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 The Fourth King Arc III - Part I

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Flynn
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PostSubject: The Fourth King Arc III - Part I   Wed Dec 14, 2016 2:07 am

The Seraph's shoulder crushed against the vision-less wall, his upper and middle right wings bearing most of the impact. His hands grasping at air for a handle to stabilize himself.

An audible crunch as the bones shattered, leaving the limbs now flightless and dangling as he fell to the floor, shakily managing to land on his feet.

Another crash-- followed by a violent utterance that rang throughout the boy's ears as if they were his own dying screams. This time, it was not his bones that were torn to pieces, but pieces of glass. Corren Astius Gray gripped the handle of his completely transparent shield with pained force, as he felt the heavy boots stomp onto the flat of his glass broadsword. Its screaming shatter rang throughout his ears with an emotion only his body could feel.

-We've each been given our duties-


Corren placed his right foot forward and placed his elbow on the surface to put enough pressure to force leverage upward, allowing him to stand. He inhaled a heavy breath that expanded his lungs and held it in his chest. With a quick flicker of his eyes, he reviewed the task at hand. He fluttered a wing, expanding his senses of the temporal plane to further enhance his actions.

Corren exhaled, letting the breath slowly escape his lips as his mind exchanged dues with reality.

Dressed in light, fitting garbs, Corren was outfitted for a dexterous battle. The white wrappings held his clothing in place at each of the joints of his wrists, knees, elbows, ankles, shoulders, and neck. His heavy cloak lie in tatters some miles away and his hood ripped from his neck. What would have given a rogue-like feel, the bright white shade made him look more grand and spectacular than anything.

Directly across from him lie the remains of his weapon-- a thin broadsword composed entirely of perfectly layered glass. Beyond that, a tall and lanky man lifted his boot from the glass shards, pieces falling to the translucent floor with little clangs of Corren's sentimental pain.

-And by due loyalty to a true king-


"Hey"
. Corren's voice sounded rough, yet the obvious strain was hidden by his typical cynical malice.

"Yes?"
The man responded, sounding earnest in his inquiry.

-This duty is mine-

"Fuck off".

Exsolus grimaced. "I feel as though we have this exchange each and every time I see you, Corren".

With a shrug, the Seraph offered his agreement. "It's testament to tradition. My tribute to you, oh good "king"".

The enigma of a man smiled, followed by an amused chuckle. "I've been careful not to spill any blood, Corren. However, depending on how much longer you'd like to keep your foot in my path, I cannot promise you will keep it attached to your body.”

"What?"

Excul tilted his head a little. "That was pretty easy to comprehend".

"Your style of speech is worse than Sev's".



–--



A missile of thin, hazy light jettisoned across the stars ardent fervor. The clouds split apart in make-way as the projectile flew, simulating the masses of peasants making way for their noble king's horse. Unbeknownst to the world below, a little Seraph rocketed through the night sky. Blythe wrapped herself in a blanket of fluffy vapor, covering her bare legs and arms with cotton-like clouds for protection against the sky elements. The ends of her long shirt and swimming shorts flapped in the wind and her violet hair plastered across her face due to sheer velocity. She bat her wings once—twice, and continuously enough to strain the muscles in her back to the point of further exhaustion.

The winds howled inside of her ears, screaming warnings of the ticking clock, its hands ticking ever dutifully toward the ending mark. Muffling the wailing winds was a choice Blythe decided against. She could cover her head with soft clouds, but doing so would hinder her hearing, as she would need every one of her six senses to arrive back home in time. And alive. Despite the state of seclusion the vast skies offered, there were dangers in the night sky that would see her wings clipped and her flesh torn. Sometimes horrors lie not just in the ocean depths, or the forests and caves, but in the clear, open skies where only the strongest could fly.

