Aera-Kerr: Prelude of Fate: Aera-Kerr, #1

By Kyle Ennis

In the year 2056 CE, Tyrell Wolf, a kindhearted but timid seventeen-year-old, has fallen for the lovely Kira Birkin, leading to his dismay at the fact that she is already with another boy. As an astronomical chance would have it, Tyrell discovers a crystal which appears to possess magical properties, as the crystal both emits an ominous glow and increases probability of a desired outcome to its holder, which aids him in his effort to try and win Kira's heart.

 

As time passes, a mysterious spirit, who somehow seems to know Tyrell, awakens and communicates with him through the crystal's power. The spirit warns him of an impending invasion by demonic creatures from a dark parallel world, and alludes to Tyrell fulfilling an ancient prophecy to save the world. Tyrell cannot comprehend why this is happening, but knows that he must do something. The fate of mankind depends on his decision, which he must make quickly, because time is running out before the creatures begin their attack . . .

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lucembra Print Distributions
• Release date: Jul 31, 2021
• ISBN: 9781737413608

Book preview

Prologue

Thousands of years ago, humans and the other six Master Races learned to harness the powers of Mana, known as magic by those unfamiliar with it, and alchemy. These abilities were given to them by the seven Divine Gods, whom ruled over the Dimensions They had created within the Cosmos. The Divine Gods had existed long before all mortal life, and each one governed their own respective Dimension. Their power existed within every living being, yet was also bestowed in a more concentrated physical form; the mystic crystals.

The Divine Gods had also created a single, unique crystal with power that dwarfed all others. It was known as the Prominence Crystal. The Gods would only offer the Crystal to humble, righteous individuals who would not abuse its power. It was decided that Lucembra, Divine Goddess of Light, would be the one to bestow the Prominence Crystal to humans. They were known to have a far more passive form of society in comparison to the other Master Races of the remaining six Dimensions, and were the least likely to misuse its power.

The powers of Mana, alchemy, and the crystals allowed the mortals to drastically improve their societies. They were to be used for peaceful and protective purposes, as the Divine Gods had instructed. Yet as time passed, many societies in the Seven Dimensions gave way to superstition, considering any form of Mana to be a dark art. They encouraged inhabitants of their cultures to abstain from any use of the mystic crystals or other supernatural power. Such is the case of humans, who, being the most precautious of the Master Races, seldom practiced magic or alchemy. This caused these abilities to become obsolete as time passed. Yet this was not the case on the legendary island, Atlantis. In this isolated continent, use of Mana and the crystals’ power had become common knowledge to all.

Although the mystical energy the Gods had given the Master Races were to only be used for benign purposes, there were those in each Dimension who became blinded by a lust for power. Seeing the potential it could bring them, they began to use Mana for war and destruction. The most notorious instance occurred in the Dimension of Darkness, to the mortal Demigod, Xeraor. He had been a benevolent entity during his early life, until fate nudged him in a different direction . . .

Xeraor learned everything he could about Mana, hoping to achieve immortality with his betrothed by imbuing their souls with the taboo power of Divinity. It had achieved the intended effects and made their lifespans eternal, yet both of their hearts were deeply evil by nature. This resulted in the power of the crystals transforming them into horrible, supernatural creatures. Xeraor claimed the title of the Dark Lord, the original wielder of the corrupted Dark magic.

Alienated from their native society, Xeraor and his betrothed both harnessed their extraordinary, newfound power to terraform their own world. In this new Dark world, the two falsely-Divine entities spawned their own race and created a powerful empire. With his original nature corrupted by discordant Dark Mana, Xeraor developed an insatiable appetite for power and control. His will had been dominated by pure malice and hatred for all who dared to oppose him. He saw the Divine Gods and Master Races as a threat to his reign over his new empire. In a delusion of paranoia, he amassed armies of his Dark power’s soulless offspring, Xerian Daemons. Xeraor declared war on all beings he deemed to be dangerous or inferior to him.

When the Daemons gained access to the interdimensional portals, they began their attacks on all parallel worlds. With the passing of the ages, numerous societies across the Seven Dimensions fell to the unrelenting power of the Dark Lord. Due to the inferiority of humanity’s understanding of magic, the invasion of the Xerian Daemons resulted in a massive war that threatened to destroy the entire world.

However, this would not come to pass. Zane Azrael, the last High Prince of Atlantis, was the only one who held both the power and courage to confront the Dark Lord himself, as foretold by an Atlantean prophecy. Wielding Atlantis’ most powerful weapon, Dragon Vein, the young Prince emerged victorious. It was, however, only temporary; Xeraor’s energy would go dormant, allowing him to recover his power and resume his onslaught.

