Vescrutia: Legacy

After a much-needed sojourn the pair had resolved to explore the depths of the tomb dedicated to their ancestors. At what particular time was this place left to the reigns of time, the young riyal could not be sure. He had been tracing and recreating the various texts he found encrypted along the walls and on dusty pieces of artifacts that were broken to make use of.

“My Liege must we really be so…throuough? I fail to see what value there is for you in this…rubble”

The almond skin heir to the Urso name stepped gingerly, trying his best not to kick up dust. He held a handkerchief up to his nose and mouth, embroidered with the royal seal of the bear. Dalazar, however, would be seen scouring over the floor with goggles twice the size of his eyes. A tiny light shin from a small crystal of lluminite, his people's precious ore and lifeblood. It was a marvel at conducting Naten, and the conduit it was attached to was made for such endeavors.

“Come now, Evant, you lack the archeological eye! I see what you see as rubble as diamonds waiting to be found.”

He said, running through a pile, feeling something of interest with great zeal. He pulled it out, holding the object triumphantly in the air.

“Ah…I see, so spoons pass as diamonds, yes, quite the archeological find.”

Dalazar sucked his teeth. What a Debbie downer.

“You…optimism is infectious…”

He said, dropping the weather spoon. The place had been a winding series of doors and rooms, but so far, it seemed less of a final resting place and more of an encampment. There were certain words from what he had gleaned from the splotches of various texts.

“Room, Hall, Chief. I think…I think they lived here.”

His curiosity piqued, Evant made his way closer to Dalazar, whose eyes gleamed enthusiastically.

“We did see many empty corridors…now that I think of it, some could’ve even passed as living quarters, which means…”

“The Denkoushi lived where they buried their dead. How ghastly…”

Dalazar stood up, fanning the dusty cloud kicked up by his fumbling around. Witnessing that this place's architecture mirrored nothing of the structures back home was harrowing. The central kingdom was a massive, majestic display of intricate designs etched into the mountainside. Exuberant metals and gems plated every crevice of the land, yet it still encouraged the natural world to prosper within and around it. But this place was void of any of those notions. It was as if nothing or no one ever indeed was here.

“We truly are so different…by the look of this, the Denkou-Shi covered their tracks with intense purpose…this place was never meant to be found.”

Evant surveyed the walls around them. Dalazar's observation seemed to be correct. Minus the few discarded tools, nothing about this place indicated anyone other than stragglers lived there. Had it not been for Dalazar's prowess, they wouldn’t have been able even to recover the pieces of language that they found scattered about the ruin.

“It aligns with what we’ve come to know though. The first King truly did change our nature entirely…such power truly exist in the world…”

Hearing his knight's words prompted the Emerald heir to look at his hands, which were covered in dust and dirt.

“And we must see that power returned to its rightful place…”

Dalazar found himself in a slight trance, thinking of the moment he awakened an Ascendant. The power of the light flooding his being was like being flushed under a waterfall that dared you infinite times over. How briefly he felt he could will the very stars to his side…and then... gone.

Evant placed his hand on his shoulder and smiled at him warmly.

“Trust me sire. We will reclaim all that was lost and honor those who sacrificed to make it happen”

Dalazar, invigorated by the warmth of his palm, tightened his hands and his resolve. There was something here, in all the paths he traveled, all the dreams he walked with whispers and tears. All those points of his journey led to this place. He could not lose hope now. Perhaps he was leaning too much on his eyes.

“Your optimism truly is infectious. Let me try a different way at looking at things a shift in perspective as it were.”

He said, returning his knight's smile with eyes of conviction. He stepped away from Evant and entered the center of their space. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath.

“Mage, Shinobi, whatever we call them is irrelevant. Denkou, before we are anything else, regardless of present or past, have and forever will be masters of the mystic arts. “

His Naten would sit in his belly and rinse through his body, his magic like a gentle wave caressing the shore. An illustrious beryl light engulfed him, wrapping itself upon his person like a cloak. As it did, the accumulated energy began to filter outwardly, scouring the expanse. His awakened blood heightened his perception and desire.

Magic Sense

An arbiter widely practiced in the Denkou kingdom but seldomly mastered. At its most accessible levels, it provides awareness of metaphysical footprints and traces of magic left behind by other mages. However, when used by the Emerald King, its perceptions evolve to sight beyond sight. It is crucial to not only perceive Naten regardless of its expression but also to gleam gems of understanding from it. It’s original, its purpose, its wielder past, present, and even future laid before the eyes of one blessed with kings-blood.

Evant watched in awe as the light permeated the dark, dank expanse. Their Illuminite torches were no longer needed, for as Dalazar Naten interacted with the realm around it, the very stone began to resonate with it. Its essence forced the hidden runes to yield their place as they littered this place.

“Illusion Magic, powerful illusion magic.”

He whispered as his magic began to manifest even thicker. From what he could tell, these runes were scattered and meant to confound any mage who was wise enough to find them. How they were arranged eluded to a type of illusion magic centered around passive perception. Instead of showing something far from the person's norm, it…

“This magic was meant to influence subtle nuances of perception. To trick the mind by providing something that borders the tangible. Meaning..."

Evant stepped closer, his form bathed in the light as the rest of the expanse. He touched his chin curiously, examining the various runes and how they mirrored the ones they'd seen so far but carried a subtle difference within them. Much like when he first arrived here, he would attempt to repair the magic purpose and decipher its hidden code.

"Someone like me, who doesn't think much of this place, would never be able to figure it out. It analyzes the person's nature; as much as you observe the spell, it is observing you. My lord...that would mean."