-I have to get back to Sanc..-

The sky had just cleared in front of her, offering an exit from the funnel of clouds she traveled through. Blythe could feel the chilled air seeping through her clouds and string her skin through her clothing. A mix of exhilaration and excitement fused with a creeping sense of desperate dread. Just as she broke the layer of cloud mass, the scouting Seraph flew right into the midst of a thick aura comprised magic that ascended from the world below. It drifted upward like a heatwave, mixing together with the rising blood mist of death and decay. It felt sticky and clingy, as if the hands of slain souls gripped at her skin in an attempt to anchor themselves to this world, desperate to stop themselves drifting off into the heavens. She shuddered. With the magic of a Seraph, she wrapped the clouds tighter around her small frame as she allowed herself a small peek to the land below.

War.

Thousands upon thousands of lives being ripped from their bodies in such a horrible display of torment, their souls wafting through the air, lost and afraid. No matter what, Blythe would return to Sanc and deliver her scouting report to ensure the King of Heroes had every advantage possible if the Regnum empire expanded their invasion. Although Sanc had been ordained itself to stay outside of the fighting, there was still ever the possibility..

Pop


-Huh?-

fizzle

And Blythe was falling. She struggled for a moment to catch her breath, but her attempt to bat her wings left her with a sense of numbness.

“Huh?”

Falling a million feet to the earth below, falling a million feet into an ocean of bodies and weapons and magic and violence. She let out a noise that sounded something like “eep!”

"Not now! Why now?!" She shouted behind her, batting a weak hand at the damp feathers that shaped her wings of vapor. The compression relief magic, which had created cushioning clouds to wrap the joints of her six wings, had worn thin and popped under pressure. Blythe's wings had always been weaker and allowed minimal stamina use, but the cushions had allowed her wings to push past that weakness. She cursed and bid her wings to move but to no avail, her feeble attempts met only the sound of feathers caressing the air in what sounded like mocking laughter. Already, the aching pain she was long due for had begun to sink into her muscles. The skin would begin to sear like fire and the tendons would quickly begin to rip themselves apart by even the slightest movement.

Blythe tossed her head backwards to see how close to the ground she was-- and screamed as she slammed into something on a horse.

-

Iivae of the Fifth Company army, lady baroness and general of the Regnum fifth regiment, had only half a second's warning in the form of a scream before she was smashed into oblivion by a fluffy mess of cotton and white clouds. She tumbled through a mess of grass, feeling the mud marsh splash onto her as she rolled across the surface, half-bundled in cotton and a mess of limbs.

Jiu blinked once and turned his head. He saw a carved out pathway of smeared mud, grass, and littered with white fluff. Almost a hundred feet away, his sister lie face down in the mud, and another girl weakly attempting up on shaky legs, draped in six dead-looking wings.

"..What".

He urged his steed off the path and began a slow trot over to where his sister lie. He instructed his company halt.

Iivae quickly regained consciousness, her body aching and screaming a chorus of cuts, bruises, and oddly enough, softness. "What.." She lifted herself upward onto her elbows and pulled her feet in. She shot upward and standing, ignoring the mud that fell from her long dreadlocks and spitting grass from her mouth. It tasted awful.

The general felt something rest on her shoulder. Expecting Jiu, she saw a hand that was thinner and lighter than her brother's dark skin and masculine structure. She turned her head the other way; her brother was still a few feet away on his horse, looking taken back if not amused. The general of the Regnum army turned back to the hand on her shoulder, and followed its length to find a face turned away from her. A young woman with short violet hair was the owner, using Iivae's shoulder as leverage as the Seraph girl batted mud out of her sandal before putting it back on. She looked absolutely miserable.

"Thank you for that" She croaked, her soft silken hair falling between her eyes. "Sorry for hitting you, but you made the impact much easier. Are you okay?"

The Seraph girl attempted put away her wings, but winced as they refused to respond. She tried once more as Iivae simply stared, and she let out a sharp cry of pain.

-One of them is broken- Iivae thought, and the fact she even had such a thought surprised her. What was this thing doing here?