Many times throughout history, Xeraor returned. To give humanity a greater chance of survival, the blessings provided by the Divine Gods allowed for Azrael to be reincarnated. This would let him continue to have his legendary powers be used to ensure the survival of humanity by keeping the Xerian Daemons at bay. However, holding the Daemons back forever, as opposed to wiping them out, was very impractical. Xeraor would one day discover the existence of the vastly-powerful Prominence Crystal. He would stop at nothing to use it in order to gain the power necessary to counter any other magic that could be used against him.

Another prophecy has been foreseen by the Divine Gods, which speaks of one particular incarnation of Azrael. He will gain the ability to strip Xeraor of his power once and for all. Said future incarnation of Azrael will have hesitance to the prophecy, having been raised in a world without Mana or the mystic crystals. However, he will soon come to have all the knowledge of the High Prince himself, and the willingness to save the world from the Dark Lord for all eternity . . .

A single event can awaken within us a stranger totally unknown to us. To live is to be slowly born.

― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

Aera-Kerr

Prelude of Fate

Chapter 1

Crack of the Whip

SNAP.

Tyrell’s bullwhip made a startling crack as it unfurled through the air. The sound caused several small birds among the tall grass to scatter through the air in fright. Though he did several practice cracks during each training session, the first was always the most satisfying. Something about the whip gave him a strong sense of invigoration from the rapid motion, the empowerment from the loud crack, and the mastery from wielding such an unstable instrument in an effective way.

After running through a series of cattleman cracks, coachman cracks, drum rolls, and volleys, Tyrell stopped for a break, sitting in the cool shade of a nearby elm tree. He watched as the clouds rolled by, the wind swept waves of light green grass across the open region, and admired the brilliant, glimmering skyline of his home city.

Tyrell’s pleasant sightseeing was cut short as deep whispers echoed through his mind.

. . . Sa an’u vihga reltoh-vur . . .

He glanced around the empty field, the hair prickling on his neck, his pulse elevated. The whispers continued, deep, almost at the limits of human speech.

. . . Yahnavi, Aera-Kerr, varr Sa nu Vata Corrva Xeraor . . .

Tyrell clasped his hands to his ears and shut his eyes tight.

Again, already? Tyrell asked.

He took deep breaths, attempting to calm his nerves. Given his experience with this situation, he was fairly nervous. The voice was rather deep, layered over an even deeper, more monstrous one.

. . . Zurum an’u prevanis qaii Azrael despatonor . . .

Please, Tyrell said to the disembodied voice. Get out of my head! Leave me alone!

A burning sensation churned through his chest, pulsing in rhythm with his pounding heart. He felt weak and heavy. Opening his eyes, the landscape was blood-red. A tall dark figure loomed over him. His piercing crimson eyes glowed coldly, chilling Tyrell’s bones.

. . . SA AN’U TALVORUZU . . . !

GAH! Tyrell shrieked.

Shutting his eyes in fright, he lashed his whip at the figure in front of him, only for a loud crack to snap him out of the episode. He opened his eyes to see that nothing was there. Everything was back the way it had been before the vision. Lowering the whip back to his side, he let out a sigh.

What’s been going on lately? Tyrell thought. I keep hearing that weird voice . . . I’ve started seeing things . . . and now, I’m starting to actually feel something whenever it happens!

Tyrell felt like he was losing his mind. These manifestations were becoming more frequent and intense. It was not, however, limited to the waking world; he had endured frequent, near-identical nightmares for an equal amount of time.

This can’t be a good sign, Tyrell thought.

He thought he could have been suffering from an extreme form of neurosis, but after an appointment with his school therapist revealed that he was reasonably sane, it led him to wonder what the cause was, as nothing traumatic or unnerving ever happened to him.

However, at the moment, all Tyrell wanted to do was get back to what he came out to the field for. He stood back up and brought his whip over his head, sending it flying forward again, making another small sonic boom. Between cracks, he heard footsteps. He turned to see a dark-haired girl walking towards him.

Well, if it isn’t Indiana Jones the Second, she said, hand resting on her hip.

Tyrell smirked. It was Naomi Muller, one of his childhood friends. She gave him the nickname because everyone gossiped about his daily practice with a whip.

Hey, Naomi. How have you been?

Fair enough. No complaints, Naomi said, shrugging. How about you?

Same, Tyrell replied, winding up his whip. Anyway, what are you doing down here?