The magical energies danced around them as Dalazr continued sifting through the spell's tapestry. It was heavily layered despite its relatively simple appearance. He could deduce that the left over here weren’t from the denkoushi at all, but rather stragglers who could not get past the barrier.

"Living magic, one that can adapt to its target. Illusions magic normally involves playing around with one or more of its target senses. Sights, smell, hearing, even touch. Most mages of any notable renown can only reach 3rd-tier level spells, and they normally can only manipulate one or two senses, but this spell..."

The arbiter's name is Magic Sense and not Sight because it is not practiced through vision. One attunes their magical wavelength to that of the magic they are deciphering. With enough control and precision that spell pattern, its magical code can be unlocked, revealing vital information about the spell and the invention behind the casting. Knowledge was the center of Denkou's practice, but they believed that the mind needed to be just as powerful as the body; their unison could not be underestimated. The flesh is the vessel for the soul, the mind the vault of its dreams and aspirations, and the body its catalyst, the clay with which that mold forms. In the way Denkou practices it, Magic is taking the natural order through naten, that font of all things through the body and repurposing it through the mind. From this, the reality-altering nature of magic comes to mind—fire from thin air, creation, and destruction within the palm of one's hand.

It would appear that the Denkou and their ancestors weren't as different as Dalazar had begun to believe. At base, their ideals of magic were the same. So what was it then that caused the Denkou-shi to use their gifts for bloodshed and domination? It was beyond Azar, for he was a casualty created long after the Denkou-Shi left their homeland. The truth lay buried with Ains, and he needed to press beyond this veil. To find the truth hidden deeper still.

"Living magic is no small task. From what I know of the Urso's oath magic, it is similar, no? It requires something more than what he sees here, to be bound to a source to supply it with energy so that it does not wain. Be on your guard, Evant... once I remove this curtain, we must be prepared for whatever lurks behind it."

Evant folded his arms, his form galvanized with resolve.

"Let's see... the true face."

His coolness seemed to meld almost perfectly in sync with the flowing currents of magic encompassing them. The spell he was rearranging was simply magnificent. Able to manipulate all the senses to create scenes close to the target perceptions. If they came here and deduced from what they saw that this tomb was nothing more than an empty mess hall, then that is what it would become and how it would stay. But should the belief be that its true nature was something grander beyond the target expectations than what could be revealed? If one was able to pick up on the spells incantation. Before that magical foresight of the Emerald King, its purpose was redefined, its dogma removed. Under the scrutinizing magic of the inheritor, the rune began to lift from the stone bindings oscillating around him. Upon completion, he would sign a set of ava and utter a spell of his own.

"Relusa..."

Reveal: A spell that is most commonly used to dispel minor illusions. Typically, it would not affect a spell of this caliber. Still, Dalazar, reinforcing the spell with his Anthem, invigorated its purpose, allowing him to cast it at a higher tier than usual, making it more than capable of shattering the magical code that crafted this spell. The swarm of sigils froze mid-air like time ceased its movement. The world around them shattered like glass, revealing a new visage. A room, much different than the one they first entered, physical appearance aside the very air had seemed to change along with it, it was now stained with the smell of death.

"Now THIS is a tomb"

Evant deep voice rippled through the space. He looked up and took note of the large, menacing, skeletal headpiece engraved onto the stone. Under it was a door, magically sealed, no less.

"The Denkou do love their secrets."

He said that as his magic wound down, the light no longer emanated from him in fullness but now seemed flicked faintly from him. Before the door was an apparatus, some kind of altar? The pair, keeping their wits about them, approached it as they planned to analyze it further.

The lingering traces of naten that wisped through the tomb echoing the wail of the fallen. Dalazar reflexively grabbed the hilt of his sword. His hand stayed after confirming that he and Evant were the only ones there. He hoped that whatever trial they may face, ghosts would not be invited, and his lord would be scared of them.

"Fret not, my lord, should we encounter any gh-"

Dalazar shot him a percing glare

"Achem, any incorporeal fiends, I shall dispatch of them in your stead."

Dalazar's eyes shifted from piercing to sarcastic mocking with his lips. Yes, he was a bit, skittish, when it came to ghosts but after his harrowing albeit brief encounter with a rather angry one, he was a bit more confident in his ability to maintain his composure. Evant thought otherwise.

"Well, good, I'll leave them in your competent hands...Hmm?"

He said as they neared the altar-like apparatus. Just under the palm of his hand, he felt the faint caress as if he was being admonished to examine it further. He tried to treat it as a fleeting fancy, a trick of the wind. But his gnawing inclination for exploration would leave no stone unturned in this hovel of mystery and intrigue.

"This is a most curious apparatus. Maybe if I”

Just as Dalazar went to place his hand on the Altar, Evant would get a sharp, painful sensation throughout his body. It was quick, fleeing just as quickly as it arrived. The foreign feeling left in its stead a lingering sense of danger. Something was amidst here. This was not the first time Evant had experienced such a sensation when next to the prince. But it had been so long since they last shared space, so he nearly forgot all about it as he could never determine the cause.

“My lord, please be cautious. “

He turned to face his consort. It was not unlike Evant to worry over Dalazar's every step. Growing up, he was always the weakest of the three king's children. Always needing to be guarded, Evant's sole purpose was to keep him from harm, often from himself. Dalazar smiled snarkily.

“Oh please, Evant, we’re in a desiccated tomb for Fulgora’s sa—“

As he took a step forward, a lone pebble caused him to trip. Before Evant could even extend his hand to catch him, Dalazar’s hand fell square on the altar. It was remarkably sharp, pricking his hand. He caught himself as he winced in pain. Evant nearly teleported to his side with a single step. He was holding Dalazar firmly, worriedly.