With a reluctant grunt, the Seraph girl mimed a hand gesture to cast her magic. Her wings visibly vanished into puffs of smoke. She was perfectly clean and unharmed without a scratch on her aside from the broken wing, but she leaned forward with a hand on her hip, crying a little bit. Iivae's face held stoic.

"Girl."


“No, I'm.. ..Where is Sanc? I mean, what direction? I don't know exactly where I landed..” She seemed dazed, but Iivae did not care.

“Seraph” she repeated her bid for this thing's attention, putting more force into the order.

“Oh..” The Seraph pinched her face together, and the tears were flowing more openly. Either this girl was feeble waste or there was much more wrong with her than initially shown. “Do you know where I am?”

Iivae threw a nuclear fist into the girl's stomach with one move. Most of the impact was taken by a cushion of cotton clouds, but it was enough to throw the girl backwards. Her legs shook as she held, but promptly doubled over as her lungs shot up blood through a fit of coughing. She fell to the ground and careened onto her side as she moaned.

-

Blythe's head was a mess of pain and horror. The woman's punch had caused an audible crack inside of her body that rang throughout her ears. It made her think of a smashed watermelon and the thought of that coming from inside her was sickening. It was hard to breathe now.., and her body spasmed as if shivering. Her stomach was revolting with heavy lurches as blood vomited from her throat. Her Fyre enhanced clouds were designed to nullify momentum and force, allowing her to land at insane speeds and take off without any pressure. Extreme momentum buffering through heavy clouds infused with Fyre. Enough magic to stop a thirty thousand foot drop without a single mark of damage.

But they had been shattered?

-

Iivae tightened her steel gauntlet, throwing her dreadlocks to the side with a toss of her head. “Seraph girl, you have enacted upon the providence of the Regnum army. You have assaulted an officer of force and therefore, you shall be met with force in kind”.

She began strolling toward the Seraph, sauntering with a lethal silence.

“Iivae” her brother, general Jiu, called to her. “That girl is fron Sanc? Wouldn't it be best if we refrain from incurring the wrath of the Glacial Dragon at this current moment in time?”

Without losing her pace, Iivae continued forward until she reached the squirming body of the little Seraph girl. She was barely moving, but breathing very hard. “I will take responsibility for this unfortunate accident.” General Iivae formed a fist, the tightly compressed air wrapping around it. She dropped to a knee and threw her full force toward the Seraph girl's temple.

---

--- 36 hours later ---


"It is done."

A blare of noise like wind through a hollow shell.

"Disengage."


A heavy snap and both men dropped their arms. A feeling of heavy exhaustion beginning to seep into their bodies. Hex Ender rubbed at his wrists, the dull throb in his arms and chest spoke volumes about the strain being placed on his Magick veins. After two seconds the Devoid allowed as rest, he turned his glance to the Fourth King. Unlike Hex Ender, who showed no sign of tiring, the Fourth King faced the wall, leaning forward in the slightest hunch as his breathing became heavy. Sweat gleamed his brow, pasting his golden hair across his forehead. Without the crown, the Fourth King looked as young as he truly is instead of his normal, permanent aura of authority and command.

Hex Ender dare not say a word of concern, lest he provoke the King in his fragile mentality. Instead, he proceeded with business as usual. "The Gates should open soon. Let us rest a spell and head to the penultimate Realm". The Fourth King nodded in agreement, surely savoring every and any chance to rest in between. "In only a few moments, the Gates of Heaven will have opened. We finish this task tonight."

Hex Ender did not respond. Not that he needed to as there was no topic up for discussion. In honesty, Ender felt as though the Fourth King would not be able to withstand another trial of opening one of the Seven Realms. The toll on his body had become greater than anticipated without the crown.

