Mirror of Reality

By Alexander Schmid

The peace of the Empire of Geb is broken by an attack from Mirror of Reality, an Esper of immense power seeking to gain dominion over both magic and science. And in response to this unprecedented attack Ivan Stein and Argon Krieg, the Generals of the Arthurian Armies create a team to slay the mighty and all but unbeatable being that attacked the

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alexander Schmid
• Release date: Jun 12, 2022
• ISBN: 9780645086416

Book preview

Mirror of Reality

A Geb War Chronicle Book

By Alexander Schmid

Copyright © 2022 Alexander Schmid

All rights reserved.

All the characters in this book are fictious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

E-Book

First Edition ISBN: 978-0-6450864-0-9

Current Edition ISBN: 978-0-6450864-1-6

Table of Contents

PART 1: THE SYNERGY OF HEROES

Prologue: Dark Ending – The Fall of Faust

Chapter 1: The Bearer of Decay – Paladin of Gray

Chapter 2: The Golden Court – A Conversation Amongst Immortals

Chapter 3: A Pleasant Journey – Here_To_There

Chapter 4: Fallen Church – King_Of_Faith

Chapter 5: Dreams of Darkness – War of Madness and Faith

Chapter 6: (K)Night of the Nile – Wormwood_At_Last

Chapter 7: Broken Dragon [Wyvernborn] – A Talk Beneath the Stars

Chapter 8: A Lesson in History – Tales the Dragon Told

Chapter 9: City of Dead Blood – The Song of Sung

Chapter 10: Soldier of Demon Light – Victory Incarnate

PART 2: THE GRAVITY OF WAR

Chapter 11: The Kindness of Man – Ultimate Atelier

Chapter 12: Children of the Three Moons – Mothers of Stone

Chapter 13: The Dragon’s Dream – The History Of Cain

Chapter 14: Pirate vs. Paladin – A Dance With Gravity

Chapter 15: War Within the Infinite Sky – A Moment Of Wisdom

Chapter 16: An Archer of Iron – The Hunger of Water

Chapter 17: Reflections Of Madness – King Of The Immortal Blood

Chapter 18: Scars Of War – The Allure Of The Omega

Chapter 19: The Wolf’s Path – The Truth of Fire

Chapter 20: Gauntlet of Battles – Untold Secrets

Chapter 21: Union of Science and Magic – End of the Tyrant

Epilogue: Uncertain Beginning – The Rise of Aizen

Afterword:

PART 1: THE SYNERGY OF HEROES

Prologue: Dark Ending – The Fall of Faust

The wind stirred and under the starless, night sky it spun and danced across a sea of grass and passed through a million strong horde of peasants and rudimentary soldiers to arrive at a vast and dark city, which could not have ever stood unless it was supported by things that shouldn’t have existed in this world, things that could overturn the laws of causality and beget terrible miracles.

Things like magic.

But the wind didn’t care for magic and so long as the powers that built the city didn’t touch it, the wind was unmoved by the dark majesty of the city. Yet for all its uncaring nature even the wind was forced to bow to the might of the monolithic structure that existed in the centre of the maze of roads and buildings made from blackened, magical manastone.

For while the buildings of the world below reached heights that could be measured in kilometres if not more, this monolith towered over all the land and touched the sky. The monolith could easily be measured in the hundreds of kilometres and for those living far away, the monolith stuck from the ground like a giant arrow embedded in the earth.

And as the wind butted against the vast and unyielding monstrosity of magic, it seemed to whisper as it sailed higher and higher almost reaching the very top of the building where four spires shot up giving the impression of a hand reaching out to take hold of the very sky itself. And should anyone with keen eyes have noticed, they would see that the four spires seemed to align with the cardinal directions from which the Ordinal Winds came.

And deep inside this monolith nearing the top floor, Prisoner Zero stepped forward.

Prisoner Zero’s footsteps didn’t quiver or waver as he walked forwards and if it weren’t for the four chains which connected to the collar that he bore around his neck, one would easily mistake him for a king that had walked into his own palace and in a way he was. Yet the robe that covered his body and hid his face served to make his appearance one of a sorcerer or other dark magic practitioner. And if it were not for the shackles imbued with magic that encircled his wrist, the guards that stood to his side would undoubtedly fear that he would reach out and destroy them with but a small and fleeting thought.

Yet despite his shackles, Prisoner Zero didn’t emit any aura or generate any form of hostility. In fact, he was so calm that the guards wondered if the person that they had bound was even human for they knew what this man was, who he was and the fate that awaited him at the end of his short yet notoriously terrifying walk.

The four guards that encircled the prisoner all wore their status for the world to see. They were men born with mana pools inside their bodies and they should have stood at the top of society and been given all that their fathers, siblings and all family members had received, but Prisoner Zero could see with but the smallest of glances that the men who had been selected could not wield magic of their own accord and possessed only mana within and not the ability to draw it out and use it to create and alter the world as they saw fit.

For this trait and this trait alone, the men who currently thought they held his leash were considered to be nothing more than secondary citizens, cannon fodder soldiers to be given tools and devices. Devices that the mages that ran the country saw as nothing more than failures and scraps compared to what they held in their own mana infused hands. Yet, Prisoner Zero found it quite interesting that these four men dressed in flowing robes dedicated to the primary colours that balanced the cardinal directions, the colours red, blue, green and yellow, were still here and not revolting like the million strong horde that besieged the city’s limits.