“My lord! You must take care, are you hurt?”

To be held within Evant's broad hands, the palms of a warrior yet the gentle touch of one who cared deeply for him. It was such an affirming feeling.

“I-I’m fine. Just a nick is all.”

After recovering, Dalazar looked at his hand and then back to the Altar. His blood began to ignite with a deep emerald glow as it traveled the small yet intricate etchings. The magical essence of his blood was propagated, causing the center of the room to alight with mystical runes. These intricate carvings of stone and spirit congealed back to a singular point.

The sealed door

“Guess the mystery unraveled itself.”

“Mystery…yes of course.”

The Urso heir said sarcastically with a tone as fleeting as the wind. Dalazar sucked his teeth, though it was due to his clumsy nature to be sure, he believed it was all fated to be and the means hardly mattered, it was the end that mattered and that was pushing deeper through this tomb. Before the trip to Uran, healing a wound like this would be child's play for him. But now his light was lost, its memory still so near to him, though it had been months since the cursed flame severed his connection to the light. He could still feel its haunting presence. The fear that those flames burned with, the hatred of their creation flowed just as violently now as they did upon their conception. The day his people committed genocide was a horrendous genesis for the grandeur of their now lavish lifestyle. However, he could never forgive Azar for the horrible things happening in his kingdom. For the loss of his twin brother and the possession of his older one. For murdering his father and oppressing his people. So many things he could crucify him for, and yet…when he felt the flames searing his flesh…there was an ineffable sadness. Almost as if wanting to be…

*Click Click Crank*

Having begun to get lost in his thoughts, the young prince would be brought back by not only the door unlocking sound but also Evant gingerly lifting his hand and wrapping it in a cloth. When the cloth touched his skin, he instantly could recognize the feeling of the fabric. Magi-Cloth. A particular fabric created by the Flonne. The fibers are made from the fleece of a native mountain goat whose wool gained magical properties from eating the foliage endowed by the Naten of the perineal storm. It was his aunt, Emeralda, leader of the royal house of the mantis, who first thought of using its parties as insulation for conduits. Yet his mother worked alongside her, using her light magic, intertwining her healing ability to the fabric, creating a first aid method of incredible measure. Able to heal most small to medium wounds and stabilize more vicious ones. The warmth of their combined efforts felt as if they were hugging him.

“Please, my liege, you must be careful. The Queen and your aunt are both waiting for you back home. These hands...are the last I ever want to see stained by blood...”

Evant held Dazuma’s hand against his beard, softly rubbing his face with it. Dalazar’s eyes stuck on him. This man who loved him honored, praised, scolded, and protected him—the reverence for his mother and his family's pride. Evant was indeed a man after his own heart. He missed his mother so much he could hardly stand it. The whole of his family, indeed. That was why they were here, hundreds of miles away from home. To bring about an age of freedom back to their people. To free them of the sophisms woven as history. As law.

“Yes, of course…”

His hand healed just as the door finished unlocking. He nearly forgot about it, so enthralled by Evant’s actions. As it opened, the expanse was filled with a misty chilly breeze. Evant, with a casual grace befitting more of a dancer than a warrior, lightly stepped in front, extending his cloak to shield the prince from the gale. They both knew that such a meager thing would not even bother him. Denkou were incredibly resilient humans. Able to withstand extreme temperatures. Yet, his instinct was to do so, not out of duty but out of love. Dalazar sheepishly wrapped himself in the cloak as the door finished creaking open. Dalazar could feel it. The depth of his devotion was growing even still. The oath they shared allowed them to know what the other felt. Dalazar found no fallacy in his word, not even the faintest hint of uncertainty. He genuinely believed he could shield him from any storm.

"I promise to be more careful."

He said as the breeze faded and the doors opened entirely.

"Come, we have farther still to travel."

Evant said, releasing his hand. The magic cloth had done its due diligence, completely healing his wounded hand. His blood unlocked the doorway, his magic resonating with the ancient architecture. They were getting closer to the truth, to the crux of it all. Dalazar could almost feel his destiny palpate as they went through the doors.

The determined duo trekked beyond the once-sealed door cautiously, but even after having a hole in his hand, Dalazar could scarcely hold his excitement and wonder. The deeper they journeyed into the bowls of the Denkou-shi tomb, the more in love he fell with his people's history. They have always been artistic crafters. It was reflected in the way the stone had been child, each intricate design so foreign yet familiar to him, like walking a parallel line in and staring into a world adjacent to yours. The door had given way to a massive expanse. A sizeable winding staircase carved from stone with a gorgeous waterfall falling into depth their naked eyes could not perceive. While Dalazar practically froliced on the way down, Evant could be seen with a slightly concerned face.

"Just what was that feeling earlier? Right before the prince was harmed, that jolt, like lightning, struck me all over. It's happened before...and only whenever I am near him. Could It-"

Dalazar would be seen stopping just before Evant. His scrutinous gaze ran over this knight's frame.

"Evant, I trust you with my life..."

Evant's face flushed slightly red as he nervously scratched the left side of his face.

"E-erm, what this all of a sudden."

Dalazar said nothing initially. He stared intensely at Evant before smirking and turning away from him.

"My Lord?"

"Who knows...maybe I've just gotten used...to know that you'll always be by my side. Even when we were apart, I could still feel you...as if you were praying for my safe return."

Evants eyes widened. It was true; after losing track of Dalazar, once he left the tavern with Zero, he prayed fervently to Fulgora and the mother that his charge would return to him safely. And even though Evant could tell that Dalazar was much different than he was before that journey at his core, he was still the bratty, eccentric, good-natured person he had always been.

"Am I always so easy to read?"