Naomi folded her arms. Well, I was taking a walk to Kate’s house to return her phone to her; she left it at my place after a visit, she nodded at his whip, and then I heard you snapping that thing around.

Tyrell chuckled; this was, as far as his knowledge went, the first time Naomi saw him actually use his whip.

A small smile crept to her lips. Mind if I try a few swings?

Sure, Tyrell said, holding the whip out to her.

Thanks! She said.

It was rare to see her smile, so it surprised Tyrell. She and him were both mostly indifferent when the usual routine was under way, but that did not mean they were completely apathetic and emotionless. Whether it was anything from, say, a typical cafeteria conversation to a big outdoor event, finding any element of enjoyment became a habit for Tyrell. Naomi had a similar behavior; he had noticed it at school and a few parties.

Naomi was swinging the whip in a circle above her head, trying to get a feel for the weight, before lashing it with a lot of force. The whip came back, making only a whistle instead of a crack, and slashed her exposed ankle.

Agh! She shrieked, kneeling to massage her foot.

Tyrell stepped forward. You okay?

Yeah, Naomi said, yeah, just surprised me is all.

She stood back up and handed the whip back to Tyrell, pressing her lips together as she went slightly red. Can you show me how to do it?

Tyrell took the whip from her for a demonstration.

It’s not about brute-force, he said, bringing the whip behind his back and letting it fly forward, making a real crack this time. It’s just one fluid motion. Don’t jerk the whip forwards as hard as you can; simply both swing it and pull it back gently the moment it gets to its full length.

He brought the whip behind himself again and lashed it forward. Then, he circled it above his head and cracked it as it came in front of him. He then handed Naomi the whip again.

Now you try.

Naomi took the whip, planted her feet into the ground (which Tyrell found amusing, since it was unnecessary), and repeated what Tyrell did. She swung the whip straight upwards for the backswing, and sent it flying, cracking it: a perfect cattleman crack. She then brought the whip behind herself again and performed a less-complex flick, which made another crack. Tyrell smiled as she turned towards him.

You see? He said. A whip will only respond properly if you treat it properly.

I’ve wanted to do that my whole life! Naomi stared at the whip in awe, I always thought the cracking noise came from movies and stuff! But what makes the sound, anyway?

Tyrell slipped the whip from her fingers and held it up by the end.

This part of the whip is called the cracker, he said, pointing to the white strand on the end, what happens is that the whip, when swung properly, will make the cracker barely move faster than the speed of sound, making a small vacuum space in the air. Basically, a small sonic boom.

Naomi raised her eyebrows. Oh, really? I never knew that.

Yeah, Tyrell said. Did you know that the same thing happens with lightning and thunder?

Really? Naomi asked, her eyes narrow.

Tyrell nodded. It’s the same thing . . . just a lot larger.

Before Naomi could make another comment, a musical tone sounded. She checked her smartphone. Oh, it’s my alarm. I should probably get going, Kate’s expecting me soon.

Alright, Tyrell said, well, thanks for the brief stop.

Naomi waved. Yeah. See you later, Tyrell.

Though people got the first impression that Naomi and Tyrell’s relationship was beyond the friendship zone, they were not a couple. They were simply good friends; in fact, she was as much of a friend to him as any of his male friends.

Tyrell got a few more lashes in with his whip before the sun got low in the sky, forcing him to ride his bike back to his apartment. He had to keep the whip out of sight when he entered the building, because if he got caught, he could end up getting into trouble for carrying a concealed weapon.

It was a good thing Tyrell hid it under his jacket, too, because the front desk was not deserted this time; Marion Ross, a middle-aged woman, sat reclined in her chair, smiling as he walked in.

Good evening, Tyrell.

Tyrell entered and the elevator rapidly ascended to his floor, where he headed back to his apartment, and scanned his finger on the biometric door lock. The electronic lock opened, and, tired from the ride back, he went straight to his bedroom. It was a small room, with only a full-size bed, a desk with an all-in-one PC on it, along with numerous external solid-state drives, and a small bookcase that was only half-full. The walls were plain white, as was the concave ceiling, which had the light as its most interesting feature; a ring of LEDs concealed by a lip of the main ceiling that partially extended into the short dome.

When it came to decor, Tyrell’s room was fairly minimal. He only had some framed posters consistent of high-resolution and panoramic photographs of stock natural environments and abstract illustrations. He became tired of looking at the same pictures for years, and wanted to replace them once he had the money for new ones. The view of his home city through the window, however, was a sight that would never grow stale for him. It was constantly changing, with new