Five of the Seven Realms now lie open. To the North, the Dark Door remains in a state of propagation just outside its own door, slowly readying to prepare its reach outward with shadowy darkness. Hell itself remains with its gate open but the doorway shut. Like Heaven, which was just now opened, and Purgatory, these three realms contain civilizations inside of them. Hell contained the cities of Gehenna, Purgatory had the Silver Lining settlement, and Heaven the City of Angels. Once their Gateways had been opened to the Realm itself, those cities become shut down and none would be able to enter or exit. The only quizzical matter was the Guardian. Opening the Gates held no resistance and the Guardian was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps they fled to preserve their own life? It was curious.

A heavy rumble. It shook the foundation of the mountain summit, inquiring to an earthquake? Hex Ender and the Fourth King remained motionless as the stone building began to crumble and shatter around them, a chorus of cracked stone making way to an orchestra of howling blizzards outside the castle.

CRACK

The feathers that litter the floor like grains of sand in a desert shook and tumbled across, leaving tiny traces of smeared blood as they moved, collecting around the twisted slumps of meat that pile along the corners. Near them, a cloaked Sev stood as motionless as the Angelic corpses at his feet.

Hex Ender withheld a grimace. Forcing a Devoid of all creatures to inhabit an emotion was enough to speak volumes, but he remained silent. But the chills down his spine and the goosebumps on his arms were enough to send the message.

"We make for the Light".

--

Zechs Renaurd stood squarely in the tall grass, gently tapping the sheath of Arondight with his index finger. The cool steel pommel gave his senses a feeling of familiar comfort. Looking over the massive sea of tall grass and plains, he could only see war. An eternal struggle of power and magic, powered by the emotions and feelings and wills of a million souls that reach for blood and gold with everything that they are. Looking out here.. he could only be reminded of his past.

Images of faces long past ran through his mind; the memories swimming on the brink of his thoughts. The clasp of forearms with friends, the clash of swords on black steel and flame. The determination of his brothers and sisters in arms working as one.

Zechs wondered how they were all doing.

He turned himself around to survey the Sanc forces. A titanic army of men, women, and otherwise of all varying races and ethnicity, giving off the appearance of a poorly trained farm militia. However, the Sanc Mercenaries are well known for their ability-- capable of going toe-to-toe with even the Concuclare armies in the past who were once known as the greatest force on earth. Rows upon rows of mercenaries stood bunched together, as close as they possibly could. The rain made it damp and humid as the body heat of thousands of soldiers exuded a mist. For the warping to work, it was necessary.

It had been several hours since his scouts had been dispatched and all had return spare one. Each of his scouting force held their own strengths, and the one who had yet to return was considered to be the fastest. For her to be late was unfortunate as well as worrying.

“We have waited long enough, sire”
spoke Cedric, the king's “adviser”. However, most of his advising came in the form of bad puns so painful, it was a wonder to many why the Paradigm was not drawn and quartered. Still, he was capable enough a partner on the battlefield.

Zechs pursed his lips and considered his options.

-Blythe has not returned.. It would be risky to engage the Regnum forces without her report as it may contain critical information. ..However, there has never been a better opportunity for an assault than right now. The Regnum forces are completely oblivious to our presence, plus Gwynn and Gwen are standing by..-

Zechs Renaurd gave a jerk of his head to cast his eyes upward. -Unless.. She was captured. In which case, she might already be lost, or perhaps tortured. It's very possible for her to give up information under that kind of stress-

The Mercenary King squared his shoulders and pulled Arondight tightly into his grip. There wasn't much of a choice in that case.

“Cedric, we're going”

“Very good, king Renaurd” The storm Paradigm smiled in silent approval, offering a dip of his head. “Shall I inform the twins?”

“Yes, as fast as possible. I'm going to fire the signal. We have thirty seconds until impact. Be ready.”

“Always am, sire.”

With that, Zechs unsheathed Arondight from its pure frost casing and thrust it into the earth. A geyser of white ice fired into the air with precise force and quickly dissolved into a shower of snow. With the signal fired, a sense of calm began to fall over the Sanc army.