Evant casually rebuttal. Dalazar continued walking down the long descending stairway.

"Aside from Mother, yours is the most prolific poker face in all the kingdom fufu."

Evant chuckled lightly. He had been told he had a permanent scowl, such as the nature of one charged with the weight of protecting one of the eldest noble bloodlines.

"I just have a, well, unfair advantage. Evant...you must never lie to me, even if the truth shatters me; trust that your future king can shoulder its burden. Everyone back home tried to protect me from the truth. Even my mother, though I know they only sought to protect me from the truth of Nazuma's death. The betrayal from being lied to, my mother messing with my memories. It was a pain that took a very long time to release...I want to know when I look into the eyes of the ones I love-"

He slowed his pace, looking solemnly over his shoulder.

"That authenticity is looking back at me."

He sensed it then, the things troubling Evant. Was it something so simple as telepathy? He doubted it. Dalazar was always the type to knock before entering. He knew his lord would not invade his private thoughts without asking first. No, it was deeper, like he could feel when someone kept something from him. Evant sighed softly. It seemed there was little point in being muddled inside his head.

"I understand. You've my word."

With that, they continued; upon the stone walls and pillar, Dalazar would see many carvings and hieroglyphic etchings detailing many stories. Intreignly enough, many of them resembled some of the childhood fables and fairytales. It seemed that even the first king's magic could not erase the lore within the hearts of his people. And why would it? Eons of traveling, adventure, heartache, despair, and joy could be stuffed down, but the human heart is far more potent than anyone who could perceive. Eventually, they would come to the bottom of the steps, and when they did, they found a wonderous sight. Where they expected a litany of tombs and coffins, they found an entire underground colosseum. As they entered, The emerald heir could not help but become entranced. It felt this place was different from the rest of the tomb thus far. Where there were only subtle traces of the lives of the former inhabitants, now a staggering feeling of magic could be felt here: this was it...this was the actual tomb.

"Magnificent... But, I don't understand... the lingers regerts...this is not a place of rest."

As they entered, Evant immediately felt terrible. Again, the jolt to his sense flared, this time harder than before. Before he could even think, he pushed his charge out of the way. Just then, a solemn gleam in the darkness shone brightly before a black blade found itself scathing through the air past them, landing in the ground just mere inches from them, slicing through events arm just before it stuck itself in the ground. The Urso winced in pain as Dazuma instantly began to wrap it with a piece of his clothing.

"Shit...seems were aren't alone after all."

"Well, well, I had thought the overworld forgot this place. And yet, two mice have scurried their way here."

It was said the deep, disembodied voice. It echoed in the seemingly empty place.

"Though I suppose mere mice wouldn't have been able to break the seal even more, get past my spell. That could only mean."

Just as Dalazar finished wrapping Evant's wound, they both stood. The blade before them emanated a deep malic, the magic terminating from it old and powerful. How could such a menacing aura completely bypass Dalaar's senses? If Evant hadn't saved him, he very well could've been dead.

"Ain's bloodline made it here...after what seems to be an eternity, one of the Emerald Line has finally come, with a pet Urso no less."

"Stop hiding, coward! Do not face us from the shadows!"

Evant cried out into the darkness.

"Who's hiding?"

The voice said just behind them. When the pair turned their head to find the source of the voice, they found nothing.

"Over here."

All they had time to perceive was a blade arm swinging the blade once more, trying to remove Evant's head from his shoulders. Dalazar, with quick thinking and reflexes, would trip Evant, causing him to fall, the blade just narrowly missing him. In a fluid motion, Dalazar's blade was released partially from its sheath, narrowly blocking the attack. He and its wielder were face to face. A clad in black armor, light, almost like garb. He could make out remnants of the magic flowing from his armament as he peered closer to the shadowy figure.

"Kingsthread...but how? Who are you?"

The power of the shadow swordsman had nearly caused Dlazar to relent. Evant went to strike the leg of the assailant, but before he could connect, the being vanished in a blur of speed, reappearing but several meters away.

"Not bad, welcome, Scion of Ain's, That WRETCHED BETRAYER! Relinquish any dreams or hopes you came here with, for this place shall become your tomb."

"My Lord, Stand back! Allow me-"

Dalazar's arm barred Evant in protest as lightning crackled around him. His stare narrowed at the being before him. He knew this was a task for him and him alone. Ain's a betrayer? So that's how his people felt about him after the events concerning Azar. He supposed it was to be expected, a family of bloodthirsty criminals with no actual land of theirs seeking to take over a land promised to them only to turn around and have it all snatched from them on the whim of the one they trusted most. He could sympathize with him, but he made a fatal mistake.

Harming someone he cared for

"Evant, stand aside. I can no longer afford to be protected, For I am King, and I must stand in the front line."

The mysterious being stood casually as the emerald essence emanated from Dalazar.

"If you claim Ain's a betrayer, you must be of the Denkou-shi."

The being would take its blade, prompting Dalazar to strike a defensive stance. But instead of attacking, the figure instead sheathed his weapon.

"Indeed, this arena you stand in is the last burial ground of us who were sealed here, those of us who chose not to follow, who would rather die than betray our ideals. Bound to this place to test Ain's would be inheritors."

"Bound...so you can be freed?"

Though his tone was frustrated and angry from the figure's attack, it still conveyed acknowledgment. The being eyes widened for but a single moment. Surprised that was the prince's first thought. However, it would not change what needed to be

"Enough words; we will begin when you claim your readiness."

Evant went to protest, but he let the thought go. The determination radiating from Dalazar, he knew no amount of protest would sway him when his mind was mad up. Dalazar's defensive stance relaxed. Despite the sneak attack, the figure possessed some notion of chivalry, though Dalazar got the sense it wasn't so benevolent as that.