Had they stayed because of a belief in their duty or was it for something else? Prisoner Zero didn’t know and truly couldn’t fathom the why of the situation. But all this was but fleeting thoughts in the prisoner’s head as he beheld the final leg of his journey. The Hall Of Regrets, the Corridor of Conscience, the Gallery Of Memories and many other epithets were given to this hall. The last torment Prisoner Zero would have to endure before he would cease to be. Yet unlike the thirteen others who had passed through this hall, Prisoner Zero didn’t thrash or plead, instead he regally strode forth and his majesty was so great that as he walked he gave off the impression that the men, who held his chains, were in fact the ones held captive.

Unlike the prisoner, whose face was forever lost in the black, tattered cowl he had worn for so long that even he was pressed to remember his face, the guards bore helms coloured after their respective alignment and marked with magic runes. Not just the 24 Runes that Jupitor Soulstorm had written at the end of the Age of Monsters, but runes devised and created by Odin himself.

These runes would keep out the magic embedded in the black walls and floor, yet even under the protection of the magic runes created by the pagan gods, the men that guarded the worst criminal they had ever seen, still felt and heard the whispers and voices of the magic that sought to see down to the bottom of their very souls. And this was despite the fact that they bore upon their head magic runes written in the language of gods upon heavenly metal, heavenly metal that had fallen from the sky itself, the Heavenly Electrum, a metal made of stardust and dragon breath, not the heretical impure mixture of silver and gold. Which was why when looking at the cowled figure of their prisoner, the men broke out into an uneasy sweat, for the man that stood at the heart of their midst showed no sign of faltering or deviation as they marched forth. All he showed was boredom, born from a simple lack of something to do. 

And this was the reason that the men who stood in his presence felt true unease. They knew they had seen men go mad as they relived their lives over and over again, all their sins and pains laid bare and amplified to the point where they dwarfed anything they should have felt in their lifetime. But what drove mad those rare few who could resist the deeds they had done, was not the pain they felt, but the pain felt by those that they had met throughout the seam of their lives and the pain that they too had engendered in others. This was done ad infinitum until the minds of those that strode this corridor of less than ten metres were but mush waiting to be smeared across a nearby towel.

But as Prisoner Zero walked down the hallway with an almost merry skip to his step, the guards felt a nameless dread rise deep inside, one that whispered ‘what if’.What if he wants to be here? What if he desires his own destruction? What if he’s not going to die here? ‘What if’ seemed to echo through the minds of his jailors with almost surgical precision, leaving the men that called themselves his guards, quivering masses of flesh, who wished more deeply with every step to be free from the bizarre and maniacal creature they strode next to.

Arriving at the end of the walkway just before the nerve of his captors’ broke, Prisoner Zero would have almost smiled if he thought that those that awaited him wouldn’t notice, but unlike the powerless men that surrounded him, those waiting in his execution chamber were the highest of the high in this land, and perhaps even the world. Striding forth, not paying attention to those that held his leash, Prisoner Zero started counting the moment his human senses could detect the presences beyond the manametal door. He paid no mind to the man who sat at the judge’s booth, the one who radiated hatred and rage like a fire emits heat, nor did he pay attention to the gaggle of children scattered throughout the crowd, those who had been forced to represent the dead and the missing. What interested Prisoner Zero were the others who had come to judge him for his dark and dangerous misdeeds.

While the room could be called circular, in truth it was more of an amphitheatre which housed a total of 88 seats, all uniquely attired to the mage that sat in them and all shaped to show which branch of magic they ruled over. Ten seats were reserved for the masters of the elements which were placed just behind and above the judge’s podium. And a further 77 seats arranged outwards and upwards were filled sporadically with members, some very new and others ancient and far too old to be sitting there.

Finishing counting at the threshold of the execution room, Prisoner Zero refrained from smiling as he was led over to a raised pentagon shaped piece of flooring that had the top most point directed towards the judge. Striding with utmost surety, Prisoner Zero stepped up onto the raised flooring and faced the judge, the head or archmage who was said to embody all fields of magic.

The four chains which connected to Prisoner Zero’s collar were fastened to the floor at the edges of the pentagon, while an extra chain bound Prisoner Zero’s hands to the forefront point of the pentagon that he stood upon. Prisoner Zero’s gaze shifted for but an instant to make sure that what bound him had been secured in place before he returned his gaze to those that watched from up above, and while he had been surprised by those in attendance, Prisoner Zero knew enough about human nature to know, as if it were fact, that his death was eminent.

I see, so 51 of you. What an ominous number, said Prisoner Zero as he finished his survey of those gathered before him. Yet even as his last words exited his mouth, another voice cut through the silence of the room.

The prisoner will be QUIET or else I will fit you with a muzzle, roared the Judge, his blood shot eyes burning with so many different emotions that they seemed to blur together. Twisting his lips into a smirk, the judge’s smile was tinged with insanity as he continued to speak to the condemned and damned man before him.

As you summarised there are only 51 of us. The magic council that rules these lands….

That once ruled these lands, cut in Prisoner Zero, but the judge paid no heed even as his face distorted with barely contained rage.

…are present, however I have the authority of 20 members that couldn’t make it to this meeting, said the Judge as he put a hand to his chest, his body swelling with pride at having found a way to remedy the loss of members.

So you represent 20 dead men, said Prisoner Zero, his voice so bland and calm he could have been talking about the weather, or are they the words of 20 cowards who fled from this sinking empire. If so, then they are far wiser men than you.

As the prisoner’s words sunk into the room’s occupants, from the guards to the judge himself, all drew in a breath as if afraid to let it out. While the judge had said he would muzzle the prisoner if he continued to speak, no matter how the prisoner spoke the judge’s punishment never manifested, for the fear that existed in the room was palpable enough that even the dead would notice.