Thirty

Twenty nine

And so the world itself fell several degrees colder as Zechs Renaurd prepared to enter the war, with all the forces of kingdom Sanc at his sides.

–--

“This isn't a war.” Sumaru Amaya thrust his black blade through the knee of an oncoming Regnum axeman, firing a blast of spiteful Darkness into his face which promptly removed it. In the same motion, he struck outward and in an arc with a fist to catch the temple of a nearby Vampire who had wandered too close, expecting an ally when there was only death. He whipped his body in a one-eighty to slash the creature's throat as his sword slid from the corpse of the previous soldier.

“It's a fucking massacre.”


After the fall of his friends, the Vampire boy wandered into the fray of the battleground. After several days of consecutive battle, he had accumulated an impressive display of wounds, each of them empowering his Pain-filled limbs, which only further enabled him to meet out his goal.

The Regnum generals lie to the south of the field, but none of them mattered to him. The Vampire council lie to the far north in the trees. After what Trenner had told him, he had considered slaying them all. However, in the face of his current goal, he didn't give a damn about those worthless cowards.

“It's been long enough” Sumaru informed the solder who was now choking on his own blood after Sumaru had pierced his throat. The soldier toppled over and quickly became a corpse. Or perhaps the medics made it to him. It didn't matter in the slightest. “I have waited long enough, and if I have to wait any longer, I am going to kill all of you.” However, the endless masses did not respond. There was no assurance to comfort him, nor anybody at his side to give him an answer. He was alone, as he used to be. And this time, there would be no moving forward. No more light to look after. Sumaru let out a pained sigh as a spear pieced his side and drew blood.

He just wanted to die.

---

..Sixteen

Fifteen

Fourteen

The Sanc Mercenary company stood with perfect and utter stoic, their silence louder than any battle cry. Not even clanks of armor broke the layer of quiet.

Thirteen

The King himself, Zechs Renaurd, need not say a word. No shouts of rallying, no impressions of victory. He stood with his sword gripped in both hands, blade sunk into the ground. His cape of white fluttering in the slight breeze.

Twelve

The forces of Sanc were practiced, seasoned mercenaries who know the code of their work. They were here to do a job, and they would be putting their pride on the line to see it done.

Eleven

Ten

Nine

Eight

A click from far away, followed by the sound of steel sliding against steel and a chamber loaded.

Seven

A long fire of flintlock design, ornately decorated with thirteen silver chambers on a revolving chamber with precision craftsmanship, aimed upward, and the trigger fired. However, no sound was made as the flickering emerald projectile was launched. It continued to grow as it flew into the sky, quickly arcing toward the endless fighting a little over a mile away. It offered a dull light, but continued to grow even as it entered the clouds.

Six

Five

Four

The dirt at his feet began to glow. The surrounding earth shimmered with a pale, cherry light that quickly changed to lilac.

Three

Two

The light became more intense, almost blinding as it illuminated the area, covering every single inch of his body and those of the army behind him.

One

An audible pop, and the world around them was cast into silence.

Zero

Ten-thousand, four hundred, and twenty five mercenaries then appeared on the battlefield. No noise, no light, no warning. An entire armada in the blink of an eye some six feet off the ground, quickly dropped to the earth, as if they had been standing on a platform that was been pulled out of under them. And in that instant, nobody had noticed that ten-thousand, four hundred, and twenty five new soldiers clad in white and iron had just entered the war.

None of the opposing soldiers knew, because none of them could tell. Even as the Sanc army hastily got to work with dispatching the Regnum forces, there were no shouts or cries, no rallying trumpets or roars of defiance.

There was only silence.

As blades clashed and bodies fell. As magic flew and lives were lost. Absolutely nothing made a sound. Zechs freed his way from two startled soldiers. In an instant, one was frozen to the core and the other was on the ground. Dead or unconscious, he did now know. The king himself wrapped his left arm with permafrost in the shape of a dragon's maw and kept it as his bulwark as he sprinted further into the Regnum lines.