"Very well, Should I win, You will tell me, Everything"

His voice began to crack slightly like lightning was forming in his throat. When it was true, it was his emerald blood sparking to life. It surged through his frame at that moment, invigorating him with its green glare. The figure's eyes narrowed to their blade-like sharpness as it placed itself in an oddly familiar stance to Dalazar.

"You won't live long enough!"

With dubious speed, the being charged forth, his shadowy frame seemed to ebb in and out of existence. Evant, who had moved backward to give the arena to the combatants, looked on in disbelief, his eyes barely being to follow the shinobi's movements. He went in for a barrage of fast fist strikes.

His speed was impressive beyond impressive even. Dalazar found it a bit troubling to read his movements; what was even odder was that even though he could see the shinobi in front of him, he could not feel a single drop of naten terminating from him. Denkou, whether "Shi" or otherwise, was all mystically inclined to some degree, and he could not fathom one standing guard of a burial ground having anything less than a lord's level of power. Just who or what was this man-phantom?

“What kind of uncouth fiend attacks without even giving a name?”

Despite the impressive speed, Dalazar could respond effectively to the flurry of blows. He evaded one with an elegant sidestep, his majesty emerald mane swaying nimbly. He would block two of them with palm strikes, throwing them off kilter.

"My name died long ago; what you see before you is sheer purpose, nothing more!"

The shade was far from impressed by Dalazar's graceful movements. One claiming Emerald blood was expected to possess uncanny reflexes. The shade's movement speed began to increase as the seconds went by. His attacks were unrelenting and steadily becoming stronger, each blow gathering more and more strength as his momentum increased. Noticing this, Dalazar began to raise his counters to match his blows' growing velocity but was having trouble keeping up with them all.

"How is this possible? His power and speed are increasing. I can feel the brute strength being contained in his strike, and yet his naten is not spiking. Is this the sheer power of Denkoushi conditioning?"

"I see you're good at evading and deflecting, but how long do you think you can fend me off before my blows start landing?!"

At that moment, the shade's attack became too fast for the naked eye to see, unleashing a unrelenting barrage of strikes little by little Dalazar began to see the gap in their physical prowess. Whatever hellish conditions his ancestors underwent to hone their bodies must have been unimaginable compared to Denkou's training, which was not for the faint of heart. Though Dazuma was far from considering himself THE pinnacle of Denkou's physical might, he was still nothing to scoff at. If anyone here could claim that title, It would be Evant. Despite this, the young noble could not allow himself to fall short; however fast the shade became, Dalazar, only subtly invoking his magic, pushed himself to rise to meet him blow for blow.

"Heh, do not be so quick to underestimate me!"

This exchange took place in seconds, and over 100 mighty blows were swung, with neither side showing a sign of relenting despite several of those blows ramming into him on his sides. Dalazar, though wincing in pain, shouldered the burden of his hurt and pressed himself even further. The pair appeared like an emerald and black blur. They spent this time merely sizing one another up, gauging each other's movements and hand-to-hand fighting ability. It seems their conditioning was similar in that way. It appeared that this observation would go on for eternity, that was until the shade revealed a wicked smile before flinching at Dalzar as if coming with another blow, in truth it was a feint and for a single moment in a display of utter speed that eclipsed Dalazar he vanished. Dalazar, slightly winded after keeping up with his cannonade of attacks, was guarded.

"Not bad, son of Denkou. My strikes are enough to shatter boulders, yet you still stand after taking them without a shred of armor. I'm almost impressed."

His voice echoed in the dark expanse. To serve his favor, the flames dimly lit, seemingly blending in with the surrounding darkness. Even with his magic sense active, Dalzar could not register the shinobi's presence.

"Are you worried? You're probably wondering why your magic sense cannot detect me, even when standing before you. Silly Denkou, so softly conditioned as mages, so used to using magic for every minor inconvenience, your vicious instinctual perceptions that we worked for hundreds of years to cultivate, dulled behind your coddled walls, oh how they shield you from the rest of the world. But, You are keeping me entertained thus far, so I suppose I can inform you a bit."

He said as he appeared, standing next to his blade. Dalazar registered nearly a full second after he appeared, solidifying for Dalzar what the shade knew already. He could've won from the beginning if he had gone full out. Had it not been for Evant's uncanny timing, he would've already been dead.

"A Denkoushi is trained rigorously from birth, literally from infancy, we are groomed into bloodthirsty killers. As you put it, the only honor or couth we are taught is respect for power. We are hired murderers whose only true joy is testing our power against our targets. When we can comprehend sound, we are taught the Tennant Of Shinobi: One: A shinobi must destroy their ego, kill their emotions, and starve their conscience. Cut yourself off from your heart, for its dubious nature will comprise your mission...tools of death need no have personality."

"Well, aren't we talkative? Could it have been that you've been lonely down here by yourself?"

Dalazar's eyes never left the ninja, who was surprised he was talking so much after his "enough words" speech. The shade sucked his teeth, trying to ignore the mermaid ones' little shady remarks.

"Two, Shinobi are masters of the night and must become like a shadow, suppress your presence, and become indigestible from the darkness. This technique is called suppression, and my mastery is considered legendary. Even standing here before you, I seem like a fading memory, a dream you can hardly recall. That is for the free lesson; you'll have to defeat me for the rest. Unfortunately for you, I've never been good at holding back for long, so prepare yourself."

Striking the same pose he did before his last assault, the shade shinobi once more, in a black flash of speed, was upon Dalazarhis arm extended for an attack. As Dalzar prepared to defend himself, a grim smile crept across the shinobi's partially revealed face(his mouth only).