Yes of the 51 present, seven voted against your sentence, while the rest all agreed. And with the judge’s vote counting as 20, the number voting for your end is sixty four, said a new voice from the rear of the hall.

Turning to look towards the man or more precisely the being that spoke, Prisoner Zero couldn’t help but look into the green, tiger eyes that stared at him in pity for his fate. Prisoner Zero hearing these numbers smiled under his hood as the implications of how deep the deed that was to occur would run flashed through his mind.

Utgard, shut up! roared the Judge after he found his voice, yet his complete lack of control in his own court room seemed to send the rest of those present into an uproar.

Why should he? cut in another man whose skin seemed to have an odd texture to it. His fate was being explained to him, so what should we care if you explain it or Utgard does?

You’re not even here, Nyac! roared another man, his voice seeming to crumble and break as if his last strength was depleting from him.

Looking at the one called Nyac, Prisoner Zero couldn’t help but be impressed as he saw the man flicker as if he was suddenly filled with static. ‘So this is Nyac Allstar’, thought Prisoner Zero as he watched the fabled wizard, one of the few people, who, while born without the ability to use magic and yet possessing mana, had used devices to draw out his forever dormant power to wield a different yet extremely potent type of magic, even when compared to the mages that filled the court room. Even Prisoner Zero knew the legends of Nyac and if the fact he hadn’t turned up to this event in the flesh was any indication, then the stories about him just might be true. Turning his mind away from the man who was said to be as mysterious as him, Prisoner Zero’s mind was thrown for a loop as a question was directed at him.

You mentioned that 51 was an ominous number yet the magical significance of 51 to the best of my knowledge is in fact not that bad. So why say ominous? asked a woman, who sat on the benches up the back not too far from the one called Utgard.

Think about it for a while, Clanswoman of the Rave, said Prisoner Zero with humour in his tone as his gaze pierced the eyes of the woman, as if trying to tell something to those that may or may not have been watching through her eyes.

What does it matter? screamed out the Judge, his face dyed red in rage, his patience at its limit. You, the monstrous Faust, will die here and now.

Yet the moment the words left his mouth, the judge was the one who cowered in fear as the air was filled with the whispers of a thousand dead men searching for their master. However in the deafening silence, the whispers seemed to fade away having not found their master.  Sighing in relief as the inadvertent disaster passed by without incident, the judge’s blood shot eyes turned towards Prisoner Zero with a new menace as if the failure of the dead to find their master was proof of his power.

As I said, you shall die here and now, destroyed by your own magic, said the Judge, his voice dripping with a twisted pleasure at the thought of this man dying by the hands of his own masterpiece.

For what crime may I ask? Was it for my necromancy? Or was it because I incited the revolt against all of you and even helped to make sure it would succeed?

Hearing the questions from Prisoner Zero, those in attendance seemed to freeze, for the words he spoke were not ones filled with dread of knowing what was to happen, but one who was genuinely curious about the reasons he was going to die for.

Your tampering with the dead was an accursed piece of magic that even the founder of this Great Empire of Osiris would have struck you down for, roared an aged and elderly man whose several centuries of life had left him a curled and wrinkled ball of withered flesh.

Yet in his eyes, the rage and potency of one in his prime stared out, not in hatred but in disdain as if Prisoner Zero was a worm that had crawled out of his food. With these words, the seven that had voted for Prisoner Zero’s life seemed to shuffle as if they were the ones that had been scolded, yet each and every one of them met Prisoner Zero’s gaze and in those gazes, Prisoner Zero saw that they had shifted not out of embarrassment or because they were uncomfortable with the idea of the fabled death magic, but because they wished to lash back at the one who spoke out. Yet they refrained, because they knew they would be cast out, if not killed outright, for disrupting the hearing, or for being branded a traitor and collaborator of Prisoner Zero, respectively. While this may have restrained some of them, Prisoner Zero’s subtle shake of his head stopped Utgard from rampaging through the hall. As if he saw Prisoner Zero’s intent, Utgard readied magic to flee at a moment’s notice.

Not caring about the currents of the politics being played out behind him, the judge clenched his fist so hard Prisoner Zero wouldn’t have been surprised if he drew blood or fractured his own bones.

The deeds, you have done for this empire, are numerous, and the construction of this monolith we inhabit is but one of the highlights of your career, perhaps even your masterpiece. Yet, the fact that we use it to rule over the land is something you so hated that you created a rebellion, and that is simply unforgivable, said the Judge, a hint of normalcy returning to his voice.

However his face lost its colouring as the mask Prisoner Zero wore finally broke at the judge’s comment. Yet, the way Prisoner Zero broke his composure was not in the direction that any sane human would expect based solely on common sense. Laughing, Prisoner Zero gripped his side as he shook from the laughs that echoed through his body and around the room where he was fated to die.

You truly believe I did this because of the treatment of humans, I, who tamper with the dead and the undead alike. The only reason that the legacy of your families has been spilt across the earth in the form of an ocean of blood is because you hindered my research into death and the afterlife.

With his words, the uncertainty and confusion in the room sky rocketed. Many had come here expecting that Prisoner Zero was a man moved by the love of his fellow humans even those that couldn’t use magic, yet upon this single comment, it was abundantly clear that he had led thousands to their deaths and millions to the battlefield simply because someone stopped him from completing his little magic projects.

Whistling, Nyac’s image seemed to flicker as if it was filled with grains of static. While Utgard closed his eyes, a small smile upon his lips as if he had expected this outcome but had hoped for something completely different. Many of the others present, especially the children barely 12 years of age, looked confused yet that lasted but a second before absolute rage filled their hearts.