–-


What in the hell? Sumaru Amaya jerked back in surprise as he found his voice no longer working. The motion had saved his life, as an arrow whizzed by where his head was a moment ago before the lack of noise startled him. He blinked. It wasn't just him.. Everything happening was silent. He watched the battle for a moment to survey it. A large portion of the fighting had slowed from beast-like assaults to confused dances of attack and defense as many attempted to gauge the situation. Others, too far gone into their bloodlust, ignored the phenomena completely and continued their rampage. After a few seconds, he returned to battle. But.. Something was clearly different to him. There were more soldiers now. Many more soldiers. Had Regnum called reinforcements?

..No, these soldiers were dressed differently. They were dressed in white. Sumaru felt a chill in the air, and as if the world had answered him, it was at that moment he knew exactly what was going on.

The Dragon of Glaciers had arrived.

I've waited long enough.. I can't wait any longer, you know. This is a sign, right? I'll be sure to follow it

With a light step forward, Sumaru wrapped himself with shadows and began his path toward a dragon who need slaying. He was, afterall, the Dragonslayer.

Right, Six?

---

A heavy groan of strained wood as if a massive tree had been ripped from its roots. "And with that, it is done".

A heavy sigh of magic breathed throughout the domain of Light, a thick membrane of its energy visible and felt only to those with its affinity. The two men had been hard at work and their task was beginning to end. "We've the Ether remaining. You swear the Seventh will crumble under the weight of the other Realms?".

Hex Ender nodded, dipping his head slightly lower as he did-- as per abiding by his position. "Of course. With the Guardian dead and vanishing, there is nothing to keep the gates closed. Once we've finished here, I'll make it a point to find whoever is responsible for the assistance and give them their due".

The Fourth King nodded slowly. "We've been lucky. Almost impossibly so. The Guardian of the Seventh Plane dead to an unknown rogue before our escapade even began, and the Guardian of the Dark Door fallen to another faceless warrior".

Ender lifted his foot in an elongated step to avoid stepping in a puddle. "Most odd of all, my lord, is the absence of the Guardian of Light. Although her magic is frail, she is said to have the most potent barrier ever conceived. Next to the late Xixas Averall, I felt as though the Light sentinel would be near impossible to take".

"Impossible luck indeed.." the King's voice trailed off in contemplation.

A pressure, warm and wet, pushed against the king's legging. The thick liquid began to seep into the cloth as the body pushed against him. With a disgusted kick, he removed the corpse and sneered at it. "What a vile disposition". His index finger tapped his belt and a tendril of magic snaked downward. In an instant, the bright crimson liquid was torn his the cloth as if filtered and removed, dropping onto the floor some feet away with a splatter.

Hex Ender shot a hesitant glance at his king, keeping the worry that had begun to paint his skin veiled. It took a moment's consideration to avoid asking the Fourth King--

- "How much was left?"-

But fervently decided against it. With a turn of his head, he then attempted to keep vision of the titanic creature in the corner, casting it a warning glance for the millionth time. It stood as still as stone and its silence spoke of death louder than any warrior. The thick feathered cloak wafted through the permeating blood as if it were nothing, staining the underline feathers. Its body like steel and the draping cloak like a flagship, heralding lost eternities.

Put simply, Sev did not belong in this world.

As if programmed, this thing had annihilated the sentinel Chasers systematically and perfectly, condoning not even a chance at a flaw in its work.

"It is time we finish our list of tasks, Hex Ender. I will make for the battlefield. You take the Weddair and proceed to the Ether".


Ender's thoughts froze in their tracks.

"My lord?"


"It is time to set the world itself in motion. In order to display the truth of Regnum's existence, I must display my sovereign publically. We are the ones who set this stage, my retainer".