"For all that awaits you now is death!"

For a single moment, Dalazar noticed the gleam of a blade manifesting in the shade, seemingly from thin air. With a last-second pivot, he shifted his mode of defense. He could not hope to protect against it, unable to draw his blade in retaliation, but could still respond. It was clear to him that there would be no use in holding back in this fight. From here on out, the ninja was dead set on taking his life. The only thing somewhat palpable was the blood lust emanating from him. Just as the blade neared his neck, Dalazar would grit his teeth at that moment, for a single second, his right leg became endowed with copious emerald lightning. Thrusting his body backward, he went into a flip one with surgeon-like precision as he kicked the hand holding the blade, his speed surpassing the ninjas for that single instance, sending it flying into the air. The shinobi's eyes widened as he vanished again, appearing above his blade and grabbing hold of it mid-air. As Dalzar's flip resolved, he went into his pack and grabbed the kunai, which he charged with lightning, sending them flying-like bullets at his target. Behind them, light trailed, alluding to something more. At the same time, airborne, the ninja deflected the two kunai rapidly, using the momentum from his maneuver to contort his body as he came down with a powerful vertical slash aiming to split the Emerald bearer in twain.

"Kunai? So, would the king fancy himself a ninja? Don't make me laugh!"

"You know nothing of the bloodline you detest so much!"

As the black ninja deflected, the two kunai Dalazar would smirk. The shade did not think much of the descendants of Ains. The way he talked and his condescending tone. It was like talking to his elder brother. Myos' disdain for how the kingdom was led up until now. It was now clear to Dalazar that Myos knew the truth of their bloodline and sought to return them to their old ways. The way of the ninja, the creed of its culture, was practiced not as a solemn way of life but as a form of spirituality. It was by no means the secular standard it once was. It was one of many ways one could walk through life; however, for those of the Royal households, its practices were still heavily taught and revered as it remained the building blocks for many of their structures, even down to the kingdom's very architecture. It, however, was not used in the way the guardian of the tomb operated from. Not as a dogmatic law seeded in the pursuit of power but for the pursuit of personal mastery, an ushering along the path to becoming the most excellent version of oneself possible, all for the sanctification of the kingdom and the glory of the Emerald Bloodline. Many current mages have used the shinobi's foundational beliefs that the mind and body must be sound to wield the mystic forces integral to his people properly.

With a flick of his index and middle finger, the trailing light behind the Kunai would reveal twin ninja wires endowed with naten to strengthen them. Crafted from Illuminite, the cornerstone of Denkou's genitive success, the wire made from the metal was a perfect conductor for lightning. He would swiftly and tightly ensnare the ninja by manipulating the kunai and threading with his magic, capturing him like a wayward fly in a spider's web. The shade was surprised; the last thing he expected was a modern Denkou mage using shinobi tactics, even more so when I found Dalazar weaving a set of hand signs. As this happened, his signature green lightning began to crackle intensely from him. His right arm began to glow brightly as the rune engraved upon his flesh representing his bond with the industrious house of the Ant of the Gamallow family came to life.

"!!!"


His rune magic, a byproduct of his light magic, was lost to him. By using his lightning magic to awaken his slumbering might instead, he felt his form invigorated by its power, but it was only half as powerful. However, half the power should prove more than enough for this one purpose. Evant would be seen standing in the stands, his arms folded, smirking as he watched Dalzar gain the upper hand. The Grizzly knight was surprised he would use such an ability but then considered that the Ant rune was not fully powered. Thus, its usually massive backlash would not be nearly as detrimental. It was a game-changing move that only furthered his reverence for his lord.

"Lightning Magic: Dazzling Meteorite!"


He was channeling this significant boost into his arms coupled with the incredible power of his lightning magic traveling through the wires amplified by the very nature of Illuminite electrifying his target just before Dalazar would yank the wired prison around the shinobi with over 25 times his body weight; this came about to 3 tons of physical force aiming to send him plummeting into the ground with a furious grand slam of sheer physical power. Unprepared by this exquisite display of crafty magical and physical innovation, the ninja was sent crashing to the arena's floor, creating a crater that sent a volley of stone dust and debris flying through the arena. Dalazar, shielding himself from the fleeting debris, released the wires and waited for the dust to clear.

"You may look at us like feeble shells of our former selves, underlying the term shinobi. Most of the world has forgotten its ways and its presence. But we of the Denkou, especially those of the Royal house of Ri'ore, live our lives as ninja still, beholden to no other lord, under the thumb of no other ruler. THAT freedom was our founder's gift—the freedom to choose our walk of life. And I...I have chosen to uphold those tenets. As did my father and the king before him! To me, the terms Shinobi or mage, Ninjustu or magic are synonyms in my heart"

Evant would be seen grinning quite widely. What a fantastic display from his charge. Evant personally oversaw Dalazar's training for three years. It was amazing to see the boy who could not even harm a fly now deliver such a devastating blow—a combo art showcasing the brilliant Denkou metallurgic prowess and their magic. The way of the shinobi was still heavily engraved in the minds and hearts of the kingdom. Instead, though their loyalties and pursuit of strength are tailored to whichever lord has the most prominent pockets, they exalt one lord and follow only one king. As the debris cleared, the shinbi's body would be lying face down in the crater.

Battered and seemingly broken, the ninja lay unconscious. Dalazar took a deep breath, his naten returning to its calm state. This foe was a vicious one, and had it not been for his prejudice, he could've proved to be a fatal one. Fortunately for Dalazar, he was used to navigating the mishappen perception of the narcissist. Being born of the most noble house in the kingdom, a family like the Ri'ore, but to be born with barely a whisper of the divine spark. It was abominable in the eyes of many. Even knowing the trial after their birth, the illness of the power chain, obsessed with magic power, was deeply rooted and needed to be gutted out. By his hands, that was the entire reason he was here, to begin with.