You shall die for this, said the Judge, his mouth and face quivering in a cold rage that seemed to be in sync with all those in the room.

This magic was made by you to erase a human soul and to have all the living forget about that person. Therefore by using it on you, the one responsible for all this carnage and wasted life, the revolt will end with not one soul ever knowing who or what started it and everything you have worked for your entire life will be discarded and forgotten. Do you hear me FAUST? Your life was all for naught, said the Judge, his voice breaking once again towards the end of his speech.

You’re embarrassing to look at, you know that? goaded Prisoner Zero as he lifted his head enough to look the judge in the eye, so that even through the darkness of his hood Faust’s gleaming, glowing red eyes could be seen.

Fuck it, let’s end you now, said the Judge, his body and mind reaching their respective breaking points.

Hitting the panel before him, he spoke and the whole assembly seemed to be in concert with his words.

This ‘Prisoner Zero’ that stands here today shall perish his soul. Lost to the void and destroyed so none in existence can return him to life. Behold your fourteenth victim, your maker Faust! said the Judge as if addressing a living being, all the while activating the magic that would destroy the soul of the man before him.

In unity, the ten children behind the judge placed their staffs imbued with elemental powers and mana jewels into slots in the ground, sending out the power into the pentagon pedestal that Prisoner Zero stood upon. As the magical power flowed throughout the building activating magic and power long dormant, the entire monolithic structure seemed to hum, causing fear to fill the million strong mass of non-magical humans that encircled the capital of their falling empire.

In the room that would in theory be Prisoner Zero’s tomb, the pedestal that he stood upon seemed to groan as five points of true and pure light burst forth from the vertices of the pentagon before they became a wall of light running between each column of light. Encircled and entrapped, Prisoner Zero’s smile seemed to grow, yet none paid heed and even if they did they couldn’t have altered what was to happen next.

Perish and know that only I and the other 50 here will remember you and I assure you that my memories of you will not last all that long, said the Judge, his eyes filled with the thrill of victory.

Yes, I will surely forget you ever so quickly, said Faust as the light finally enveloped him.

Yet instead of disappearing and wiping his existence from the universe, he stood there unharmed and unaffected by the magic supposedly capable of affecting gods and dragons. In the moments that followed, the room filled with screams as the control of the most powerful and destructive magic ever imagined and created was stolen from them by a madman, who to his last moments, they had never understood.

With a groan and a scream, the top of the monolith burst forth a light which cleansed and destroyed all that was caught in its wake. The light acting almost like water poured forth and down from the four spiked crown of the tower causing all that it struck to vanish from existence and memory. Without heed of what it devoured or who was caught in its wake, the light spread throughout the city and finally stopped at the walls of the city itself which was shaped in a pentagon. Not that anyone had ever truly noticed the shape, and even if they had, none had brought it up.

Standing in a five-sided pillar of light, the room filled with screams as those present tried to escape. Yet at least one stood and watched the calamity that he had started, and as such he alone saw the thousands of black chains which spread from Faust’s body holding him in existence.

Outside in the city, the light had flooded everything and was reaching up to the heavens, which in turn caused the towering monolith to corrode from time and space. All the while, Faust simply waited for the magic to complete its purpose. The judge dropped his helmet that marked him out as the head mage of the empire and sat down in front of the smiling Faust and in despair let out a scream that would have made the demons of Hell and discord flinch back in fear and sorrow.

Why? cried the broken Judge as he wept knowing his family which he had kept safe in this very city had been reduced to nothingness.

Why? Simple, I wish to venture into the void between the worlds of the living and the worlds of the dead. After all, this is where my new adventure begins, said Faust as his black chains finally began to break.

Witnessing the entire city and his monolith itself turn to nothing, he slipped into the void between the respective worlds of life and death, just before uttering one final sentence.