The Fourth King craned his head to smile at Ender, his features perfect, yet riddled with that obsessive sadism Ender had grown to know. "It would be a shame not to perform the finale myself".

–-

It hadn't taken long. Only a few minutes. At least, that's what it felt like. He didn't know anymore. The incredible pain that wracked his body had alienated his senses from the following of time. However, it did not matter. He could see the source of the cold, and he was right in front of him. As if waiting for him. Sumaru felt his bloody lips form into a smile as he began walking forward.

Zechs saw him, Sumaru knew. He watched him with minimal expression. Whatever he felt in the face of Sumaru, it was not fear.

I am done waiting. You will do, old friend.

Sumaru sprinted forward with his katana ready, the pain in his legs allowing enhanced speed and the pain in his arms giving him great strength. He slashed forward and Zechs was there to meet him.


CLASH




CLANG


The opposition of two powers rang out. The controlled ice and the savage darkness; the elements raged against each other. Sumaru jabbed forward twice on either side, then letting out a heavy roar of darkness at the king's head. Zechs, however, fired the dragon's maw from his left arm, attached to a chain. It met the blast but was destroyed by the pure shadow, and Zechs hastily erected a barrier of ice to defend. Sumaru flanked around with a dash and leaped with sword extended. As if expecting it, Zechs had already stabbed Arondight downward to meet the attack. Sumaru barely avoided losing his head with a Pain empowered dodge and both of them allowed a single beat of passing time to gain their bearings.

This time, not to Sumaru's surprise, Zechs charged him with his sword in preparation for an attack. What appeared to be a simple assault was what lead into a technique Sumaru had seen long before. In times past when he had trained with the King of Sanc, there were almost no moves the mercenary had that would surprise Sumaru. Zechs slashed downward with an angled stab-- he knew it! Sumaru stepped back with his left foot to avoid the stab, and began pushing his right foot forward. He had seen this attack a thousand times before! He knew what came next. A splash of flash-freeze would be thrown at his left side, and Zechs would--

There was no splash at all.

Huh?

Zechs leaned forward, completely letting go of his sword in the process and threw an open palm strike at Sumaru's face. It knocked him with a solid blow, and Sumaru felt his mind shake. Without missing a step, Zechs caught Arondight mid-fall with his left hand and swung it in a sideways arc as he twisted his body a full circle. The blade caught Sumaru square in the head as he was falling and.. The flat of the blade smacked him several feet away. Zechs let out a breath of effort and shot into the crowd of battle once again, but this time, with a level of speed almost invisible to the naked eye.

Sumaru's head was swimming with pain and anger. He predicted.. my prediction..?

He was already in the final stage of Time Alter, but mislead me to believing he wasn't.

What's worse..

He gave me mercy. He let me live, only using the flat of his blade.

The bastard… That BASTARD.


With shaky legs, Sumaru forced himself to stand. Even in this shape, he managed to dispatch an assaulting Regnum soldier before gathering himself fully.

He felt, not only angry, but shamed.

It was stupid. He had done so much, come so far, let go of this world and demanded death to only those who could force it.. And he was given nothing but pity and dismissal.

He was so furious, he bit into his lip, drawing a gush of blood.

Sumaru was shamed, he was provoked and enraged.

He was so cold..

This world is bullshit. It's worthless to him and deserves to die.

It's also so, so cold…

But Sumaru was.. Feeling numb, and empty now. But most of all, he was just too cold.. Too cold..




And so, Sumaru decided, it would be a good idea to warm things up.

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From the heart of Ire, I will regain everything.
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PostSubject: Re: The Fourth King Arc III - Part I   Wed Dec 14, 2016 2:08 am

I know there are some errors. I'll fix 'em when I post part 2.

And yes, there is a part two that is just as long, if not longer than this. So the full story 3 will be twice this size, or more. So. Yeah.

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The Fourth King Arc III - Part I
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