Origins (eBook)

Chapter 2

A man in a black cloak dashed through the Purple Swamp at a blistering pace. The Purple Swamp gets its name from the abundance of purple flowers, wisteria, that grew there. And it wasn’t just the swamp that was filled with these purple flowers, it was like this across the entire nation, hence the nation’s name, Wysteria. It was a new moon tonight, leaving everything in a deep darkness. This had been planned, of course. They had waited for the darkest night of the month before finally making their move. Though it was dark, the darkness didn’t hinder the man as he traveled, rather he continued moving swiftly without losing his footing or stumbling once. He muttered curses while he went. He was running late. Being late was never a good thing, especially now. This was an important mission. The man cursed himself; though he was able to move quickly through the marsh, it was taking longer than he had anticipated.

Finally, he arrived at the meeting place, the outskirts of a small village. There were four others, each of them dressed in the same attire as him, covered in complete black along with black masks to hide their faces. All of them except for one. The only difference between this person and the others was that his mask had a red numeral of five displayed across the face, marking him as the Fifth Descendant. Though all five of these men were a part of the same organization, none of them actually knew each other. Secrecy was of utmost importance. They never revealed their faces, nor their names, nor their voices, nor anything else that might hint at their true identity. Everything they wore was infused with mana. The masks changed their voices, the cloaks hid their smell and slightly adjusted their body figure, and the boots left no tracks.

“Greetings, Fifth Descendant.” The man said when he finally arrived.

“Brother . . . you are late.” The Fifth told him coldly.

“My sincerest apologies.” The man said.

The Fifth Descendant looked the man up and down as if he were thinking of what to do with him. Then he spoke, “You . . . are forgiven.”

The man bowed slightly, “Thank you—” Suddenly, the world began to spin. The world spun round and round. The man, oddly, found himself falling. He hit the ground with a thud and found himself looking up at the night sky. The stars were beautiful tonight. . . But how did he find himself staring up at them? Something hit the ground beside him; he tried to look over to see what it was, but he couldn’t turn his head. He tried to get up, but his body wasn’t responding. A thick, warm liquid began to pool around his head and a sharp pain began to throb in his neck. What was going on? He tried to speak but could form no words. That was when the man realized what had happened. His head had been removed from his body. He had been decapitated. He was dying.

The Fifth Descendant’s sword had materialized in his hand, and he had cut off the man’s head with a single strike faster than the blink of an eye. That was the penalty for being late. Only perfection must be allowed, nothing less. He wiped the blood from his blade. The others watched him clean his blade in silence. They only felt indifference. The death of their brother meant nothing to them.

“Our brother has been cleansed,” the Fifth Descendant told the others. “May his spirit find rest with Inuuk and the Celestials.” Then he turned away from the corpse and gave the order, “Let us begin.”

The four cloaked men left the cover of the swamp, and all ran toward the small village. Two guards armed with spears patrolling the village took notice of them. One of the guards stepped forward and began to shout . . . but no sound left his mouth; he was dead in an instant, cut in half by a swift blade. The other guard suffered the same fate. The Fifth Descendant snapped his fingers and a raging ring of fire erupted around the entire village, forming a barrier that stopped anyone from escaping.

“How do we find him?” one of the cloaked men asked.

“Just cleanse the village,” the Fifth Descendant instructed, “he’ll come.”

And so they began. One of the cloaked men channeled his mana; he reached up into the air as if to grab something and then pull it down. With this motion, he created a sinkhole that swallowed a nearby house along with everyone in it.

One of the other cloaked men flew up into the air; the wind before him swirled violently until it formed a tornado. He unleashed this tornado, and it began to leave a path of destruction.

The third cloaked man reached down, then thrust his arms upwards, creating giant wooden tendrils that exploded up from the ground, tearing apart buildings and throwing debris.