This is truly one dark ending, unfit for my Magnum Opus.

~~~

In the distance a small mound of earth existed, although it could be called a hill. The only reason anyone called it that was because the land that it expanded up out of was on a downward incline making the mound more of a hill than it truly deserved to be called.

Atop this hill, which overlooked the grass plains and the burning capital of the Dark Empire of Osiris, two figures could be seen. One was a human in all outward appearances with nothing truly out of place on him, while the other, who stood next to him, was so far from being human that the otherness reeked off of him. The armour that made up the man’s form was a dark black that could easily be mistaken for an abyss.Upon closer inspection a faint blue-cyan light, which spider webbed across different parts of his body, could be seen woven through the form of the armoured knight. The overall effect made the knight-like creature of living darkness appear so formidable and horrid to behold that most humans would simply flee. This knight of death and darkness stood somewhat behind the sitting man who watched with interest as the towering monolith that existed in the centre of the capital of an empire built on magic began to spill out white light, like it was some sort of dark volcano.

Come sit down, Tsukune, said the man as he waved for his comrade to take a seat on the hill and watch the fall of their master’s greatest work.

I feel that I’ve said this enough, but you should know that the act of sitting and the act of standing are identical to me, for unlike you I am made from this armour and not of flesh and blood like you are, said Tsukune, his monotone voice seeming to echo out of his supposedly metallic body.

Glancing over at the being that reprimanded him, the man smiled, for he had expected this reply and had simply wanted to tease the being that he called friend even if the feelings weren’t returned. Walking forwards, Tsukune drew level with his comrade and watched without seeing as the city was consumed with light that erased the existence of all those that touched it. Feeling Faust’s magic swirl around them, the two dead men couldn’t help but chuckle at the one flaw that no one had ever expected to exist in such potent magic. Only the living forgot their memories. The dead would not be touched, no matter if they were in this world or another. And the effects of Faust’s magic could never reach into the Worlds of the Dead.

As the two undead creatures watched the city as it was extinguished from living memory, they felt the memories and souls of thousands or even millions vanish. The two creatures that Faust had created, felt their master, the one that had made them into their current forms, disappear into the Void.

Nodding his metallic head, Tsukune turned and walked north of the hill where he plucked his sword Wraithwail from another mound. This mound was made from hundreds of dead soldiers that had come to reinforce the capital so that it wouldn’t fall. Yet when they had approached to relieve the city, they had encountered the two creatures of living death. The thousand strong force armed with magic capable of rearranging mountains had perished solely at the hands of Tsukune, who had wielded a sword that had feasted off of the life force of all the humans that had fallen. Walking north through a valley of corpses, Tsukune realised that his comrade was still watching the destroyed city.

Ivan, what are you doing? asked Tsukune, his hollow and echoing voice crossing the field of slaughter to reach the unmoving form of his flesh and blood comrade.

I think that I’ll stay here and witness all that happens here today, said Ivan, his desire to remain evident in his calm yet firm voice.

Fine, said Tsukune, his still armoured form not giving out a single hint of what he was thinking. If you wish to remain here then do so, but I’m going to follow Faust’s instructions. If you need me, I’ll be on Icefel.

Hearing his friend’s words, Ivan didn’t turn or even react to Tsukune’s words. Instead, he watched as the pillar of light contained in the pentagon shaped walls, which rose from the earth, began to collapse in upon itself. Like a tower falling, the light seemed to compress in upon itself and begin to sink into the ground finally breaking the walls that had contained it.Yet the power that should have raced out continued to draw back into itself and simultaneously sank into the earth causing the ground to scream out as massive cracks tore out into the world. Watching millions fall into the great crevasse that spread out from a vast and shattered shaft that seemed to go downwards indefinitely, Ivan had the look of one who was thinking and learning something new, certainly not the horrified look of one watching millions fall into the earth and to their deaths.

The cracks continued to spread outwards until the lower landmass of the continent of Geb was turned into thousands of islands with a great and bountiful sea of water surrounding the place that had once been the centre of an empire of magic. And deep beneath the sea there was a shattered shaft which marked the grave of the greatest and darkest necromancer in the world: Faust.

Chapter 1: The Bearer of Decay – Paladin of Gray

The silver raven soared through the sky.

Taking wing above the Shattered Shaft, the raven rose up into the silent and empty, blue sky. And as the raven floated aloft upon non-existent wind, it spared not a thought for the massive, sub-oceanic, circular mine that stretched indefinitely down without end. A mine that was situated where once stood a massive monolithic structure, a structure that had been purged from the memory of the living a thousand years ago.

Crying out, the raven turned north and flapped its wings using the celestial energy that its one eyed master supplied it. The raven began flying with speeds beyond the limits of the physical world. As the raven flew north, it crossed the Sea of Shards, a sea filled with islands that were the only remnants of the landmass that had once been there a thousand years ago. Moving like a silver streak of light so high up in the sky that the world appeared practically miniature, the silver raven bearing the name Munin arrived at Geb.

Geb, a name of many meanings, a name of many things; a name for the world, a name for a continent, a name of an empire, yet in truth the source of the word was largely unknown. Where the name came from and who it referred to was lost to time, as far as the raven knew.

But the important thing was not the name itself, but the locations that it pertained to, for in the world of Geb, on the continent of Geb and in the heart of the empire that claimed the name Geb, stood the city of Albion.

Heading north over the land mass south of Albion, the silver raven or crow as it was sometimes called sailed over the city of Notos. The same city where alchemists fashioned trinkets and machines to bring about a better tomorrow than the day before, where homunculi are born and die, and philosopher stones shine bright both in creation and destruction. The raven passed by the city and began following the great road that linked the holy cities of the Empire of Geb, and finally the raven reached Albion’s outer gate.

The raven knew from its master that Albion was one of the most unique cities of the world, as the city was filled with seraphim, the half human/half angel hybrids born from an angel that appeared four hundred years ago, but that alone was not enough to make this city unique, not in the world of Geb nor any other worlds that may exist. Nor was its uniqueness born from the fact that the materials that constructed the city were created by using mana to enhance the metal and stone into their indestructible counter parts: manametal and manastone. Nor was its uniqueness born from the fact that what was not made from magic based on mana was created from the heavenly telesma which served as the power and blood of angels.The reason for Albion’s uniqueness lay in what was hidden below the surface image that the golden, heavenly city emitted for the world to see.

