you had,” her mug rested onto the moist table, “-there must have been events which are somewhat similar to what has been experienced before, you know, a déjà vu. Herein ties the link of strong emotions to the realm we call Draebala – events happen for a reason, a minute amount of occurrence often materializes by the will, conscious or not, of a person or else sentient being. Similarity can be drawn to certain events, think, isn’t their one which stands above the rest?”

“I thought it was weird,” he returned, “-after I paid a visit to my friend’s grave, Fenrir’s strong image stayed with me. I never figured much of it, she was the first-ever strong companion I made, someone who never waver or leave, her adoration and admiration were ones I couldn’t ever repay or properly thanked.”

“-And, tell me this, where did you meet, remember the circumstances?”

“We fought at a mountain-”

“Looks like you’ve figured the answer,” said a smug smile, “-onto the real truth of the realm. Igna, would it baffle thee if I said Draebala is a representation of your world?”

“Care to elaborate?”

“Keep the thought warm. Draebala is by all means the previous incarnation of your world. The technology, the magic, they were all once part of the realm, people lived in relative peace – protected by Kronos’s mighty power. Then came the war, and everything changed, a massive battle involving the domains of power between Zeus and Kronos ended in the latter’s defeat. The story should be known, to cut right into the heart of the matter, this realm and yours are fundamentally linked. If we take light and dark, Draebala is to be the darkness whilst Orin is to act as light. Thee both share the priority of being first to Creation; here’s the reason why magic is sternly prominent.”

“-And, should I care?”

“I suppose not,” she exhaled disappointedly on his anti-climactic response, “-I thought you’d exclaim and be amazed.”

“I’m sorry for not caring,” he shrugged, “-I understand this, Draebala is important in the greater picture, it maintains the balance of power, doesn’t it.”

“Seems to me you know more than is shown.”

“Hiding one’s ability is primordial,” he looked towards Fenrir, she ate peacefully without care to the conversation, her hunting instinct locked onto a large slab of meat. Say what one might, regardless of the muddied appearance and grim expression on the workers, people flocked to taste the food, “-let’s go over the reason why I’m here,” he smiled, “-what’s your rank and true title, Yuio Kinoa.”

Her chin rose as did her horns, the tame intent in her gaze glazed, “-Yuio Kinoa, Mid-tier demoness of intrigue.”

“A very smug title – tis a blatant proclamation to being the queen of schemes.”

“Accurate,” she smiled, “-I won’t say otherwise.”

“And, you work for a noble as a priestess, what a shame.”

“Are you making fun of me?”

“Yes I am,” he leered, “-Yuio Kinoa, I have an offer – I will need the answer right away. How would you like to join my faction and depart for Orin?”

“Go on, list me the advantages,” said she intently.

“How about I list my companions,” her stare narrowed, suspicion washed the flushed expression, “-Goddess of Chaos; Gophy, Goddess of Fire, inheritor to Rah; Intherna, Guardian of time; Miira, Queen of Demons; Lilith. Asmodeus, the prince of lust and gambling, Mammon the prince of greed and wealth, Beelzebub, lord of flies, Archangel Raphael, just to name a few.” Silence said it all, the drinking escapade ended – the last mug dropped.

“Are you insane?” she rose and grabbed his collar, “-how dare you casually list such powerful entities so calmly, even if tis truth, one mustn’t take their name lightly!”

“Cut it,” he held and pinched her wrist into letting go, “-they’re my companions, part of a bigger family,” his grip eased, “-how about this; as the demoness of intrigue, how about a greater battlefield where failure and schemes stand around each corner. A fight to outfox similarly devious individuals,” the compelling look of sternness forced her back into the chair.

“Tell me more.”

“A world where money makes or breaks someone’s status on the social hierarchy. Nations fight proxy wars, kingdoms struggle between inner and outer peace – a place where one’s force of might in intellect dictates the standing. Consider the ploy and the mayor conducted and amplify it on a nation-wide level, the chessboards move, and change, failure isn’t an option.”

“I’m not convinced.”

“You don’t need to be,” he shrugged, “-the balls in thy court, I care not if thee joins. From the ploy I experienced, you wouldn’t survive a moment from where I hail. I’ve seen strategist be bested at the last possible instant.”

“What about you, have you been bested?”

“Multiple times and I’m not ashamed to say so. However, I lost in a way which meant I’d take the brunt of the fall, as a result, the empire and company I started, flourished until our world’s current state.”

The table shook, Fenrir’s locked onto the entrance, “-bad,” she said, “-a strong presence approaches.”

*BANG,* the street exploded in dust and rubble forcing its way inside, a pebble hit a guest the next table over, blood gushed, the expression went numb, life drained in the few seconds he gasped. *ACHOO,* the risen dust and noise had many hide under their table, “-we’re under attack,” commented Yuio.

“Very astute observation,” remarked Igna, “-Fenrir, can you sense anything?”

“Strong people, angels. If they aren’t stopped, the people will suffer, the killing intent is palpable,” she growled.

‘Angels,’ the eyes shut, the auras of the surprise guests blatantly exuded, ‘-strong is an understatement, the aura’s on par to a god.’

“They’ve eaten the fruit of Zem,” she observed, the dust settled, moans and murmurs of the scared snuck in-between the distant explosions, “-damned devils,” she gritted.

“You do know you’re a demon, right?”

“I know,” she side-glanced, “-which is why I use the term devil to define those who nonchalantly destroy and kill, they’re the worse of the worse, the Eipea Empire,” hidden on all-fours, “-I’m going to fight,” she clawed under the table and onto the bloodied floor, a few unconscious bodies laid waiting for death, “...”

“You’re weak for a demoness,” whispered Igna, “-leave the fighting to us. Yuio, I shall make the same offer I did to Yognl,” he stared her straightly, the vampiric allure added to the paleness and sharpened facial features, “-doth thee dare plea and offer thine, soul, to the devil?”

“If you swear to help the people and win against the attackers, I promise I’ll do anything thee wish.”

“Your request has been heard,” he rose abruptly, rubbles flung inside, *cling,* Orenmir slid to seamlessly slice the projectiles, “-leave the fighting to us,” the tied hair unfolded, the brownish hue displaced for white and crimson, a deathly aura of a dormant monster sprawled in waves. Fenrir, a mere child moments ago, grew to stand shoulder to shoulder, “-remember thy promise, demoness,” they stormed into the battered street; opposite buildings were crushed, ‘-a meteor shower?’ he glanced up to three prominent goldenly lit outlines.

“Such pests, we should have taken action earlier.”

“Waste not breath, brother, she’s here somewhere, we fight the heir of Rah, steal her symbol of power, and grow to join the ranks of the Golden Empire.”

“Summon another wave of meteors, we need to draw her out.”

‘Another volley’s imminent,’ he clenched, ‘-protect the people or protect me – no death elements means no barrier protection,’ whimpers and cries hailed from the broken buildings, ‘-maybe I’m weak-hearted now,’ he inhaled, ‘-I would have ignore their deaths – however, the will the survive in such a harsh world has truly impressed me.’

“Fenrir, go look for Intherna, tell her to ready the portal, we’ll depart soon after I defeat them.”

“-master?” she watched, clueless on how to feel.

‘The strongest is worthy of the battlefield, I’ll repay thy kindness in full, Tariel.’

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