To save his home.

To play the blonde, weaponize their unassuming preconceptions of you... then strike with the terror of a viper. His mother taught him that long ago. He has always had to rely on cunning and finesse to grow more vital to make up for his lack of raw magic power. Now, though, he lacked nothing on either side. The illuminance of the beryl sun coursing through him was no more digestible than the blood in his veins.

"Evant my spare cloak, please..."

He said, turning his back to the fallen ninja and walking back towards Evant, who went inside his bag for the item his lord requested. And just then, Evant got an almost numbing migraine so painful he dropped the sack containing their items. Dalazar, with great worry, began to run after him. As he started to, the body of the defeated ninja erupted in a plume of smoke. In an instant, a blister of speed forced apart smoke so exorbitant his physical form blurred to both the serpent and bear nobles,

"My Lord! Behind you!!!"

Evant's frightened bellow echoed into an abyss as all sound fell silent once the shade unleashed its arbiter.

" A true shinobi would never dare to turn their back on a foe they had not made sure was slain!!"

Dalazar had let his guard down, calming his naten, and losing the speed needed to react to this assault would cost him dearly. The Denkoushi warrior unleashed a devasting attack. Just as Dalazar went to look behind him for a single moment, he caught a glimpse of the ninja's face. For the first time, he felt the shade presence before him, a bloodlust like a raging wave, inexorable and turbulent as a roaring storm; with a single and price swing of his blade, which burned with a searing black aura, cleaved its way through Dalazar's right arm, rending it clean and smoking from his shoulder. Before the pain could even register, the shade appeared just shy of in front of his target, pivoting into a second attack that would see the same blazing black aura engulfing his nijato blade, aiming for his other arm. This attack was slower than the other, granting Dalazar enough time to move his body and change where the blade struck. Though his arm left arm was spared, he was slashed deeply across his chest. Causing him to spit blood out of his mouth, his emerald legacy bleeding from him like liquid jade.

Profane Embodiment: Imperious Demon Blade!

Not even his voice broke the silence, as if his words crept into the back of his prey's mind. What broke the silence was Dalazar's blood pooling at his feet. He fell to one knee, using the sheath of his sword and his free hand to balance.

"I will say, though, being able to dodge even just enough to avoid losing both arms...that was quite impressive. For a fake."

That shade flung Dalazars glistening blood from his blade and spattered egregiously on the ground beside him. His hair swayed as the winds that picked up during his attack revealed a long black ponytail and piercing red eyes. His attire had shifted to a black Ronin outfit befitting a swordsman. His blade burned soberly with an insidious black hue. His eyes narrowed as he stood there staring at the near-death prince. His face was cold and expressionless.

“ Compression is a skill that, unlike suppression, does not mask presence, condenses it, fine-tunes it, and unleashes a devasting burst of sudden power that often catches the opponent off guard. The betrayer himself taught me this skill. You speak like him; your words are nearly identical to what was said the day he sealed me in this tomb. He led us thousands of miles to this land, promising that we would finally have the home we always yearned for, that we fought so desperately to gain. Only for him to stab us in the back and taint our bloodline!”

Dalazar spits out another thick cough of blood, his body trembling. He holds on to his sliver of life with sheer will alone. Had he had his light magic, healing his wounds would have been nothing. The echoing of his use of the cursed flames vexes him once more.

“Shinobi are ruthless killers whose thirst for blood is endless. We were never meant to be more than reapers. Than tools of death and chaos. For that reason, we razed our homeland in flames, and on the whim of a spirit that none but him could perceive, we were forced to abandon our ambitions and set sights on Madeira, a land with no reverence for coin. All the lives I took in his name, so many of those voices still haunt me. For what? No, My hatred would no longer allow me to follow him, so I raised my sword against him… though futile, I knew it to be. He cursed me to remain here. To test the ones who claim to be his inherited. It has been my only way of striking at him and his wretched beliefs…”

Evant, overcome with emotion and fear, began to race toward the shade, his Naten blistering into a frenzied wrath of lightning.

“E-Evant…stand …down”

Dalazar weakly cried out. His consciousness faded in and out as he tried to force himself to stand, only to fall back needless before the sword man. Evant, torn between his loyalty and emotion, moved to defy him.

“Ah yes, the fabled lab dogs of the Ri’ore. So attached to their blood-bound oaths to protect their masters. Tell me, Urso, did your senses, your pathetic oaths, warn you of your master's demise? How do you not know your loyalties are not programmed? How can you trust that Ains did not use his magic to...domesticate the Urso?”

Evant's eyes were wide with conflict. Was his loyalty not a choice of his own? He had desired to protect Dalazar from the day of his birth. That feeling, all the blood, sweat, and tears of his training to rise to the top of his household, all in the name of the one he was charged to. To insult his word, his bond. He had heard enough!

“You will perish! “

Just as he was about to enter the arena, Dalazar gritted his teeth, his voice guttural.

“Evant Urso! Your King commands you to YIELD!”

The Urso stopped dead in his tracks, his fist tight with retribution. What could his charge possibly think he could do in his current state? Would he be forced to watch his love fall before his eyes, not being allowed to raise his hand in aid of him? The black one was impressed with his tenacity.

"Th-this is my battle...I..paid for my carelessness. I shall beg...for your forgiveness later.
But YOU!"
He said as his mind drifted briefly to the words his father left to him after freeing him of Azar's hold.