Yet caring for none of these facts, Munin turned its green eyes towards the towering pillars made from manastone, located in the north east of the city where a paladin of gray stalked with keen eyes an esper bearing decay, all the while celestial beings watched and waited for the war to come.

Grey perched on the side of a sheer building hundreds of metres high in the sky, his dull, gray, paladin armour barely gleaming in the cloudy afternoon sunlight. Yet even so there were many that had noticed him atop his perch. However no one paid him too much mind. For the sight of a man with his feet firmly placed on a vertical surface sitting hundreds of metres up in the air was one of the more mundane things that had occurred in this city.

Shifting his gaze from a passing flight of elemental guardsmen, all of whom were equipped with magically endowed armour that allowed them to fly through the sky free from the effects of gravity, Grey returned his blue eyes back to a man who had entered the city less than an hour ago. Yet despite this, the man had moved with the characteristics of one new to the city and one who was wondering aimlessly. Nevertheless he had refused to leave this particular area as if he knew that something bad would happen when he passed over one of the seven main roads of the outer city.

If one had the ability to fly and did indeed bother to fly high enough or if one simply looked at a map of the city, they would notice that the so-called outer city where the humans and other humanoid creatures lived had seven, main, large, golden roads that ran outwards from the inner city where the seraphim lived, shaped like a wheel with seven spokes. Grey could think of several reasons for not wanting to pass over the seven roads which acted as conduits for the magical power of angels that was transmitted out to the golden walls that surrounded Albion. Over half the reasons that came to Grey’s mind about the man’s behaviour were immediately discarded as implausible while those that remained were either trivial misunderstandings outsiders had about the nature of this city. While some of the other reasons were the ones that raised Grey’s hackles and left him with a random sense of dread.

The man that Grey had his eyes upon wasn’t a demon and even if he was a demon strong enough to endure inside the walls of Albion, then not only would the seraphim, but also the six paladin orders that had bases here in the city, descend on the demon the moment it stepped foot in Albion. Striking that thought through from his head, Grey contemplated the enigma before him and began to wonder what kind of beast had wandered into this city. While Grey was by no means a genius, he was still smart enough and at times mad enough to realise that the man before his eyes was something, even if he had never seen its like before.

Shifting his attention away from the shadowy man, Grey gazed at the shape of the Albion’s outer city as he contemplated what the man’s true nature was. Looking out at the expansive city, Grey stared at the various towering structures referred to as skyscrapers and couldn’t help but marvel that the impossible structures, which dotted the landscape including the one that Grey had anchored himself to using the soles of his feet, were able to exist.

Pondering over the city made from a sea of buildings and streets, Grey could feel the flow of telesma throughout the seven main roads of the outer city. Each of these roads acted like a river except that the telesma instead of flowing over land flowed through the material composing of the roads. To the north of the inner city, the first road extended dead north with each of the other roads situated roughly equidistant around the city. Going clockwise the districts or areas between the roads were numbered one through seven, with Grey’s current location inside the border of the second district.

Contemplating why this individual had wandered into the second district when the fourth district, the one covering the south side of the city, was the most open and freest part of the city, Grey tried to look south but from his position all he could see was the golden centre of Albion. Made from domes and glistening towers of beauty that truly reflected that it had been built by the descendents of angels, the centre of Albion glimmered with the holy light of Heaven.

Shifting his gaze back to the possible prey before him, Grey contemplated the illogical buildings that sprouted from amongst the city. Grey knew just like any other that lived in this city long enough, that the city was made on the backs of seraphim and their telesma infused materials. But Grey was also well aware that the mages had lent their own magic to forge matter into things like manametal and manastone. And yet as Grey’s eyes travelled around he couldn’t help but notice humans who bore weapons forged by alchemists, who wielded a power that didn’t originate in magic. While Grey truly didn’t care where such things came from so long as the world benefited, he saw no problem in using wizards and alchemists to create new and innovative things from their respective fields. However, many paladins believed that wizards and mages shouldn’t be allowed to use their magic here in this city filled with holy power, let alone the alchemists, and their alchemic energy, which used said energy to imitate espers.

Freezing, Grey realised that his absent chaotic mind had stumbled upon the answer to the question of what was the man that languished down amongst the streets of Albion. This potential spy had avoided the fourth district where the Alchemist Guild had its local headquarters, where espers were treated as respected and valuable beings, while simultaneously and secretly used as power sources and experimental material. The nature of the being before Grey was undeniably, in his mind, that of an esper who had come to spy on the city and to avoid detection, possible capture and experimentation. He had come to the northern side of the city even though he knew it wouldn’t yield the same result as if he had travelled to the southern side where most of the things that were esper related existed. Yet while Grey was underestimating the spy, he failed to realise that by travelling to an area rich in magic, a being that knew very little of mana based magic could if not learn then at least grasp some of the concepts involved.

Seeing the spy turn down a street and immediately stop causing faint disruption to the traffic of humans around him, Grey’s attention skyrocketed as the warning signs indicated that something had gone wrong for the invader. The spy turned shiftily and continued as if nothing had happened down a different road. Grey from his vantage point could tell the street, he had failed to go down, was filled with a sort of market and stalls filled with foodstuff, leaving the impression in Grey’s mind that this esper’s power might either adversely affect the food or cause it to blossom into new trees. Grey shifted his right foot slightly to the left making sure not to lose direct contact with the building he had glued himself to, so that he could jump from the building at a moment’s notice.