The Fifth Descendant continued toward the center of town. With every wave of his hand, another building burst into flames. The ground shook and the wind raged, and the night was filled with the screams of those who were being cleansed. A few villagers had managed to escape the chaos and tried to flee, only to find themselves at the edge of the fire barrier. A few of them tried to run through the wall of fire, but their bodies were instantly burned to a crisp. More than half the village was destroyed before he finally came out of his hiding place. An older man with graying hair. He confronted the Fifth Descendant in the center of the village. Despite his old age, his body remained stronger than ever. The three cloaked men quickly arrived by the Fifth Descendant’s side.

The Fifth waved them off and said, “Go finish the cleansing.”

The three men in black darted away, and the Fifth Descendant turned his attention to the man who stood before him.

“You’re a hard man to find, Yir’on,” the Fifth Descendant said to the older man.

“Apparently not hard enough,” Yir’on grumbled.

“I hope you understand that our offer still stands. We value men like you. It’s never too late to join hands.”

“I’d rather die a thousand deaths before joining your vile cult,” Yir’on spat.

The Fifth Descendant shrugged, “A pity, but oh, well. I can’t say I’m disappointed. It’s been a long time since I last fought with a strong opponent. You’re not going to disappoint me, are you?”

Yir’on’s sword materialized in his hand, “I’m happy to fight you, but why don’t we take this fight elsewhere? These are innocent people here, good people. There’s no reason to kill them. Call your men off and leave the innocent alone.”

“Innocence?” the Fifth Descendant laughed. “Such things don’t matter. The only thing that matters in this world is strength. That is why we cleanse the weak.”

Yir’on cursed him. Mana swelled within his body, and he began to emanate a bright-green aura. The Fifth Descendant followed suit and emanated a red aura even brighter than Yir’on’s. He raised his hand and shot a blazing fireball. Yir’on caught the fireball with his free hand. The speed and force pushed him back, but he remained firm in his stance. He threw the fire back at the Fifth Descendant who swatted it aside sending it crashing into an already burning building.

The Fifth Descendant took a deep breath trying to contain his joy. Then he and Yir’on dashed toward each other. Their movements were lightning fast, swords clanging against each other in a violent frenzy. Yir’on jumped back and created a large wooden tendril that burst up from the ground and he landed on it. Then he raised his hand and more wooden arms burst up from the ground around the Fifth Descendant, threatening to crush him. He jumped up and gracefully landed atop one of the wooden tendrils and launched a fireball. Two of the wooden arms rushed to Yir’on’s side and blocked the fireball. Four other wooden tendrils shot out for the Fifth Descendant. With a single strike, the Fifth Descendant cut down the wooden tendrils. But Yir’on didn’t stop his attack. Giant tendrils continued to burst up from the ground and chase the enemy as they attempted to squash him. The Fifth Descendant continued to dance around, avoiding the attacks while also cutting and burning the tendrils. They battled and battled. At this point, Yir’on had created dozens of giant wooden tendrils in an attempt to kill The Fifth Descendant.

The battlefield had turned into a complete mess. Then the Fifth Descendant jumped up into the air and unleashed a massive wave of fire. The fire washed over and engulfed the entirety of the village. The fire consumed everything and everyone.

Yir’on looked out at the desolation and a rage came over him. He cursed sharply. “You dare! You dare to do such a thing!”

He charged wildly at the Fifth Descendant. Every strike of his blade shook the ground. He was pushing the Fifth Descendant back. But then the other three black cloaks who had been carrying out the cleansing returned. They attacked Yir’on together, halting his attack against the Fifth Descendant. A bolt of streamlined wind shot through Yir’on’s shoulder. Then another wind bullet shot through his chest and then his leg. But Yir’on kept on fighting, ignoring the wounds. He fought back against the four black cloaks, but there was only so much he could do alone. One of the men in black stabbed Yir’on in the back. But Yir’on kept on fighting. Then one of his arms were cut off. Still, he kept on fighting. He lost an eye, a foot, his ribs were shattered, his body burned to the bone. He kept on fighting. So long as his heart beat, he fought. And he fought. He finally struck down one of the black cloaks and...