"Within his chest beats a heart as strong as a dragon, yet it is filled to the brim with loving compassion, invigorating all who meet him. He is a guiding star on a bleak night."

"Don't..don't you DARE. Question him. Evant...Evant has."

“Please, my liege, you must be careful. The Queen and your aunt are both waiting for you back home. These hands...are the last I ever want to see stained by blood...”

"Fufufu, Oh? Have I struck a nerve? Profane Embodiment is nothing like your little parlor tricks of magic. The will of the soul granted form, more like purpose. The Imperious demon blade is the darkness festering in my heart-given shape. It became so after I devoured the soul of a powerful flame wielder long ago; its flames haunt the area it cuts, forcing the victim to relive the pain over and over. That is my NATURE, the core of what I am."

The adversary stared, his brow raised in curiosity. To think this brat still lived, even though his attack missed its mark. He should be a carcass, cold and lifeless. Yet, the shade could sense something brewing within him. Dalazar's grip on his sword tightened as he attempted to force himself to stand once more. Small spurts of emerald lightning crackled softly from him; his brows furrowed in a fury.

Now tell me, what do you think of Ephemeral Arts, as a man capable of rewriting the memories of an entire people? What do you think that says about who he is and everything that has come from him? You...are a fairytale, a dream; your power holds no substance. Your bonds have no true foundation. You are nothing...YOUR ENTIRE FAITH IS BUILT UPON FALSEHOOD. AINS HAS CURSED THE URSO AND ALL THE OTHER HOUSES TO FOLLOW YOU, HEATHEN, INTO THE ABYSS!!

"You're wrong."

He struggled to say through the gurgling blood in his throat after the black ones' words crawled under his skin. Perhaps he was naive; he had to be in this position, groveling near death before another. The loss of his arm, his penitence for underestimating his foe and not going full out from the start. That he could subdue his target and appeal to his desire for freedom by finding a way to grant it after defeating him, a lesson, though hard learned, was one he would be sure never to forget again, the echoing madness of the wound ebbing with phantom pangs. But there was no chivalry for the Denkoushi, and his assumption nearly cost him his life. But to question his knight's loyalty, to insult their bond...there could be no penance high enough to be paid that would quell his anger.
Nothing save for revenge.

"I-I am The Emerald Sea..."

The tiny soritical flickers of emerald lightning began to thicken slowly as the grip on his blade became so strong his hands threatened to bleed. The ronin stood fast, slowly raising his blade. Evant, still gripping with his rage and frustration, was on the edge of his seat, his heart thick with worry. He had to, though; he had to have faith in the one who would inherit the future of his people.

"Spark...behind the artist's eyes, L-Laugh that lightenes PAIN!"

A thick mystical aura began manifesting from his opened wounds as the crackling lightning intensified, shaking the ground beneath them. The ronin's eyes narrowed in anticipation. It seemed there was a bit more to this child than he gave credit for. Those words, though—he had heard them before.

"I am the Union! My dream CONNECTS, not divides."

He slowly rose from his kneeled position, his magic bubbling around him like ocellated orbs of lightning, becoming more vital and more profound as his convictions rose.

"Words that flare, Inspire! The courage to resist desire."

The mantra passed from Ain, the first King, to Nalbina, the Second; Dracovis, his Father, The Third; and now he, the fourth. But as he spoke these words, their ancient creed filling his body with life once more, there was another feeling, a stronger emotion, as his eye began flashing in and out of a golden flare. The tomb began to quake violently as his magic power skyrocketed with such force that Shinobi would find it troublesome to even get near him. he would never allow his face to show it. There was angst building in the ninja whose every fiber told him to strike now and end this, but the other part of him wished to see it with his own eyes. Ain's betrayal, he wanted to know the extent of the promise left by his former chief. The face to the fullness of his legacy and to have it town in twain by his blade, the beryl sun engulfed in eternal burning darkness.

"I am summer rain. Cloudburst onto the barren."

His spilled king blood resonated with the magic flowing from his body, igniting in unison as its drifting essence joined the swelling storm of power around him. His magic began thickening like spiraling cumulous clouds as they swirled around him like a furious tornado of valorous jade . His words, embellished with the backing of thunder, boomed with primal fury, its erratic maelstrom of fury spelling into the sky, busting through the roof like a sprouting tree of verdant lightning, saturating the clouds above with its retribution.

"The Bud!"

The skies boomed

"The Seed!"

The winds wailed

"The Hope I...!!!"

Lightning flashed thickly through the skies, and a massive bolt of green lightning cascaded down upon Dalazar, baptizing him in the fullness of the Emerald Soul. His eyes glared brightly with a golden flare, and the black tone of his hair seemingly evaporated, replaced by a silvery hue. The force of the sky blessing created a powerful shockwave that sent the black one nearly off his feet, he thought, plunged his sword into the earth, keeping him anchored still. It began to solidify around him like thread repairing his tattered clothing. His wounds were cauterized and sealed, but his limb was still lost to him. The shade might be surprised that his flames had been snuffed out, Dalzar free from their haunting essence.

"I Am Dalazar Ain's Ri'ore Denkou, The 4th Emerald King, And I am far from no one."

As the might of his magic encapsulated his being, it increased in tandem with his rising anger. His pent-up frustration allowed him to be wounded so fatally. As much as it irritated him to admit, the shade made a point. A mistake like this would have cost him his life immediately. His recklessness had blinded him to what this battle indeed was. This was battle of ideals, and as he learned in ulran. Ideals that lack the power to back them are merely wishful thinking—fantasies of the weak, passing fancies of the coddled. But his calling has removed him from that pyre. He could not afford weakness. For to see his dream made reality, he must become strength personified!