Once Grey had considered himself optimistic, but because of his past Grey viewed the world through a lens that stated if something could go wrong then it probably would. And in this moment as he surveyed the esper whose objective was still unknown, Grey couldn’t help but feel that the fact he had avoided the fruit on the market stalls signified that the esper’s power was rooted in decay. Grey also knew that given the right initiative this esper would unleash said power and drown the street with the smell of rotting, diseased and dying human flesh. With the thought of rotting and diseased flesh, Grey felt a certain memory stir in his mind, a memory that brought not anger or hatred but madness. Grey quickly stifled the memory so that he could concentrate on the target before him.

Whilst Grey had been looking inward and warding off old psychological scars, what he had feared had manifested in that the esper was now on a collision course with a trio of soldiers all armed with alchemic instruments. Whether the three would be able to detect the esper’s true nature was beyond Grey’s ability to determine, but from the stillness of the esper, Grey wasn’t going to be given the chance to see if they could. Kicking off of the towering construct of magically wrought substances, Grey’s right hand never left the grip of the giant, silver sword that hung sheathed on his back. Flying through the air, Grey knew he had over shot his target yet he had never intended to assassinate the esper, in fact Grey found assassination distasteful in the extreme sense, except when it came to that.

Shifting his focus, Grey settled his mind down. Finding a place inside him, a place where he was nothing but action, where emotions and thoughts of yesteryear and tomorrow would never breach his mind, Grey prepared himself to enter a battlefield against a foe who’s like he had never encountered before. Crashing into the building adjacent to the esper’s left hand side, Grey instead of crashing through it like a meteor or liquefying against the building like a dropped tomato, bounced and travelled even further down the street landing in-between the esper and the soldiers. 

The esper who had been flexing his hand as if preparing to send some sort of power towards the soldier that impeded his way, jerked back startling the bystanders more than the man dropping from the cloudy sky. The soldiers had apparently failed to recognise the danger that was approaching them. Yet, seeing a paladin in gray armour drop down from the sky and a black fitted man further down the road jerk back, their wartime instincts came online alerting them that something was coming and it was going to be bad. The soldiers might have realised the danger that had descended on this one little street, but the citizens who flooded the streets were slow to realise they were standing in the midst of a battlefield. A battlefield filled with uncountable and uncaring variables that were progressing towards the annihilation of everything and everyone present.

Esper, roared Grey, his voice filled with a steely determination to ensure that this moment would not bring forth a tragedy. In the name of Arthur Exaltia, King of the Seraphim, Emperor of Geb and Ruler of these Lands; Identify.

Hearing Grey’s glacially calm roar, those that had been oblivious to their surroundings finally realised that they were in danger and hurriedly began to exit from the street leaving the three forces standing still on the roads waiting for someone or something to set them in motion. The esper instead of looking concerned that he had been discovered and cornered only appeared perplexed at the way the situation had transpired. Turning briefly, he looked south from where Grey had come from before resuming his idle study of Grey.

Up close, Grey could see that the esper was in fact showing his age with faint, white hairs appearing in his unkempt, long, black hair that hung around his head. While his travelling cloak had hidden it from afar, Grey could now see that the esper was wearing something akin to a black butler’s suit that had white highlights and a red tie hanging down the front of his clothes.

Following Grey’s eyes, the esper tore off his cloak using his right hand so that the cloth came to be floating in-between the paladin and the invader. Cursing, Grey went to draw his sword, when thin black tentacles like shadows pierced through the cloth and shot towards Grey. Caught wrong footed, Grey was half a beat too slow to completely dodge an attack that normally wouldn’t even be able to touch his after-image. Feeling it scrap across the left side of his face after the tip of the shadow pierced through his left eye, Grey felt a new dimension in pain, one not rooted in physical torture of flesh but in the decay of living nerves both in his eye and across the side of his face. Springing to the right, Grey opened up a clear line of sight for the soldiers behind him and the moment they had a clear shot they opened fire, releasing a horde of bullets towards the man who had destroyed the eye of the Gray Paladin.

The moment the bullets fired the wielder of the shadows smiled. The shadows covering his hands seemed to flow out, forming into a whip which spun around in front of the esper, turning all the bullets into dust upon colliding with the solid shadow. To all those observing the battle, the shadows, which covered and hung off of the esper darkening his already black suit, had a strangeness to them that made even those familiar with magic quiver.

Grey knew simply by feeling the effects done to the side of his head and by the earlier evidence that he had collected that the esper had a decay effect. Yet somehow, these shadows had a solid nature to them that gave all in the vicinity the belief that if one reached forth they could touch and hold the shadow, as if it was actually there, at least until their hands rotted away to nothing.

Covering the side of his face that had undergone the esper’s rotting power of decay, Grey stared with his right eye at the shadows, which oddly had a small rainbow haze at the edge of the shadow. This rainbow haze only appeared on the sides of the shadow and never seemed to actually cover the shadow creating a surreal, flowing, living, darkness adorned with a flowing sheath of rainbow light. Narrowing his remaining eye, Grey brought all his attention to attacking the esper to end this before someone lost their life. Regarding the shadow, Grey guessed instinctively that it somehow interacted with light which in turn allowed the shadow to attain a form of mass or existence. Realising this, Grey suspected that the esper was decaying light into matter, although how such a thing was possible was truly beyond his understanding of the laws of the world.

Knowing he would only have one shot at what he was planning, Grey sped forwards towards the esper with a speed that could be called superhuman. Just as he was about to draw his sword and cut the esper in half with a single stroke of his sword, a shadow intervened shooting over the left shoulder of the esper directly towards Grey’s unprotected right side. Still clutching his face with his armoured left hand, Grey smiled as his right hand came down even faster hitting the shadow away. Widening his eyes, the esper saw that Grey had abandoned his plan to draw his sword and had punched his shadow away with his gauntleted hand. However, the smile upon the esper’s lips didn’t waver as more shadows manifested from all across the left side of his body ready to pierce through the paladin that was attacking him.

Grey almost as quickly punched forward with his left hand straight into the esper’s face, or where it had been. Feeling a wind assault him along with a heat, Grey was sent skidding backwards, his two eyes wide with surprise. Standing there sharing equal surprise, the two mystic beings, one hailing from a power that warped and distorted reality based on concepts and aspects of reality, while the other stood at the forefront of magic linked to Heaven, stared at each other. To escape the attack, the esper had detonated the oxygen in various points in front of his body by forcing an exothermic decay, which had catapulted him back as well as sending Grey backwards. Yet while this had surprised Grey, what surprised the esper was the fact that the wound that he had inflicted on the paladin was completely healed as if nothing had happened to his face.

Who are you? inquired the Esper, his eyes betraying the interest that flowed through him, while his face remained steady.

Grey contemplated not answering, but the commotion the two had made practically ensured that reinforcements were heading here and by stalling him, Grey could allow the esper to fall into the trap that was this entire city.

I believe that I asked you to identify yourself first, didn’t I? asked Grey, his voice even keeled at the prospect that his stalling tactic would undoubtedly fall in upon itself.

However Grey was surprised by the response he got for instead of an attack he got a name and another question.

The name of my ability is Shadow of Decay, and since most espers use their ability name as their actual name, that is the only name I have had for longer than you have lived, said Shadow, his voice passive and relaxed, but hidden deep was a hatred and rage Grey knew wasn’t directed at him. 

How did you heal your face? asked Shadow, his eyes scanning over the undamaged area as if checking for some form of deception.

Grey thought of several replies, some ranging from rude and derogatory to others that were long winded explanations, yet the one he chose in the end was somewhere in the middle.

I used a heavenly circle sown into my clothing and healing magic, said Grey, his answer short and decisive as he indicated towards the clothing he wore beneath his armour, which wasn’t apparently satisfying for Shadow. 

But how? There are no churches or priests nearby to support you with telesma and I detected nothing of the sort from you? said Shadow, his eyes roving around as if searching for the source of Grey’s recovery.

Hearing this misconception, Grey had to chuckle simply because he had heard it from so many before and it was reassuring seeing that even the esper could get things wrong.

You’re standing in a city with veins of golden telesma flowing beneath your feet and through the walls that encircle this city. This city is holy and just by standing here I can heal from nearly all manner of damage. As for my name it’s Grey, Grey Silverman.

For the first time since the confrontation had begun, Grey saw Shadow’s jaw drop and unhidden or undisguised surprise was shown across his face.

You’re the Paladin of Gray, the Gray Knight, the Mad Demon Hunter, said Shadow, a light entering his eyes, something that Grey recognised from the few times he had looked into the mirror.

Yes, said Grey as his right hand once more went to the grip of the sword across his back.

The fact that Shadow was aware of his name and the various titles that he had built up over his short career as a paladin made Grey uncomfortable not because he was ashamed or embarrassed by his fame, but if he knew about such stories then it was altogether possible he had researched his potential opponents when he had decided to come here to Albion. As he felt Shadow’s eyes seem to linger over the blade that still rested in its sheath, Grey felt that he was in danger. Without any real warning, Shadow launched his hand forwards and shot out hundreds of darts in a hemisphere pattern to prevent Grey from escaping in any direction.

Finally pulling his sword free, his silver blade spun through the air cutting and destroying all the darts that dared to get too close. Stopping his blade from spinning, Grey reflexively went into a crouch, which could be used to advance or retreat at a moment’s notice. Yet Shadow didn’t follow through with his attack as he stared at the blade that Grey held slanted down towards the ground with his right arm drawn back as if he was about to begin a stabbing motion.

So that’s it huh; Slaphmir, the Sword of Vengeance, said Shadow, his eyes tracing across the blade as if it were a work of beauty, forged by Edward Crowley, the first paladin and the Knight of Vengeance, with the help of the angel, Samael itself. Truly a work of beauty don’t you think?

Grey didn’t even move as he heard the question directed at him. Not really caring for the question, he focused on nothing and yet was able to perceive practically anything that stood before him. As such Grey instantly became aware that Shadow was up to something that was different than before. While standing under a particular strong patch of sunlight that moved across the city, Shadow had activated his power and was sending it out into the place mostly devoid of light, allowing for his shadow ability to lose cohesion and become formless. Seeing this, Grey became instantly aware that if he fought Shadow in this condition, where light itself was scarce, then in all certainty he would die one way or another.

Just as Grey was preparing for another round of attacks, something was flung from behind Shadow and appeared in the air above him. Widening his eyes, Shadow looked at the grenade lobbed up above him and abandoned his attempt to attack and with a hidden force created a cocoon of shadows, which blocked and disintegrated the attack. Peering past Shadow, Grey saw that the soldiers that had been behind him had taken the side streets around their fight and had ambushed Shadow or they had at least tried to ambush him. Spinning in rage, Shadow launched javelin styled attacks towards those that had dared to attack him from behind.

Feeling time seem to slow, Grey saw that the javelins had a greater amount of rainbow haze around them than the previous shadows. Experiencing a sense of dread, Grey used his control over his angelic sword to resonant the power with his armour causing the armour to turn from a dull gray to majestic silver that mirrored the blade of the sword he held so loosely in his right hand. Moving at true superhuman speeds, Grey passed by Shadow in a blur of motion and managed to reach the soldiers before several of the javelins arrived. Using the blade forged for total and complete vengeance, regardless of what got in the way, Grey cut through the shadows to protect the lives of those whose names he didn’t even know.

However, of the ten lances that had been sent against the soldiers only seven were intercepted. Of the three that passed by Grey, one hit a target in the head, while a second javelin hit the same man in the chest. The third javelin passed by Grey so far away that even with his arm extended he wouldn’t have reached it, which was why the soldier who was directly behind and to the left of Grey was hit in his left hand.

Spinning, Grey witnessed the middle soldier’s final moments as his fleshed decayed so fast that his body seemed to disappear into gases and liquids. Visually, it seemed his flesh turned to soup which evaporated so quickly that it was barely there for any true given length of time. Leaving behind only bones, Grey shifted his gaze towards the soldier that had only been grazed in time to see everything below the soldier’s elbow turn to soup and fall off of his bones. Hissing, Grey did the only thing he could and cut off the soldier’s arm directly a centimetre above the current location of the putrefying decay. As the remanent of the arm fell away, the decay consumed what had been left of the severed arm yet failed to pass onto the rest of soldier’s body. Crying out the man grasped his severed limb and stopped the bleeding as best as he